#『w.w. fics』

[woodworkzz]

Ship: IceHell padlock

Prompt word: cold

Warnings: body description, suggestive themes (no NSFW)

Paige had won; even though Tony had managed to free himself, his system was too overrun by anesthesia for a proper counterattack.

And currently, Paige was rudely dragging his body down the basement stairs. Her plan was to tie him up by the wrists on one of the many pipes that ran across the ceiling and simply wait. It might be boring to wait until he's awake, but nothing brightens her day like watching Tony fall unceremoniously to the floor and stumble to his feet to chase after her.

When she finally reaches the basement, however, something catches her eye.

A freezer. A working freezer.

Time to experiment, she thinks.

She picks him up, hurling him over her shoulder and muttering about how his bones must be made of lead for him to weigh so much. She usually didn't have an issue carrying human bodies, even those bigger than herself, but something about Tony made him exceptionally heavy. She theorizes that Concepts are just... Denser than humans.

Anyhow, she carelessly drops him in the freezer, and slams it shut. She won't bother to lock the door, or bind him by any means. The cold temperatures will be enough of a nuisance.

She happily hops up the stairs and out of the basement. Now that her main chore is over, she could finally check on her garden! Her precious flowers hadn't been watered yet, and she'd hate for them to die.

When she was done, she stepped into her room and eyed the three or four unfinished canvases abandoned in a random corner. Might as well...

When she was nearly done with the last one, she looks out the window, expecting to see the sunset. After all, Tony's annoyingly numerous clocks scattered across the house marked six in the evening.

But the sky was still bright blue, not a sight of the sun setting.

... Was he messing with her? He must've already woken up, and chances are, he's trying to disorient her so he can have the upper hand. How clever.

She thought about going after him, but if he hadn't showed up to pester her yet, that means he's planning an ambush. That's the not so fun part of putting him in the basement.

Tony had his qualities, but his main fault is his predictability. She knew he'd always take advantage of being hours alone somewhere she'd inevitably walk into. Besides, his own perfectionism won't let him mess up the passing of time long enough before it starts ticking him off, so the wisest thing to do would be to wait.

The night went by with the sun still shining through the window, and in the following morning, all news reports talked about how the sun refused to set across the country, despite the rest of the world being unaffected.

Robin very hesitantly asked her if Tony had something to do with that.

"Well," she replied. "Either he's very committed to his little trick, or something is wrong. Have you seen him, by the way?"

He shakes his head no.

She sighs, and grabs a butcher knife before kicking open the basement door. "I can't believe you're making me do this, you bastard."

Her voice echoes down the trepid staircase and reverberates off the walls, but no answer comes.

She cautiously walks down the stairs, her knife held tight, and scours every corner of the basement, but he's nowhere to be seen.

Certain that this would be the stupidest thing she's done in this century, she reluctantly opens the freezer door.

Well, she found Tony. But he didn't leap at her throat, or pulled her down by the hair.

He laid just like she had left him, frostbite darkening spots of his skin to a disgusting purple, and a thin layer of frost encasing his body. His eyes, which were left open and were now frozen that way, were dull and faded. His suit was mostly hardened by a thin layer of ice. However, all the wounds she'd inflicted had healed perfectly.

If he was alive in those conditions, Paige would have to applaud his endurance.

She reached for one of his hands, grabbing onto the frozen, hardened flesh, and pulled.

The sound of skin peeling off his muscles as it stuck to the freezer's walls wasn't pleasant, but it was over soon enough. She threw his frozen body to the floor, wincing slightly at the dry thump it produced.

"And now, what to do with you?" She spoke out loud, prancing around the basement. "Maybe I could go at it with a hairdryer, but-"

She turned around at the familiar sound of flesh and muscle sewing back together.

Tony was healing, his torn off flesh stitching itself back together. She curiously watched as he stitched himself together in a matter of minutes, knife still tightly clutched in her hand.

And he breathed in, opening his eyes wide.

Paige fixed her stance, ready for combat.

But he didn't get up. He barely moved enough to curl up on the floor, breathing heavily and shaking.

Something was... Wrong.

"... Tony?" She called out, taking a single, cautious step further.

His eyes moved towards her, and although his fury was tangible, he didn't raise a single finger.

"I came after you." She hesitantly continued. "The sun hasn't set since yesterday, and I thought you'd done it."

"... The sun didn't set?" He asks, his voice hoarse and weak.

"No. It's all they talk about on the news."

"I need to fix that." He mutters, valiantly trying to get up on his feet, but stumbling to the ground before making it.

Paige stands in the same spot, unmoving. Her chest felt too heavy as the realization came to her.

"You're weak." She whispered. Usually she'd sneer it at him with a smile, but now she was worried. Was she about to lose her playmate?

She walked closer, and kneeling to the ground, gently laid the back of her hand on his neck.

Cold.

Freezing cold.

He stared fiercely at her, bright yellow eyes burning holes into her soul, but she knew better than to be intimidated. The same way a wounded animal bares its teeth at whoever dares come closer, regardless of the other's intentions, fallen Concepts such as them couldn't recognize solidarity if it hit them across the face.

Which is what Paige did. "Don't give me the eagle eyes, I wanna help you. Come on, frozen bastard," She grunted, picking him up bridal style. "We're getting you somewhere warmer."

He huffed, but didn't protest further. His suit was now soaking wet and likely ruined, none of which helped him while he trembled in Paige's arms, trying to leech off whatever heat she produced.

The trip out of the basement and into Tony's room was a rather quick and unperturbed one, except for perhaps the confused stares from the trio in the living room, but they knew better than to stare too long or ask questions.

"There you go," she sighs, as she nudges the door of his room open. "This should be warm enough, since it's been closed and getting sunlight for a solid twenty hours."

And indeed, the room felt quite stuffy as she laid him down on the floor, right on a patch of sunlight. But for him, it was simply perfect. He allowed himself to relax and stretch on the warm floor, a content moan escaping his lips as he did so.

"Feeling better?" She asked, taking a seat not too far from him.

"Mhm." He curtly answered, his body still shaking, but the relaxed smile on his face said all she needed to hear.

"So..." She awkwardly started, fumbling with her hair. "What happened?"

He sighed, rolling on his side to look at her. "You froze time."

"Why, you're such a jokester today, Tony." She sarcastically replied. "Really, though... Why didn't you wake up?"

"Well... I'm not sure. I was able to heal just fine, but due to the temperature, I was conscious for only a few seconds before my body gave in to the cold and lack of energy." He replied, his expression becoming more and more vacant. "And it kept happening, over and over again... Until you finally got me out of that damned thing."

"Yikes."

"Indeed."

Paige messes with the fabric of her skirt, her eyes low to her lap. "... I'm sorry."

To her surprise, Tony's response wasn't bitter. "It's alright, dear. You didn't know."

"... You should take off those clothes. They're all wet." She airily comments.

"You really can't spend a night without me anymore, can you?" He replied with a smug smile even though his voice was still weak.

It takes a second for her to process what he said, and her eyes widen as it clicks in her head. "You pervert! I was worried about you and that's how you speak to me?"

"I jest, I jest." He smiles, carefully raising his hands up in surrender. "Really though, how did you spend the night?"

"Well, the sun was shining outside, so... There was that." She started. "But I did miss you. I had nothing to climb on top of while I slept, after all."

It was a frequent occurrence; every other day Tony would wake up barely able to breathe because of the 65 kilos of Creativity sprawled over his back. He'd then have to nudge her off and hold her so she doesn't attempt to flatten his lungs again.

"I missed you too, Paige." He simply answered, unbuttoning his jacket and sliding it off. His frostbitten fingers certainly weren't helping him with any more buttons, he concluded as he analyzed the slowly healing flesh.

Paige undoes the shirt buttons as she speaks. "You seem to be in a very good mood today. Despite being locked in a freezer for several hours."

He chuckles, taking off the shirt. "I think the warmth put me in a nice mood." He kicks off his pants, with some difficulty as the wet and hardened fabric clung onto him, but he managed.

Now, all he wore was his bowtie, his gloves, and soaking wet boxers that left nothing to the imagination. And that was an image she quite enjoyed, and savoured every last drop of. Even if his indigo body was covered in dark purple bruises with flesh damaged or missing on certain spots.

"Paige," Tony called, in a teasing voice. "I know those eyes..."

She looks at his face like a deer in headlights, gray blush dusted over her cheeks. She had forgotten to look at his face for a moment. Or a minute. Or several minutes.

After an awkward second, she gets the courage to whisper, "Please?"

"Paige, darling, I've been locked in a freezer for a whole day. I'm just starting to feel my legs. I'm sure you can understand when I say I'm not in the mood."

"Oh. That... Makes sense." She mutters, looking away. "That was stupid."

"You are stupid." He deadpanned. "Never forget that, dear."

"Wow, okay! Back to the freezer with you!" She laughed, sliding a hand under his back and lifting him off the floor once again.

"Paige, no, please- Paige! Let me go!"

[zmediaoutlet]

fic: the spare bedroom

the nostalgia bug has got me good, y'all. And man, it's so much easier to write for a new fandom, haha. For the four of you who might see this --

title: the spare bedroom pairing: Cloud/Barret rating: E length: 5000 tags: Game: Final Fantasy VII Rebirth (2024), Gongaga (Compilation of FFVII), Friends With Benefits, Size Kink, Oral Sex

summary: After getting out of the desert and making their way to Gongaga, everyone splits up. Cloud comes to check on Barret.

(read on AO3)

Cissnei's house is nice enough. Small. A few beds, like maybe desperate folks have crashed here before. A kitchen. Maybe Tifa'll cook something, if they're lucky. Pay back their host for her generosity. From the burn marks on the stove they better not rely on Cissnei to provide.

Barret's not hungry, though. He's tired but he doesn't want to sleep. Piece of shit of a day, worse than just about any he's had in four years. He sits on the bed shoved against the wall in the back room and rests his elbows on his knees, trying to figure it. Between the plate getting dropped and losing his team and the reactor back in Corel blowing and his arm being shot to bloody broken bits—yeah, he's got a list. Previously he'd had the ranking pretty well defined. Maybe on some later day he'll feel less like a sorry sack of shit about the whole thing but right now, every time he closes his eyes he sees that holding shack at the prison, and he feels the hot dust under his fingers, and in his ears, his best friend saying—

"What are you doing," Cloud says. Barret jolts, opens his eyes.

"I'm bo-ored," Yuffie says, from her slump in the living room around the corner. "This town was supposed to have materia."

"It isn't just going to appear midair. I thought you were a hunter. Go find it." Barret snorts. Kid doesn't even sound like he's trying to be rude. Perfectly practical, that's our SOLDIER. Yuffie makes some whiny noise—Barret is truly not looking forward to Marlene being fifteen—and Cloud sighs, and like he's making a great concession says, "I think I heard the GYC guys talking about training with magic. Maybe you can convince one of them to hand something over."

"Really?" she squeals, and then, calling like to a distant friend, "Materia, never fear! You shall be mine!"

Running sneakers on the stone, the front door slamming closed. Barret tips his head back against the wall, watches the afternoon light coming in through the strange stone-hewed windows. Town's nice. Peaceful. If it were some other day he bets he could enjoy it.

Cloud appears in the archway. His lips part on seeing Barret and then he shakes his head. "Figures. Last place I look."

"Ain't everything in the last place you'd look?" Barret says. He stretches his boots out on the stones. "'Cause you'd stop looking then, right?"

Those big, pretty eyes narrow. "Right." Cloud studies his face and Barret lets him. Nearly all his awful secrets are out in the light, now. Don't make sense to pretend otherwise. Anyway, the rest of 'em didn't abandon him in the desert or kill him where he stood, so he figures little fearless leader here isn't about to run him through. Though, really…

"You need something?" Barret says. Better to head those kinds of thoughts off at the pass. "We ain't moving out already, are we?"

Slight head-shake. "Mission break. We don't even know if that reactor's the right place to look. Everyone needs some downtime."

Barret's got enough going on that he thinks he can be forgiven how it takes him a few seconds. Cloud's looking at the ground, his arms folded over his skinny chest, and Barret stares at him in silence until he sees how the kid's ears and cheekbones are going that telltale pale pink. He'd laugh if he didn't feel like his guts had been torn out and left all over the desert. "Don't know if I'm gonna be good company for that, man," he says.

Cloud rubs the back of his neck. "You're never good company," he says, after a second, and Barret's surprised enough to snort. Cloud's mouth tilts, barely, and then his jaw firms. "That was—messed up, today. It shouldn't have gone down like that."

"My best friend shouldn't have been mown down in a hail of bullets by Shinra goons? With it being my fault?" Barret shrugs. "Yeah, guess I'd agree with that."

Strangest look on the kid's face. He blinks hard, shakes his head. Barret frowns—he knows he sounds bitter but he didn't mean to make the kid cry, damn—but after a few seconds Cloud says, softer than he normally says just about anything, "I can't imagine." He stands there, quiet, while Barret takes a full breath, deep in his lungs, trying to clear out the thick tense fucked-up misery that's solid there, all of a sudden, his chest full of iron ore and sandstorms. Then Cloud steps forward, hands loose at his sides, cheeks pink, chin lifted. "Let me help take your mind off it."

"Cloud—" Barret starts, but Cloud gestures vaguely to the rest of town, interrupts with: "Yuffie's out chasing materia; Red's mushroom hunting; I think Cait's charging; Tifa and Aerith are… I don't know, they're doing girl stuff." He tips his head to the side, toward the real bedroom. "I'm betting that door locks."

Barret sighs. "You thought of everything, huh?"

"I try," Cloud says. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth and lets it out slow through his teeth, so it shines in the dim light. Nervous and doing a hell of a job of hiding it, and it might even work if Barret hadn't seen his badass act fail about fifty times by now. "I don't know how to make it better. Maybe it doesn't get better. But there could be an hour that didn't suck."

