#And made him stick his arm in the garbage disposal

[pnuk-r0ck]

Herman Pynchots death in Firestarter will 4ever fascinate me. 2 hell with the movies

[literaila]

untrustworthy 

tasm!peter x reader 

summary: 

"are you mad at me?"

"did you get me bologna sandwiches?"

warnings: angst, alludes to depression, lost of interest, pushing people away, this is a pining fic because they’re not actually together, angst, fluff at the end, peter sucks but he’s also great? 

a/n: i haven’t written anything in weeks and this is so terrible but take it or leave it. i am. 

*

if you've learned anything in the past year, it's that you couldn't trust peter parker. 

you couldn't trust him to finish his portion of your shared slideshow for your physics class. and you shouldn't have trusted him to tell you if he couldn't get it done before the due date--sparing you both from the wide-eyed, slightly over-amused gazes of classmates who thought peter's "the end" slide was purely a comedic stroke, and not just laziness, or a miserable attempt to pretend he hadn't cost you thirty percent of your grade. 

and even after, you couldn't trust him not to give you a look--his signature look--sending you plummeting towards forgiveness before he'd even gotten the chance to apologize. 

you couldn't trust peter parker to pick up a mutual friend's birthday cake or get himself home safely without cracking his glasses, or not to eat all of the cookies that may made for you on his way to your apartment. you wouldn't trust him to wash your dishes or sleep on your couch without burning the entire building down. 

it was a dangerous thing, you'd realized, about three months after you'd met him, to try and count on him. 

peter parker would borrow a pen from you, flicking his hair your way and smiling that charming smile, and then proceed to give it back to you at your thirty-year reunion. or never. 

you'd learned not to expect him to show up for anything on time, ask him to pick anything up for you, or let him do laundry in your apartment. 

peter parker was anything but dependable. and if you could give the past version of yourself any advice, it would be not to trust him. 

not to let that foolish hope exist before it was crumbled between strong hands like a grocery receipt, never to be seen again. 

you wouldn't let that faded, reliable version of peter exist. 

you couldn't trust peter parker to do anything or make any promise he would actually keep. 

you couldn't even trust him to stay away from you when you wanted space the most; like now. 

because as soon as you heard that knock on your door, a bitter part of you was scowling at the intrusion, cursing your friend for bothering to exist or always showing up when you didn't want him to. 

and you knew that just like every other thing peter did, he wouldn't take no for an answer. even if you didn't answer the door. even if you threw your phone down into the garbage disposal. 

you were pretty sure peter could pick a lock. and also slightly suspicious that he'd had a copy of your key made behind your back. 

so when peter walks into your living room, hair dripping from the rain, arms full of grocery bags, you aren't surprised. 

you barely even blink at him before returning your attention to your tv, where a couple was viciously debating the cost of crown molding. 

his presence is its own curse because you can feel every movement he makes, just like always. 

"hey," peter says, smiling evilly. he ignores your ignoring. doesn't even mind the fact that you haven't looked at him. "i brought you some stuff." 

he kicks his shoes off--into your living room, of course, mud sticking to your carpet--and heads to the kitchen. 

"just some basics," he continues, not bothering to listen to any reply, verbal or not. "bread, eggs, milk. i got you some disgusting orange jello and a couple of those pre-made sandwiches they make at the deli. they're a bit... flat, but they should be okay still." 

you turn the volume up. 

peter doesn't mind. "there's also some protein bars in there--chocolate--just in case you want something quick," he walks back into the room, holding a glass bottle. "and i saw this banana-flavored soda when i was walking out, for us to try and throw up together." 

he shakes the bottle around, smile on his idiotic face, not even bothering to think about the harsh reality of carbonation. 

"open that over the sink," you mumble to him, still not meeting his eyes. 

you curse your weak willpower for ruining your silent game. and peter, for knowing that he would win eventually. 

peter tilts his head, tsking at you. "not even a thank you for your very thoughtful, handsome--" he plops down next to you, moving your legs so that he can tickle your feet. "and genius best friend?" 

"thanks, peter." 

instead of looking over at the man who was definitely trying to get you to yell at him, you choose to watch the ceiling on the tv crumble over brand-new hardwood. 

you frown. 

peter runs his hand up your calf, goosebumps riding his wake. "are you mad at me?" 

"did you get me bologna sandwiches?" 

"no, turkey." 

"then no." 

peter removes his hand. "what's wrong with the bologna?" 

"they put rat poison in it." 

peter pokes your thigh. "and you've been letting me eat it? you know i love those sandwiches."

you turn even further on your side, wall going up between the two of you, forcing his hand off, mumbling, "wanted to test a theory." 

"what theory?" 

finally, your eyes meet his--stupid brown, caring, auburn, and hateful eyes. "if rat poison would kill you or not." 

peter scoffs.  

you let your lip quirk up, irritated at his perfect mouth and thoughtful grocery list, and warm hands climbing up your stomach, and then look away. back to the house infested with termites. if there's anything to hate, it's adoration. the ridiculous attachment you have to him, even now.

"are you calling me a vermin?" 

you roll your eyes. "well, you're not dead so..." 

and it was all normal. peter sitting this close and trying to mold himself into your skin, the puppy eyes he was trying to give you, and his devious smirk. his teasing and lack of common sense, his stupid jokes, and stupid thoughtfulness, ruining the silent treatment you'd meant to give him. the space you'd been forcing between the two of you.

it was all normal, but you can feel him lurking, waiting for a moment to say something. you can feel him staring at you. 

"what?" you say, sharp and rough, after thirty seconds of it being too much. of peter being too close and too quiet.

his presence is a burden on your heart. 

peter's hands began to massage your legs, forcing you to let him in closer than you want him to be. "what, what?" he repeats. 

your eyes meet his with defenses already prepared. "what are you doing here, peter?"

the words are weapons. one punch to the jaw and a knife shoved into his back. 

you're trying to get him off of you, get him out that door and back into the world where he belongs so that you could stay here and rot, just like you want to.

but peter's eyes stay soft, his hands are kind and his intent is obvious. he isn't trying to fight with you.

he blows out a breath. "what're you doing here?"

you both stare at each other for a moment and then you look away, shaking your head. "i live here." 

"you know that's not what i mean." 

"do i?" you ask, voice sarcastic and mean. and it would be fine--usually. you and peter are mean to each other for sport. 

but he wasn't being anything but easy. careful as he stretched your muscles out like he could tell that you hadn't used them in days. 

trust peter to break your only rule. 

it was silent again; only the sounds of commercials in the background, a woman swearing that aleve changed her life. 

peter clears his throat. "why haven't you been answering my calls?" 

"lost my phone." 

"and class?" 

"i've been sick." 

"you missed an exam," he pushes. "you're gonna have to make it up." 

"already emailed connaly." 

"good." peter swallows, and you can feel his pounding, his questions even when he's not asking them. 

you want to push him off of the couch. you want to push him off of you, leave bruises from the fall, and tell him to find someone who can be his friend. who can do this. 

you want to be understanding, and as careful as he is. you love him enough to not scream, even if you want to.

"peter, i really just want to be alone, so--" 

"when's the last time you ate?" 

you sigh, pulling away from him. 

but peter has a firm hold on your legs, and even if you tried, you couldn't kick him away. 

"when was the last time you showered?" 

"i've been sick, peter, it doesn't--" 

"left the house?" he prods. "or moved from the couch? when was the last time you looked in the mirror?" 

you sit up, looking at him without meeting his eyes. "you should go. i could still be contagious." the words are tense, your face is stone, unmoving, and unwilling to do any of this with him. 

peter moves closer to you, his hands lingering just inches away from your marble face. "what's going on?" he asks, so softly that you can barely feel it on your plastered skin.

his concern and care, his stupid face and stupid eyes and-- 

"i can't do this, peter." 

"you need to talk to me," he says, without even processing what you've said. "you need to tell me what's happening because it's been almost two weeks since i've seen you, and this..." he gestures around the room. 

a place that used to be your home. 

"what happened?" 

and if anyone could get it out of you--pull the secrets you have hidden in your chest, ignoring your screams of pain--it would be peter. he would be the person that you talked to. 

that is if you wanted to talk at all. 

if you wanted to move from his couch and look into his eyes like you had been for months before this. like he was more than a classmate, or friend who had stuck to you. like he was someone who you wanted to care about. 

someone with perfect lips and wonderful eyes and an addicting laugh. 

someone who you might want to tell more, share more. 

the person that you'd been a month ago would've told peter. even unsure if he could keep that secret or stay with you, you would've told him. trusted him that much. more than he deserved. 

but the person sitting on your couch staring into those same eyes doesn't want anything. 

to move or breathe or have to tell peter that you just don't care anymore. 

that whatever you have to tell him is gone, that your words and voice have been ripped from your chest, that this couch, this distance you've been trying to build is the only remedy to fix the hole that remains. 

but you don't want to see him. you don't want to tell him anything. you don't want to breathe his air and risk infecting him. 

"nothing, peter. i'm fine." 

"you look like you've spent the last month in the hospital." 

"well, you look like a goddamn swimsuit model, so i guess we're even." 

you're watching as his serious face shifts, and you can see it as he fights back a laugh, his eyes just barely flickering. 

and you wish that you didn't care. you wish so badly that it didn't matter. you look away, thinking to pretend that none of this exists. 

you've had enough nightmares like this lately. 

"hey," peter says, one fingertip turning your eyes back to his. and you know it's not a dream, because your imagination can never get those eyes just right. "i'm here to listen. whatever it is. we'll work it out. i just need you to talk to me."

"i told you, there's nothing--" 

"and you've got to stop lying to me like i can't tell." 

you scowl. 

peter's eyebrows lift, a fraction of affection appearing on his face. "c'mon, just tell me. i won't laugh." 

you look down, at his hand resting on your thigh, and the hole you've burned into the couch. 

you don't want to look at his eyes anymore. you're tired of trying to look away. and not talking to him. 

you sigh. "nothing, peter. just..." you blink, but it's not enough to push his regard off of you. to rid yourself of the toxins he's breathed into you. 

you were almost immune to them, just a few weeks ago. mithridatism only works if it's consistent. 

and his eyes are more dangerous when you haven't seen them. 

you freeze. "there's nothing," you repeat, defenses falling, hands going to push him away from your face. 

and peter knows what's going to happen before you do. "hey," he says, already soothing. "whatever it is..." 

and peter grabs you before you fall. he catches that first tear, and it's his forever. his arms fold around your shoulder, his strong hands keeping your head up. 

"there's nothing. it's all gone. everything i want, everything i--" 

his hands are tilting your face up to his but you can't look at him. you can't look into his perfect eyes and feel ashamed of yourself anymore. 

you're sick and tired of feeling sorry for yourself. 

"i can't feel anything, peter. i don't want to do anything but sit here and hope that eventually, this feeling goes away. that it all just..." you shake your head, feeling him invade you. 

and then you lean in and let peter hold you up. 

you hadn't even realized that you were crying. hadn't realized how far down you'd pushed the words until they were bubbling up. 

bile crawling up your throat. 

"i'm sorry," you whisper to him, just before he crushes you into a hug, your head buried into his neck. your tears staining his perfect skin. "i'm so sorry." 

peter shakes his head against you, holding you even closer. 

and you can't breathe with how tight he's holding you, but this sort of breathlessness is welcome. much better than the other kind. 

you laugh against him, feeling how sore your body is. how angry you are with yourself. 

"i've got you," peter whispers, into your hair, kissing your forehead. "we'll figure it out." 

you shake your head but say nothing. 

you finally breathe him in, desperate after denying yourself for so long. you don't have to worry about anything as long as peter is right there. 

"god," he says, after a few minutes pass. "i'm sorry i didn't come sooner. i thought..." 

thought you were okay, you can hear. thought that you needed space, that time was a perfect solution. 

"not your fault," you mumble into him. 

peter leans back, just so that you'll look up at him. "why didn't you tell me? you know i would've come," he says, "if you'd just called." 

"i didn't want--" you swallow, looking away. "i didn't want you to know. or see." 

peter scowls. "what did you think would happen? i would leave? or tell you to get over yourself?" 

"maybe."

"are you insane?" 

"maybe." 

peter doesn't even laugh. he makes you look at him again, not knowing how cruel those eyes of his are. "i would've stayed," he tells you, "no matter what. even if you told me that you murdered someone. or run over a squirrel with your bike. i would've been there. i'm going to be there." 

his jaw is tense and his eyes are so serious, but you sniffle, shaking your head. "even if i murdered a squirrel?" 

"i mean... it would be hard. but i'd do it." 

you laugh. 

he swallows, shaking his head. "you need to tell me what's going on, okay? instead of ghosting me for two weeks, acting like you died or something." 

"i answered a couple of your texts." 

peter glares at you. 

"okay. i'm sorry." 

he shakes his head again, almost smiling, if a little bit sad. "are you okay?" 

you fall back into him, suffocating yourself into his shoulder. you don't want to answer that, and hope that peter doesn't push. 

for once, he does what you want, wrapping his arm back around you, pulling you in closer. 

"okay," he says, and breathes with you. 

you sit with him for a few seconds, glad that he's there, and then you ask, "how'd you get in?" voice muffled by his shirt. 

"it was unlocked, you idiot." 

you frown, looking up at him. 

peter laughs. 

"no, it wasn't." 

his eyes return to normal, deviance stuck in his expression. "i used my key," he answers, innocently. 

trust peter to ruin the moment.

*

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl    invisibletrolleyson-jeremy  @sharkswaters  @rowniebow @anaislfbv @take-my-hand-time-boy @mileyc111 @starsval @ratsys

[lizzie-is-here]

like the dawn

part xvi- the storm

“i want you to always remember me. will you remember that i existed, and that i stood next to you here like this?” - haruki murakami

summary: the mad titan comes calling

wordcount: 1.9k (my tiny bby 🥺)

warnings: cussing (i think? idk honestly), lil fluff, violence ig, uhh infinity war but just the beginning, forgot bucky got the hot arm and had to include that, sad foreshadowing slay

taglist: @whelvedfeelingsstuff @sebsgirl71479 @rebloggingmyrecs @babyblublossom @local-mr-frog @thenyxsky @capsiclesdoll @moonlightreader649 @saranghaey @almosttoopizza @itsivymusic

a/n: IM BACK BITCHES. sorry this part is short but the next part is coming up very soon bc i’m excited to hopefully make y’all cry 👍 as always, love you, very proud of you, stay hydrated and eat something pls and hope u enjoy! this may not be my best work but i’ll make it up to you when… the stuff happens lmao 💀 happy 2023!!! 🤍🤍🤍

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“He came out of nowhere.”

You stare up at the holographic screen.

You’ve been back for barely a week, and there’s something new on the horizon. From out in space, a genocidal maniac has made himself known.

He calls himself Thanos. The last survivor of a planet whose civilization fell long ago. And he’s hunting for stones that can apparently control every part of the universe.

You’re lucky the team received the warning in time. Thor, Bruce Banner, and the remaining Asgardians had narrowly escaped the titan, and fled to Earth to warn you of the danger.

The god had asked a few questions about your wings, as fascinated by them as you were about the magical hammer he carried.

Despite what the others said, you quickly realized that Thor wasn’t dumb, not even dense. Just unaccustomed to modern life. Much like you and your boys.

Okay, maybe he was a little bit dense.

Alongside them, another addition had arrived in the form of a sorcerer by the name of Stephen Strange. His demeanor reminded you of a certain genius.

But there wasn’t time to worry about much other than preparing for the coming siege. There wasn’t time to warn the governments of the world. You needed to suit up. Quickly.

“What’s his objective?” Steve asks, one hand on the small of your back and the other entwined with Bucky’s flesh hand.

“He’s a plague,” Bruce rasps. “He invades planets. He takes what he wants. He wipes out half the population. He sent Loki.” He points to the rather greasy reformed god, who frowns.

“So this is it,” Tony hums. The billionaire is oddly composed, silently calculating. “What’s our timeline?”

“No telling. He has the Power and Space Stones. That already makes him the strongest creature in the whole universe. If he gets his hands on all six stones, Tony…”

Strange cuts in. “He could destroy life on a scale hitherto undreamt of.”

You wrinkle your nose a bit.

“Did you seriously just say ‘hitherto undreamt of’? God, you sound like my grandfather.” you ask.

“Are you seriously complaining about how I talk when you’re 100 years old?”

“Physically, I’m about 30, so-“

Bucky sighs. “Joacă frumos, păpușă [Play nice, doll].”

Tony speaks before you start arguing with the sorcerer again. “If Thanos needs all six, why don’t we just stick Mr. Sparkles’s stone down the garbage disposal?” he asks, gesturing to the Time Stone held in the amulet.

“No can do,” the man retorts. Wong, another sorcerer explains.

“We swore an oath to protect the Time Stone with our lives.”