Damn if the kid hasn't had a 180 in personality from the day they met. Barret's heart's still lead, but—hell, the kid's right. He doesn't want to feel like this anymore. "Long as you promise it won't suck," he says. Feels heavy coming out but, damn, he's trying.

Cloud steps forward between his boots. "Or what," he says, dry.

Barret reaches out, flattens his hand over the kid's chest. The tank's thick wool, surprisingly soft. "Ain't got the energy to mess with you, man," Barret says, more honest than he means to be. Cloud's eyes change, quick as that. He gets a little nod. Barret curls a finger under one of the leather straps on Cloud's armor and tugs. Cloud leans down slow, bending at the waist, pausing for some reason when his breath touches Barret's skin—meeting Barret's eyes, checking, like Barret's some virgin that needs to be gentled—and Barret holds there like a stone until Cloud reaches whatever internal decision had to get made and sinks down the final few inches and kisses him, close-mouthed. Sweet.

He is sweet. Clumsy still, even if they've done this already. Barret holds him by the small of the back over the thick leather brace and lets Cloud take the lead, the weight still dragging at him, but distracted at least—the kid's skin smelling like salt and river-water and the jungle green they waded through to get here and also that weird sharp tang that's always around him, the mako seeping up somehow through his pores. His girl-soft mouth and his girl-soft skin, the touch of wet against Barret's lower lip, his hands warm even through the leather gloves when he frames Barret's jaw, when he sucks in a shuddery breath through his nose, when he makes this tiny deep sound in his chest, like he's tasting something he's been wanting for a while.

Barret's gut wakes, slow. Like it's remembering that he's a man and not just a hollow thing for grief to fill. He presses Cloud's mouth wider, licks his top lip, and Cloud shudders, lets Barret kiss him—deeper—his hands sliding from Barret's jaw to clench in his vest. Then he breaks away—mouth red, wet—and blinks at Barret, and then pulls at his vest, hard, that unnatural strength hauling Barret upright before he's ready so he stumbles forward into the kid, who catches him like it's nothing, and pulls again, until they're in the bedroom, the door slamming behind Barret's back as Cloud pushes him up against it. Cloud has to lift up on his toes and Barret has to bend to get their mouths together again but damn if it's not worth it, with the kid better every time, making those little noises like he's surprised, like he's learning something, like he didn't know he could like it. Hot as hell and not the first time Barret's thought it and certainly not the last, with this warmth building up in him. He was dead ten minutes ago and now he wants—damn, he wants a lot, too much, shit he can't do with responsibility about to come knocking any second, in the bedroom of some stranger's house, with a door that—

"No lock," Barret says, fumbling behind himself. Shit, shit—

Cloud stares up at him hazily, breathing heavy. "Fuck it," he says, rough. "You're a doorstop, right?"

"Screw you," Barret says, surprised into laughing, and Cloud smiles at him and then hooks his sword off that magnet on his back, leans it against the wall—careful like he always is, like the thing that cuts dragons in half will get chipped if he doesn't treat it nice—and then pushes right back in and kisses him, wrapping his arm around Barret's neck, pulling him down enough that it's easy, and then his other hand skimming down Barret's belly to his belt to the front of his fatigues, gripping there, small but firm.

Hell of a lot bolder than he was before. Barret grunts, dips and kisses the kid's jaw, lets his hips curl forward. He's not all the way there but Cloud's curious, feeling the length and the thickening girth and it feels—damn, just right, muffled pressure that's not enough to go crazy over but that feels—like a strong hand gripping his and pulling him out of swamp-muck. His nuts don't mind, that's for damn sure. He drags his fingers down the center of Cloud's back, pressing through the leather, kisses there under the kid's ear and grips his ass in a big handful, squeezes, gets a sweet tiny gasp against his jaw that makes him grin, all unexpected.

"Shut up," Cloud said, and then before Barret can protest that he didn't say nothing at all, he immediately says, "Do you want to—like before?"

Fucking the sweat-damp tunnel between Cloud's thighs, the kid squirming and panting and overcome under his bulk, so hot he's half-surprised the room didn't catch fire. Something that'll be good dreams, as long as he manages to keep his sorry ass alive. Still—"Don't think we can screw up Miss Cissnei's bedroom like that," he says. Regretting it sincerely but also somewhat glad to see Cloud pull back and blink, confused. "Made a mess, creaming you up."

His cheeks are about the color of one of those hibiscus outside, speaking of catching fire. "Right," he says. Just barely unsteady. Barret squeezes his ass again, pulls him in closer against his thigh, and Cloud half-stumbles and—yeah, he's hard too, stiff enough through the uniform that Barret could probably just get the kid to ride his leg, desperate and dizzy with it until he made a mess of himself. And that'd be fun as hell, especially if excuses had to get made about ducking back out to the river for a swim, but Barret's more selfish than that, and, anyway—

"Right," Cloud says again, harder, and then licks his lips, and drops without so much as a by-your-leave to his knees—drops, all at once, hitting the floor with a thud—and reaches for Barret's belt, and Barret's too shocked-stupid to stop him.

Belts aren't complicated and neither are trousers and Cloud's got him unzipped in record time, and that's also when Cloud gets to find out that it's been a long journey and there hasn't been much time for worrying about the delicates. He takes a deep breath and curls his hands into the waistband. "Commando, huh?" He flicks his eyes up.

"You complainin'?" Barret says, spreading his boots. Goddamn, that's a sight.

"I figured you'd need a special sling for this thing," Cloud says, cool as a mountaintop like Barret can't see his ear-tips glowing red under the mess of his hair. He pops the bracer on his right wrist and drags the leather glove off with his teeth, and it's ghostly-pale fingertips on the low of Barret's stomach, dragging down the trail from his navel to the bush he's let grow kinda thick and then touching the root, curious, feeling him all fat and ready. Ready—damn, feels like he could hammer nails—but he doesn't have to wait much longer, with Cloud's fingers peeling back the v of the fatigues and pulling down just enough that his dick—ah—pops free, hanging heavy but hard enough that it's standing out from his hips. Cloud curls his left hand around it—the leather strange and battered-soft—hefts him, fingers barely meeting his thumb—and frowns, and lifts up higher on his knees, and then dips and—presses his lips to the side, over the vein, dry, the heat just—

"Yeah," Barret says, thoughtless, and Cloud glances up at him hot-faced and then closes his eyes, licks instead, his lips dragging stutter-soft up the side of Barret's dick. "Cloud. You done this?"

He holds there with his lips just under the head, bangs hiding his face. Barret fits his hand around the back of Cloud's neck, something twisting so hard and vicious in his gut it almost hurts except that his nuts surge like he could shoot right now, no warning. He slides his thumb up over the soft hollow spot at the top of his spine, feeling the soft puffs of Cloud's breath over the head of his cock—quick, warm. "Wet your mouth," he says, quiet. Tiny space between their skin—he hears the slick noises, Cloud sucking his lower lip—and Barret closes his eyes tight but then opens them again, because hell if he's gonna miss this. "Gotta relax your jaw. Don't try to fit the whole thing. You suffocate, there'll be hell to pay."

"You'd bring me back," Cloud says, absent-minded, and Barret uses the grip at the back of his neck to pull him away—Cloud blinking up at him, startled—but he has to curl down and kiss the kid for that one, knocking his mouth open and really licking inside, pushing his jaw wide, feeling him—wet, yeah, slick and warm and good, and then he stands up again and brushes his thumb over Cloud's smooth cheek and watches him sway softly under that tenderness—what in the hell, every minute's like meeting a new merc—before Cloud licks his lower lip, and bolsters Barret's dick high, and bends to fit his mouth around the head.

Wet shock. Slick, hot—god, there are times Barret prefers this to pussy, of whatever gender. He's too big and most never offer, much less try. Cloud's tongue slicks smooth and strong under the head and Barret grips his hair, presses his hips hard back against the door not to fuck in and maybe actually cause an injury. Little grunt and Cloud pushes down another inch, pulls back, coughs. "Good," Barret says, like a dumbass. "That's good, baby."

"Don't call me that," Cloud says, but he must not mind too much because he licks a sloppy kiss there at the tip and tries again, sliding the tight ring of his lips down and down, the inside of his mouth—he sucks and it's the silk inside his cheeks and his tongue sliding and a hint, ow, of teeth, but with how hard he's trying even that's a kind of harsh hot thing that's swirling tensely at the pit of Barret's belly. Cloud switches hands, gripping with the bare right instead and sliding his left down to hold Barret's nuts, and he laps right at the slit, pressing hard, and Barret—damn, he's trying but he's mortal, isn't he?—fucks his hips forward, chasing it. Knocks into Cloud's throat, makes him yank back, coughing—and Barret does feel like a piece of shit, says, "Damn—sorry, sorry—" but Cloud, being a crazy-ass, says, "Shut up," and kneels up gripping Barret's hips and forces his mouth down. The angle's all off and he hasn't done this or at least hasn't done this with a cock as big as Barret's and he only gets maybe halfway down, but that's insane-making enough, Barret's cockhead threatening the pit of his throat and feeling that tight spasm, his hips pushing forward because he can't not under that demand, closed up in all that heaven. He's so turned around he tries for a second to grab with his right hand, forgetting somehow that it's been gone for four years, and ends up leaving his gun-arm laid heavily over Cloud's back, clanking against his iron pauldron. It's a mind-bending handful of seconds buried about as deep as anyone's managed in years before he remembers he's not supposed to kill the kid and he pulls Cloud away by the hair, his dick emerging into the horrible cold air slick and furious, calling him a fucking dumbass for not leaving it right where it belonged.

Cloud coughs once, slurps spit and air. Barret tips his head back and there are—fuck—tears in his eyes, his face red, his eyes furiously blue. Looking up like it's a challenge and like he's got not a thought in his head, all at the same time. Barret keeps his head still and pushes forward, his dick standing straight out from his hips, lets the cockhead kiss Cloud's mouth. Lets him lick at it, soft-pink and wanting. Pushes past, sliding the sticky-wet along Cloud's bizarrely soft skin, watching the fat dark of it smear along the pale cheek and past, dipping under his ear, brushing the soft ends of his hair until Cloud's lips are pressed to Barret's skin, Barret's nuts against his chin. Barret slides his own fingers against the underside of his dick, brushing Cloud's jaw. Cloud tips his head forward, forehead against Barret's belly. Kisses, careful, at his sack. God, if it were possible. If there were a dozen nights where Barret could hold his head just so and coax him and open his throat, feed in—all the way, past the constriction, in—

He can't wait. He spits in his palm and wraps his fist around his dick, and from lack of options—even crazed-headed as he is he's careful, careful, with the gun, nudging Cloud back with the muzzle against his collarbone—Cloud's eyes opening wide, darker, his jaw dropping—so Barret can feed the head in—just the head, jerking himself, Cloud watching and gripping Barret's hips and then his nuts and then just holding there, cupping Barret's sack and slurping and suckling and licking soft and sweet at the cockhead, this hot urgency in him, wanting it bad enough that he'd choke if Barret let him. Fuck, Barret could choke him. He wrings at his dick, that coil turning in and in and in on itself, tighter and hotter and clawing its way out of his nuts, and he should warn Cloud, should pull him back, should say at least—should say—except it's one of those things he knows, down somewhere deep past every other thing, that no, that this is going to be—that he will—

He bites his lip hard so he doesn't yell out. His hips jerk, once. He follows the pumping release, fisting up and up and up, drives—in—just barely, Cloud gripping his hips and then wrapping his hands over Barret's hand, holding it, letting him pump inside. Cloud's mouth opens and he gasps wetly and Barret watches the white shine on his lip and wrings his dick viciously to pull out another gob of it and then chases that right into Cloud's mouth, forces it back inside when he seems like he might lose it over his chin, and Cloud holds the back of his hand and closes his lips over Barret's thumb and sucks it clean, blurry-eyed, good. Fuck, he's good.

Barret stares at that, for a few seconds. Maybe for eternity. This insane fucker, acting like Barret's giving up the lifestream itself. His tongue pushing hard along the ridge of Barret's thumbnail. How he swallows, and gasps weird around Barret's wet thumb, and then swallows again. Then Barret's brain logs back in, or at least halfway, because he rips his hand away and grips Cloud by the bicep and hauls him bodily to his feet—fucks his tongue into Cloud's mouth for a stolen second to taste himself—bitter, god that's bitter, salt and bleach and Cloud's tongue—and then turns them around, slams Cloud back against the door and goes to his own knees, less gracefully but no less happy to do it.

"What," Cloud says, raw-voiced—god, god, because Barret fucked him there—and Barret says, "You gotta help, baby, can't do this one-handed," and Cloud stares down at him before he fumbles at his waist—rucking up the wide back-belt, peeling open his uniform, and there's—sweet, standard issue Shinra grunt white boxer-briefs with his little dick standing up so hard in them, pushing forward the cotton desperate enough that there's a damp spot at the tip, pink skin shining through the wet. Even kneeling Barret's too tall for this, though—he fumblingly helps Cloud push the trousers and briefs down to his mid-thigh and then picks up one leg, hauls Cloud's knee over his left shoulder to lift him higher—one boot thudding against his back, the other scrambling to brace on the stone floor—and it's awkward, yeah, but at that moment the bed feels a mile away and anyway he can just—"Oh!" Cloud says, as brainless as he's ever been. Barret slurps down, down, to the base—easy—while since he's had the pleasure but it ain't the kind of thing you forget. "What—Barret—"

Barret pulls off, kisses the inches of bare white thigh by his cheek. "Gotta stay quiet, you don't want the whole village coming to see," he says, and when he glances up Cloud's covered his mouth with his gloved hand, staring wide-eyed like Barret's something he never expected to see. Barret'd laugh at how fussed he is—wet-eyed and pink-faced and fluffy-haired as a chick—but it's more fun to grip his tight little ass with his good hand and push him forward into Barret's mouth. Stiff pole of it, leaking all over the place, salt and clean skin and again that strange metal flavor, a tang, somehow all off and weird and addictive all at once. Good mouthful, his nuts a sweet smooth package pulled up so tight to the base he seems ready to shoot, with thirty seconds' worth of decent attention. Barret wants to do him better than that, though, to give back even half of all that good—"Suck," he says, tapping two fingers against the metal back of Cloud's glove. A blink, confusedly hazy. "C'mon, now. My mouth's busy."

Slurped right in, after that. He ducks back down and laps at the smooth sack—truly, he'll never be over how the kid seems to be entirely hairless from the nose down—and kisses Cloud's belly and the knobby little turn of his pelvis where he's too skinny and bites real careful just under his navel, makes Cloud's cock jerk like it's on a damn lead up against the underside of his chin. His fingers are getting what he'd bet would be the gold-star VIP treatment at the Honeybee, Cloud sucking as eagerly as he did dick, and goddamn, if Barret were younger they'd have a real issue on their hands. Even so his nuts are interested, wanting another try.

"Good," he mumbles against Cloud's belly. Another jerk—his dick's pearling clear, oozing. Barret pulls his fingers out of Cloud's mouth and gets a stuttery little gasp, and then a choked noise when he applies them to the red dripping head, smears all the wet around. "Cover your mouth," he says, and Cloud doesn't quite obey but slips his own fingers inside, biting, and that works, too—well enough that when Barret slips his hand around and presses against his asshole the only sound is a chest-deep grunt, not something that'll get shouted to the village and the whole jungle, besides.

Cloud ain't a princess and he's so desperate he don't need coaxing; Barret rubs the wet around, feels him tight, flexing, and doesn't ask before he pushes his middle finger in, quick and all-at-once to the knuckle. Cloud jerks and Barret slurps his dick back in, sucks in little pulses to match his finger fucking in, and Cloud's naked hand fumbles to Barret's shoulder, grips his vest so tight Barret hears a stitch pop. Insanely hot inside. Maybe hotter than other people—those mako treatments, again?—and the ring of muscle clamping hard—and easy, damn, so easy, Barret scrubbing his finger along that front wall where all the good stuff happens and Cloud's breath going strange and high and whiny around his fingers, his thigh flexing over Barret's shoulder and his hips not knowing whether to push back or crush forward. Barret makes it easy for him, encourages the thrust, letting him rock between Barret's hand and his mouth. It feels nice, anyway, right, his lips tight, letting Cloud rock against Barret's tongue pushed flat and hard up against the base, his taste leaking all over 'til Barret's sure he'll only taste that salt-and-metal for days after. He can feel Cloud quickening, though, his tiny noises going deeper, his hips getting desperate, and he crushes his finger in hard and pulls Cloud all the way up against his face, his beard grinding against that smooth sweating skin, his nose crushed in against his belly, sucking, demanding, and—yeah, Cloud's breath stops and his whole body seizes and his bootheel bruises Barret's back and he—shoots, right up into the back of Barret's throat, quick jets that Barret swallows down right away before he pulls back, slurps soft at the head, gets those last few drops. Slippery as mercury.

Cloud's head is tipped back against the door. Fingers still in his mouth, his chest heaving. Barret kisses his cockhead, all flushed and wetly red, and his belly, and then, watching carefully, he tugs his finger out of Cloud's body and then presses back in with two. Thick—he knows, his two fingers are thicker than a lot of men's dicks—but Cloud swallows them up without a whine or a flinch, his body clamping tight but just—taking it. He missed his calling, Barret thinks, and then feels bad for thinking it but—not that bad, really.

"You're so good, baby," he says, meaning it about as sincerely as he's meant anything, and Cloud's eyes open up above and his head drops down, his chin against his chest, meeting Barret's eyes. Not protesting at all. Tilting his hips when Barret grinds his two fingers thick into that spot, his pupils huge and his lips open and everything about him seeming to say—go ahead. Go ahead, make me.

If only. Barret kisses Cloud's belly again, right at the root of his softening dick, and pulls out his fingers and then stands up, bracing against the door to do it. His knees crack, gun-shot loud. Cloud blinks at him, looking up of a sudden with Barret so close, and then gets one of those tiny, goofy smiles.

"Don't you say a thing," Barret says.

"Hm," Cloud says. He looks to the side, where one of the high windows is pouring in that syrupy late afternoon light. "Maybe we can get you a potion, later."

"Man, what'd I say," Barret says, and Cloud grins and then turns back and goes on his toes and kisses him, quick. Just this brief unselfconscious peck, not asking for another thing. He drops back to his heels and he's not smiling anymore but his eyes are soft, and Barret chucks him under the chin, gentle. Dumbass, crazy kid.

He zips up. Cloud gets his uniform back together. In less than a minute, other than how Barret's mouth tastes like cock and metal, looking around the bedroom, no one'd suspect a thing.

Cloud pulls his discarded glove back on, clicks his bracer back together. Twists his wrist back and forth to check the fit. Says, looking down, "You good?"

Barret takes a deep breath. He feels—he doesn't know. It's still this shitty day but it's not worse. His bones feel looser in their sockets and his brain feels somewhat clear and he doesn't—regret at least one thing that happened today. "I'm good," he says. Not exactly true but maybe there's not anything truer.

A steady look, sidelong across Cloud's shoulder. "Good," he says. A little soft. The tip of his tongue touches his lower lip and he swipes one gloved thumb across his mouth, like he's trying not to think about it. If he keeps doing that it's gonna be hell on Barret's composure. But then he settles his shoulders, and picks up that big-ass sword and lets it clank heavily into its place. Looks more like the badass merc he's meant to be. "I'm going to check on the others. If nothing's going on maybe we can rest here, tonight, go on to the reactor in the morning."

"Sounds good to me," Barret says. He opens the door—no one waiting in awkward silence in the rest of the house, thank the planet—and follows Cloud to the entry. Watches Cloud reach for the knob and then grabs his arm. "You—" Cloud lets himself be held still, looking over his shoulder. Barret clears his throat. "You meant it, huh. 'Bout having my back."

Cloud looks at him entirely clear-eyed. No weird tenseness or like he's thinking of ten other things or brooding on whatever dark-ass secrets he keeps locked tight. Just this kid—man, Barret amends—standing there with him. For a minute, steady as a mountain. He nods, once.

Barret swallows. "Hope you know it goes both ways."

A slow breath. "I'm counting on it," Cloud says. Means it, too.

Barret nods back, something settling low at the base of his spine. Something steel-forged, solid. He ain't got a lot of best friends left. He'll do what he can, for this one.

[navstuffs]

The Deal

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x GN!Reader

Summary: “I will do anything to save Arthur Morgan’s life. Even your soul? Even my soul. Anything.” / A Weird West story where you would do anything to save Arthur Morgan’s life, no matter the consequences.

Warning Tags: Weird West trope (wild west + horror/fantasy/science fiction), +14, angst

Author's Notes: hi and welcome to my first fic for my halloween event! i have had this prepared since august and am so excited to be sharing it finally! really nervous excited to be using the weird west trope. there is also this artwork i saw after i finished writing and it screamed THE DEAL. enjoy your reading!!!

my halloween's masterlist

"Be careful what you wish for, you may receive it." (The Monkey's Paw - W.W. Jacobs)

When Mr. Strauss asked you to help Arthur, you promptly said yes. Arthur always had so much on his plate, taking care of everyone and everything, so you would take any weight from his shoulder if you could. Arthur didn't like that at first, you alone going to collect debts, but you had proved yourself over and over again. You understood him, though; this life as outlaws wasn't easy, and any of you could lose your life every time you went out. It was nice to have someone caring for you after all those years, to have Arthur be protective over you since you two started going out.

So, of course, when Mr. Strauss asked for help collecting a few debts in a morning while Arthur was away, you promptly accepted. He explained it should be easy, nothing someone with your type of experience couldn't handle. A window called Jane Huxley, a frail banker named Joseph Willis, and lastly, an old man called Bernard Miller. None of them would present much of a fight if the situation arose, despite Mr. Strauss's warnings for you to be careful. Their debts were small but still needed for the camp. You had a vague suspicion Mr. Strauss didn’t want to endanger you, primarily due to Arthur’s anger.

It is late when you arrive at Bernard Miller's house, late enough for the moon to be up in the sky. You should have been there way earlier, but Mrs. Huxley had an outraged brother you had to defend yourself from, and who would have thought a frail banker could run that fast? You dismount your horse, your eyes scanning the situation ahead: a single cabin in the deep woods. Nothing is out of the ordinary, so you hope your last one will be easy.

It is a warm and humid night, and you can feel sweat on your neck. There were no houses along the way to Bernard Miller's cabin. You don't remember when you heard a single noise. It has been a while since you were deep in the woods like this. Your horse seems agitated, and you pet him, promising tons of sugar cubes after this. 

The cabin in front of you is old and probably only has one room. As you walk closer, you notice candles lit from the windows so the old man could still be awake. You wonder how he lives in such an eerie place and all alone. There is no presence of a stable or any livestock. Maybe he has friends that visit him? As per Mr. Strauss's statement, Mr. Miller could barely stand. It is none of your business at the end of the day; your job is to get the money back and get the hell out of there.

You enter the house without announcing yourself, not surprised by how rustic it looks inside. It looks uninhabitable, with a couple of holes in the ceiling. There is a bed, a table, a nightstand, an old cupboard, and a chair. Sitting in the chair, probably the oldest human being you have ever seen. Older than Hosea and Uncle together, with wrinkles all over his body. When you enter, Mr. Miller eats soup under the candles and barely lifts his eyes to look at you. A big, white, messy beard, long white hair, and dark eyes are the only things you notice. 

“Mr. Miller, I have come to collect the money you borrowed from Mr. Strauss.” 

Mr. Miller stops mid-air with his spoon and looks straight at you. Immediately, every single strand of your hair raises from your arms. As a gunslinger, your survival instincts had to be high if you wanted to live to tell a story the next day. You learned very early to read dangerous situations and escape them as quickly as possible. Or fight, which was always your last option. That’s how people survived. But never freeze. The situation you are in right now gave you none of those options. You couldn’t run. You couldn’t fight. You are stuck in Bernard Miller’s enigmatic stare, unable to move. You bite your lips enough to almost draw blood, a resource you learned at a young age to wake up, but you still can’t move. As if the world is frozen all around you.

Bernard Miller gives you a small smile, and the world starts spinning again. Your heart beats to remind your lungs need air. You give one deep breath, and Mr. Miller returns his attention to his soup.

“I won’t ask again. Where is the money you got from Mr. Strauss?” You are surprised your voice isn’t shaking, but your legs are. Your hand is over your revolver to give you a certain sense of safety. 

Mr. Miller continues eating, and you start roaming around his house. Your first instinct is to look into the old cupboard that the old man uses as a kitchen: nothing except for a few cans of old food. You don’t even think of taking those, walking towards the nightstand. When you pass Mr. Miller, you catch the soup he eats is grey with pieces that look like fish. He doesn’t flinch or complain when you roam through his bed, finally stopping by his nightstand. You find the exact amount of dollars you need in very clean notes when you open the drawer. Your hand stops mid-air as you approach to get the money. Why are those notes so clean compared to the rest of the house? You aren’t one to believe in curses; you believe a single bullet could end a man’s life, and that was it. No ghosts or devils existed in a world where humans could be so bad. The spoon hits the plate, waking you from your entrance. With one final decision, you get the money, relieved you are finally done with this place.

When you walk towards the door, a shallow voice mutters.

“He's goin' to die, you know?”

You stop in your tracks.

“What did you say?” You answer back, your voice is so low you would be surprised the old man heard it.

“The one you love. He's goin' to die.”

The hand grabs your pistol again as you turn in your heels to stare at Bernard Miller. He is standing, his eyes straight towards you. 

“We're all goin' to die. We're humans.” You don’t even know why you are still there: you got precisely what you needed. But something, an invisible magnetic force, kept you there. One that you can’t fight or run.

Because Bernard better not be speaking about Arthur. The old man's yellow smile just gets bigger, as if listening to your thoughts.

“He's goin' to get very sick, and you won't be able to do anything about it, except watch powerless as life slowly drains from him. There is nothin' you'll be able to do unless one thing: you'll come to find me.”

“Old man, I don’t know what in the hell you speak of, but if you don't shut—”

“You'll come to find me.” Bernard finishes, decisive. 

“Go to hell.” You whisper before leaving through the door.

It is good to feel the night air in your lungs. It makes you focus properly: you want to look back to the rustic cabin as you dash to your horse, but you don’t. Something says you wouldn’t like what you see. You ride away from Bernard Miller’s home, swearing yourself to never come back.

Your horse seems to share your fears, and you arrive at the camp in record time. The words of Miller stuck in your head as a chant.

“You'll come to find me.” 

“The one you love is goin' to die.” 

It had to be a way for him to scare you not to take his money. It had to. Javier is on watch and waves when he sees you passing.

When you arrive at camp and give your horse those promised pets and tons of sugar cubes, you calm yourself a little. You are back in your safe place, surrounded by the voices of the people around you. Maybe you need a drink. Or two. Slowly, the sense of normality floods your body. Sean, with Karen on his lap and Uncle singing together drunk around the campfire, makes you smile. You stop by the camp’s box, placing the money there, and a hand on your shoulder makes you jump. It is Mr. Strauss, with a satisfied expression.

“How was everything?"

"All good. Got everyone. Mr. Miller tried to scare me a little at the end, but I also got his money."

"Who?"

"The old guy? Bernard Miller? Creepy and ancient?"