Tony shrugs. “And I swore off dairy, but then Ben & Jerry’s named a flavor after me-“

“Ok, boys, how about we table this conversation for a time when we aren’t in danger,” Nat snaps.

“Ok, look, Thanos has the biggest army in the universe, and he’s not gonna stop until he gets… Vision’s stone.”

You nod. “Then we have to protect it.” The android, from his place staring out the window, disagrees.

“No, we have to destroy it. I’ve been giving a good deal of thought to this entity in my head. About its nature.” He pauses, stepping towards Wanda. “But also its composition. I think if it were exposed to a sufficiently powerful energy source, something very similar to its own signature, perhaps-“

Vision leans close to the girl. “-its molecular integrity could fail.” You knew what he was asking. All of you did. But no one wanted to say it.

“Yeah, and you with it,” Wanda chuckles, disbelieving. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“Eliminating the stone is the only way to be certain that Thanos can’t get it,” he presses.

“That’s too high a price.”

Your chest aches as the android gently takes her face in his hands.

“Only you have the power to pay it. Thanos threatens half the universe. One life cannot stand in the way of defeating him.”

“But it should,” Steve says. “We don’t trade lives, Vision.” You rest a hand on his arm, nodding when he looks to you for support.

“Captain, 70 years ago, you laid down your life to save how many millions of people?” Vision queries. Despite being a robot, his voice is laced with uncertainty. Fear. “Tell me, why is this any different?”

Tony, Bruce, and Peter look up from where they were discussing.

“Because you might have a choice,” the doctor says. “Your mind is made up of a complex construct of overlays. JARVIS, Ultron, Tony, me, the stone. All of them mixed together, all of them learning from one another.”

Wanda takes a sharp breath. “You’re saying Vision isn’t just the stone?”

“I’m saying that if we take out the stone, there’s still a whole lot of Vision left, perhaps the best parts.”

“Can we do that?” Nat asks.

Bruce shakes his head. “Not me, not here.”

Peter, as quiet as he’d been, raises his hand. “I know someone! And somewhere.”

You raise a brow. “So do I.”

“Shuri,” both of you say.

“How do you know her?” Bucky asks. The teen sheepishly shrugs.

“She started sending me advice on how to fix my suits from Instagram.”

FRIDAY’s voice echoed over the speakers. “Boss, something’s entered the atmosphere in lower Manhattan.”

Tony curses under his breath. “Shit, okay. We’ve gotta split up.”

“Okay, normally I’m all for your plans, but that seems like a horrible idea,” Sam says.

“We don’t have any other choice. You go to Wakanda, Thor and his crew can head into space to recruit any help we can get, and we’ll stay and handle this,” the billionaire says, gesturing to himself, Peter, and the sorcerers.

A knot forms in your gut. “And if it’s Thanos?”

No one responds. It’s a real possibility that none of you want to think about.

“Then we’ll hold him off until you get there.”

———————————————————————

The quinjet has never flown faster. A quick call to T’Challa and Shuri meant that you were rushing off the plane the moment you arrived, before the princess grabbed Bucky, Steve, and you.

“Come with me. I have an upgrade for that outdated arm of yours,” she calls.

“Is there time?” the brunet asks. Entering her lab, dozens of doctors hurry over. Bucky grabs yours and Steve’s hands, unsure of how to navigate this.

“It’ll be okay,” Steve assures. You nod, following as they lay him down on a table.

They’re unbelievably quick as they work, a hologram providing a view into everything going on. Within minutes, he’s gone under and they’ve started removing the heavy titanium.

Shuri herself carefully implants a new base for the arm, which clicks into place with little trouble. That’s when you see the arm.

It’s gold and black, crafted with careful detail but still bulky enough to balance out. You lift it gently, finding the weight to be much lighter than the old one. Vibranium.

Doctors take the arm from you with knowing smiles, precisely but swiftly locking it in place.

When he sits up minutes later, you hold your breath.

Flexing the new hand, Bucky stares in awe at the prosthetic.

“I… I can feel again.”

He reaches for you and Steve, and can’t believe it when he can truly feel your wings with his left hand. The sensation isn’t perfect, but he’ll take it over the cold, unfeeling HYDRA arm any day.

“What’s it like?” Steve asks, holding Bucky’s face with one hand.

“Perfect.”

A voice calls from the door.

“As cute as you three are, we’ve gotta hurry.” Nat holds up a projection. “Tony says Thanos isn’t in Manhattan.”

The rest of the group is hurrying in behind her, guiding Vision onto the operating table as Shuri prepares for a much more difficult procedure.

“The structure is polymorphic,” she comments.

Bruce nods. “Right, we had to attach each neuron non-sequentially.”

“Why didn’t you just reprogram the synapses to work collectively?” You don’t understand what they’re saying, but by the look on Bruce’s face, she’s made an excellent point.

“… Because we didn’t think of it.”

The girl purses her lips to hide a smile. “I’m sure you did your best.”

Wanda and Shuri begin to discuss the complications of the procedure, but you wander to the window. It’s too perfect. The sky is dappled with clouds and Wakanda is going on as normal as possible with the impending disaster looming on the horizon.

Right on cue, Sam’s voice rings through your earpiece.

“Hey, Cap, we got a situation here.”

You watch as a vessel crashes into the protective shield that surrounds the city, blowing up and leaving no damage.

“Don’t start celebrating yet. We got more incoming outside the dome,” Rhodey groans.

Fire blazes into view as more ships crash into the earth. You feel your heart rate increase.

“It’s too late, we need to destroy the stone now,” Vision says. The look on Wanda’s face is enough for you to shake your head.

“Get your ass back on that table,” you press.

T’Challa nods. “We will hold them off.”

Steve turns to the anxious Sokovian. “Wanda, as soon as that stone’s out of his head, you blow it to hell.”

“I will.”

———————————————————————

You soar above dozens of hovering vehicles as the aliens approach the barrier. It’s hard to get a clear view of the enemy, but below you, you can clearly spot Bruce in the Hulkbuster and Nat, Bucky, and Steve on a carrier. Beside you, Rhodey and Sam scope out the area.

One small disadvantage of your abilities. Flight comes naturally. No tech. No heat scanners or AI. No extra help. Just your powers and your wings.

At the tree line, one huge alien and one smaller one stop. The Wakandan forces fall into formation, and you watch from the air as Nat, Steve, and T’Challa go to face the two.

No surprise, it goes horribly. The crash-landed ships open, and you can make out hundreds of ugly, dog-like aliens barreling through the forest.

You land next to your boys just in time to hear Bucky mumble, “What the hell?”

“Looks like we pissed her off,” Nat mumbles.

“They’re killing themselves,” Okoye whispers in horror. She’s right. Only a few make it through the barrier before being immediately killed. The rest are sliced by the force field.

Bucky shoots down some and Bruce fires lasers while the Wakandans take out the rest.

At your side, you twist your hands. It’s been months since you’ve used your powers. Partly out of fear, but also as a way to forget all of the memories that came with them.

While you worry, one alien makes it through Bucky’s rain of gunfire, jumping towards you with a slavering mouth full of yellowed teeth.

Quick as ever, you swing out your hand, and the burst of light is so potent that it disintegrates on contact.

“Well, good to know that that still works,” Steve says, arm still raises from where he went to defend you. Twin shields are mounted on his wrists, with razor-sharp points.

“Cap, of these things circle the perimeter and get in behind us,” Bruce begins. “There’s nothing between them and Vision.

“Then we better keep ‘em in front of us,” Steve replies.

“How are we supposed to do that?” you ask. It’s not like you can tell them where to go.

T’Challa swallows. “We open the barrier.” He lifts a hand to his earpiece before you can protest. “On my signal, open North-West Section Seventeen.”

“This will be the end of Wakanda,” a man you don’t quite recognize says.

Okoye doesn’t hesitate. “Then it will be the noblest ending in history.”

Glancing to Steve and Bucky, then back to the barrier, you inhale sharply. “To the end of the line?”

“To the end of the line.”

[creatureshrieks]

Kurt does nothing more in his attempts to not antagonize the other murderer any further, even going so far as to completely side step out of the other's path as he made his way towards the exit gates. Kurt still does not move, not until he hears the gates once more opening, then the metallic whine of them shutting once more. It's only then, when Kurt is certain he was so utterly alone in his junkyard does he finally release a breathe he hadn't fully realized he held - it comes out fast between his teeth and he is only dimly aware of the way his hands shake, the clammy feeling of cooling sweat on his skin. His hair sticks to his forehead and he is assaulted by the sickening scent of blood and viscera, the source of which demands his attention. He turns back to gaze upon the carnage, a mutilated corpse with severed limbs. In times so soon passed he might have vomited at the sight, his throat burning with barely swallowed bile, but he had seen scenes just as terrible - all of which by his own hand. Kurt moves on instinct, the heated excitement he felt when in the presence of someone greater long since cooled and replaced with methodical, mechanical motions. This was not the first crime scene he'd disposed of and especially not the first slaughter he'd cleaned up after within the confines of the junkyard. Kurt wipes the knife on the sleeve of his shirt before he pockets it in order to free his hands to gather the remains of the detective, detached arm and hand and severed head, and drags each piece and the torso to an unlit furnace situated in the disposal portion of the yard. Before he tosses each piece inside Kurt first strips the corpse of its clothes, roots around for personal belongings such as keys and ID and even a phone, and tosses them to the side, preparing for a later plan. He too gathers his original garbage, the remains of another corpse, and adds them to the already disgusting pile. A switch is flipped and the flames ignite and flesh sizzles, blood boils and bubbles, sizzling against fire and hot metal. Kurt does not wait for the handful of hours for the bodies to be destroy before he busies himself with other aspects of this nightly clean. The gravel would need to be kicked over, the bloodied portions removed and tossed away in case someone else came sniffing around. By time he's finished, Kurt is panting and two murders in one night began to way on his muscles. Still, his actions paled in comparison to the brutality he bore witness to and he knew he was far from finished for the night. He's thankful the junkyard is his home, family owned, as it allows him access to the heavy machinery used to continue the junkyard's work - including a large crane, used to pick up the designated cars and toss them into the compactor to be flattened into scrap, thin sheets to be melted down and turned into new cars once again. Recycling had its benefits, Kurt mused, including the recycling of body parts. When Kurt was satisfied the furnace had run its course, leaving little behind but ash and bone, he gathered what remained to be tossed inside the car the detective had had the audacity to die against. He'd learn to control the machines from his grandfather and so he does as he had so many times before as he pilots the crane. Its claws snag and crush the top of the hollowed out car and he is careful as he transports it and its grisly contents to the compactor. It's only a press of a button later does the machine's teeth crunch and snap, the sound of metal far louder than the subtle crack of bone. Nothing was left behind, the remnants of the car being shredded pieced out into a large container fit for shipping out come morning. And yet, still, there was more work to be done. The clothes Kurt had stolen would be put to use now that the detective's body had been destroyed. Kurt throws the bloodied clothes over his own and he is only thankful the cameras positions at the camera took only video in black and white. He hunches over, slightly, just enough to hide the tears in his clothes and the dark stains across the front.

READ MORE.

That was amazing. No it fucking was not. He can feel his blood pressure rising again just from those three words. The only thing that saves Kurt from another trembling fit of rage is Ghost Face knows he is tired, and that another full fledged chase through this scrapyard after having stabbed a man a hundred times was not going to be in the books for him. Shaking his head and turning over towards the headless corpse he sinks the blade down into the stumpy, meaty neck hole, then reaches up to yank his own knife out of the car roof. He doesn’t take note that he’d been so violently carving into the guy, that the blade had actually gone through the rest of the hand and was hanging on by a thin shred of tendon. He doesn’t care to notice either how the rest of the guy’s arm pops clean out of the socket when full weight bears down into it or the sickening squelch of  tearing muscle.

Gruesome, but he simply did. Not. Care. 

Sliding the red toned metal between his fingers and flicking the excess blood from his glove- he is drenched, absolutely dripping in blood, Ghost Face sighs. 

“I.. am leaving,” he replies simply.  “You can do whatever the fuck you want with this, they were here for you.” 

Danny begins walking away from the mess he’d created without waiting for a response, in a vague direction towards the gate. He’d gone over its controls briefly before skulking around the place so he would have at least a hint of what buttons might do what, because he was definitely not going to be asking Kurt to open it for him. He doesn’t even wait for it to fully slide open before stepping outside of its confines and walking down the side of the road. Half of him doesn’t even care if anyone on the quiet road might drive by and see him. In the flash of a brief pass over from headlights he was nothing more than a strange shape anyways, or even a mirage perhaps, fading away into the darkness around him. 

It’d been a few weeks now; Danny had made it a key point in his day to day to stay as fucking far as possible from the scrapyard. He had no reason to go over there. Instead he had delved head first into crafting a new story, doing his due diligence and studying the people around him, he will make the incident disappear from his mind with this next successful design. Then, he can move onto the next shitty city and do it all over again. 

Yet he cannot help but keep an eye on the news. The goings ons of these people gave some of the greatest insight into what he might be able to do to add to their mundane insanity. The Ghost Face truly was a hero and they didn’t even know it. He saved them from every dreadfully boring night, falling asleep so easily in their comfortable beds under the impression that they were safe in a suburban haven. 

His attention drifts upwards to the news anchor speaking when she speaks a familiar name aloud,  “-And no evidence has been found to link a suspect to this disappearance. The community has suffered a great loss and we can only give prayers to the families affected by this tragic happening.” 

A soft huff of a disbelieving laugh ebbs out of Danny as he gathers his belongings from the cafe bench, and leaves the horribly benign building. So that fucker managed to pull it off. He can only barely remember the details, brief flashes of staring into dead eyes, arms aching from all the suffering he’d inflicted upon one single body, and trudging along the road back to his car. Somewhere in a legal pad he has an address written down on the corner of a page, one crossed out in deep red ink. Perhaps a visit is due-

And visit he does. More than once, in fact, does Danny park out of sight to watch the house and who comes and goes. He sees the dogs, scribbles a note. He sees Kurt leave, arrive, stay, leave, rinse and repeat. There’s another man who he sees one single time and not again. Danny doesn’t need all the facts, he isn’t planning a story for this home. When he moves it is later into the day, not quite nightfall, but that hazy line right before the sun drops below the horizon. The dogs are safely asleep in the yard. He had tossed them a few cuts of mystery meat laced with sedatives, nothing to harm them, just keep them nice and quiet. It is not a long wait to be had either when the jingling sound of keys in a door are the only disturbance in the house. Ghost Face has only just gotten comfortable, snug in a corner, eyes drifting over the finer details of the bedroom. 

The door opens to his right, a lazy body shambles across his vision, and promptly falls into bed. It’s a good thing that he wasn’t here to try and kill Kurt, it would have been laughably easy. Danny waits several long seconds before speaking up, sounding terribly bored. 

“You are still a free man, what a surprise." And no sooner does he speak has he stepped that short distance between Kurt's bed and the door, Ghost Face moving without changing his gaze, to close it nice and secure. No running today.

[aurumacadicus]

Ok, so random but I went to a yarn group today (I cannot crochet just embroidery but I thought it’d be fun to go) anyways!! I am now imagining Tony picking something like this up (crochet, embroidery whatever) and being in one of these groups could be an AU or maybe he picked it up to have something to do with his hands when bed bound because of getting hurt. Like someone literally just brought him the stuff “you are driving me insane learn how to do this and stay in the damn bed” kind of thing?

Anyways!!! So he’s in the group and for some damn reason Bucky (I’m leaning Bucky) didn’t know he did this, and some older ladies who are in the same group convince him to come after meeting him at a park or something (it’s therapeutic!) but tony is out of town or some reason? So Bucky goes to a few of these meetings, and these ladies won’t stop talking about sweet little “Anthony” and Bucky is sure someone’s talking about a grandson, gotta be someones grandson and how Bucky would get along with him so well and he’s like “oh someone is trying to set me up with their grandson.” Except these women know who Bucky is. Of course they do, he’s been on the news and stuff (if going with superhero’s). But manly because Tony won’t stop talking about him so they know tony has a crush on him, but won’t ever, ever say shit because “oh he hates me” so like old ladies getting them together.

A bunch of getting together shenanigans. Old ladies making it happen. Neither man knows these ladies are doing this. All the fun shit that comes with it you know?

I feel like I didn’t put this together well so I hope it makes sense?

It's perfectly understandable! And it gives me everything I crave, which is: Tony and Bucky being oblivious idiots, and fiber arts.

--

The Stitch and Bitch adopted Tony during physical therapy. He'd been urged to take up something to get the use of his hands back after his accident, and his Rhodey had dropped a hank of yarn and some sticks in his lap, and an hour later Mama Rhodes had arrived to teach him how to use them. She took him to a coffee shop where old ladies people met weekly to show off what they were working on and give advice when they struggled. Tony made a really ugly, lumpy scarf that Rhodey still wore proudly, and also found himself sort of bullied into continuing to attend so he could make better, beautiful scarves.

He figured he was there to stay when he started learning how to make lace shawls.

Tony didn’t get to go the meetings as often as he’d like, but he was always welcomed back with open arms when he could. They especially liked hearing about him vent about the rest of the Avengers, because, "Coffee grounds! In my garbage disposal! Bucky, at least, isn’t a neanderthal and puts them in the compost bucket where they belong." It’s very humanizing for the entire team.

Also one time Tony came in steaming mad because "I thought I had finally house-trained the team but apparently Natasha has just been stealing the coffee grounds to turn her hydrangeas blue and she’s on a mission for the next week and THERE ARE GROUNDS IN MY DISPOSAL AGAIN. I AM FIRING THE TEAM. No, Agnes, I didn’t know she kept hydrangeas, I am absolutely fucking boggled by how she snuck them in when they’re like fifty pounds what do you want from me."

Of course, everyone noticed that one James Buchanan Barnes was carefully left out of Tony’s extensive bitching. "Why would I complain about the only other member of the team who knows what’s compostable," Tony had scoffed when they brought this up to him. Then when they tittered about the fact he was blushing, he just sank in his chair and sighed, frowning down at his motionless needles as he said, “It doesn’t matter. He hates me anyway. He probably only composts because he’s scared I’ll yell at him like I do everyone else.”

“Anthony, why are you so obsessed with compost,” Myrna asked to take his mind off it, because he got this kicked-puppy look that everyone hated when he went into one of his forlorn moods.

“I’m not fucking obsessed with compost,” Tony snapped. “I’m obsessed with the fact that my entire team apparently thinks they live in a frat house. If I find another half-scrubbed plate in the cupboard again, I will blow the team clear out of the tower.”

“As you should,” everyone agreed, nodding.

.-.

Bucky was adopted into the group when some of the members noticed him watching them at the park. He had sort of a resting bitch face, but they figured that just meant he was made for a Stitch and Bitch. They tried him out with knitting, but he hated the way the needle felt in his metal hand, so they swapped his needles for a hook and taught him to crochet instead.

He powered through three washcloths and a blanket before he discovered plush toys, and the rest, as they said, was history.

“You should come to our weekly Stitch and Bitch,” Myrna told him sweetly. “We think you’d be a great match for our little Anthony.”

Bucky sincerely doubted it, because the average person was not made to deal with a semi-brainwashed, dangerous former assassin. “I don’t know.”

“Just think about it,” Agnes said gently, remembering what Tony had said about Bucky not reacting well to orders and having to word everything as suggestions. It was best not to push too hard, he’d said. “I think our little Anthony would just enjoy having someone around his own age to talk to.”

Bucky did not say he was not Anthony’s age, he was almost a hundred, but he sort of wanted to, just to see them squawk. “He’s on the younger side then, huh?” he said instead.

“Oh yes,” Agnes and Myrna assured him.

Bucky still wasn’t sure about meeting ‘Anthony’ and the group at large, so they promised him that the next Stitch and Bitch would just be the main group; Anthony would be out of town for work, so they would be able to ease him in. “Everyone is very friendly, and you can always bitch about how the boy you like doesn’t notice you to fit in,” Myrna added.

“He’s not a boy,” Bucky said, scowling a little.

“The man you like who doesn’t notice you,” Agnes sighed, rolling her eyes.

Bucky scowled a little more. “Will everyone make fun of me like you two do?”

“James,” Myrna moaned, frustrated, before Agnes cheerfully added, “Of course!”

“Pass,” Bucky said, but somehow got wheedled into it with some judiciously wielded Grandma Guilt.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 64: Shower

There were a lot of benefits to living in a muggle flat in London.

Draco never had to worry about being recognized, it was delightfully noisy (always an added bonus when you woke up from a nightmare, it was very grounding), and one of his neighbors was always leaving him baked goods just outside his door.

But there were definite downsides as well. Mostly that when things broke (which pretty much seemed to be always) he couldn't use magic to fix it and had to wait for the muggle repair man.

"You're sure you can't get here any sooner than Friday to fix the shower?" he asked the maintenance man over the muggle mobile he'd purchased shortly before moving in.

"I'll get there as soon as I can but it's Friday at the earliest," the man replied, "right now I have a busted toilet, a broken garbage disposal, a kitchen light repair, a cabinet door replacement, a window that won't open, a door knob that the lock sticks on, and an ac unit that is pumping in hot air."

Draco resisted the urge to tell him to hire some help and sighed, "Right. Thank you."

The man grunted in response and hung up.

After a moment of contemplating his options, he gathered up his bath supplies and marched down the hall. When he'd moved in a girl named Amelia had told him if he ever needed anything just to come knock on her door. She'd said that she and her boyfriend would be happy to help, and she had even mentioned a shower breaking specifically.

Steeling himself he knocked, "Amelia?" he called. "It's Thomas from 116," he added, he'd almost gotten used to calling himself that. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but my shower is broken and-"

"Just a minute!" a distinctly male voice called back.

And he waited, feeling more embarrassed since couldn't recall having ever met Amelia's boyfriend. He hoped that he wouldn't think that Draco was a creep.

"Sorry," the man called, and Draco heard the locks being slid from their places, "Amelia and I broke up but I'd be glad to help wi-"

The door opened and Draco felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. "Potter?" he spluttered

(Read more below the cut)

"Draco Malfoy, what the actual fuck?"

"What are you doing here?" Draco hissed.

Potter drew back like Draco had slapped him, "What am I doing here? What are you doing here?"

Before Draco could respond, Delores from the room between their rooms emerged and Potter grabbed him by the front of his tshirt and dragged him inside of his flat.

Draco barely had a moment to notice that his flat was surprisingly cozy before Potter was standing in front of him once more, arms crossed over his chest. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here!" Draco exclaimed. "I've lived here for six months!"

"Well I have lived here for almost a year!" Potter replied. "How did you find this place?"

"Do you know how hard it is to find a flat to rent in London?" Draco asked.

Potter paused, "Actually, yes," he replied. "And this place is enough of a shit-hole that there is a rotating tenant-base."

"Where's Amelia?"

Potter's brow furrowed, "How do you know Amelia?"

"I don't," he said with a shrug, "I met her when I was moving in and she told me if my shower ever broke I should just come knock on her door."

Potter sighed, "Damn."

"What?" Draco asked, feeling like he'd missed something.

"Oh nothing," Potter said, waving him off, "I'd just really been hoping that the guy I caught her cheating on me with was the only one."

Draco spluttered, "I was not romantically involved with your girlfriend."

"No," Potter replied, "No, I know. Just we worked opposite shifts so she was home in the day and I was home at night, and," he shrugged, "Well, you know how it goes."

Draco pinched his arm, he must be dreaming.

Potter turned and wandered toward his kitchen and Draco couldn't help but wonder if he was meant to follow him. "Tea?" Potter called over his shoulder.

And really, Draco had just meant to beg to use the shower but that little part of him that desperately loved gossip decided tea was a better plan. "Please."

The other man sent a smile at him over his shoulder, dimple popping up and Merlin, when had Potter gotten this attractive?

"So," he said as he put the kettle on, "What do you do?"

"I'm going to a muggle university, actually," Draco replied as he found a seat on a stool at the island, "studying to be a solicitor."

"Huh," Potter said, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose, "That suits you."

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean," he said, brow furrowed.

"Oh, nothing," Potter assured, "Just you're clever, good at arguing, and good at finding loop holes, I imagine."

At the earnest look on Potter's face, he decided not to take offense. "What is it that you do?"

Potter smiled at him, "I work at an animal shelter."

Draco blinked, he'd never expected that answer.

"I know," Potter laughed, "It's not what anyone expected but it makes me happy and it feels like good work."

The kettle whistled and Potter turned around to fetch down a couple of mugs and make them tea. "How long have you been living out of the wizarding world?"

"A little over a year," he replied. "It was just too difficult," Draco said, "I was mobbed everywhere I went, sent death threats," he added, "Not that I don't deserve them-"

"You don't," Potter said sharply, spinning around to face him. "Godric, Draco, you were just a kid. We all were."

He swallowed and looked down at the island, "Be that as it may," he said carefully, "I think it's easier for people." He made a vague gesture, "Not to have to see me."

"The pressure in the wizarding community is unreal," Potter said, setting a cup of tea along with the sugar bowl in front of Draco before he made his way to his refrigerator, "You still don't take cream, do you?"

"No," he replied with a little smile, pleased that he wasn't the only one to still remember oddities about the other.

"Why don't we go into the living room?" he suggested. "My furniture in there is much more comfortable."

Draco followed along behind him and settled onto what appeared to be the least squishy piece of furniture, a beige chair. Potter seemed to have no such qualms and sunk into a cozy rocking chair. Draco cleared his throat, "You've been gone for how long now?" he asked.

"Almost two and a half years," Potter replied before taking a sip of tea.

"Do you miss it?" Draco asked.

Shrugging one shoulder he answered, "Sometimes. I still go to the Weasley's most Sundays and I go for birthday parties and holidays. It's enough." He took another sip of tea, his eyes glued to Draco in that piercing way of his and it felt like it had been ages since someone had actually seen him. "What about you? Do you miss it?"

"At the beginning," he confessed, "But less now."

Potter hummed, seemingly waiting for Draco to continue

"Did you go to-"

Potter waved him off, "My life is exceptionally boring, I assure you. Tell me about you," he said. "Tell me about school, about what you want to do with your degree, tell me about acclimating to Muggle life," he chuckled, "tell me everything."

And so Draco did. He talked about his classes, talked about how difficult certain parts of living like a muggle were, talked about doing work with children, talked about doing a double major in law and in psychology. Draco talked, and talked, and talked while Harry listened; and he realized it had been a really long time since someone had done this with him.

He was in the middle of a story about how he hadn't understood how pens worked when Harry's mobile rang. With a wince he pulled it out of his pocket, "Sorry," he said, silencing it only for it to start ringing again a minute later. He huffed, "Sorry," he repeated. "It's Hermione and Ron. They'll just keep calling if I don't answer, give me just a minute."

"Of course," he said.

Harry gave him a little smile, "I'll get some more tea," he added before picking up.

Over the tiny little speaker Draco could hear cheering and hollering before a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday was sung and Draco felt the blood drain from his face. He pulled out his own mobile and clicked the wake button. July 31

He felt like such an arse, here he was blabbering away at the other man when Potter probably had a million things he'd rather be doing.

"Thank you," Potter said over the phone from the kitchen. "I'm a bit busy just now," he broke off to listen to some chatter. "Yes. I'll be by on Sunday to celebrate." Another pause, "Yes. Love you all, too. Kisses to Rosie and Teddy."

When he returned he said, "Sorry, you were saying about the pens?"

"I feel like an absolute clot," Draco said.

"What? Why?"

"It's your birthday!" he exclaimed, "and here I've sat for the past two hours talking your ear off about..." he trailed off, "Complete nonsense!"

"Oh, it's fine," he said, waving Draco off, "This is way better than the way I was planning to spend my birthday."

"Oh? Why don't I believe you?" he asked.

"No really," Potter said earnestly. "I was just going to go for a walk and then hang out around the house."

"But why? Don't your friends want to see you?"

"Oh, the Weasleys are away. They went on a trip to Spain; when they made the plans, I'd planned to be on a beach in the Galapagos with Amelia."

"I'm taking you to dinner," he said firmly.

"I couldn't impo-"

"I insist," he interrupted. "I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Well if you insist," Harry said with a laugh.

"Good. I'm going to use your shower and then go get dressed and we're leaving in twenty minutes."

He chuckled, "It's a date."

--------

And it really had felt like a date, Draco reflected as they strolled back toward their apartment building after a long dinner with multiple courses and dessert.

"Thank you, by the way," Harry said, his shoulder bumping lightly into Draco's when they were just outside of their building.

"Don't mention it," he replied. "It's the least I could do."

Harry stopped and looked over at him, so Draco stopped next to him, "It's not, though," he said. "You didn't have to do any of this."

"I wanted to," he huffed.

He started to lean in closer, "Tell me if I'm reading this wrong," he whispered.

"What?"

"This," he murmured before his fingers cupped Draco's cheek and his lips pressed, soft and dry, against Draco's lips.

Harry drew back, "Alright?" he whispered.

Draco's fingers clenched in the front of Harry's shirt and he tugged him back in, slotting their lips together once more. The fingers on Harry's right hand slid through Draco's hair and his other slipped around Draco's back, drawing their bodies flush against one another as Harry's tongue brushed over Draco's bottom lip.

They stood on the sidewalk and kissed for a long moment before Harry pulled back and murmured, "Come home with me?"

"Are you sure?" Draco asked, brow furrowing.

"Never been more sure of anything in my life," he replied, pecking Draco's lips again.

He couldn't help but smile as he nodded his consent and Harry grabbed his hand and dragged him inside and straight to his bedroom.

------

Later, when they were still lying in bed talking about whatever nonsense came into the heads, Harry said, "Draco?"

"Mmmh?"

"This was probably the best birthday I've ever had."

He rolled onto his side so he could see Harry's face illuminated by the moonlight. Harry reached up and brushed his forefinger over Draco's cheekbone and Draco responded, "You've not had many good birthdays, then, have you?"

Harry laughed, "I've had some good birthdays."

"Next year," Draco said before he could think through what he was about to say, "Next year I will give you the best birthday you've ever had."

"Oh?" Harry said, grinning widely at him.

At the sweet, innocent look on Harry's face, he let himself dream, let himself imagine what life could turn out like. He nodded, "I'll wake you up with lazy morning sex, you seem like the type to really enjoy that."

"I am," Harry affirmed, his dimples showing.

Draco leaned in and pressed a kiss to the nearest dimple and said, "Then, I'll take you to Paris for breakfast."

"Ooh, Paris?"

He nodded, "I'll get you strawberry crepes with mounds of whipped cream."

"Sounds delicious," Harry said.

"Then I'll take you to a beach somewhere, Bora Bora maybe," he added, enthralled by the pleased crinkle around Potter's eyes.

He hummed, "I've never been to Bora Bora."

"No?"

Harry shook his head.

"Right, then we'll spend the whole day there, I'll sit under an umbrella all day and pretend to get annoyed when you come to kiss me and get sand and ocean water all over me."

He laughed, "As long as it's pretend."

"Then," Draco said, "I'll bring you back to a little villa that you can see the ocean through the floor and I'll cook you dinner. We'll eat together, then go swimming in the dark."

"Sounds lovely," Harry sighed.

"And then we'll come back and try out the bed that's under the stars," he said, brushing a hand over Harry's waist.

"That sounds really nice," he murmured.

"It's a date, then," Draco said.

He smiled back and echoed, "It's a date."

-------

And, true to his word, one year later Draco took Harry to Paris for breakfast and then to Bora Bora for the rest of the weekend. Harry proposed to Draco the very next morning.

--------

Day 63: Hair | Day 65: Question

[cinnamonrusts]

sparda twins -- reactions

The Sparda twins reactions that you're pregnant with not just one, but two of their children.

DANTE-

You paced the bathroom several times as you gnawed on your thumbnail. Your eyes did not leave the plastic stick that was sitting on the edge of the sink near the toilet. The packaging read that results would be ready in five minutes, but the wait had it feeling like five hours.

Dante had left on a run for some take out and you knew that it was all the way across town, so it left you some free time to figure out your "little" situation. You hadn't told him anything. How could you? The two of you were not in an exactly "family friendly" business. Last thing Dante would need to worry about was a mini Sparda.

You had enough of waiting and snatched the test from the counter. Your eyes narrowed as they fixated on the single horizontal pink line, but widened when it turned into a plus. The blood in your body ran cold and your throat grew dry. It was as if the + sign mocked you and your stomach felt sick. You knew it would happen, Dante called himself the pull out king. Yeah - fucking - right, and this proved him to be very wrong.

The evidence needed to be disposed of, so you wrapped it several times in some toilet paper and shoved it in the trash can. Dante hardly took the trash out and it would be unlikely that he would decide to scour the garbage, so you felt safe. Now all you would have to do is just keep it a secret until you decided how to approach it.

It didn't last long and soon Nico was on the other end of the phone. She let out a happy, "'Eller!" but was greeted by a loud sob along with unintelligible babble. "Woah! Woah! [Y/N], you gotta repeat yourself. I couldn't make out a damn thing! You okay?" the brunette asked, concerned. "I'M PREGNANT!" your sobs now made sense. "Oh, shit," she replied. "Yeah, oh shit is right."

"Did you tell Dante yet?"

You scoffed, "No. I don't think I can," as you spoke on the phone in the kitchen, your eyes fixed on a photo on the fridge of you and your devil hunter boyfriend. The two of you looked so happy and Dante's smile was so bright, the vibes that radiated from the picture kind of gave you some assurance. Maybe Dante would react well to the news and maybe he'd give the same smile of glee at the idea of being a father.