Mr. Strauss looks at his record book, a slightly confused expression. You move your weight from one leg to another as Mr. Strauss flips through his book. When he is done, Mr. Strauss raises his eyes, simply stating.

“Well, at least it is done.”

He leaves without saying another word as you stand, uncomfortable. Why, for a second, it seemed Mr. Strauss didn't even remember Bernard Miller? You turn your face toward Sean’s group and notice Arthur sitting there, observing you. You smile, forgetting about Bernard Miller for a moment. His beard and hair are a little longer than the last time you saw him, almost two weeks ago. You want nothing else to run toward his embrace, but you and Arthur try to keep your relationship more private. Arthur looks tired, and you nod slightly toward your shared tent. Should you tell Arthur? He certainly is like you: he doesn’t believe much in those supernatural things. 

It doesn’t take long for him to join you in the tent. As Arthur walks in, and you are shielded from the exterior eyes, his arms are on you. You two hold each other in the darkness, not speaking. After your eyes adjust, Arthur holds your face to give one good look at you.

“Missed ya.”

You don’t answer, holding him tightly with your arms. You are never letting go of him. He is going to die, you know? A shiver passes your body, and you hide your face into Arthur’s body. That doesn’t go unnoticed by him. Arthur separates gently, rubbing your arms.

“Heard you went to get some money back for Strauss. Did anythin' happen?”

“No.” You don’t want to tell Arthur precisely what happened. He might find you silly. As a gunslinger, you had to believe in real people, real danger, not some made-up ghost or whatever lived in that cabin. And he would be right.

“You sure?” Damn you, Arthur Morgan, who knows you so well that can even sense when you are lying. You nod, giving him a half smile.

“Yes.”

Arthur doesn’t seem entirely satisfied, but he doesn’t push it to which you are thankful. He tells you he doesn’t like when Strauss sends you on debt-collecting missions alone because some people could turn violent. You don’t discuss, simply letting that warm feeling spread in your heart. You liked it when Arthur got protective over you. You warn him you can take care of yourself, and Arthur nods, apprehensive.

“I know. I know you can.” Arthur mutters. He doesn’t have to complete the sentence. I can’t lose you is hanging in the air.

You are both dirty and exhausted, and his beard scratches against your skin when you deeply kiss him. Arthur kisses you a little longer than a typical good night kiss, but when you break away, he offers no resistance. 

“I love you. You aren’t losing me, okay? And I am not losing you.” You tell him as a promise to anyone who might be listening. 

He's going to die, you know?

You don’t know where you are going. Your horse is riding without a destination, just racing across the fields of green. Arthur just told he is dying. And instead of staying as his supportive partner, you flew. You had enough. Arthur didn’t attempt to make you stay; he watched miserably as you mounted your horse, leaving the camp. A place you should have left a long time ago with Arthur. Away from Dutch’s insanity, from death. Run away and never look back. Run away from all death and despair.

But Arthur is loyal, and you are loyal to him.

The tears flood into your eyes, and you are sobbing, loud. Your horse runs faster, fuelled by your pain. You need to get away from everyone right now. You are furious but mostly more irate with yourself. You still remember Arthur’s expression as he watched you leave: upset but resigned. He doesn’t even expect you to come back. It would be better for you anyway. 

Your surroundings change as your horse rides away. As if the wind across your face can take all your pain and anger. 

When you finally stop your horse, you repeatedly apologize to him, laying your head against his head. Your horse shakes his head, and you dismount, still apologizing with your fingers shaking.

It gives you a few moments to recognize where you are: right in front of Bernard Miller’s house. It is still old, still standing. As if you just left from collecting that debt long ago. When Arthur wasn’t sick. When everyone was alive and well. When things were still okay.

You'll come to find me.

You should jump in your horse and get away from there. But you don’t.

When he is sick, you'll come and find me.

The voice that has been tormenting you speaks in your head. You forget about your horse and anything around you and slowly walk toward the house.

What would you do for him? 

How much are you willing to give for Arthur Morgan’s life?

“Anythin'.” You answer to nothing.

The door opens, and a young man walks out of the cabin. You stop mid-track, your eyes locked with the dark eyes in front of you. It is Bernard Miller. Except he isn’t old anymore. He is still wearing the same old dirty clothes he wore when you first came to collect the money, but he is young. Handsome. Black hair, the same slight smile on his face that bewitched you. Bernard doesn’t seem surprised to see you. No. He smiles as if he had been expecting you this whole time, and how dare you to be so late? He doesn’t speak as you start sobbing quietly.

“He's sick. As you said.” You mumble, pathetic. It couldn’t be Bernard, the only last sane part of your mind tells you: it could be anybody else, his grandson, a stranger, anyone else?? You had to hold onto that last sane thought.

“And what do you require from me?” The way Bernard spoke now. His voice was as if an icy knife cutting against your skin. You inevitably chill, wincing away. You hold yourself together for Arthur.

“You can cure him, can’t you? You shouldn't, it shouldn't be possible, but you can. I know you can.” You murmur, not knowing where that knowledge has come from. Bernard looks satisfied and utterly different from when you saw him, but you simply accept it. He shouldn't look like that, there was no possible explanation for this man to be Bernard Miller. But you accept it anyway; you will take whatever is coming to save Arthur’s life. And something told you this man, whatever he was, could help.

Because you had to be going insane, right?

“I can. There is a price to pay.” Bernard states, and you instantly nod.

He starts closing the distance between you, and your knees give in. In a sign of respect or adoration, you don't know, it doesn't seem to matter anymore. Bernard doesn’t seem surprised as your knees drop onto the floor with your head down. You don’t care; you say it out loud, and he knows it. Bernard opens a big, twisted smile, and you find comfort where you once found fear. 

I will do anything to save Arthur Morgan’s life.

Even your soul?

Even my soul. Anything. 

As Bernard touches your cheek, you close your eyes. The sensation of comfort just gets more significant in your chest as you disconnect from your body. The last part of you that screams you shouldn’t have done this is shut off. You know now, as inevitable as the sun will rise tomorrow, that Arthur Morgan isn’t dying of that damn disease. 

You smile back.

You wake up hours later, extremely confused. You look around, and the cabin of Bernard is still there, but it looks much older than before. As if no one has lived there for years and years. You get up, hungry and thirsty. It must have been some sort of crazy nightmare, you think.

You ride back to the camp, trying to remember the events from last night. Arthur told you he was sick, and you left angry and furious instead of facing or even comforting him. By the time you arrive at the camp, he has left again. No one is looking at you differently, which you find weirdly comforting. 

A few days pass until you see Arthur again, and he looks…better? His face isn’t as pale anymore, and he has some blush on his cheek. As if life is coming back to him. 

“How are you feeling?” You wonder as he stops by your side.

“Fine? I almost haven't coughed the way here.”

You nod, happy. Maybe Arthur was getting better. What did those doctors know anyway? There is no one strong as your Arthur Morgan, and he would live many and many years.

The gang is over. After killing Micah, Arthur finds you where you two had agreed to meet. A start of a new life, as he said. Away from crime, away from that horrible life. Just you and him, a few horses, some livestock. A simple lifestyle. Arthur didn’t need much, you didn't need much. You had each other. You had forgotten entirely about Bernard Miller, happy to share a life you always wanted with the man you deeply loved.

But a deal is a deal. And when time is up, time is up: you have to pay the price.

You watch as Arthur leaves to get eggs from the chicken. He gives you a kiss and leaves whistling. He looks so relaxed and happy. It warms your heart to be the one to share that with him. After years of hard work, he deserves it. You both do.

When he doesn’t return after awhile, you look for him. It is a hot day, and Arthur might need a cup of water and a few kisses. You find him fallen behind the stable, his horse close to him. Unconscious. You run towards him, the cup of water forgotten on the floor, and roll him over. He doesn’t seem to be breathing. You remember a new technique to compress the chest that you read in a book that Arthur brought you from the library a couple of weeks ago, and you start compressing his chest and blowing air on his mouth.

“Come on, Arthur, come on.”

Hours pass, and Arthur doesn’t move an inch. You drop to his side, exhausted, looking everywhere for someone. Anything to save him. You close your eyes, praying for anything to save him.

When you open your eyes, you are in front of young Bernard Miller again. Your clothes are different, and you are younger again. You are on your knees in front of Bernard Miller, just as in the day you discovered Arthur was going to die and, and...

No, it isn't possible.

You blink, confused, as Bernard Miller smiles as if he has seen this scene multiple times and still loves it every time he witnesses it.

“Even your soul?” Bernard asks, his eyes glowing in the darkness. Whatever is left of you is gone by now, but you can’t wait to live with Arthur again. And again. No matter the price, no matter the outcome, no matter the ending.

Anything for Arthur Morgan’s life. To live by his side all over again.

“Even my soul. Anything."

taglist: @agqrtz, @daydreamrot, @roseglazedlens, @scar-crossedlvrs. if you would like to be tagged into my halloween event, let me know!!

[moonjxsung]

OK LET ME USE MY BRAIN

your last full fic was minho so can't be him, you said changbin is an option for the next one so

IS IT JISUNG?WW?W.W? BITCH I WILL DIE IF IT IS

-🐟

WINNER WINNER…. CHICKEN DINNER……

It is indeed my first ever Han Jisung fic…

My 10th full-length fic “Reckless Convictions” is scheduled to be published tomorrow (and will mark my first writing comeback of 2024!)

Thank you all for playing the guessing game (and the waiting game!) that was so much fun 😭 stay tuned !

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

L’histoire secrète de la mer - Masterlist

Hi! Welcome to the Fili POV of my Kili fic 'To the Shadows that Cry Witch'! This is one of my bigger fic projects, so I hope you love it just as much as I do! It's a bit long winded, so I'll try to make it worth the read! Enjoy!

Summary: Magic was real, but it came at a price. So when two girls from Earth ended up in the one place they never thought they could reach, strange things began to happen. Good or bad? That's up to them to find out.

So uhhhhh.. magic’s real. Middle earth’s real. Shit goes down. Bon appetite.

Tags: Fíli x oc/reader - Kíli x oc (POV can be found HERE) - Thorin's company x ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - SUPER slow burn - crack

Warnings: Violence, swearing, graphic descriptions of injuries, character death (anything else I will add)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Soon available on Wattpad and AO3

Go back to Tolkien Masterlist

L’histoire secrète de la mer

Chapters will now be posted monthly between 5-10pm (UK time)!!

Purple text - release dates

Green text - Posted

Extras:

Behind the scenes notes (may or may not post)

Headcanons - Fíli x oc (to be written)

Headcanons - Kíli x oc (to be written)

Playlist - Part 1 (coming soon!)

L’histoire secrète de la mer - Soundtrack Playlist (coming soon!)

The Hobbit - Before it all began

Part 1 - The Journey to Middle Earth:

Prologue

Chapter I - The Ocean has its silent caves,

Chapter II - Deep, quiet, and alone;

Chapter III - Though there be fury on the waves,

Chapter IV - Beneath them there is none.

Chapter V - The awful spirits of the deep

Chapter VI - Hold their communion there;

Chapter VII - And there are those for whome we weep,

Chapter VIII - The young, the bright, the fair.

Chapter IX - Calmly the wearied seamen rest

Chapter X - Beneath their own blue sea.

Part 2 - Settling into the Shire:

Chapter XI - The ocean solitudes are blest,

Chapter XII - For there is purity.

Chapter XIII - The earth has guilt, the earth has care,

Chapter XIV - Unquiet are its graves;

Chapter XV - But peaceful sleep is ever there,

Chapter XVI - Beneath the dark blue waves.

Chapter XVII - N.H

Chapter XVIII - Oh, ocean child

Chapter XIX - Listen to me,

Chapter XX - Wherever the waves carry you,

The Hobbit - An Unexpected Journey

Part 3 -

Chapter XXI - They know your beating heart is blue.

Chapter XXII - You are their home, give them one too;

Chapter XXIII - Embrace them, their wilderness is part of you.

Chapter XXIV - W.W

(To be continued...)

Enjoy! <3

[nyxcaelum]

have not been able to write a lot yet, i was drawing stuff until half past 4 in the morning and im about to pass out. My little fic will be delayed w.w

[sofia-not-sophie]

✏️ Do you write every day?

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

🏅 What is something you recently felt proud of in regard to your writing (finished a fic, actually planned for once, etc)?

Nope! I try for once a week ish but I should be going for more (not counting school assignments which are fiction writing half the time)

From my novel: “Because no matter how hard she tried it was always going to tie back to W.W. Wear a wig in public so that your hair color isn’t tied to Flamelet because we still don’t know how being heroes would look for our stock prices. Get a nose job so the public doesn’t have to see the scars on your broken nose even though you’re grieving your parents. Work for this company you inherited against your will even though you’re 19 and should be in that trade school you wanted to go to or even the college your parents wanted you to attend. Stay out of the public eye if you’re not working for us and are going to insist on being queer. Live alone in an apartment for two and a half years because you never had friends and no one wants to help you. Submit yourself to unethical experimental genetic testing because that’s what your parents would do.”

And I did Nanowrimo!!! All 50k words

[postsofbabel]

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[pricetagofficial]

I posted 553 times in 2022

86 posts created (16%)

467 posts reblogged (84%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@shinox

@internalsealpanic

@fkn-into-it

@clamityganon

@miraculous-heartssarts

I tagged 199 of my posts in 2022

#pricetagofficial asks - 33 posts

#costly affairs - 24 posts

#demon slayer - 22 posts

#fic rec - 19 posts

#kimetsu no yaiba - 18 posts

#dc comics - 18 posts

#tengen uzui - 16 posts

#kny - 13 posts

#roy harper - 11 posts

#uzui tengen - 10 posts

Longest Tag: 81 characters

#if this isnt the most dick grayson thing to ever dick grayson i dont know what is

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Approval Part Two -W.W.

Warnings: Language, bits of angst, bits of fluff, Dick is no longer a dick.