"But you're going to have to at some point. How you goin' to explain a giant belly here in a few months?" Nico was right, there was no way around it. You pinched the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes tight, "Could you maybe -- I dunno, take me to the doctor?" Nico replied, "I'll be there in a jiff!"

Just as you hung up, Dante walked in with two large bags that smelled of Chinese food. "Food is here and beer is in the fridge!" he waddled into the kitchen and his happy expression turned to one of concern when he noticed you looked upset. "Hey, darlin', you alright?" he set the bags down on the floor and slid to your side, his arms around your waist. His musk along with the heavy smell of greasy Chinese food almost threw you over the edge and caused you to gag. You placed your hand on his chest to prevent him from getting closer. His brows furrowed as he tried to understand what was wrong but the loud horn of Nico's van interrupted. "I'm going out with Nico. I'll be back," you brushed past him, grabbed your coat, and dashed out the door.

You were able to take a breath once you jumped into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. Your head rested on the back of the seat and your eyes closed, "Thanks for the ride." Nico placed a hand on your thigh and nodded, "No problem, girlfriend."

Several hours passed and you weren't home yet. Dante's mind raced with different things he could've done to make you so upset. Was it because he hadn't taken the trash out? He would do that soon. Was it because he hadn't shown his appreciation for you relationship lately? He would go tonight to get you some flowers. So, the man did just that. Dante took the overflowed trash out. Then he made sure to hurry, so, that he would be home before you. Dante chose a bouquet of white roses and a goofy card. The card had two hot dogs on the front who held hands with smiles on their faces. It read, "Hot dog! You make me happy!" Dante got a kick out of it and figured you would too. The devil hunter wrote a quick, cheesy blurb in a scribbled mess and signed with his name plus a heart.

He opened the door and was surprised to see you in a chair near the entrance. You seemed to be in a trance and were startled by Dante’s sudden appearance. “I got you these!” he handed his gifts over but his happiness was dropped when you didn’t seem very happy to receive them.

“Dante, I have something I need to tell you.” you found it hard to keep your eyes on his. “Well, here it goes---,” your nose inhaled, then exhaled deeply, “I’m pregnant.”

Dante’s face was void of emotion before he burst into laughter. You grew angry and your facial expressions matched it. “That’s a good one, babe. Whew!,” he clapped his hands and winced a bit with his hand on his side, “Ow! That laugh made me pull a muscle.”

“I’m serious, Dante. I’m pregnant.” you reiterated. “With --- emotion?” he asked as his eyes shifted side to side.

“What? No! With a baby!”

Once Dante heard it for the third time, he realized it all. He was going to be a father and you were going to be the one who would usher in another lineage of the Sparda bloodline. Dante rushed to your side and took a knee as he kneeled beside you. His palm immediately made its way to your stomach as he pictured the life that was within. “Hey there, little buddy.” You cleared your throat into a closed fist which drew his attention to your face. Your right hand raised slowly and you twiddled your two first fingers in the air with a small smile.

That same grin that shined in the photo on your fridge grew across his lips. Both of his hands grabbed either side of your lower torso and he stared at your stomach. “You mean, there’s two of me in there?!” His expressions were warm and overjoyed, relief crashed over you as this situation turned out better than you thought. 

“I’m gonna really need to get outta debt.”

VERGIL-

Your body spoke to you and told you that something was going on. Every morning you felt ill and you could devour anything in sight until nausea overtook you. Lady asked if there was any possibility that you could be pregnant. A snort left your nostrils, “Impossible. Vergil and I don’t have sex enough for that to happen.” your mate was normally not home, you often slept in an empty bed more than one occupied by his strong body. But anytime he was, the act of intimacy could tear the walls down of his brother’s building. He was a focused and controlled man, he knew what he needed to do to prevent another child in his life. You were okay with that, your job was not one that was prime for being a parent. So, there was no doubt in your mind that this was nothing but a simple stomach bug.

“I don’t know, all your symptoms point to it, [Y/N]. Maybe you should take a test,” she attempted to reason with you and you eventually gave in.

The entire time you played it off as just something you did for Lady so that she would get off your back about it. You sat on the closed toilet lid and held the test loosely in between your fingers. The box read that it would take about ten minutes for a result, so you avoided looking at it until roughly around that. But your heart dropped into your stomach when the test did not read negative, but positive. “Shit --- Lady was right.” your cursed and your head dropped between your knees as your mind raced.

Vergil just found out that he had a son, Nero, and now you would throw him the information that he would have now an infant on the way. It was a conversation that you did not want to have. Vergil was a reserved man who did not show you his emotions often or expressed them publicly. You knew he loved you but it took quite sometime for him to open up to you about the fact. He put back his one track set mind toward power and made you a priority in his life. However, he had issues with being around his brother, son, and the other’s -- so he often went off on his own. You learned that this was something he wanted and you did not want to force yourself to go with him always. 

So, this news would not be easy to break to him when he would return in about a week. With the test clenched in your hand, you opened the door to leave the bathroom to only be greeted by Lady who was leaned against the walls with arms crossed. “So, what’s the prognosis?” she pushed herself from the wall and followed you as you pushed past her. You tossed the test into the air with your fingers and she caught it, “What do you think?” you answered before she was able to see for herself. The female was shocked to see that she was correct but didn’t want to say that she told you so.

You were about to slam your room door shut but her boot stopped it, “What’re you going to tell Vergil?” Your back was turned toward her and you faced the window as you observed the rain that pattered against the window. “Fuck if I know. How do you tell someone like him that he’s going to be a father... again.” Lady was silent, you turned on your heels to face her, “Exactly.”

Lady took your hand in hers and gave you a comforting smile, “Hey, he won’t be home for like what-- another week? Let’s get you to the doctor, we’ll figure something out.” You smiled faintly in return, “You’re a hell of a lady, Lady,” she batted her eyelashes, “Oh, I know.~”

A Week Later --

Lady was in your room with you and the door was closed, the two of you spoke of your plan of how you would drop the bomb on your half demon boyfriend.

“Do you really think Vergil will accept it?” you asked just as the white haired man opened the door, “Accept what?” he asked coolly. Lady closed her mouth and first looked at Vergil, then to you, “I’ll just let you guys have some alone time,” she slinked past the Sparda man and closed the door behind her. His gaze never left you and his strong features were unmoved.

You attempted to embrace him as you wrapped your arms around his neck but he gave you a slight push away before you could place a kiss on his cheek. “Will you tell me what you were talking about?” You bit your lower lip and hesitated to confess to him. Vergil took hold of your chin with his fingertips, “Speak.”

You swallowed hard, his blue eyes did not waver and they were just so beautiful that you couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I’m --- pregnant,” you whispered. It was like time moved to slow motion, Vergil observed each syllable that came from your lips. Pregnant? Pregnant. Pregnant.

 A twitch in Vergil’s furrowed brows caught your attention, it proceeded to twitch several times before he closed his eyes and released his grip on your chin. “How?” You shrugged, “I thought we were careful every time, even with our more adventurous hookups.” He didn’t speak and just listened, “Why?”

“Why?” you repeated, “That’s what happens, Vergil. I can’t really make it anymore clear.” As per usual, you couldn’t read him and his thoughts were a mystery to you.

“So, I’ll be a father once again. At least I’m currently aware of this one.” he sighed.

“Two,” you interjected. It was as if you could see his ears perk up when you mentioned a number higher than he assumed. “Two? Another set of Sparda twins...” he was quiet before you could see a small smile on his lips. Vergil called for you to come to him, which you obeyed.

He wrapped his right arm around your upper half. His left hand rested on your stomach with a loved filled touch. His chin rested on top of your head as he imagined what they looked like and what life would be like in several months.

He thought to himself, maybe -- just maybe -- he truly deserved a happy life, despite all the things he had done. He now felt a stronger urge to want to be around you, the babies, and even Dante more. 

“Do I deserve this happiness, [Y/N]?” 

Your hand rested on his that was still on your stomach, “Of course. You always have.”

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 127

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,080ish

Summary: Tony and Y/N run into an old friend and meet two of the Children of Thanos.

Previous in Out Of Time:

“Tony—“

“I know, getting ahead of myself again. You know what there should be no more surprises. Let’s have a nice dinner tonight and we should have no more surprises. I should promise you.”

“Actually, Tony, I really need to talk to you about something. I made—“

“Tony Stark,” a man with a red cloak appeared a few feet away. There was an orange portal behind him. “Y/N Rogers, I’m Doctor Stephen Strange. And I need you both to come with me.”

The necklace around the man’s neck immediately caught Y/N’s eye as Tony moved to stand protectively in front of her. It was the same necklace that the Ancient One wore, it housed the Time Stone.

“I’m sorry, what are you doing here?” Tony asked. “You giving out tickets or something?”

“We need your help,��� Dr. Strange responded, glancing at Y/N, which made Tony tense. “Look, it’s not overselling to say that the fate of the universe is at stake.”

“No,” Y/N gasped softly.

“And who’s ‘we’?” Tony questioned.

“Hey, Tony,” Bruce Banner greeted, nervously emerging from behind Dr. Strange.

“Bruce?”

“Y/N.”

“Hi,” she responded quietly.

“You okay?” Tony asked.

Bruce came up to Tony, giving him a desperate hug, not answering the question. Dr. Strange was focused on Y/N. Slowly, she walked up to him.

“It’s time,” he told her.

“I know,” she responded quietly.

Tony guided Bruce over and through the portal, grabbing Y/N’s hand as he passed. Dr. Strange was the last one through, closing the portal after them. Another man, Wong, was waiting in the building on the other side of the portal. Tony sat down while Y/N stayed standing, nervously biting at her nail. Bruce told them of what had happened to him and why he was back. Wong used his magic to show the universe and five of the six Infinity Stones.

"From the dawn of the universe, there was nothing,” Wong began, “Then, boom! The Big Bang sent six elemental crystals, hurtling across the virgin universe. These Infinity Stones each control an essential aspect of existence.”

“Space. Reality,” Strange named the Stones, each one lighting up as he did. “Power. Soul. Mind. And,” he opened his necklace, “Time.”

“Tell me his name again,” Tony ordered, very attentive.

“Thanos. He’s a plague, Tony,” Bruce answered. “He invades planets. He takes what he wants. He wipes out half the population. He sent Loki. The attack on New York. That’s him.”

Tony stood up and looked at Y/N. It was obvious that Y/N knew about the Infinity Stones. Honestly, he wasn’t all that surprised but he was a little hurt. Things were falling into place now, the headaches, the connection with the Tesseract, her powers. She was connected to all six Stones.

“This is it…” He said quietly to her. She nodded. He turned to face the other men. “What’s our timeline?”

“No telling,” Bruce replied. “He has the Power and Space Stones, that already makes him the strongest creature in the whole universe. If he gets his hands, on all six Stones, Tony—“

“He can destroy life on a scale hitherto undreamt of,” Dr. Strange interrupted.

Tony leaned against the cauldron near the stairs, stretching like he was about to go for a run. “Did you seriously just say ‘hitherto undreamt of’?”

“Are you seriously leaning on the Cauldron of the Cosmos?”

“Is that what this is…?” 

The cloak on Dr. Strange’s back suddenly smacked Tony’s arm, surprising him and Y/N. Tony looked at the thing, slightly offended before straightening himself up. 

“I’m going to allow that,” Tony continued. “If Thanos needs all six, why don’t we just stick this one down the garbage disposal?”

“That’s not how it works, Tony,” Y/N sighed.

“No can do,” Strange said.

“We swore an oath to protect the Time Stone,” Wong added. “With our lives.”

“And I swore off dairy, but then, Ben and Jerry’s named a flavor after me, so…”

“Stark Raving Hazelnuts,” Strange stated.

“It’s not bad.”

“A bit chalky.”

“A Hunka-Hulka Burning Fudge is our favorite,” Wong said.

“That’s a thing?” Bruce questioned.

“Whatever,” Tony said. “Point is: things change.”

“Our oath to protect the Time Stone cannot change,” Strange said. “This Stone, and Y/N, may be the best chance we have against Thanos.”

“Y/N?” Bruce repeated. “Why Y/N?”

“My… My abilities,” she nervously answered. “They’re from the Stones. I can control them.”

“Not gonna happen,” Tony quickly stated. “That Stone needs to go because it may also be his best chance against us.”

“Well, if we don’t do our jobs,” Strange said.

“What is your job exactly, besides making balloon animals?”

“Protecting your reality, douchebag.”

“Okay, guys, could we table this discussion right now?” Bruce requested. “The fact is that we have this Stone. We know where it is. Vision is out there somewhere with the Mind Stone, and we have to find him now.”

“Yeah, that’s the… thing,” Tony muttered, awkwardly.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked.

“Two weeks ago, Vision turned off his transponder. His offline.”

“What?” Bruce exclaimed. “Tony, you lost another super bot?”

“I didn’t lose him. He’s more than that. He’s evolving.”

“He’s with Wanda,” Y/N whispered. “They’ve been sneaking around like we have, haven’t they?”

“That’s been my guess.”

“Who could find Vision, then?” Dr. Strange asked.

“Shit,” Tony quietly muttered to himself. He looked around at the others. “Probably Steve Rogers.”

“Oh, great,” Strange sighed in exasperation.

“Maybe. But…” Tony sighed.

Looking over at Y/N, he was met with her scared gaze. Everything was going to suddenly change, he knew it. It just hoped this didn’t change where they stood.

“Call him,” Bruce pressed.

“It’s not that easy Bruce,” Y/N responded. “Things happened. Technically, it’s illegal for me to be here right now. Everyone in this room should be calling the police.”

“The Avengers broke up,” Tony clarified. “We’re toast.”

“Broke up?” Bruce repeated. “Like a band? Like The Beatles?”

“Cap and I feel out hard. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Then Y/N. Call your brother.”

“I have no way to get a hold of him,” she shook her head. “I haven’t spoken to him in two years.”

“Tony, Y/N, listen to me. Thor’s gone. Thanos is coming. It doesn’t matter who you’re talking to or not.”

“I know what’s at stake here, Bruce… I’ve known for a while now.”

Y/N could feel everyone’s gazes on her. Bruce was questioning what she meant, but the others knew and they looked at her with pity. With a sigh, Tony pulled out a flip phone. The one Steve had mailed him. He flipped it open, hovering over the call button to the only number on the phone.

“What’s that?” Y/N asked. Tony met her gaze and went to explain, but it was too late. She already knew. “He sent that to you,” a statement, not a question. “You've been able to contact him the whole time…. Have you ever…?”

“No,” Tony shook his head. “I almost did once. When I found you at the cemetery that first time. But then—“

“The Soul Stone took me. And you were worried… don’t worry. I don’t blame you.” She let out a shaky breath as she walked over and grabbed Tony’s free hand. “Call him.”

Looking back down at the phone, Tony hovered his thumb over the call button once again. Y/N gave his hand a slight squeeze as she watched. But before he could press call, an unusual rumbling could be heard from outside. Tony looked up and around, noticing that something was off.

“Say, Doc, you wouldn’t happen to be moving your hair, would you?” Tony wondered, pointing the phone at Strange, whose hair was slightly moving.

Strange looked up. “Not at the moment, no,” Strange answered.

Looking up through the whole in the ceiling, Tony and Y/N saw debris flying by outside. All of them looked towards the doors, able to see things flying by and people running. 

“I’m not ready,” Y/N whispered. “I-I can’t…” Her heart was pounding. “I… I can’t—“

“Woah, woah, woah,” Tony was in front of her, hands rubbing her shoulders. “No one’s asking you to do anything right now. We don’t know what’s going on out there.”

“I won’t be able to save them all…” She shook her head, tearing up. “I already know that… And I’m not ready for that…”

“But you don’t know that, Y/N. We don’t know what’s out there or what’s about to happen. But we will do our best to figure it out and prevent what’s coming. Together, alright?” Y/N nodded. “Alright.” Tony ran a hand down her arm and intertwined his fingers with her. “Let’s go see what we’re up against.”

Holding hands, Tony and Y/N walked up to the front doors, glancing back at the men behind them before going through them. Outside was chaotic. People running and screaming in alarm, traffic tangled, a litter-filled wind. As the two make their way towards where people are running from, a woman fell at Tony’s feet. He quickly helped her up.

“You okay?” He asked, concerned.

Ignoring him, she quickly keeps running. A car suddenly crashed into a pole behind Tony and Y/N. They flinch, turning to see a man inside.

“Help him!” Tony shouted. “Wong, Doc.”

“Go! Got it!” Bruce replied, rushing to the car.

Slipping his hand into his pocket, Tony retrieved a pair of sunglasses. He put them on, keeping him and Y/N going towards the issue.

“FRIDAY, what am I looking at?” He asked his AI.

“Not sure,” FRIDAY responded. “I’m working on it.”

“Hey! You might wanna put that Time Stone in your back pocket, Doc!”

Dr. Strange moved his arms, golden bands appearing around his forearms. “Might want use it,” he responded.

“Don’t leave my side,” Tony told Y/N.

“Okay,” she replied with a nod.

Approaching an intersection, the two turned the corner together. Floating over the street, was a huge circular ship.

“FRIDAY, evac anyone south of 43rd Street,” Tony directed. “Notify first responders.”

“Will do,” the AI replied.

From behind them, a large gust of wind came, clearing the dust and debris from the air. Both Y/N and Tony turned to see Dr. Strange behind them. He threw a wink at Tony. For a split second, Tony is begrudgingly amused. Close together, they walk closer to the ship, stopping when two beings appear in front of them.

“Hear me, and rejoice,” the skinny one exclaimed. “You are about to die at the hands of the Children of Thanos. Be thankful, that your meaningless lives are now contributing to—“

“I’m sorry,” Tony interrupted, folding his arms over his chest as he stepped up, “Earth is closed today. You better pack it up and get outta here.”

“Stonekeeper,” the alien called, looking at Strange, “does this chattering animal speak for you?”

“Certainly not. I speak from myself,” Strange responded. Magical shields are readied at his fists as he stepped forward, Wong emulating him. “But you’re trespassing in this city and on this planet.”

“It means get lost, Squidward!” Tony shouted.

“He exhausts me,” the skinny being commented to its larger, bulkier being. “Bring me the Stone.”

The larger being dropped its huge hammer, dragging it along as it obeyed the ordered. From slightly behind Tony, Y/N’s hands began to glow purple.

“Banner you want a piece?” Tony asked.

“No, not really,” Bruce responded. “But when do I ever get what I want?”

“That’s right.”

Channeling his anger, Bruce attempted to release the Hulk. But instead of Hulk coming out easily, green shows up on Bruce’s neck and then quickly disappeared.

“Been a while,” Tony continued. “Good to have you, buddy.”

“I just... I need to concentrate here for one second,” Bruce said. “Come on, come on, man.”

“Where’s your guy?”

“I don't know. We've sorta been havin' a thing.”

“There’s no time for a thing.”

“I know.”

Tony pointed forward and the approaching being. “That’s the thing right there. Let’s go.”

Bruce gave out a loud grunt, but still failed to release the Hulk. Dr. Strange stared at Tony and Bruce in disbelief, while Y/N slowly had her powers snake their way to the two beings.

“Dude,” Tony muttered to Bruce, “you’re embarrassing me in front of the wizards.”

“Tony, I’m sorry,” Bruce apologized. “Either I can’t or he won’t—“

“It’s okay. Hey,” Tony set his hands on Bruce’s shoulders, “stand down.” He turned to Wong, guiding Bruce back. “Keep an eye on him. Thank you.”

“I have him,” Wong replied with a nod.

“Damn it,” Bruce murmured. 

Tony then noticed Y/N’s hands. “No,” he quickly said, rushing in front of her. “You need to save your strength.”

“If I can stop them, I want to before it’s too late,” Y/N retorted.

“Really no time for this,” Strange cut in.

Tony turned to see the being coming closer. Stepping up, Tony taps his new arc reactor, revealing his nanotech Iron Man suit that quickly forms to him. He forms a shield on one arm, protecting him from a hit from the being. Then Tony forms a set of blasters that easily throw the being back to the skinny one, who gestured and deflected his massive companion into some cars.

“Where’d that come from?” Bruce wondered, in awe.

“It’s nano-tech,” Tony responded, turning around. “You like it? A little someth—“

Suddenly, a spike of earth shot up and threw Iron Man far up. Using uprooted trees and other debris, the skinny being began attacking the rest of them. But before the attack can even do anything to the small team, Y/N steps forward motioning her hands in front of her and dissolving all the objects in one swift movement.

“Interesting,” the skinny one observed. “You are a strong one. I sense a great power in you.”

“And I sense a great deal of annoyance,” Y/N responded.

“Dr. Banner,” Dr. Strange said as Y/N and the being were having a stand off, “if the rest of your green friend won’t be joining us…”

Strange teleported Bruce away, along with half a taxi. Iron Man then returned to the fight, pushing a car thrown by the skinny being back at it. The car get cuts in half, and the being was untouched. Y/N put her hands in front of her, blasting the being with a purple beam. It flew back, crashing into the building behind it.

“Gotta get that Stone out of here, now,” Tony ordered, blocking a blast meant for Y/N.

“It stays with me,” Strange responded.

“Exactly. Bye. Y/N, get out of here!”

“No way in hell!” Y/N replied as Tony flew through the forming obstacle course.

As Tony made his way through, Y/N began to destroy the obstacles in his way. Before he could get to the end of the course, Tony was cut short my the big guy’s hammer, sending him through a building at high speed.

“Tony!” Y/N screamed. 

Her emotional scream caused power to be released from her whole body, destroying everything the alien had put in their way. She was panting and angry when the dust settled again.

“Well, well,” the alien chuckled, “I guess I was right.”

“Leave here,” Y/N demanded. “Before I end you.”

“I can’t wait to see you try.”

“Y/N, go!” Strange ordered, him and Wong being to fight off the being.

“What?!” She exclaimed, helping them. “You know what I’m capable of, what I’m meant to do. Why order me away?”

“Just listen to me!”

“Not without the Stone! You and I both know that I can protect it better than you!”

“And why is that?” The being asked, having heard the conversation while using the surroundings to attack.

He shot bricks turned into sharp points at them. Channeling the Time Stone, Y/N turned back time so that the bricks were dust. The Time Stone glowed in the necklace and Y/N’s hands were glowing green.

“Impossible,” the being whispered. “You… You’re channeling the Stones.”

Y/N blasted him with a powerful beam, sending the alien back and scraping agains the road. It stood back up, cuts littering its body. Angry, the aline used a broke fire hydrant’s water steam to knock Wong back several meters, rending him unconscious. Dr. Strange then snaps a whip of magical energy to bind the alien’s hands and yanked. The alien flew forward with the pull and pins Strange upside-down against a building, using the bricks to trap him.

“Get to Stark!” Y/N heard Dr. Strange say in his head. “Listen to me! Get to Stark! Now!”

Y/N hesitated slightly before deciding to not listen to Strange and attack the skinny alien from behind. The bricks continued to pile on Strange as the skinny alien turned around to face Y/N. Debris began flying at Y/N in all directions. Using her powers, Y/N blocked them, set them away, and dusted them. But she couldn’t see everything that was coming. From behind, the alien launched at car at her. It hit her, hard, shooting her forward and skidding her across the road, knocking her out. The alien turned its attention back to Strange.

“Your powers are quaint,” it taunted. “Especially compared to the girl over there. You must be popular with children.”

The alien reached out and tried to grab the necklace holding the Time Stone. It quickly jerked back when the necklace burnt its hand.

“It’s a simple spell but quite unbreakable,” Strange stated.

“Then I’ll take it off your corpse.”

The alien pulled Strange away from the building and threw him to the ground. Strange began to gesture to use the Time Stone, but utility cables pin down his arms, wind around his torso, then tighten around his throat.

“You’ll find… removing a dead man’s spell… troublesome…” Strange choked out.

“You’ll only wish you were dead.”

Knocking out Strange, the alien raised a portion of street pavement to use as a carrier. With a smirk, went over to Y/N.

“Thanos will be eager to meet you,” it said, using its powers to pick her up and tie her next to Strange. “Or kill you. Guess we’ll just have to see.”

next chapter >

I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS AND SUCH!!! FEEL FREE TO SEND IN AN ASK OR DM, OR YOU CAN REBLOG OR COMMENT. THANKS FOR READING!

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2​​. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

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[sukifans]

May I request a Zuko x Reader with prompt number 2 from the 50 cliché prompts? I'm desperate for some fluff

SWEATSHIRT // zuko

WC: 1.8k

PROMPT: “your shirt/jumper was in the laundry pile and i couldn’t help but steal it”

WARNINGS: none

A/N: if you want fluff you came to the right place—tooth rotting fluff is my specialty. the title may or may not be a jacob sartorius reference. yall remember when tik tok was music.ly?

⇦ 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

Living with Sokka certainly had its ups and downs. On the one hand, he always kept things interesting—you never knew what you might come home to find, and he often made you laugh so hard you had tears streaming down your cheeks. He could also MacGyver just about anything that broke in your apartment (usually broken by him, however). You’d only had to call maintenance once, when you’d found him stuck under the kitchen sink, absolutely drenched, and shouting for help as water viciously sprayed from the pipes and the garbage disposal made some sort of ear-splitting shriek.

On the other hand, his mind moved a hundred miles a minute and he often forgot little things, like closing the kitchen cabinets or starting the dishwasher. One such thing he tended to forget was to finish his laundry. Often you’d find his still-wet clothes in the washer or his clean clothes in the dryer, having finished several hours ago. The two of you had worked out a deal: if Sokka did the dinner dishes and bought the snacks for Movie Fridays, you’d make sure the apartment ran smoothly despite his forgetfulness.

That’s how you found yourself dumping a load of his clothes onto his bed after finding them in the dryer while trying to do your own chores. You picked through the shirts and boxer briefs before settling on stealing a deep burgundy sweatshirt—an unspoken part of your deal was that if you found his clothes, you were allowed to steal a t-shirt or sweatshirt of your choosing because he knew you liked to wear the oversized tops on lazy days.

He came back later that night to find you standing in the kitchen, scrolling on your phone while you waited for your tea to steep. Your wet hair hung around your face and you wore the red hoodie with sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks.

“Hey,” he said, dropping his backpack on the ground by the door and kicking off his shoes.

“Hey.” You looked up at him as he bustled around the kitchen, tossing something into the microwave. “How was work?”

“Annoying,” he sighed in irritation, making you grin. He turned to you and frowned, reaching out to tug at the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “Where did you find that?”

“I stole it from your laundry, stupid. You left your stuff in the dryer again. I’ve never seen this one before, did you just get it?”

“Uh... yeah. Thanks for doing that for me.”

“Mhm.” You slipped your phone into the front pocket and cradled your mug. “Why do you ask? Do you want it back?”

“Nah, it’s okay. In fact, keep it. Red doesn’t suit me, I don’t know what I was thinking when I bought it.” He had a smirk on his face that made you very suspicious.

You raised an eyebrow while you slowly sipped your tea. “If you say so, Snoozles.” You flicked his arm as you passed him to retreat into your bedroom for the night. “Don’t forget to pick up your bag. And snacks for Friday night!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he responded through a mouthful of noodles.

You and your friends were gathered in the living room like every other Friday, this week to watch Jurassic Park (yet another classic that neither Aang nor Zuko had seen, much to everybody’s disbelief). Katara and Aang sat together on the armchair, Zuko sat between you and Sokka on the couch, and Toph sat on the floor with her back against the sofa next to her service dog, Badger. You had your legs thrown across the guys’ laps and all eyes (except Toph’s) in the room were glued to the screen. Well, for the most part—Zuko kept looking over at you all night. You tried to keep your attention on the dinosaurs, but you could feel him staring at you. Eventually you caught his eye and raised your eyebrows expectantly. He simply flushed and looked away. You furrowed your brow and turned back to the movie, pulling your hands inside the sleeves of Sokka’s red sweatshirt and sticking them in the pocket.

“Did you guys know that Spielberg wanted the raptors to be taller for the movie and then a few months after they wrapped shooting, paleontologists found a new species of raptor that actually fit the movie portrayal really well? They almost named it after him,” Sokka said with his mouth full of popcorn.

“That’s nice, Sokka,” Katara responded absently, obviously not listening.

“Yeah, and they made the T. Rex sounds with an alligat—oof!” He wheezed when you jabbed your foot into his stomach. “Asshole!”

“Pack it up, IMDB,” you huffed.

“I just thought it was interes—ouch, Toph!” he yelped when Toph punched his shin.

“Stop talking, I can’t hear anything!”

“Just watch it!”

“I can’t!” Toph barked. Sokka crossed his arms and slumped down, grumbling to himself. You and Zuko glanced over at each other and broke out in grins, pursing your lips to hold back your laughter.

As the movie progressed, you noticed the tension in Zuko’s shoulders. He had his jaw clenched throughout the whole scene with the kids trapped in the car with the T. Rex attacking. You nudged him with your knee and he turned to look at you.

“You scared, Zu?” you teased in a low voice, leaning forward to squeeze his bicep. “You want me to protect you from the dinos?”

He rolled his eyes but still lifted his arm, inviting you sit up and tuck yourself into his side. As you leaned against him he seemed to loosen up, settling into his seat and resting his head against yours. Sokka noticed this and looked around Zuko to waggle his eyebrows suggestively and very conspicuously, making your face heat up in embarrassment. Unfortunately, the idiot had caught wind of your crush on his best friend and had been relentlessly tormenting you about it ever since. You glared at him until he sat back, looking disgustingly smug.

After the movie finished, everyone got up to stretch and refill their drinks before the next one started. While talking with Toph in the kitchen, you noticed Zuko standing outside on the balcony by himself. You excused yourself from the conversation and made your way out to him while all your friends hooted in the background. It seemed everyone knew about your attraction to the boy, except for the boy himself.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping outside. He looked around at you and gave you a small smile that made your head spin. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “just getting some air. It’s getting hot in there with everyone in the room.”

You nodded and stood next to him to lean against the railing. After a few beats of silence, you could feel his stare on you again. You met his gaze curiously. “What’s up, Zu? You’ve been looking at me all night.”

“Nothing, it’s just—“ he narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side as if inspecting you “—is that my sweatshirt?”

You frowned. “No, I took it from Sokka.”

“Lying bastard.” His eyes widened at your offended look when you rounded on him. “Not you! I—um, it is mine. I gave it to Sokka the other day and when I asked for it he insisted he already gave it back to me. The fucker gaslit me over a sweatshirt.”

“Sounds about right,” you giggled. “I’m sorry. I’ll give it back before you leave.”

He pulled at one of the drawstrings. “You can keep it, if you want. It’s, uh—“ he cleared his throat “—it looks better on you.”

You stood facing each other now, barely a breath away from being chest-to-chest. “I can’t take your sweatshirt.”

“You take Sokka’s all the time.”

“Yeah, because he always forgets his laundry in the machine. He owes me.” Zuko laughed a little at that, still fiddling with the string. You could feel your heart racing at his proximity. He sucked in a breath and seemed to brace himself for his next words.

“I kind of like how you look in my clothes, though. Might have to start leaving my stuff around here so you stop wearing Sokka’s.” The confidence in his voice was betrayed by the rising blush on his face that surely rivaled your own as you stared up at him with wide eyes.

Your lips parted to speak, but no words came out. All you could squeak out was a soft, “Zuko,” when he raised his hand to brush a loose piece of hair back behind your ear. You felt frozen, rooted to the spot, when his fingertips grazed your cheekbone. His hand lingered there, palm radiating heat into your already flushed cheeks.

“I—“ he pulled his hand back and chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly “—sorry.”

“For what?” you asked.

“I don’t know.” You grinned at each other and in that moment it could’ve been just you and Zuko left on the planet and it wouldn’t’ve mattered; everything you wanted and needed was right there in front of you, if you were bold enough to take that final step toward it.

“Zuko—“

“Hey, we—oh!“ Both of you whipped your heads around when the door slid open to reveal Aang standing there. His whole face went red and he laughed in embarrassment. “Sorry! Just wanted to tell you guys we were gonna start the movie, but no rush! Take your time!” He started to back away and you felt yourself release from Zuko’s magnetic pull now that your small bubble had been invaded.

“It’s okay, Aang.” You smiled gently at your friend and started to make your way back inside. “We were about to head in anyways.”

Aang shot Zuko an apologetic look before nodding and hurrying away. Zuko couldn’t find it in himself to be bitter about the ruined moment when you reached out towards him and gazed up at him with those warm, bright eyes. “You coming, Zu?”

“Yeah, right behind you.” He took your outstretched hand and laced your fingers together, squeezing his palm against yours.

Maybe you weren’t the last people on Earth, and maybe you hadn’t taken that leap just yet, but something between you two shifted and finally clicked into place out there on that balcony. Everything would work out just fine—he knew it in the way you kept your fingers slotted perfectly between his as Jaws played on the television, and in the way you quickly rose onto your toes to press a kiss to his cheek in the hallway before he left. He couldn’t wipe the dreamy little smile off his face for the rest of the night, even as he laid awake in bed thinking about you.

Yeah; everything would be just fine.