Masterlist  Part One

Word Count: 3.2K

Check out my pinned post if you want to be on my taglist!

A/N: HAHAHAHA YOU THOUGHT I WOULD LEAVE YOU ALL HANGING LIKE THAT?! I can not stand when things don't get a proper ending so I had to make one before I even posted part one. This has been sitting in my drafts for a week now, just waiting until the right moment when you all thought that this was never going to happen. 

Well guess what?

It did.

In the weeks that passed, you didn’t see Wally. Choosing to return to Gotham for a while, you moved back into the Manor to see the other people you considered family. Like usual, Jason came and went every so often mainly just to say hi to you and the other gremlins walking around now.

Bruce not only adopted you, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, and Damian, but now he took in another kid; Duke. Duke was the newest official addition to the Wayne family, with Steph and Barbara almost sisters to you. It had been almost two years since you last actively resided in Wayne Manor, with Duke moving in somewhere in the middle there. Even then, Duke could tell something was up between you and Dick. If Duke could tell, everyone else was painfully aware.

Growing up, you and Dick were attached at the hip. Bruce had gray hairs from all the times he tried to separate the two of you, and now you refused to be in the same room as him. You weren’t sure if he knew you broke up with Wally, not having checked in with either of them to find out.

Knowing you and Dick the second and third-longest, Jason and Tim took it upon themselves with the gentle prodding by Duke, Damian, Cass, and Steph. And by gentle prodding, it was more of an intervention they staged and threatened bodily harm if neither of them managed to fix what was going on with you and Dick.

Having drawn the shortest straw, Jason stood outside your door. Apparently, neither he nor Tim wanted to be the one to confront you about what was going on. Sure Dick had the scarier temper, but you were more likely to throw a fucking chair at their head when provoked.

Maybe it was better Jason drew the short straw; if you threw a chair he would be the one to survive it compared to Tim and his lanky complexion.

Raising his hand to knock, Jason rapped his knuckles against the door twice before waiting on a response. Moments passed and Jason knocked again, this time hearing your voice waft through the crack under the door.

“Go away Tim or I’ll chuck a fucking chair at your head.”

“If the Joker couldn’t kill me, I don’t think a chair would,” he called.

There was silence before you spoke again. “What do you want?”

“Is it so wrong for a guy to want to talk to his big sister?”

“Fine, get your ass in here before I change my mind.”

Jason let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea. Poking his head in through the door, he watched for any flying objects to come his way before fully entering your room.

From what he could see, you haven’t left it in days. There was a stack of dishes off to the side for when Alfred came and took them to the kitchen. Your bed was unkempt, the curtains closed with clothes and items strewn across it.

“Y/N?” he asked, looking around for you.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move in the shadows and noticed you were curled up in the corner on the floor. Dropping his defensive act, Jason let out a sigh before walking over towards you.

Taking a seat next to you, Jason leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. “So,” he started. “You going to tell me what happened between you and Dickhead or am I going to force it out of you?”

Shrugging, you just curled into the warmth of his body and stayed silent.

“We all know something happened, you won’t even look at him. I’m supposed to be the moody one and right now the two of you are taking my vibe. I need it back.”

That got a reaction out of you. Snorting a laugh, you wiped your eyes. “Oldest daughter rights, I get to take your shit.”

Jason huffed and pulled you close. “Come on, talk to me. I can’t go kick his ass for you if I don’t know what happened.”

Licking your lips, you fiddled with your hands. “How much did you know about me–me and Wally?” you had to force his name out of you without sniffing.

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158 notes - Posted April 27, 2022

#4

Haze of Envy -O.Q. [18+]

Warnings: language, NSFW Smut, jealousy, dirty talk, Bruce is the victim here. 

Pairing: Oliver Queen x Reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 4.9K

Check out my pinned post if you want to be on my taglist!

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR! I hope you all have a wonderful 2022! This is my first fic of the year! Big thanks to Elle, Fish and Batty for helping me with this one!

You watched Oliver from across the ballroom, the two of you were invited to a prestigious gala hosted by another elite member of Star City’s population and of course Oliver had to keep up appearances. Couldn’t risk someone tying him to Green Arrow after all.

He was deep in conversation with an old friend of his from school. Sporting a black suit, he had the jacket undone while his hand rested in his pocket with a glass of some sparkly liquid in the other.

There were other people you knew who attended, this was a high profile charity gala after all. You saw Bruce Wayne was lingering near the bar with his cousin Kate at his side who was deep in conversation with a reporter you almost didn’t recognize.

If you didn’t see the change in Bruce's stance, you would have written it off as some nosy reporter but you knew better. Some, both Lois and Clark had managed to get invites to come and do coverage on the event.

Maybe it was from your experience after dating Oliver for so long, but it was a big coincidence that three Justice League members, an associate of the Batman and Lex Luthor, were all in one room. Oliver promised you however, that this was strictly all pleasure and no business.

Bold words from the guy who treated you like you were porcelain every second you were together. Maybe it was the fear that he would lose you, or hurt you in some way; but you trusted Oliver with your life and just wished he would be a little rougher with you at times. Especially in the bedroom.

That’s what brought you to where you were now, dressed in one of the most revealing gowns you owned while leaning casually against the wall.

Oliver almost had a heart attack seeing the jade green dress; the slit that went up to your hip, the open back along with the plunging neckline. If you weren’t pressed for time, he probably would have tried to get you to change.

A glass of red wine was in your hand, taking a sip from it as Oliver caught your eye from across the room. One look from you had him excusing himself from the conversation as he walked across the floor to stand in front of you.

“You know, you could have joined me instead of hiding away.” he hummed, taking the glass from your hand before sipping it himself.

Looking down at you, he could see the liquid stained your lips a slight tint of red and had a view down the front of your dress. Swallowing hard, Oliver set the glass on a passing tray before sliding a hand around your waist.

“I didn’t want to interrupt, you looked like you were having fun.” Your arms slid up to wrap around his neck, playing with the loose blond strands.

“I’d rather spend my time with you beautiful,” he smiled, kissing your cheek. “How about a dance?”

“I like that idea,” you took his hand as he led you to the dance floor. Oliver wrapped his arm around your waist, before taking your hand in his. Using the hold he had on your waist, he pulled you into his chest and smiled before waltzing you across the floor.

This seemed like a perfect opportunity to rile him up, the close proximity was enough to make your thoughts muddled as the scent of his cologne invaded your senses. Your eyes locked with Oliver’s as his grip on your waist tightened, maybe he could feel the growing tension too.

A simple step had your thigh brushing against the front of his dress pants, pressing into his crotch ever so slightly.

Oliver’s breath stuttered as he leaned towards your ear. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

Batting your eyes, you gave Oliver an innocent look as if he was crazy to ask you that question. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Not believing you for a second, Oliver spun you slowly before pulling your hips against his. “You sure about that?”

Biting your lip, you tilted your head up to meet his while your hand rubbed his chest through the fabric of his shirt. “Positive,”

Oliver held you close as you continued to dance your bodies moving in sync, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. Keeping you trapped in his gaze, Oliver slowly dipped you before placing a soft kiss to the skin of your throat. Oliver pulled you back up, your breaths minging as you panted for air.

It had been a long time since you danced like that, and with other people around. Glancing around, you saw a lot of people were watching you both with intense stares. Maybe your dance gartered more stares than you anticipated.

“How about we take a seat and get some food?” Clearing his throat, Oliver kept an arm wrapped around your waist as he led you to a nearby table.

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199 notes - Posted January 1, 2022

#3

Approval -W.W.

Warnings: Language, angst, Dick is a real asshole here folks

Pairing: Wally West x Batsis! Reader

Masterlist Part Two

Word Count: 3K

Check out my pinned post if you want to be on my taglist!

A/N: Look who’s back! About two months later and I am here to collect tears and revel in everyone’s pain. You all have Fish to thank for this by the way. 

You and Dick stared each other down. Having grown up together, you knew all his tells and ticks and you could tell he was pissed. You couldn’t be raised by the World’s Greatest Detective with nothing to show for it. 

Dick’s fingers tapped the table as his eyes refused to leave yours. Any other person would think that Dick was fine with his laid-back posture, direct gaze, and his signature smirk on his face. But you knew better. His steely gaze held you trapped in the chair you sat on, and you could see he was biting his tongue because his jaw was so tense. 

“Are you gonna sit there and stare or actually say a word or two?” 

Dick’s façade broke for a second before he huffed a laugh and leaned back in the chair. 

“What do you want me to say?” his eyes flit to the door that had someone waiting behind it, Dick just didn’t know who. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Maybe a ‘Gee sis! I’m glad you found someone that makes you happy!’ or a “Holy Boyfriend Batman!’ or a sign that you are the least bit happy for me?” 

Dick sighed, of course, he was happy for you. All he wanted was for you to find someone who loved you for who you are and treasure you like you should be. It’s just, he knew no one was ever going to be good enough not for you and not by his standards. 

He’s watched you get your heart broken more times than he could count, hoping to shield you away from the pain of loving someone only for them to not love you back. His biggest worry was that you would fall completely in love, only for the person to decide they didn’t love you anymore. 

“I’m happy.” 

You pursed your lips. “Yeah, I can feel the excitement just roll off you.” Looking out the window to your apartment, you sighed. “Do you at least want to know who I’m dating? Maybe that will put your mind at ease?” 

“Sure, bring him in.” 

“I’m not gonna bother asking how you knew he was behind the door.” 

Dick laughed for the first time since you told him you have a boyfriend. “Maybe because we were raised by the same guy, and observe a lot more than the average human should?” 

You rolled your eyes and stopped by the door. “Just promise me you won’t freak out?” 

Waving his hand with a huff, Dick looked around. “Who said that I would ever–” 

Dick’s words were cut short by the sight of the guy who walked through the door. Immediately his playful attitude changed and the air got tense again. Didn’t he just fucking say the day before his sister was off-limits?

“What the fuck is this?” 

“Now Dick–” 

“Oh don’t you ‘Now Dick,” me.” he snapped. “What the fuck Wally!? My sister!?”

Wally shrunk back slightly from the volume of Dick’s voice. “I know. I know you said your sister was off-limits, but–” 

“I swear to God if you say you two were already dating I’ll–” 

“You’ll what Dick?” you frowned. “Murder your best friend? Yeah, because that’s a smart idea. Kill one of the only people who can stand to be around you.” 

Dick’s face got hot, clenching his fists, he stared you down. “We need to talk. Now.” 

See the full post

205 notes - Posted April 20, 2022

#2

Introductions -D.G.

Warnings: language, bit of violence, bit of angst, Dick is a total idiot and you all will find out why

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 1K

Check out my pinned post is you want to be on my taglist!

A/N: Happy late birthday to me! You all can thank the lovely Fish for this and I hope you enjoy!

Dick scouted around the window, he could see the drug lords huddling around something. Hopefully, it was what he came here to retrieve. Narrowing his eyes, Dick tapped the side of his mask to enhance the built-in microphone. 

“You’d think she would learn to shut up.”

“You had to grab one with a mouth on her, didn’t you?” 

“How about the two of you shut up, ignore her and do your damn jobs.” a third voice said. “If she really is dating that dumb Wayne boy, then the ransom will get paid soon.” 

There was a murmur before the voices quieted down, and the thugs parted to reveal your disheveled form, with a piece of–was that hot pink duct tape on your mouth?

Your eyes narrowed at your captors, all you wanted to do was just have a relaxing Saturday evening with Dick when you were nabbed outside the front door to your apartment. You weren’t sure why they wanted a ransom from Dick or Bruce, both being from the Wayne family, but whatever it was you were caught in the middle of it. 

Glancing down, your feet weren’t tied down to the chair you sat in. Maybe if you were sneaky enough, you could try and scoot yourself towards the window. No doubt Dick was out there looking for you, if he wasn’t already. 

Before you could get anywhere, the door into the room opened and another thug walked in the room. “Boss said not to touch the girl until Nightwing gets here,”

“That’d be pretty stupid of a vigilante to show up when we’re waiting for a ransom payment,” 

“Well, we are in his territory. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to rescue the girl.” 

“The boss said to stop him, so don’t let him in.” 

“Kind of late for that one boys,”

Everyone in the room turned to look towards the window where you saw Nightwing standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Shit!” 

“How’d he get in!” 

Nightwing shook his head and pulled out his escrima sticks, “Maybe next time make sure your hostage’s phone is off, and don’t leave them in sight of the window.” 

“Get him!” 

All the thugs in the room dashed for Nightwing, you were pushed out of the way and you fell back on the chair left with your feet dangling in the air. Some vigilante he was. 

Wiggling around, you heard the sounds of fists and metal hitting human skin followed by the grunts of the men who had kidnapped you. Serves them right, Dick was probably worried sick about you. 

Managing to roll on your side, you shuffled around to try and get your hands free. After a while, the fighting died down and a pair of gloved hands came sat you back upright. 

“You alright, Miss?” 

Looking at your savior, you gave him a glare.

Nightwing carefully pulled the tape off your mouth, wincing at the hissing sound you made. 

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234 notes - Posted August 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Pound for Pound -D.G. [18+]

Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of blood, NSFW smut, Dick is unfairly hot here

Pairing: Boxer!Dick Grayson x Reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.8K

Check out my pinned post if you want to be on my taglist!

A/N: Here is a boxer au for our boy Dickie, because those Robin Variant covers made me go feral, especially Dick’s. You can ask my moots, I went nuts. But big thanks to Elle, Fish and Batty for proofing this and the banner! Love you guys!

You watched from the sidelines as Dick sat in his corner, swishing water to rinse the blood out of his mouth. Spitting it into an empty cup, he wiped his lip with his gloves blowing his sweaty bangs out of his face. His bare torso was covered in sweat and bruises were starting to form, caused by the other guy’s fist.