ATLA TAGS: @hotgirlazula @octophopi @simpinforsukka @protect-remus @akiris @sunflowerazula

ZUKO TAGS: @fiantomartell @avatarayeaye @hypercakeiii @sher-lockedmarvel @emeraldpotato @september-ctd

[yespolkadotkitty]

Helloooo! So I’m a sucker for sadness. Sometimes when work/ family gets bad, I go our building’s rooftop and just look at the night to hit pause on life🌖💫 What would Zach do when he sees you up there and how would he comfort you? 🌙Thank you! 💛

Words: 1200 ~ Pairing: Zach Wellison x gn!reader

Warnings: swears, sleeplessness

The night sky stretched above you, an endless carpet of blue-black, punctuated by pinprick stars. In the distance, the light of an airplane blinked, moving over the horizon.

It all looked blurry through your tears.

Thank goodness this building had a rooftop you could retreat to.

Not that you were technically allowed up here but - you were pals with the maintenance guy.

You gazed up at the sky, angrily swiping at your eyes. You came up here often when things got too much; when it felt like the universe was shitting on you on a daily - sometimes hourly basis.

You pulled your cardigan around you - the late Spring air still had teeth - and drifted off into your thoughts, only jerking around when the door shut behind you.

The man was silhouetted in the evening light, but you’d recognise those broad shoulders and that tufty hair anywhere.

“Hey,” he began, crossing the rooftop to you.

“Hey.” You suddenly thought that he might have come wearing his Superintendent hat, rather than in the form of a friend. “I can go.”

“No, no…” He gazed at you, his eyes softening. When you’d first met six months ago, when he’d come to your door to fix a faulty radiator valve, his exterior seemed prickly, walls up around him everywhere.

Slowly, the ice had thawed, and you’d done your part to chip away at the frost, offering him cookies and tea when he had to come attend to issues in your apartment.

Then, one day, he’d come in with his master key. You’d said you’d be out, but - the news had arrived and everything else had fallen away, and you’d lain on the floor, sobbing.

That was how he’d found you.

And he told you about the rooftop, and how he sometimes went there to let off steam, to be alone, to think without the noise of the world interrupting; and he’d cut a key for you.

“Are you okay?” He shoved a hand through his hair, and the movement of his arm made his t-shirt sleeve ride up, showing the bottom half of an intricate tattoo. “Of course you’re not okay - you’re up here.”

“I’m okay. Kind of.”

He took a half step forward. “Should I - leave?”

“No - please stay.” 

Zach slipped his hands into his pockets and for moments that stretched, you both gazed up into the starry sky as the world revolved, six storeys below.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked, at length.

As always, the low rasp of his voice made your stomach fill with butterflies.

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

He never pushed; you liked that about him. You suspected he had his own demons.

“Anything busted in your place?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Stuff doesn’t have to be broken for us to hang out, Zach.”

“That so?” He considered this, and you heard the smile in his voice.

“Can you show me your tattoo?”

“Sure.” He used his left hand to push the right sleeve of his t-shirt up, revealing the large eagle perched on a world, an anchor and rope winding underneath. The Eagle held a flag in its beak, the words Semper Fidelis weaving within.

“It’s.. beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

He let her look a little longer, then dropped his sleeve.

“Do you have any more?” you asked, curiously.

“Nah.” The corner of his mouth crooked up. “Were you hoping for some a little… lower?”

Heat crept up your neck. “Maybe.”

He chuckled softly.

“What?”

Zach lifted his shoulder in a habitual half-shrug that you’d seen him perform a lot. “It’s been a while since someone showed any… enthusiasm for me. Like that. Not since I was a Marine, anyway.”

You shut your mouth as soon as you realised it was hanging open. “Seriously? But you look like - have you seen yourself?”

He dipped his head for a second, an unruly lock of hair falling across his forehead, and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“Zach…”

He looked up then, meeting your gaze, and you took his hand, tangled your fingers.

“I always assumed you were seeing someone. Or married.”

A rueful chuckle escaped his lips. “No. I mean, one day, maybe. But I needed to get my shit in order. When you live on the street for two years, you forget how to function in society.”

You squeezed his hand, looked into his cocoa-brown eyes. “You’re doing fine from where I’m standing.”

Zach sighed your name. “I didn’t come up here for- for this. I just came to see if you were okay.”

“And I am. Just needed to press pause.  You know?”

“I get it,” he said solemnly

“But now....” You lifted your free hand and cupped his cheek. You watched his gaze dart to your mouth, then back to your eyes-

And then finally he kissed you, a testing, questioning kiss, just the butterfly-wings brush of his lips on yours. You heard yourself groan his name, an encouragement, and then his arms slid around you, pulling you close, and holy shit he could kiss.

He ravished your mouth, his talented tongue dancing with yours, his patchy scruff tickling you deliciously, every nerve on fire from his ministrations. His hands clenched on the small of your back and you leaned into him.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well. You know. Not everyone wants to make out with the guy who empties the garbage disposal when it gets busted.”

Oh, Zach. You cupped his sweet face. “I’m interested, and that’s never going to be contingent on how you pay the bills.”

He dropped his forehead to yours and you held each other for a moment.

“Honey, I think I’m meant to be comforting you,” he muttered, at length.

“You are.”

Zach tugged your hand and led you to the big brick chimney - blocked up and out of use since the building got converted to apartments in the 70s. He sat down and patted the ground between his legs.

You wiggled in, pressing your back to his front, and he rested his chin on the top of your head, his thumb stroking idly up and down your arm.

“Cold?”

“Not with you here.” You pulled his other arm around you, bent to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I mean it, Zach. I don’t care what you do for a living. I like you.”

He let out a long sigh. “I like you, too. So much. You willing to take a chance on a jarhead with semi-unresolved PTSD and only six t-shirts to his name?”

You smiled, kissed his hand again, as the moon rose, high and fat, in the sky. “Don’t feel you have to wear a t-shirt for my sake.”

He chuckled, and squeezed you, and the future felt bright, unravelling before you like pages of a book, just waiting to be filled.

********

Zach Pit: @gamingaquarius @knittingqueen13 @astroboots @holographic-carmen @idreamofboobear @nelba @agirllovespancakes @sarahjkl82-blog @lilangeldevil006 @restingnurseface @pedropascalito @alienprincesspoop @absurdthirst @tardisfangurl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @songsformonkeys @disgruntledspacedad @lcl7867 @thestrawberry-thief @littlemissthistle @kindablackenedsuperhero @mrsparknuts @myoxisbroken @lunaserenade @filthybookworm @abuttoncalledsmalls @dornish-queen @aeryntheofficial @thirstworldproblemss @chicken-ona-stick @chicken-nugget-puta @miulola @fromthedeskoftheraven

[ceruleanmusings]

First and Foremost

Fandom: Big Time Rush Pairing: James Diamond x Mickey Mason (OC) Word Count: 5.7k Summary: Mickey goes to cheer James up after a brutal verbal beating by Gustavo. Contents: mild flirting, teasing, show-standard humor, sadness Tag: @mystic-scripture​ @foxesandmagic​ @witchofinterest​ @perhapspearl​ @raging-violets​ @lareiism​ @ocfairygodmother​ @ocappreciationtag​

The bright orange vinyl began sticking to his cheek, trapping his heavy sighs against his warm skin but James didn’t care. Why should he care? It wasn’t as if he had a modeling gig to run off to so the inevitable red line pressing into his cheek could stay. It wasn’t as if he had an acting gig to prepare for so he could continue to lay flopped on the couch, feet dangling off the edge, wrinkling his clothes. It wasn’t as if he had a solo moment in a song to rehearse for so he could let his throat roll an agonized vocalization around in his chest.

He'd left Rocque Records hours ago and yet he still heard Gustavo’s shouts echoing in his head: “Stop smiling like that, I hate it!”, “A garbage disposal has better timing than you!”, “I could replace you with a mop and it wouldn’t make any difference!”, and his favorite, “Okay, do it again, but this time, SING ACTUAL NOTES!”

Clearly, Gustavo was wrong. …He had way better hair than a mop so, actually, it would make a difference!

James uttered another body wrenching sigh.

It just wasn’t fair. He spent so much time rehearsing, getting his vocals warmed up, loosening his muscles to better execute dance moves. He put his all into being a pop star! Okay, sometimes he could get distracted by the lights and the glitz and glamor but who wouldn’t? Pretty people wanted to dress him, sculpt his hair, perfect his image (not that they had to do much on that front), have them joint their ranks, put him in the spotlight where he belonged. Why was it a bad thing? When it came down to it, he wanted this. He always wanted this!

Kendall, Carlos, and Logan didn’t get it. He loved his buds, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see their eye rolls, hear their scoffs, or feel their dismissive aside glances when he talked about a potential modelling job or how he was, in fact, the best person to lead a song (or sing the whole thing, why split hairs?), or when he shared his dream of buying a house to turn it into a personal salon/display museum for his bandanas. (It makes sense to keep it all in one place!)

All he was trying to do was make his dreams a reality. It wasn’t as if he was pushing his buds off a cliff to get there. It’d happen eventually. It was inevitable. (The recognition, not the cliff-pushing.) He had the face, he had the voice, he had the talent, he had the body, he had the face. He was born for this life. He was meant to be doing this!

But no one else seemed to notice.

Groaning, James turned onto his side, tucked his arm beneath his head and curled his knees up to his chest. If Katie were around, she’d point and laugh at him, maybe say he was being a big baby or some other phrase with big words he didn’t understand. Thankfully she, the guys, and Mama Knight were off at an LA Kings game. He’d been looking forward to the game for weeks but going didn’t appeal to him after the day he had. He’d taken enough hits to watch other people get tossed around like a ragdoll.

Sometime later he heard the distinct sound of someone climbing the stairs to get to the swirly slide entrance and yet he still didn’t move. Instead, he watched dust motes float and around the shafts of gold light seeping in through the blinds.

“Hey, it’s just me.” Ordinarily James would’ve jumped up at the sound of Mickey’s voice, double-checking his reflection in his lucky pocket mirror to ensure he was presentable and his muscles were at their peak. He couldn’t let her see him at anything other than his best. He was James Diamond! He didn’t do mediocre! This time, though, he stayed still, listening as she came down the swirly slide, the rubber on her docs tapping against the ground on her dismount. It was the only time she didn’t knock before entering. The door was always open, and people came and went as they pleased, but not Mickey. She made sure to knock every time. It was polite, she explained, looking at them all as if they’d been raised by wolves.

He mentally followed her footsteps—always with that cute little bounce to it—around the back of the couch heading to the island until she came into view. She dressed comfortably as always: dread locks pulled back into a half updo with gold rings and cuffs, her favorite cropped white *NSYNC hoodie depicting the image of their first album cover, dark skinny jeans, pale blue docs and a makeup-free face. She never wore makeup except for occasions where it called for it such as appearances, interviews, and photoshoots. James never thought she needed it.

“I’m just picking up my Tupp…er…ware…” He watched as Mickey’s eyebrows collided and she leaned to the side, peering at him as if she didn’t recognize him on the couch. He didn’t blame her; he was sure he wouldn’t recognize himself if he could see himself right now. “James? Are you okay?” she asked, taking a few steps closer, tucking a lock behind her ear.

James’ lips pushed out another sigh. “I’m sad,” he replied. No sense in hiding the obvious. His lower lip already dropped to a pout upon uttering the words and he couldn’t fight the wave washing over him, dragging his mood further (if that were possible).

Shoving her hands into the front of her pockets she approached. “’Cause of Gustavo?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

He blinked. “That’s it.”

Her eyebrow arched. “No it’s not. I can see it all over your pretty face.” Sliding a hand out her pocket, she wiggled a pointed finger at him, motioning in circles around his face.

“Hmph. At least you think it’s pretty,” he mumbled.

She sat on the floor in front of the couch, turning her knees to the side, propping her elbow on the cushion and her cheek on her fist while turning to him. He looked back at her, taking in her freckle dotted nose. Her dark eyes squinted for a moment, mimicking the small pull to her mouth until they both relaxed. “What’s up? Besides the Gustavo part. I was wearing soundproof headphones while recording my bass lines today—I still heard him through it. And while that sucked, I know that’s not the only issue.”

“Maybe I just wanted to be alone.”

“James, you can’t go an elevator ride without needing someone to talk to.” Her mouth quirked in the corner, bolstering the tease to her words. He managed a small smile. “Speaking of which. Where are the guys?”

“They went to a Kings game.”

“Are you meeting them there?”

“I didn’t want to go.”

Her eyes widened, dark brown lighting to reflect her surprise. “You didn’t want to go to a King’s game?”

James twisted his mouth to the side, shrugging. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go. Of course he wanted to go. Everything about hockey appealed to him: the crisp air filling his lungs, the crackling excitement plucking his energized nerves, the sharp snap of wood smacking against rubber, the scuffing of sharp blades on the ice, the cold adding a natural blush to his cheeks, the hot girls dressed in jerseys, the warm nacho cheese sliding down his throat, the way the bright lights lit him on his good side (both of them). But, even with the Kings and Ducks matchup, it wasn’t enough to get him off the couch.

“Well, what about hanging by the pool? It’s Golden Hour.” She reached out and poked his cheek. “Your favorite time of day.”

That was true. Nothing made his selfies better than the effect of a filter without actually having to use one. He thought about it for a second, shook his head, and sighed again. “I don’t feel like it.”

“Wow.” Her lashes fluttered due to her rapid blinking. A hum sounded behind her turned down mouth and she reached out, squeezing his knee. He felt a tug somewhere in the pit of his stomach at her touch, like a cork easing its way out of a bottle. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Silence. Then: “It just doesn’t make sense!” And it all came pouring out, the frustrations and grievances. Not just from that day but from the past year and a half, from the start of it all. How they didn’t want him, they wanted Kendall. How no matter how hard he tried it wasn’t good enough. How, even though he had the talent, and knew it in his bones, it didn’t match the “fire” they looked for. How he was dragged along to form a group in a business he’d always dreamed of being in. How he was constantly shuttled back and forth between his parents, passed along like a discarded accessory. How he was overlooked time and time again (which he still wasn’t even sure how that was possible with his height and face and style.) How he was dismissed and taken as being “dramatic” when he opted not to go to the Kings game.

It was that feeling, the want—or lack thereof—which kept him glued to the couch. It seemed everyone could direct it towards anyone and anything else but him. No one chose him. No one wanted him.

The entire time he spoke Mickey stayed quiet save for the occasional hums to accompany her head nods. By the end she offered up a clicking tsk and a welcomed, “Aww, dude, I’m sorry you had to deal with all that.” She looked at him and he looked right back, wondering for a minute if they were having some sort of staring contest until he got cross-eyed and had to blink. Her shoulders shook with a quiet laugh, lips curling upwards in the corners. Silence stretched between them. James’s eyes widened slightly, taking on a pointed look.

“Is that it?” James finally prompted.

“Is what it?”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“…Yeah.”

“You’re not going to tell me I’m being dramatic? You’re not going to give me some advice? You’re not going to give me some pep talk?”

Mickey snorted. “And what kind of advice could I give you? To just get over it?” James nodded rapidly. “You’re upset. Telling you to get over it won’t change that. Besides, I get it.”

“You do?”

“That feeling you have to work twice as hard just to get the recognition you feel you rightfully deserve only to be overlooked?” She let out a little bitter laugh, twisting the end of one of her dreads around her finger. “Yeah. I know that feeling a little too well; life made sure of it.” A second later her eyes widened and then squinted, as if seeing something in the distance. Her eyebrows furrowed and she clicked her tongue. In a flash, she got off the floor and James watched her make quick strides to the door, opening it with a flourish only to pull it shut behind her. He stared at the swinging jackets hanging off the key shaped holder, an incredulous expression popping onto his face.

“Well thanks for the talk, Mickey! I feel so much better!” James called out to the closed door. He rolled onto his back, unfurling his legs, staring up at the tall ceiling. Geeze, first Gustavo, then his buds, and now Mickey. He thought people cared about him but clearly he was wrong! Why did he even like her in the first place?

A knock sounded on the door. Uncurling himself, James sat up, head tilting in curiosity. A second later the door opened, and a sheepish Mickey stepped through it. “Forgot, I don’t need to knock for myself,” she muttered, rubbing her palms down the legs of her jeans.

Nevermind, she came back. He liked her again.

She drummed her fingers against her thighs and then headed for the kitchen. “I’m thirsty. Do you want a juice box?”

James’s head bobbed from side to side. Now that his chest didn’t feel as if it would cave in, it felt “Yeah, I could go for one.” She pulled one from the fridge and tossed it to him. He easily caught it with one hand as he swung his legs down from the couch, settling on the middle cushion facing the tv. He popped off the straw and stabbed it through the foil-covered hole on top. He didn’t pretend it was Gustavo’s face beneath the straw. Not at all. He took a long pull of the watermelon flavored drink and swallowed. It helped, but only a little.