“Come on, Dick!” You cried, cupping your hands over your mouth.

The arena was so loud, you weren’t sure he even heard you but Dick knew you were in the crowd supporting him the whole way. You were his lucky charm, having you in his corner always drove him to win. It gave him the drive no coach or bribe could ever give him, maybe it was that you were always there to take care of him after.

The ref gave the two-minute warning, telling Dick and his opponent that they were beginning the next round.

All Dick had to do was knock the other guy out, without getting knocked out himself.

Dick’s coach rubbed his shoulders, keeping him loose to keep going. He could hear your screams and cheers, but couldn’t spare a look at you. It would break his concentration, and then he would lose for sure.

“This guy is nothing but a wannabe big shot.” Slade said, “You hit him in the right spot and he’s out like a light,”

Dick nodded in agreement, he’d been assessing his opponent all night to try and find a weakness. This guy was huge, almost a whole foot taller than Dick rightfully earning the title “Blockbuster”.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall right?

Well, this guy was about to fall and he was not going to get back up.

“The faster you knock him out, the faster you can get back to your girl.”

That put a smirk on Dick’s face, knowing full well what happened after every match no matter the outcome. You were always there to greet him with open arms, and legs. Dick rolled his neck, stretching out as Slade put the mouthguard back between his teeth.

“Knock him dead, kid.”

Dick got to his feet, shaking out his arms before getting into a defensive stance. A couple well-placed shots to the jaw and this Blockbuster would be down for the count.

He watched as his opponent got to his feet, beating his gloves together while staring Dick down with a menacing glare.

The bell rang, and Blockbuster swung his fist aiming for Dick’s already tender jaw. Blocking the hit, Dick ducked out of the way and hit his opponent in the side with a satisfying crunch ringing around the arena. That was a couple of broken ribs, making his opponent vulnerable.

Blockbuster grunted in pain, rounding his fist to catch Dick’s collar before swinging the other to connect with his face. Dick stumbled back, shaking his head. His vision was starting to blur, it seemed this guy was a lot quicker than he anticipated but Dick was faster.

Ducking the next hit, Dick wailed on his opponent’s stomach knocking the wind out of him before giving a final punch with each fist to the face sending Blockbuster to the ground.

The referee got on the ground and began counting, the crowd cheering on Dick while others cheered for Blockbuster to get up and finish him off. Wiping the blood from his nose, Dick stared down the motionless body on the ground as the referee hit the ground and got up.

Grabbing Dick’s arm, he lifted it into the air.

“Winner! Ladies and gentlemen, our reigning champ: The Flying Grayson!”

You jumped out of your seat, waving your hands in the air as Dick’s eyes finally landed on you. A smile played on his lips as his coach led him out of the ring and you ducked out of the crowd to meet up with them.

Walking around to the locker room that you were definitely allowed in, you stepped through to find Dick drinking a bottle of water as a first-aid team attended to his cuts and bruises. Picking up the pace, you raced over and stood beside Slade.

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370 notes - Posted January 14, 2022

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[cloudycera]

Those little fucked up Billy moments.

The one time Shazam embraces the Wisdom of Solomon.

Batman: So you knew a calamity was headed our way this entire time and you just kept it a secret.

Flash: That's a little fucked up not gonna lie.

G.L: Just a lil.

Wonder woman: Pre Tell what was your reason for not telling us earlier.

Billy: Hmmm you never really asked also I didn't know when it would come or if it was for us.

Batman: What do you mean?

Billy: You know when I share the power of the Wizard with others, I try to pick and chose what they get or at least dumb it down. Wisdom is something I try extra hard to get rid of, too much of it can break the regular mind.

W.W: Why then did the Wizard gave one such power.

Billy: Cause he's a cruel bitter old man of course.

Flash:...

Billy: But I understand his motive, I understand a lot of things actually it's quite the challenge to ignore it sometimes. Being good is not enough to destroy evil, you have to know evil like the back of your hand.

Hal: Not sure where you're going with this honestly.

Billy: Simple, I didn't tell you because you all tend to over react.

Superman: The world is about to end I Don't think that's really overreacting.

Billy: The world won't end, if it was that easy The world would have been screwed a long time ago besides I'll deal with it in a minute.

W.W: Then what's the hold up people are dying.

Billy: So?

Everyone:...........

Flash: What is wrong with you?

Batman: Flash-

Flash: No what is actually your issue today.

Billy: Hahahaha Let me repeat, to destroy evil you must know evil like the back of your hand. Look at who the Wizard has picked to be his Champions, "Pure of heart" Hahahahaaha. That old man really pisses me off.

On God kinda feeling this might write a Fic.

[woodworkzz]

『ℍ𝕖𝕪, 𝕪𝕠𝕦.』

What'cha doing here? Just taking a look around?

That's OK. Just read this first.

Hi, I'm Saw (like the movie), also known as Woodworkzz or simply WW. And this is a simple little guide to navigating my blog.

All my personal tags start with "W.W." This should make it easier to search for my things! (if something doesn't show up, it's because I haven't edited the tags yet. Sorry.)

Tag list below!

『W.W. asks』 -> this one's for my asks! Btw you should send me some. Just so you know.

『W.W. & mutuals』 -> tag for when I'm interacting with one or more of my closest guys here.

『W.W. rambling』 -> have you ever wanted to read me yapping? If yes, this is the tag to go.

『W.W. fics』 -> fanfic tag! Hey, have you ever heard of padlock- 💥

『W.W. art』 -> oh yeah I draw sometimes too. Only occasionally. Like once a year tbh.

(More tags to be added. I think.)

[zmediaoutlet]

hello, hello -- happy w.w. to all who celebrate -- and as part of that delightful day, I wanted to get a sense of interest in a similar project that might have a slightly wider scope. You'll see the details in the linked google form.

Fandom's not *dead*, it's just... tired. And busy. And overstimulated-while-simultaneously-not-taking-anything-in. And sometimes people feel like they can't send a message or leave a comment or whatever because a) they just didn't have time when they saw it, or b) because they thought the post was too 'old' and it might feel weird, or c) who knows! Tons of reasons. But, in general, it's the interaction and communication that makes fandom feel alive, so -- we want to encourage that! Wouldn't that be fun? A little 'hey, I see you!' across the various dashboards.

It'd be super helpful if you'd take the little survey. (It's seriously little: two questions plus an optional short answer.) Share it widely! Tell your friends! Tell your enemies! And then, at some point, a later project (with an actual title) may come your way.

[catxsnow]

BACK TO YOU W.W.

Request: Could I be so bold to request a Wally fic? Where he comes back after his "death" (lets be real we all know he is not dead) and Y/N reacts to it? Could it be fluff, angst, a little of both, that's up to you.

P.s. I love you 😊😊

Warning: angst, mentions of death (wallace), fluff

A/N: hello, good evening, I’m tired as fuck. 

I’ve been thinking about a taglist lately so if there’s interest I’ll start one. I always suffer when I make it for some reason but if the people are interested I will suffer for y’all. 

Word count: 2.3k 

Wally coming back from the dead seemed surreal.

The hope you had for his return never diminished, even if those around you gave up long ago. Wally wasn't dead, he was never dead - he was just stuck in a place that no one could save him. Not Barry, not Bart, Not even Jay. Wally was the only one that could save himself and he had done it.

Broken, battered, and barely breathing he had made it out of the Speed Force. He had made it back to you. It put everyone into shock to see him collapsed in the middle of the team's headquarters. His suit was barely hanging to his body, eyes sunken in with exhaustion. He barely looked alive.

It took weeks to get him nourished back to health. Weeks of him being in a coma, wondering how the hell he managed to get back home. Sleeping at his bedside every night because you were scared this wasn't real or that he would be taken from you again. Long nights of crying because even if he was back, was he even going to wake up?

By the time that he was back up on his feet and running around again, every single league member had come to see him. Those who gave up on him, those who never lost hope, even those who never knew him.

Wally West was back.

Unfortunately, it seemed that a lot of him was still missing. His smile that once never left his face hadn't resurfaced once. The laugh that you remembered so clearly that got you through so many hard days vanished. The light in his eyes when he was running or saving lives was dull. He wasn't the same man you knew.

He teetered around you like a stranger even though every night he told you how grand his love for you was. You noticed him bumping into furniture that had moved from his time away or looking at pictures of people he didn't know with tears in his eyes. He stood by the window, watching for nearly an hour, just staring into the void every other day.

Wally wasn't all back from the Speed Force. He had lost a part of himself in there that he could never get back. Dick tried to fill in the gap of time that he missed, catching him up on everything that he missed but the moment that he came back to you he seemed more zoned out than ever. M'gann excitedly told him about her engagement with Conner, Kaldur with his new position in the league.

Everyone tried to make him feel right back at home, but no matter how hard they tried it would never be the same. Wally lost that time, and he was never going to get it back. He could never make it up to his friends for missing so many important moments in their lives or the grief that he put them through.

No matter how fast he ran, how many hours he stayed up wondering if things would have been different that day, none of that would change the fact that he had been missing for five years. Guilt plagued him, fear of being stuck back in there, he was in a constant state of terror because it was so damn easy for him to be lost the first time.

Nightmares woke him up every night. Sometimes he would lay there staring at the ceiling for hours without you knowing, other times his screams would echo in your room and wake you. Tears streaming down his face, clinging to you like his lifeline. Horrible dreams filled his mind of being pulled back there - or seeing his friends taken instead.

Those moments were the only time that it seemed Wally was willing to open up to you. It was the only time that he treated you like a lover rather than a stranger. Only when he was most vulnerable did it feel like he was truly back home, safe and sound with you. Whatever was holding him back from being open to you, it broke your heart.

Wally was always the one that you could go to when you had your issues and now that you couldn't do the same for him... it was hard to accept. You didn't want to push him into relieving his memories where he was stuck or asking the wrong questions to get him upset. Saying nothing at all didn't seem to be working either.

Dick noticed it, Barry, Artemis, even Garfield was worried. No one knew what was going on inside that head of his and he refused to go to Dinah - or anyone - for help. Everyone was worried.

You told them of the times that you woke up to him vibrating the entire bed, still asleep and a pained look on his face. Or the time that he would be perfectly fine before suddenly speeding around the house like he had no control over his body. Wally had become unstable with his speed - and maybe his health too.

"Love you, baby," Wally mumbled out.

He had gotten back from his hangout with Dick to find you sprawled out on the couch. Whatever they had done must have put him in a good mood. The moment that he saw you, he sped over and practically dived into you. His arms kept him hovering over you so he could lean down and kiss you properly - something that he always seemed to avoid since being back.

He found himself cuddled into your chest, arms snaked around you. For the first time since his return, you saw a genuine smile on his face. It was a sleepy, half-smile, but nonetheless, you were excited to see it. His eyes drooped closed the second you started massaging his scalp. He hummed with content as you eased the tension that had been piling up.

Half asleep, shoulders loose after weeks of being tensed at every moment. His heavy breathing was audible and you could feel the warmth of it against your skin. It had been years since you had seen him relaxed like this and it quickly brought tears to your eyes. Wally had been through so much, he deserved happiness, he deserved to have peace in his life.

"I love you Wally, always," you whispered. Silent tears spilled down your eyes - you wanted him to find his joy again, no matter the cost. "I never gave up on you, my love. I knew you'd find your way back home. Fuck-" your voice cracked, "I was so lost without you. Having you back in my arms like this was the only thing keeping me going.

"You mean everything to me, Wally. I know that you did what you did to save the world but..." you sighed. It was impossible to say that you wished that he hadn't done it - or that someone else should have taken his place. "I'm so relieved that you're safe now. I know you've been going through a hard time, and I've been trying my best not to push you - but if you need anything you know I'm here."

You waited for him to say something - anything. Wally was struggling to open up to you but seeing him in a good mood like this may have been the best opportunity to get him to say what was on his mind. Unfortunately, his silence made you worried.

It wasn't until the sounds of a soft snore did you realize that he had fallen asleep on you. His body had become completely dead weight, arms no longer tense around you. The security he felt being with you had lulled him to deep sleep in a matter of minutes. Although you weren't in a comfortable position, seeing him at peace was well worth it.

><

"He's getting better."

It had been months since Wally had been home. The process of getting him back to his mental state before entering the Speed Force for years was going to take a long time - but he was well on his way. Being with friends, family - finally admitting that he needed to see someone to talk through all this - dramatically helped.

The original team decided to put together a little surprise birthday for Wally. He said he didn't want anything - but they had several year's worth of get-togethers to make up for. So, you and Dick plotted together to throw something, just with his closest friends. Nothing overwhelming.

Although he originally complained about the gesture, he quickly found himself appreciating the effort that had been put into that evening. The food, the people, he forgot how much these moments meant to him. Seeing the smiles on everyone's faces again, that was the best gift he could have asked for.

He stood on the other side of the room with Conner and Dick - all three of the men were laughing their heads off about something. Artemis stood by your side, watching the three of them just as you were. She handed over one of the drinks in her hand to you. Everyone in the room had been deep in conversation with someone - besides you. She noticed.

"He is," you agreed with her.

"Why're you by yourself?" She got straight to the point. Artemis didn't bother with the small talk or sugarcoating her question. She waited for your answer, watching as your gaze turned from Wally, to the now interesting cement beneath your feet. "(Y/N)."

"Everyone's helped Wally so much and I can't help but feel like... Like I haven't done enough. Wally was always the person that I could lean on and now that I'm the one that has to be strong for him, it just feels like there's more that I could have done to help him. I never had the same bond that you all had with him being on the team and risking your lives, I don't know what it's like enough to help him through this trauma.

"Wally deserves the world and a lot of the time I feel like I can't give it to him. I'm not a hero, I don't have powers, I'm just... normal. Maybe that's not enough for someone who can save the world before I even finish breakfast," Your fists tightened at your sides as the heavy realization that had been clouding your mind was revealed.

It was clear that you were the odd man out in the room. Everyone there had risked their lives to saved the world and what had you done? Wait anxiously at home for your friends to return? Grieve at the losses that you couldn't have changed? There was nothing that you could do in the hero-life besides sitting on the sidelines.

"You do a lot more than you make yourself believe, (Y/N)," Artemis placed her hand on your shoulder. She glanced over at your boyfriend, wondering how different it would have been if they ended up together instead. Wally would have been unhappy, he loved you from the beginning.

"Wally can't stop talking about the support you give him. He wouldn't be where he is today without you. Men are stubborn - especially speedster men - they won't always admit how much they need someone. He gets this look on his face when he's talking about you like you're the whole reason for his existence. Don't put yourself down for not being stuck in a hero life we are - your love for him is the only power he needs."

"Thank you, Artemis," you forced a smile at her.  Although you didn't believe her words at the moment she was right. Your love for Wally was the most important thing that you could ever give him, and that was going to have to be enough for now. Every ounce of your love went to making him happy.

Before she could say anything else, a familiar breeze washed over you both. Wally was suddenly standing right in front of you - and as if Artemis wasn't even there, brought you in for a deep kiss. His lips molded to yours, hand pressed to the small of your back to keep you close.

"I love you, (Y/N)," Wally barely pulled his lips from you. Conner had heard everything that you were saying to Artemis, and although he felt as if it wasn't his place to tell, Wally needed to know. A need to be with you, to assure you that you had done more than enough to get him to where he was, filled him.

"Across every galaxy, every universe, the Speed Force, no matter where I will always find my way back to you. I'll love you through everything," Wally pecked you once more. "Thank you for never giving up on me, babe."

"I'll never give up on you, Wally West. Not even the Speed Force can keep us apart," you grinned.

"Get a room already," Artemis complained. You had forgotten that she was still standing with you. It wasn't just her - the entire room was staring at the both of you. Smiles on their face at how happy Wally was with you. His little move had caught the attention of everyone and he just adored it.

Wally laughed at her comment. He swooped you up in his arms and sent a wink your way. He was already gearing up to speed you both out of there before saying his last bit to Artemis - and everyone else in the room.

"Don't have to tell me twice."

[kitsutaes]

pluto protector

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff, coming of age-ish, bffs2lovers!, astrophysicist!reader, & artist!taehyung

word count: 2.6k

rating: pg-13 i guess

warnings: none

a/n: this is inspired by rex orange county’s song pluto projector, a song i love so so much. also this fic is split up into small parts & it focuses more on tae’s and reader’s small but important moments together !! i hope you like it even though it isn’t too heavily edited. p.s. thank you teresa / @sketchguk for looking this over !! you da best !!

summary: you and taehyung have been in the same galaxy, orbiting one another for as long as you could remember. but as time passes, gravity pulls you in closer and closer, ready for the two of you to collide.

Kim Taehyung was your protector. Just at the age of nine, Kim Taehyung held your hand as the two of you ran around the playground, feet hitting the wood chips that spewed around. His disheveled chocolate brown hair bounced around as he ran, eyes bright as he turned around to look at you. He had a goofy smile plastered on his face, exuberant as any nine year old at the park with his best friend should be.

“___! Let’s go on the swirly slide!” Taehyung yells, pointing at the bright red slide ahead. The playground near your neighborhood was huge since it was already part of an already massive park. While the park had its own variety of plants and wildlife, the playground consisted of slides, swings, monkey bars, and corkscrew climbers that allowed you to climb up and slide down like you were going down a fireman’s pole; only round and round instead of sliding straight down.

“Okay, but only if we go on the monkey bars next Tae!” You respond, swinging your arm that held his hand. Your eyes matched his, bright and bubbly. Taehyung nodded as the two of you climbed the blue steps that led to the big red swirly slide.

“You first or me?” Taehyung asks, letting go of you hand to grasp the yellow metal bars on the sides of the red slide. You roll your eyes, seeing his mischievous grin, basically telling you he was he was ready to go first.

“You.”

Sticking out your tongue at him, Taehyung takes off, gravity pulling him down until his sneakers hit the ground. He turns around, motioning for you to slide down.

“C’mon ___!” Taehyung calls from below. His arms are crossed as he waits for you to come down. You nod, your own hands gripping the metal bars Taehyung previously held onto as you’re seated on the bright red plastic. Letting go, you slide down, feeling parts of your hair stick up to the underside of the slide.

Taehyung’s eyes widen as he knows what’s coming next. You’re up and off of the slide, ready to chase him and zap him with your finger charged with static.

“___! Come and get me!” Taehyung giggles running off to the opposite side of the playground to avoid getting shocked. You’re right behind him, but you trip on your own foot, falling onto the wood chips.

Instead of a smile, you’ve got a pout on your face. Eyes turning red, brimming with tears, ready to cry. Taehyung’s looking back at you with a worried expression, heels turning around as he’s running back towards you.

“Tae!” You cry as his arms are helping you up, feet standing upright once again. His hands are gripping onto yours, leading you back to where your parents were.

“It’s okay ___, I’ve got you.”

At the age of twelve, Kim Taehyung was still your protector. Although you ended up with different teachers and classes, the two of you didn’t drift apart like most friends did as they entered middle school. Most kids ended up finding new friends, groups, cliques–forgetting and leaving the friendships they made when they were just a few years younger. But, you and Taehyung weren’t like most kids. The two of you stayed together in gravity’s grasp, never leaving the solar system you shared.

Just like always, after school, Taehyung came over to do homework with you since you shared the same subjects. His green backpack would be plopped onto your carpeted floor right beside yours, colored pencils and papers almost spilling out of them.

“You had to read The Monkey’s Paw too?” You ask turning around in your seat, nose scrunching at the thought of the story Mrs. Tang read to your class today that gave you the chills. It was a story written by W.W. Jacobs that just had to be a part of your English class’s “Poetry and Short Stories” unit and you couldn’t wait for it to be over.

Taehyung was seated on your bed while you were seated at your desk. Taehyung looks up from his math homework, nodding at you. 

“Yeah, I kinda liked it.” He says, giving you a small shrug as you shudder.

“It was creepy!”

Taehyung laughs at your expression, your face showing that you were totally repulsed that he slightly enjoyed the supernatural short story that was required to be read in every 7th grade class.

“Just a little bit,” he responds as he looks down at his homework, “I bet you’re enjoying science right now though.”

Taehyung was 100% correct, you were loving science this week. This week’s unit was about space and that was something you held close to your heart. There was just something about the universe, galaxies, protostars, and planets that intrigued you to no limit. You wanted to be like Neil deGrasse Tyson and Carl Sagan, exploring the vast universe full of the unknown. Just last year it was announced that Pluto would no longer be considered a planet and just that, broke your heart to pieces; Taehyung was there to witness it. Your love for the little planet was undying, feeling as if it deserved much more appreciation just like Neptune and Jupiter. In your eyes, Pluto was something special.

“Yes, oh my gosh! We get to make a presentation of a planet of our choice, and I’m still picking Pluto. I don’t care what Mr. Peterson says.” You scoff, a determined look gracing your face as you turn back around in your seat.

In that very moment, in Taehyung’s eyes, you were something special.

Graduation had finally fallen upon you. After days of graduation practice, you were finally here; sitting in the risers, that was placed on the fifty-yard line of the football field, clothed in your graduation gown that possessed one of your school’s colors. The night had overtaken the sunny skies, leaving you and your fellow classmates and friends underneath the shining stars as well as the bright stadium lights your school used for all sorts of events.

Your parents were in the stands, most likely with Taehyung’s family, along with other parents and family members of graduating high school seniors with their phones and cameras taking pictures to capture this once in a lifetime moment.

You didn’t graduate a valedictorian or salutatorian, but at least you made it until the end. It may pain some to hear it but grades aren’t everything. Despite getting kids into higher level colleges, grades don’t and can’t define a person, you learned that the hard way. High school’s about learning about yourself and the people you surround yourself with. Are they real friends? Do they talk about you behind your back? To you, it’s about exploration, finding the people who fit you well and help you shine brighter like the stars, and hopefully avoiding space debris that just get in the way.

Taehyung’s seated a few rows above you with only a few people separating the two of you, meaning you’re still able to make faces at each other, winking and scrunching your noses while the ceremony proceeds.

He looks great, handsome even. Dark locks trimmed just for this special event, since his mom made him. His bright eyes are shining even brighter with the reflection of the stadium lights as you peer up to look at him. 

Seeing him like this, you realize how grown up he looks. Despite only being eighteen, the Kim Taehyung sitting a few seats away from you definitely does not look like the Kim Taehyung you met in 3rd grade. That Taehyung you met years ago is still somewhat the same as the Taehyung now, but just older, more mature–not mature, but more. It makes you realize how time flies, because it literally just seemed like yesterday where Taehyung first moved in a couple houses down from yours. Your neighborhood was full of elderly people, so when you found out a kid your age had just moved into town, you were ecstatic. Ecstatic to the point where you bugged your mother to take you to meet your new neighbors.

You smile to yourself as you look away, eyes reaching the stars that you were always fond of. 

This was a moment you hoped you would remember forever.

“I felt like gouging my eyes out.”

Taehyung’s eyes roll at your complaint. You just came out of your physics class with Mr. Garcia’s lecture picking at your brains during the entire hour and a half. You and Jungkook (the only person you knew in that class) walked out looking as if your souls had left your body; even though that was exactly what happened. The two of you part ways with a tired wave as he had another class to attend. 

Taehyung had been waiting for you since his class finished a few minutes before yours. He was nose deep into a book when you find him sitting on a bench just outside your building. His bright blue hair made him easy to spot anywhere. He made you dye his hair before the semester started, insisting on trying a brand new look.

Before the two of you graduated high school, you’d done college applications. You’d gotten into one of your dream colleges, opening the acceptance letter in front of Taehyung and your parents. Taehyung on the other hand, didn’t tell you what college he got into until after the graduation ceremony. It led to you punching his arm while exuding tears of happiness. Now, at the age of 21, you’re spending your time attending classes, studying for exams, while downing cups of coffee during breaks with your best friend.

“Seriously ___, your fault for wanting to be an astrophysics major.” Taehyung scoffs, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as the two of you head off to one of the coffee shops you and Taehyung frequent the most. Fortunately it was close, just a couple blocks away.

Smacking his arm away, you frown. “You say that every single time.”

“I’m just stating facts.” Taehyung shrugs, wrapping an arm around you again, and this time you don’t fight it.

Your own arm wraps around his waist, gripping onto a part of his coat. Taehyung, even though you didn’t want to admit it to anyone else but yourself, made you feel safe. Whenever he’d scoop you up into his arms for a hug, or just had his arm around you as you two walked down the street, it made you feel loved. Knowing that someone cares in this world full of fortunate and unfortunate events, is one of the greatest feelings in this world. 

“I wish I was still in astrology 101 or 102, learning about the stars, black holes, and the Milky Way,” You say, grinning cheekily at the man beside you. “—not the chocolate.”

“I literally wasn’t even going to say that.”

“Liar.” You snort, nudging his side with your elbow. The two of you have reached your destination, ready for caffeine that you’re desperate for. Taehyung’s arm has left your shoulder, a certain warmth departing with him, as he opens the door for you like the gentleman he’s always been.

“What do you want?” He asks as you both reach the cashier and glass display case showing an ever so wonderful variety of pastries to eat with an already amazing cup of coffee.

Peering through the glass you see some newly added goods, alongside the usual but you already have your order in mind.

“I’ll have a macchiato and some madeleines please,” You say to the woman manning the cashier with a soft smile, while taking out your wallet from the small pocket of your backpack. Taehyung’s hand stops you, handing his own credit card to the lady who grins cheekily at the two of you. She was around maybe thirty years old.

“Tae—”

“And I’ll have a hot chocolate please.” Taehyung’s lips are pursed, nodding his head as she repeats your order.

“You guys are a really cute couple by the way,” She smiles, handing Taehyung back his card along with the receipt while you’re left standing there staring at him with wide eyes as he thanks her for the compliment.

At the age of 24, you’d think you would have plenty of things figured out. You don’t.

But at this age, you’ve learned that things really aren’t constant in the world, and that everything’s prone to change. Although somehow, there’s one thing in your life that hasn’t really changed.

“Tae, where are we going?” You whine, head leaning on the car window. Taehyung had just picked you up from work, a long day of work, and all you wanted to do was go home.

You and Taehyung had been dating for awhile now, after he admitted his long time feelings for you when he took you to his studio and painted you your favorite planet in the Milky Way. His feelings for you were returned, having loved him ever since you were kids as well. Now, he spends most of his time at your apartment as if you two shared it; not like he didn’t do that before already. 

“___, you’ve asked me that 5 times already and I told you that it’s a secret.” He says, turning his head towards you for a moment before looking back on the road. You don’t see it, but he’s sporting a small smile on his face. Taehyung’s been waiting to show you this secret of his for quite some time.

Your head isn’t leaning on the window anymore as you recognize where you’re headed to. “Wait, we’re going to your studio?” The road to Taehyung’s art studio is one that isn’t too familiar but isn’t unknown as well.

After a few more minutes of driving and parallel parking (which actually doesn’t take Taehyung long to do it) you’re already standing in his studio, gazing at his works of art.

“Tae, these are incredible.”

While you’re gaping at his paintings, Taehyung’s laughing at your reaction to his creations. This is the first time in a long time you’ve visited his studio, and the first time in a long time that he’s shared his pieces with you. While you’re studying about outer space and the secrets of the universe, Taehyung’s in his studio painting his heart out whenever he wasn’t busy.