He watched as Mickey closed the refrigerator and started opening and closing a few cabinets. She pulled a few bowls out of one and set them on the counter and then pulled open a few drawers, taking out measuring cups and spoons and knives.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Well, there’s really no point in bringing back Tupperware that’s empty is there?” She asked, eyebrows lifting. “It’s downright blasphemy.”

His stomach quivered at that. Food? She was making food? As much as a small part of him still wanted nachos from the Staples Center, he could trade it for whatever she made. If magic existed, she possessed it with how good her food turned out. Not that Mama Knight’s wasn’t a great cook herself, nothing beat her cheesy potato soup or Fishstick Fridays or her amazing snickerdoodles, Mickey just tended to make more on the dessert side. And while his body was a temple and he treated it right, sometimes the temple wanted a big fat slice of pie. To please the Gods. (Him, James was the God. No matter how much Logan disagreed, the peasant).

“What are you making? Can I have some?”

“It’s a surprise but sure. It’s gonna take me some time, though.”

James reeled in his pout and protest, as much as he hated having to wait history showed it tended to be worth it. Shifting off the couch, he opened the cabinet beneath the tv and looked at the array of DVDs staring back at him. He bypassed his usual go-tos—Die Hard, Bring it On, the Entourage series, Fast and Furious, Step Brothers, Zoolander, Marley & Me—stopping at the smaller cases on the end, holding white discs with Mama Knight’s handwriting scrawled over the surface depicting dates from a few years back. James shuffled through the cases as if they were a deck of cards, stopping on one he remembered from freshman year, near the end of the season.

The Meadowlark High Coyotes were 7-9; they needed to win at least four more games to make it to the playoffs before their season was cut short. They were down by three points at 4-6 against Willow Grove High’s Rams with ten minutes left. Kendall had been benched for fighting after getting his face smashed into the plexiglass on a breakaway (it was a cheap hit). Carlos was ejected for leaving goal to bum rush the player who executed the hit, trying to pants him. And Logan sat on the bench, his nose buried in his roster book, scribbling away, making notes for the coach to review after the game. That left him the lone wingman to turn the tide on a penalty shot and any scoring chance he obtained afterwards. Yes there was another wingman, but he may as well not have been on the ice with James taking the lead.

He popped it into the DVD player and fell back into the memory of the day, sank into the swell of cheers, the shrill whistles, the thudding beat of his heart in his ears, the rush as he glided over the ice, carrying the puck to the goal shot after shot after shot. And the chanting, oh the chanting, it may as well have been tattooed on his heart: Dia-mond, Dia-mond, Dia-mond! Only his stick slapping against the puck broke the cheering. Crack! Crack! Crack! James rushed the goal and sent the puck sailing through the air, nestling in the top right and left corners of the net, lighting the lamp. The crowd went wild. His team rushed the ice, lifting him up in the air as sirens and whistles went off.

James paused on the zoom on his face, the light in his eyes and the flush on his cheeks. Someone had yanked off his helmet so they could ruffle his sweaty hair, which still looked good compared to the others, thank you very much. (Helmet hair was not something he ever had to combat, he made sure of it.)

They won. They chose him and he won. When he was picked, they all succeeded. That was the point.

He scanned backwards, watching the play in reverse, pressed play, and watched their victory unfold. Again. And again. And again. Forward, back, forward, back. Shoot, score, repeat. Every watch brought back another shot of exhilaration, another round of satisfaction pulsing through his veins. Gustavo had drained that feeling right out of him.

“What’re you watching?” Mickey’s head hung next to his as she leaned over the back of the couch. “Is that you? Oh, you were all so teeny!”

James pouted. He wasn’t teeny. Yeah, he was a couple years younger than now and had a bit of a rounder face but all the days playing hockey he’d shed his childhood weight. And he’d hit his growth spurt, so he was already taller than the guys in their class. Despite the slight sting of the comment, he answered, “Freshman year hockey game. Against our rivals, the Rams.”

“Did you win?”

James scoffed. “Of course we did!” Big Time Rush didn’t lose. Once they all joined the team, they were a force to be reckoned with. “All thanks to me, even. Kendall and the guys were benched for ‘unsportsmanlike behavior’.” His finger quotes stabbed the air as he rolled his eyes.

“Why? What’d they do?”

“Watch.” Within a few seconds the scene unfolded again: Kendall on a breakaway, for all intents and purposes prime for a good shot. Then someone from the other team bashed into him, clearly committing a foul. Kendall bounced off the plexiglass as sharp whistles and booing jeers filled the air. Cheeks red, either due to the cold or anger, Kendall threw down his stick and gloves, whipped off his helmet, and charged for a Ram. He managed a hit on one before two Rams came up, grabbed him, threw him into the plexiglass again, and squished his face against it, dragging it from side to side. Mickey sucked a hissing breath in between her teeth, face scrunching up to a look of pain.

“That looked like it hurt.”

“Hurt worse when the guy wasn’t even called for it—the refs were from their town,” James explained at the look of disbelief crossing her face. “But I get the penalty shot and score more goals to clinch the win for us.”

“Bet that felt good.”

He shrugged. Good wasn’t the right word. Amazing wasn’t the right word. He didn’t think a word existed to properly encompass how that day felt. He paused the video and scanned it backwards again, his thumb hovering over the play button as his eyes took in their reflections on the tv screen. Namely how close she leaned to his head. Turning to her, he eyed her close-up profile. “If you wanted to kiss me, you could just say so,” James said with a flirtatious smile. Motioning to her with the remote he added, “You don’t have to come up with an excuse to get close.”

Her head tilted to the side, her studying him this time. “Would it make you feel better?”

He blinked. Uh…what? That wasn’t what she was supposed to say. That wasn’t how things went with them. He’d flirt, she’d rebuff him, he’d try again later. That’s how their friendship worked, among both agreeing blue was, in fact, a flavor (suck it, Logan!), her helping him with English homework while he helped her with vocal work, taking trips to the farmer’s market for fresh ingredients (her for her cooking, him for his organic, clean, homemade facial mask), and splitting the s’mores skillet at Fun Burger on his cheat day. Not that he didn’t like this turn of events, he wasn’t stupid. Okay, so he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the spotlight, but he wasn’t that stupid.

Still, he shook his head and pinched his arm to be sure this wasn’t some sort of dream, that she had, in fact, asked if kissing him would make him feel better. His fingers pressed into his skin and a pinch of pain shot up his arm. His eyes widened. He was definitely awake!

“Uh…sure?” He mentally admonished himself, hearing how unsure he sounded. Who talked like that? Not him, that’s for sure. He was much cooler than that. He cleared his throat, deepened his voice, turned his eyes to smolder, and said, “I mean, yeah. We could give it a shot.”

“Okay, close your eyes.”

He did as he was told, eyes slamming shut. James’ chest swelled and relaxed as he took in and let out a long breath. Not that he was nervous. He’d kissed plenty of girls before. Hell, once he’d kissed three girls in a half hour (thank you spin the bottle!) So this was nothing to worry about. No big deal. It’s just Mickey. Just the girl he’d been into for the past year. His palms sweating had nothing to do with it, that happened sometimes. Not a lot. Okay, never. Not when it came to kissing girls. So it had to be some sort of new medical condition he’d need to get looked at. Along with the shaking. And his heart thudding against his chest. He made a mental note to get that looked at too.

He felt her hovering in front of him, close enough for that strange sensation to itch and curl beneath his skin, anticipation cracking like a livewire. A strong swoop lurched in his stomach when she asked “Ready?”, so close he smelled something sweet on her breath. Vanilla? A lock of her hair brushed against the side of his face, sending a shot of something pleasant down his spine.

He nodded, swiping his tongue against his bottom lip. (Not too wet, not too dry. Couldn’t have her thinking his lips were like sandpaper.) Breath? He thought back. Last thing he ate were a few ants-on-a-log back at the studio. Peanut Butter wasn’t what he’d go with, but it would do in a pinch.

Okay. You’re James Diamond! You’re in a world-famous band! You have great hair! You have great style! You have great lips! They’re perfectly pouty and pink and fantastic. It’s just a kiss. You can do this. Annnd….go!

James leaned forward, pursing his lips. Something touched his lips. His eyebrows lowered. Huh, her lips were a lot colder than he’d imagined. Just as smooth, though. And a little…pointy? What? Before he could react, something gave way and shot between his teeth, heading to the back of his throat. He coughed, the object shooting forward, bouncing on his tongue.

His eyes popped open, granting him the sight of Mickey and her shit-eating grin. His tongue rolled the object around in his mouth, smooth on all sides except for one point. A rush of chocolate swarmed his taste buds. A Hersehey’s kiss. He blinked, staring up at her.

“Did the Earth move for ya, honey?” she asked sweetly, her soft southern accent igniting the teasing sparkle in her eyes.

“Very funny,” James grumbled, chewing the cold bit of chocolate into small pieces. It melted fast on his tongue. Pushing a hand through his hair, he flopped back against the couch, doing his best to avoid her gaze. But that smile, so bright and satisfied, drew him back in and he found his frown lifting upwards.

Still grinning, she dropped down on the couch next to him. He noticed the plate in her hands, the surface covered with an array of purple swirls and designs resting atop white sponge dotted with color.

Funfetti cupcakes. His favorite.

She was forgiven.

------

“She moves left, she moves right, she goes left again-oh! Fake out! She’s on a breakaway! There’s no one standing between her and the net! Will she make it?” With a lunge, Mickey slapped a pretzel rod against the Oreo in the middle of the table. James dropped to his knees, opening his mouth in time for the cookie to slide against the smooth surface, coast past his teeth, and land on his tongue. Goal! “She does! She scores! And the Missles are the table hockey champions of the world!” Throwing her arms into the air, Mickey danced a little victory jig, chomping the pretzel rod in her hand as if putting an exclamation point at the end of a sentence.

Chuckling, James chewed the Oreo. Ordinarily he would already be mentally preparing his routine at the gym the next day to counteract all the sugar he’d eaten but he could skip it for one day. Tossing his own pretzel rod onto the table—he wasn’t going to make an exception for sodium, not when bloat could set in—he stood, brushing any miniscule bit of dirt off his knees. “Why didn’t you go to the hockey game again?” he asked.

Mickey’s eyebrow arched and she waved her hand around the room, motioning to the table, the leftover cupcakes sitting on the kitchen counter, and Bring it On playing on the tv in the background “And miss out on all this fun?” She winked and took another bite of the pretzel rod. “Not a chance.”

James smiled, a rush of warmth spreading through him.

The door burst open; Carlos, Kendall, and Logan rushed in, hooting, and hollering, waving towels and hats in a flurry. Katie and Jennifer entered behind them, wearing identical expressions, half of amusement and half of wariness.

“Hey guys,” Mickey greeted them, walking around the table. “How was the game?” Her answer came as a wall of sound when Kendall, Carlos, and Logan screamed in her face. Blinking rapidly, she wiggled a finger in her ear as she leaned away from them. “That good, huh?”

“It was awesome!” Carlos shouted. “First the Ducks were in the lead and then the Kings caught up to them but then the Ducks were in the lead again! And during the ice cleanings Bailey and Wild Wing came out and got into a shootout. And then they played musical chairs which is silly, you know, because why would animals need to sit on chairs—ooh! Cupcakes!” Breaking off, he made a dashing dive for the kitchen counter.

“Those are mine!” James shouted, making Carlos freeze with a cupcake halfway to his mouth. A whimpering sound fell out of his mouth as he looked back and forth between James and the cupcake.

“Be nice, there’s enough for them to have one,” Mickey said, rubbing James’s arm. “Go ahead, Carlos.” She barely finished her sentence when Carlos stuffed it into his mouth, paper still attached.

“Dude.” Kendall bumped James on the arm with the back of his hand. “We had to keep Carlos from tackling Bailey the lion for thumping Wild Wing’s bill in the stands. Could’ve used you to hold him back.”

“Is that the only reason?” James asked.

Kendall scoffed. “Of course not! I had no one else to cringe with when they messed up the National Anthem. You weren’t there to list off every stat for the Kings or the Ducks—down to what conditioner they most likely used.” James pushed a laugh out of his nose. “After the game ended, they let us skate around for a bit. T’somethin’ I always dreamed about, skating one of the biggest NHL rinks. Wasn’t the same without my wingman there to catch my passes without fail.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “We’re sorry we didn’t take your feelings seriously. Gustavo was rough on you today. We should’ve stayed with you, made sure you were okay.”

“You didn’t think I was being overdramatic?”

“Oh no, we totally did,” Kendall said, making James roll his eyes, “but halfway through the game I remembered that you get like that when it comes to things that are important to you. And it’s not fair for me, for us, to push that aside. So I’m sorry. We cool?” He extended his hand,

“We’re cool. You know I can’t stay mad at my bud,” James replied, clasping Kendall’s hand to pull him into a quick hug.

“And on that note, it’s time for me to go,” Mickey said, squeezing past them. Clutched in her hands were two Tupperware containers filled with cupcakes. “Are you feeling better?” Kendall’s eyes quickly ping-ponged between the two; he mumbled something about needing to polish his hockey puck and backed away.

James’ mind quickly scanned through a list of things he could say to keep her around a little longer. He came up with nothing. “I am, yeah,” James admitted. “Thanks for sticking around and keeping me company, Mickey.”

“Any time. If you ever want a rematch against the Missles, you know where to find me. We’ll be ready for you Diamondheads.” Leaning past James, she called out “see you, guys!” only to get distracted hand waves back from Kendall, Carlos, Logan, and Katie as they watched the game highlight on the news. She shrugged. “See ya, James,” she said, quickly tilting her fingers at him in a rippling wave.

He waved back, watching as she left the apartment. The door closed with a soft click. James turned on his heel only to stop in his tracks, noticing every pair of eyes in the room pointed on him. Eyebrows crinkling, his head tilted to the side. Usually he deserved attention, basked in it even, but he wasn’t sure what he did to get it this time. “What?” he finally asked.

“You were here with Mickey alone all afternoon,” Kendall said. “What happened?”

James shrugged, approaching the couch. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. We talked, watched some hockey, and messed around.”

“So you never hit on her?” Logan asked.

Kind of. “No, not really.” Hershey kiss substitutes didn’t count.

“Dude! This was your chance!” Carlos sprayed bits of uneaten cupcake out of his mouth as he shouted. Uttering a noise of disgust, Logan wiped the side of his face, shooting such a scathing look at Carlos it made him behind Katie. James laughed at the sight.

“Yeah, that’s not like you, James. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Kendall said.

“I’m feelin’ great, guys, really,” he assured them. “Gimmie another cupcake.” As he reached for the plate in Katie’s hand, he spotted something white under the pillow Kendall leaned against. He yanked it out with one strong pull. “Oh shoot,” he muttered. He got a series of asynchronous what?s answered him. “It’s Mickey’s sweatshirt. She forgot it.”

“Give it to her tomorrow. She’ll be at the studio,” Kendall pointed out.

James took in Kendall’s nonchalance with an incredulous shake of his head. He couldn’t do that. Well…he could but he couldn’t. Even if the built-in excuse for her to come back to the apartment was enticing, he wouldn’t feel right holding onto it. Not when he knew of her attachment to it, not just due to how soft and comfortable the sweatshirt was but to the band as well. When he thought about not having his Lucky Comb on him, even for a second, it sent shivers down his spine.

“No, I’ll just try and catch her at the elevator.” Clutching the sweatshirt tight in his hands, James dashed for the door. It barely opened far enough for him to fit through before he found himself out in the hall. He ran around a corner, nearly clipping it, slowing when he heard Mickeys’ voice.

“Thanks again for being so understanding. I know it was last minute…”

“Girl, it’s okay,” Jo said back. Hmm? James peered around the corner, spying Mickey and Jo standing in front of the elevator doors. She clutched a rolled-up script in her hand. “We can always go another day. It’s no big deal.”

“Thanks. James just looked so…defeated.” Mickey’s nose wrinkled. “It’s weird. I’ve never seen him like that before. I just…I didn’t want him to be alone.”

“I get it. I’m not going to be mad at you for being there for a friend,” Jo said, waving her hand in the air. “Buut…you’ll also be extra forgiven if I can have a cupcake.” Her eyebrows wiggled as she tapped a quick rhythm on the Tupperware lid.

Mickey laughed, popping the lid. “No problem.”

Jo eagerly dove for a cupcake, peeling the paper off halfway before taking a bite at the base of the treat. She brought a finger up to her mouth as she chewed, wiping away a stray smear of cream cheese frosting. “So…you must really like James to cancel going to that pie making class you’d been looking forward to for weeks.”

What!? James pressed his lips together, biting on them. The pulse of pain fell into sync with his rapid heartbeat. Jo’s lips curled in the corners and, beneath the hallway lighting, James swore he saw devil horns pop up on her head.