Whenever he was in the mood to paint, he’d enter this zone, totally blocking out anything and everything, letting his passion for the arts take over. Sometimes when he’d pick you up to have a cup of coffee or when he’d come over to have dinner at your apartment, he’d have paint marks all over his hands and occasionally his face. 

Like you with your science idols, Taehyung admired plenty of incredible artists who worked with various mediums like, Claude Monet, Keith Haring, and especially Vincent Van Gogh. Taehyung had this affinity for Van Gogh’s artworks that even he couldn’t fully explain why he loved them so much.

“Wait until you see this,” Taehyung says, reaching towards one of the canvases he had stacked and leaning on the side of his wall.

You’re so immersed into some of his other paintings you don’t realize he’s right beside you, ready to reveal one of his latest pieces. Taehyung loved to experiment with different mediums, always trying to find his niche. You noticed even though he painted a variety of things, he loved to paint scenery. You could feel yourself getting absorbed into his creations full of lush greens and calming sunsets, fluffy clouds, and sometimes quite the opposite.

“___,” Taehyung nudges you, poking your cheek to get your attention and it definitely works. You’re turning your head, eyes catching a painting of Pluto that looks exactly like the real deal, as if you’re seeing the planet with your own eyes.

“I love you ___. As much as you love this little planet and as many light years it would take to reach other universes out there.”

[morathicain]

After reading your WinTeam story, I really really stopped functioning, so beautiful, too many butterflies in my stomach! It was sooo good and perfect!!! The plot, the atmosphere, the voice, everything was exactly right, and I love this fic so much, every line! I wanted to scream at every line because each was so beautiful and emotional, and there were so many breath-stopping moments!! Win thinking he's useless is just 😭😭😭. Team being there just because he wants to is the best of the best and is right what Win needs, and it's  just... omg omg I can't! My favorite Team, really! And the ending, OMG the ending!! Just squee!!!

Just... thank you, thank you for writing this gem!!!

Aaaaaaaaaaah!! Thank you! W.W I am so overwhelmed by the response and so happy you enjoyed it and AH! Thank you thank you thank you for the love and for telling me! <333

[awake-dearheart]

XOXO, Deadpool [w.w.]

Summary: Deadpool wants to return the web shooters he stole borrowed after his last visit to Avenger’s Tower. The only problem is, he has no idea how to get in again.

Word Count: 2146 (how??)

Warnings: Minor language, a smol violence

A/N: Originally posted 9/14/19. I don’t know why I keep writing the dumb shit that I do, but here we are. This is my entry for @just-the-hiddles writing challenge. It’s technically a follow up to this fic but you don’t really NEED to read it for it to make sense. The fact that I now have a folder on my laptop labeled “Deadpool fics” because I’ve written more than one is both hilarious and disgusting I don’t know who I am anymore. This is just as dumb as the other one but I love it. Oh and Deadpool has voices in his head. Bold is on, italics is the other. You’ll figure them out. The prompt is also in bold. If you want to be added to my permanent taglist just sent an ask!

As I stared up at the looming shape of Avengers Tower, I started to realize this was a pretty stupid idea, and I’ve had my fair share of bad ideas. Sure this wasn’t as bad as nipples on the Batsuit, but it was still pretty bad. There was no way this could work.

Wade, we have to return the stolen web shooters. It’s the right thing to do.

Technically, we borrowed them. But he’s right. Plus, this will definitely get us major points with Peter.

That’s not the point.

Not for you, maybe.

“Well how in the hell are we supposed to get in?” I asked. It was then a thought occurred to me. “Isn’t this place like 80 stories tall?”

93 to be exact.

“And only like 12 people actually live here, right?”

Oh, I see where we’re going with this.

There was no way it was going to be that easy. Tony had surely updated security since my last visit. I couldn’t just walk in, could I? I checked my watch. 4:55PM. Quitting time. I waited to the side as a flood of people exited, and slipped inside. The lobby was close to empty but even the people who were left didn’t seem to notice me. Superheroes were a common occurrence here and I wasn’t given so much as a second glance.

“Nothing to see here,” I said as I walked further inside. “Just an everyday masked man duel wielding katanas in the most secure building in New York. Everyone just go about your day.” I walked up to the information desk and was greeted by a holographic receptionist.

“Hello, and welcome to Avenger’s Tower. How may I assist you?”

You’ve gotta be shitting me.

This does seem far too simple.

“Um, hi,” I answered. “I’m looking for um…Spider-Man’s room?”

“I’m sorry. That information is only accessible to authorized personnel,” the hologram answered.

“Oh uh…ok. Can you tell me who’s authorized?” I tried.

“Authorized personnel include members of the Avengers team and select S.H.I.E.L.D. agents cleared by Director Fury and Mr. Stark,” it trilled cheerfully.

“Ok. Um…thank you.” With a beep, the hologram disappeared.

Ok, minor setback but let’s regroup and come up with Plan B. What if we try the vents again?

Mr. Stark has undoubtedly taken precautions to ensure that can’t happen.

There’s an elevator?

It seems to require a key card to operate.

Well you’re the smart one you come up with something!

“Guys, shut up! I’m trying to think here.”

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” came a voice from behind me. I turned around and came face to face with-

“Bob! You son of a bitch! What are you doing here?” The former H.Y.D.R.A. agent and I threw our arms around each other. “Last time I saw you, you were working for that shitheel Francis.” Bob laughed.

“Yeah, after being used as a human Scrabble piece I decided it was time for a change,” he answered. “I’m a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent now.”

“You don’t say,” I said.

There it is.

“Say Bob. How’s about a tour of the tower? I’m dying to see what the place looks like. Maybe pick up an application for the Avengers or the Starbucks I’m assuming are on every other floor.” Bob looked around nervously and scratched his neck.

“I dunno, Wade. We’re really not supposed to bring anyone past the lobby without clearance.”

“Come on, Bob,” I pleaded. “For old time’s sake? Remember Reno?” Bob chuckled lowly, and conceded. He nodded toward the elevator and pulled a key card out of his pocket.

“I actively try NOT to remember Reno,” he laughed. We entered the elevator and he swiped his card, hitting the button for the 20th floor. “I can show you a couple things, but most stuff’s restricted. I’m not risking my job for you, Wilson.”

“You mean you don’t take every genetically altered mutant off the street for a super-secret tour of the Avenger’s house?” I joked. “I’m touched.”

“You never change, do you Wade?” Bob asked.

“Not if I can help it. Hey, what’s that floor?” I pushed the button marked 6.

“Sleeping quarters,” Bob said.

“For who?”

“Captain America.”

“Oooooo, what about this one?” I pushed 32.

“Med bay,” Bob sighed.

“This one?” 51.

“Banner’s lab. Nobody gets in there but him and Stark.”

“This one?” 63.

“Weapon storage.”

���This one?” 12.

“Spider-Man.”

Aaaaaaaand boom goes the dynamite. Alexa, increase security protocols on the 12th floor.

I’m fairly certain the artificial intelligence system is named F.R.I.D.A.Y. Also, you don’t have an audible voice.

The elevator dinged at the 6th floor and Bob sighed, hitting the door close button. Once they were shut, I grabbed him by the collar and head-butted him right into sleepy town.

Fuck, that hurt! We need to stop doing that.

It’s not great for the brain, but you can’t argue the effectiveness.

“Sorry Bob,” I said, swiping the key card from his pocket. “Nothing personal. Say hey to Gail for me.”

The doors opened to a dimly lit and quiet floor. I leaned forward, listening, but it seemed empty.

“See this is what I was talking about! There’s like nobody that lives here. Why did I even crawl in the walls I could literally live on this floor and nobody would know? It’s like the X-Men mansion times a thousand.” The hallways were empty, as were most of the rooms I found. I was about to give up and toss the web shooters on the floor and call it a day, when I found an open door. I crept inside and knew this was definitely Peter’s room. Star Wars posters lined the walls and a half built computer had parts spilled across the desk. The biggest clue was the Spider-Man costume on the bed.

Do you think it would fit us?

How on Earth would it? He’s a teenager.

A BUFF teenager!

I walked over to where his suit was and set the stolen web shooters on top of it with a note.

Spidey, Sorry I stole your stuff. You’re perfect. Don’t ever change. XOXO, Deadpool

I understand the need to return Mr. Parker’s stolen tech, but is the love note necessary?

It’s not a love note, it’s an apology letter.

Signed with hugs and kisses?

Zip it!

“Seriously, shut up!” I headed back to the elevator, swiping Bob’s stolen keycard on the pad to get the hell out of here. “You did a good thing today, Wade. Let’s go get you some chimichangas.” My finger hovered over the lobby button, but I hesitated. Something Bob said was echoing in my head. 63rd floor: weapons storage.

Don’t do it, Wade.

DO IT, WADE!

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to side with Screwball on this one,” I said, pressing 63.

About 20 minutes later, I was sneaking back to the elevator again, this time carrying a massive weapon and praying nobody could see me. Before I could make it, I heard a voice coming from around the corner.

“All I’m saying is I’ve seen it online! There are whole bags you can buy that are just the marshmallows and none of the cereal bits.” I knew that voice. It was Peter.

“I swear to God I’m turning off the internet,” came the reply. Definitely Tony. I crept closer.

“Come on, Mr. Stark. You’re like the richest guy in the world and everyone knows the marshmallows are the best part of Lucky Charms!” Peter begged.

He’s so pure.

Indeed.

Aww, we agreed on something!

I peeked around the corner and saw Peter and Tony standing in a kitchen. Steve was a few feet away, seated and chuckling behind a newspaper. It was so domestic and cute.

Someone should write a fanfic about this. Wait a minute….

Tony sighed deeply and rubbed his face.

“Kid, you’re not a kid anymore,” he said. “You’re 18 now and you can’t live off of Lucky Charms and Taco Bell. Eat some fruit.” Peter groaned and rolled his head back.

“Come oooooon Mr.-“ He stopped and his eyes locked on me.

Shit.

“Deadpool?” Steve’s head snapped up and Tony whipped around. The three of them stared at me until I had no choice but to move into the room.

“Oh hey there Iron Fam,” I greeted them, hiding my prize behind me. “Long time, no see. How’s things? How’s the franchise? Still pulling in big bucks?” Steve was stoic, as any good captain should be, but Tony was nearly frantic.

“How in the ever loving shit do you keep getting in here?” he shouted.

“Perfectly phrased writing challenge prompts and severe boredom,” I shrugged. Peter clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

“I honestly never have any idea what you’re talking about,” Tony said.

“Welcome to my world,” Steve replied.

“I kinda like him,” Peter piped up.

“Now would be a great time for you to shut up,” Tony warned.

“Weeeeeeeell,” I said, feigning a stretch. “I’d love to stay and catch up but it’s about time for me to be hitting the old dusty trail.” I turned and started for the door but Tony wasn’t having it.

“Oh, hell no. F.R.I.D.A.Y., shut it down,” he commanded. The AI shuttered all the windows and slammed all the doors, including the one in my face.

“Ow,” I moaned.

“Ok, Dipshit,” Tony growled. “I’m going to give you one chance here and I swear if I don’t like your answer, I’m throwing you out the window sans web shooters. What are you doing?”

“Um…nothing?”

“Is that a bazooka?” Peter suddenly shouted.

SHIT!

“I think technically this is an RPG,” I said, “But now that I’m thinking about it I really don’t know what the difference between the two is.”

“Well,” Peter started, “With an RPG the payload is in the front whereas-“

“PETE!” Tony screamed.

“Don’t yell at him he’s doing his best!” I yelled. Tony looked around the room for any kind of support he could find.

“Has everyone here lost their damn minds?” he cried. Steve placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder and the billionaire retreated to the seat the super soldier had vacated.

“Wade,” the captain said. “I’m glad you came back.”

“You are?”

He is?

He is?

“I am,” he said simply.

“Wait,” I said, realizing something. “How do you know my name?” Tony scoffed.

“You think you can break into my house without me finding out everything there is to know about you?” he yelled.

“Take it easy, Tony,” Steve warned. He turned back to me. “I looked into you after our last encounter. You’ve got an impressive resume. Special Ops, decorated soldier. You’re the kind of guy who might make a good addition to the team.” Tony’s face went so red I was sure he was second away from smoke coming out of his ears.

“He might make a WHAT?!”

“If,” Steve continued. “You make a few changes.”

If it’s any kind of sex thing, say yes.

Agreed.

Aww, we agreed on two things today. That’s a record!

“What kind of changes?” I asked.

“Well, for starters, no more stealing our things,” Steve chided. I looked down at the bazooka in my hands and then back up.

“Go on.”

“You can’t kill anyone. I’ve seen your jacket and that has to end. No negotiation.” His face was stern.

“Anything else?” I questioned.

“Yeah. Quit being pervy with the kid,” Tony chimed in.

“I’m not a kid! I’m an adult. You said so yourself,” Peter yelled. He looked back at me with wide and hopeful eyes. Like a princess in a Disney movie. “I think you’d really like being an Avenger Mr. Wilson. We help a lot of people and you’d get to live in the tower which is pretty awesome. Come on.” The hope in his voice was so sweet I got diabetes. I looked between the three men in front of me and weighed my options.

“Nah,” I finally answered. None of them spoke for a moment.

“Wanna run that by me again?” Tony demanded.

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I already have a team. I worked really hard to put it together and Disney has already said they’re interested in a third standalone movie for me after a team up,” I explained. “I can’t pass that up. You understand.” Steve opened his mouth to reply, then closed it in confusion. Peter looked at the ground and played with his hands. Tony’s face was blank which might have been scarier than when he was yelling.

“God, I need a drink,” he finally said. “Just…go home, Wade.”

“Sure thing, boss,” I said. The doors opened and I was on my way out when Tony called out his addendum.

“WITHOUT the bazooka.”

We were so close.

Were we?

Sighing, I set the bazooka down.

“Cockblock,” I mumbled and made my way to the elevator.

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