Mickey rolled her eyes. James squinted. Was that a blush on Mickey’s cheeks or a trick of the light? “Don’t even start with me, I gotta deal with all that at home.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Mickey stepped backwards into the elevator, jabbing at a button with her elbow. “…And I don’t not like him. But don’t tell anyone that!”

Jo mimed zipping her lips. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Swallowing the yelp fighting to shoot up his throat, James turned and headed back to 2J. He slipped into the apartment under the noise of aliens and troopers getting blown up in Biohazard 5 and Carlos’ jeers as he held his hand in front of Logan’s face.

“Did you catch her?” Kendall yelled over the noise, eyes glued to the tv.

“No, I missed her.” James made a beeline for the bedrooms, a soft smile sitting upon his lips. “I’ll see her tomorrow.”

[smolthealmighty]

Spinaraki Week Level 2 Day 5: Strays + Rain

Sunshower Fortress

It’s been a few months since they ran away, and with the threats of being captured wearing off, Spinner and Tomura are ready to find a more permanent base of operations... after this storm clears up of course. A continuation of Day 4: Let’s Stick Together, We Won’t Fall Apart.

~~~~~

It only took about five minutes, from the start of the thundering down pour that had come right the fuck out of nowhere to finding the bridge and diving underneath it, but by then their backpacks and the belongings inside had been soaked. Spinner set about remedying that by setting the trash inside of the well-placed garbage can on fire with the last of his matches, while Tomura spread the bags and their contents around the jury-rigged heat source. Once those tasks were completed, they huddled close to the fire to feed off the warmth emanating from it, and from each other.

This wasn’t so bad. Sure, they weren’t living the most stable lifestyle. They couldn’t really hold down any jobs as they were constantly on the run, since they couldn’t risk getting caught by any cops who recognized Spinner as a missing person or by the goons Tomura’s sensei had at his disposal. Even if they hadn’t actually seen those threats yet, they didn’t want to chance it. And yeah, they occasionally had to “dine and dash” or go dumpster diving to keep their bellies full when the money they saved up got tight.

But they got by. Tomura may have been joking back then but Spinner really was an “escape master supreme”. The ability to traverse nearly any surface paired up with a quirk that made things disappear created a partnership where they could “get in and get out” of most any situation without a trace of evidence left behind. And it was worth it! They were two crazy teenage runaways on the move, touring the cities and seeing the sights, and always having each other’s backs.

Of course, deep down they both knew they couldn’t keep this up forever. Today had been a sunny August day, but the nice weather wasn’t going to stay that way for much longer. So, their mission for the day had been to investigate the area around the city they were currently hiding in, and scout out a secure shelter to settle into for the foreseeable future before the weather went to shit. Case in point, they were in the middle of arguing whether the cheap apartment or the empty larger-than-average dumpster was the better option when the sky abruptly opened up and dumped a good hundred gallons on them, forcing them to abandon the squabble and find cover.

Still, it was moments like this, nestled together and comfortably snug in the light of the fire and in each other’s arms, where everything felt right. Right in a way neither of them had ever felt in the life they had before they met.

About an hour later, their stuff was mostly dry and the sun started to come out once more, but the rain, while it had slowed down somewhat, carried on. The violent storm had transitioned neatly into a mellow sunshower. With a care he only showed to Spinner, Tomura untangled himself from him and jogged out to get a better look at the phenomenon, kicking at the grass to scatter the heavy drops of water that still clung on to them.

Spinner watched as Tomura catapulted himself into the nearest puddle, a big grin on the wild-eyed boy and a small sentimental smile on his own, and as the shallow water sprung to life around his friend, time slowed down to a crawl. It slowed down so Spinner could see the starry dewdrops that had gathered on Tomura’s pale eyelashes and how they framed his bejeweled and boyish eyes, which shone brightly from the reflection of the sun’s rays breaking through the storm clouds, and from his own unrestrained glee. In an instant, Spinner knew the reason why everything felt right with Tomura at his side, the reason that had unknowingly yet deeply rooted itself since they first met online all those months ago.

Time picked its pace back up once again, but Spinner felt like he was still in a trance as he stood up and walked out into the sunlight and rain. Tomura didn’t notice that his friend had come out from under the bridge to join him until he was nearly right in front of him.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked Spinner, who was still staring at him with wide rosy eyes and his mouth slightly hanging open in awe, as if he was seeing Tomura for the first time. Without a word Spinner slowly shuffled as close as he could and, placing his hands firmly onto the slightly taller boy’s shoulders for balance, raised himself up on his tiptoes to place a soft kiss on Tomura’s right cheek, catching the dark mole that contrasted with his otherwise pale skin.

Spinner stayed there for a moment or two, letting his lips linger before pulling back just as slowly as he came in. Once his face came back into view, Tomura felt like he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He could not do anything and would not do anything, not until he cataloged all the ways in which the sunlight scattered in the drizzle and flickered its colors onto Spinner’s face, took notice of how the soft reds and bright blues were refracted and enhanced as they bounced off his iridescent scales. And just like Spinner, Tomura instantly realized what made it feel so right to belong together. Cupping the cheeks that blushed petal pink, Tomura watched as Spinner’s similarly shaded eyes fluttered shut before leaning in and letting his own cherry red eyes close as well.

Their first kiss tasted like a raindrop. So did the next one, and the next, and the next, even long after the shower was over.

~

When the sky gave way from stormy afternoon to clear and quiet dusk, Spinner and Tomura found an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It was spacious, wasn’t well lit, and there were piles of random boxes on the floor and chains hanging from the high ceiling, but it wasn’t so bad. Bring in some blankets and hammocks, throw a couple pillow here and there, figure out how to rewire some of the electrics without getting severely electrocuted, and this place would do just fine. Together they’d get by. Together they’d make this newly dubbed “Sunshower Fortress” a home.

[bubmyg]

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: college!au + part of my college “best friend” drabble series (linked as “p.s. i love you” on my masterlist), fluff, like...so much fluff, jimin and jeongguk are little shits this time

word count: 1,642

summary: yoongi is sick and you’re called to take care of him that’s it that’s the blurb (also based on this request)

“Password.”

“Jeongguk is an idiot.”

“Oh, close, but not quite.”

You sighed, “Jeongguk is amazing.”

The fluffy haired man grinned, pulling back the front door of the house so it revealed his entire stature, matching blue pajama set and all rather than just his nose that had been prodded through the tiny sliver of doorway he allowed. 

“I’ll take it for tonight.” Yet, he didn’t budge, broad stature still sanctioned in the threshold with one hand gripping the side of the door. 

You shuffled in, enough to press your forearm against his torso while you peeled your boots from your heels. Halfway through stepping out of the second one and you were trailing off, “...so are you going to let me inside or is there more to the riddle?”

“No, I’ll let you in,” Jeongguk stepped back then, barely, just enough so you weren’t touching him anymore, but continued to regard you semi-seriously from beneath shower messy fringe, “Just guarding the bridge troll like a good roommate. Are you sure you want to see him? Or rather, you know...deal with him?”

“He’s sick, Guk.”

“Is he?” Jeongguk wriggled his eyebrows, “Or is this some elaborate scheme to keep us out of his bedroom while you’re over—”

Your lips parted to scold the younger man until a soft shuffling could be heard over the creaks of the staircase, a bundled up figure descending and then ascending in your direction. Fever stained cheeks poked out from the fuzzy hem of a grey blanket, hoodie strings tied in a neat bow just underneath a dimpled chin, honey colored fringe sticking out in one single prong from the multilayered fabric curled around facial features. One, fabric coated arm jutted out, pushing weakly to the crumpled buttons haphazardly strewn over Jeongguk’s chest. 

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just call me a troll,” Yoongi rasped, hoarse, and even the slightly raised infliction caused a cough to rack his shoulders, leaving him to hunch over for a half second. 

“To be fair, you kind of look like one—”

You cupped Yoongi’s shoulder, shooting Jeongguk a wide eyed glare paired with a curt, negating nod. “Thanks for letting me in,” You offered as dismissal and he took the bait this time, hopping away into the dimly lit house with a train of soft giggles. 

Yoongi was staring at you by the time you assured that Jeongguk had disappeared into his room, red trimming every edge of white eyes and cocoa irises, eyelids swollen, nose pink, lips a raw red. You cooed quietly, moving your hand from his shoulder to swipe the edge of your thumb nail to the bit of involuntary liquid that had escaped from his eyelids. A grumble escaped his pouted lips at the affection, capturing you between the open lapels of his blanket cape to bring you into a tight hug.

“Princess is here to take care of the sickly bridge troll,” You soothed against his shoulder, gradual arms working their way around his middle. 

“Not you, too,” His voice resembled that of dumping finely shredded gravel into a running garbage disposal but it lifted on the end into something high pitched, a whine, one that he buried against the crook of your neck as he hoarded you closer. 

“Sorry, bubs, had to,” You scraped your nails between his shoulder blades, a gentle glide back and forth until he relaxed in your embrace, huffing still but relaxed nonetheless. Another moment, and you reprimanded, “Why are you out of bed? I told you I was coming over to make you soup.”

“You were taking too long,” Yoongi nuzzled into your skin and you couldn’t tell if the source of heat on his cheeks was from embarrassment or sickness. Or some combination of both, “...then heard Jeongguk pestering you. Had to come save you—” He pulled back to pout at you under lidded eyes, “—want my soup.”

You ducked to kiss his cheek just to see his features scrunch, hands on his waist gently directing him back toward the staircase. “Okay, you big baby. Go get back in bed, I’ll bring it to you.”

You were halfway to the kitchen, Yoongi halfway up the first flight of stairs when you called his name, you paused with your chin over your shoulder fondly assessing the discontented grunt Yoongi let out to eye you. 

“Do you need anything else?”

There was a clear hesitation, hand peeling off the railing to propel him up another step as if he were simply going to shake his head no and leave it at that. But then he settled, firm in his statement. 

“Just you,” Yoongi’s eyes darted away from your softening gaze for a moment, before murmuring a half fraction softer, “Please hurry.”

The gentle slopes of glistening, blush painted cheeks were the only thing visible when you nudged your way through his door, duvet curled just underneath the button tip of his nose. The blanket now laid in a forgotten heap at the foot of his bed, hood cast sideways so that messy tendrils splayed in every direction over the crumpled mess of his pillow. He didn’t hear you at first, soft snores muffled in the fabric until you made space for the steaming styrofoam bowl on his bedside table, effectively knocking his phone into his lamp. 

Yoongi’s eyes opened just long enough to confirm it was you before he hummed, turning over to face you as you crouched next to the bed. You were gentle in tugging the duvet from his grasp despite the high pitched noises that scratched out of his throat. 

“You need to eat this while it’s warm,” You reasoned, peeling back his source of warmth until it rested on his waist. He didn’t budge, curling within himself, shoving the sleeves of his hoodie over his knuckles to pull both arms against his chest and something like a defiant I’ll eat later rasped through his barely parted lips. 

He let you take one of his hands, searching fingers popping over the sleeve of his hoodie to happily lace between your own and the tiniest of geometric shapes framed the dimples in his cheeks even as his eyes continued to stay defiant and shut. You settled on the floor, tucking your legs underneath you as you brought his knuckles to your lips, gentle in framing your lips over each one before pressing one lingering kiss to the center of all of them. 

The intricate red laced through his eyes seemed to disappear when you found him looking at you again, one eyebrow barely quirked upwards, the tiniest sliver of teeth appearing as he gently tugged on your intertwined fingers. 

“Come here, angel.”

Incredulously endeared, you found yourself obliging, knees creaking as you rose from the awkward position on the floor onto to knock your elbow into his bedside table, effectively sloshing a fraction of the still warm soup to where it curled around the exposed part of your ankle between your sweatpants and fuzzy socks. 

Yoongi sat up, reaching for you when you groaned in pain, only to pause with wide eyes and two hands scrunched into the material at your hips when his door was shut from the outside and shrieking giggles could be heard descending the staircase. 

“Knew it! You two are liars!” Jeongguk’s voice fell away into an echo, overlapped by what could only be Jimin’s squeaky laughter. 

“I’m fine,” You spoke to Yoongi, pressing the heel of your palm to the center of his burning forehead when he moved to duck around you to go after them. “Lay down.”

“Only if you’re coming with me,” He grumbled, still glaring at the rattle of his doorknob. 

“I am, relax,” You sunk a knee into the mattress, pushing on his head again until he settled rigidly back against his pillows. 

You tucked yourself into his side, suffering the fate of the intense warmth that radiated off his skin paired with the drape of sheets and duvets that came after. It was peaceful for the moment he settled, all aside from the beads of sweat curling into your hairline but you ignored it, just like you tried to ignore the subconscious sponge of his lips first against your forehead, then to your cheek, then to your jaw when his entire stature wriggled lower. 

“Stop it,” You pinched his neck where you’d curled one arm around his head, “Don’t actually make us liars.”

“I’m probably good for like four kisses before I become contagious,” You craned your neck to glare at him, only to find him grinning, gums and all, “Maybe five, if we want to push our luck.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I want kisses.”

“To be fair, you’ve probably already infected me, so—” You sighed, relaxing your cheek into his pillow and dramatically pursing your lips, “—do your worst. Will give me a reason to skip class Monday.”

Yoongi beamed, triumphant, clammy palm curling across your cheek to oblige you in your rant when there was another touch of knuckles against his door, freezing the brush of his mouth against the seam of your lips as giggles outside traded for something of mock sincerity. 

“You know, this wouldn’t be that big of a deal if the two of you would just admit that you’re dating.”

He bypassed your lips for your cheek, hugging you against him in a fashion reminiscent to cuddling a plush toy as he called, “Hey, Jimin? Have you ever tried camping when it’s snowing outside?”

“...no?”

“Do you want to find out? You can take Jeongguk with you as a source of warmth. I’ll hold both your house keys, you know. Just for tonight.”

“...you know what, we were just kidding. Have a nice night, guys. Let us know if you, uh, need more soup or something. Bye!”

[hisunshiine]

|j.jk|Breakfast, No Bed 💦 🥰

AN: fluff, smut | oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, (sorry this is very vanilla)|

*you know the deal, wrap it up, I am not responsible if you get pregnant*

The counter in the dorms were covered in the pancake mix you accidentally spilt when you were pouring it into the oversized measuring glass. It was Chuseok, and the dorms were empty, just you and Jungkook were left before he was heading out to go home to Busan. You lived in Seoul, so you didn't need to travel far to see your family for the holiday.

"Shit," you said, scooping the pancake mix across the counter into your other hand to dispose of in the garbage. Jungkook was still in bed, and you had wanted to surprise him with breakfast to hold his hungry ass over before he made the trip home.

You dusted your hands on the oversized crewneck you were wearing– his of course. You loved to wear his clothes any chance you could, in this case, just the oversized sweater, nothing underneath. You didn't want to make too much noise because it would ruin the surprise breakfast, and you hadn't been able to find your panties in the dim morning light of his room from where he had discarded them sometime last night.

You added the water to the powder mix, using a large fork to whisk the batter into a thicker consistency for cooking. You were so enthralled in the action of mixing that you didn't notice the shadow approaching you.

"Need some help?"

Jungkook had padded into the kitchen, barefoot and only in grey sweatpants, hung low on his hips. His black hair was sticking up at odd angles, but cute, like his head had sprouted little hair stalks, while his elegant hands were balled into slight fists, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes. His voice, low from sleep sent shivers to your core. You could barely keep your eyes from staring at the shape of the V of his abs leading down into his grey pants. He walked up to you, stepping between the island and the counter where you were working on his meal.

"You look like you're struggling, but you look so cute like that," Jungkook smiled sleepily at the face you were making, tongue poking out between your teeth as you struggled to whisk the now thick batter. You looked up at him, feigning a glare, as the batter had grown a bit more difficult to mix as it thickened. He came up behind you, wrapping you in his warmth as his hands wrapped around yours, one holding the bowl steady and the other holding onto the fork. His strong arms flexed as he helped you mix, getting all the leftover powder mixed in well.

Once done, he let go of your hands, placing his palms on the edge of the counter, but still leaning onto your back. You turned around in the circle of his arms, tilting your head up to look at him, his face already angled towards you with his dark eyes meeting yours.

"Morning," you said shyly, always taken aback that this strong yet sensitive golden maknae was your man.

He leaned down, his mouth capturing yours sweetly, mint toothpaste lingering on his tongue that teased at the crevice between your lips. He kept the kiss light and soft, like the sunlight streaming through the dewy windows, morning condensation clinging to the glass panes.

"Mmm," you let slip a quiet sigh, happiest when you were with him. He pulled back gently, lifting a hand to run his fingers through his bed head.

"So, were you planning to surprise me?" he grins, wrinkling his nose cutely.

"Yea, but you know, you kind of ruined that." You poked your tongue out at him.

"Brat." He took his hand and dragged his finger across your cheek, leaving a line of pancake mix across your face.

"Hey!" You frowned, furrowing your eyebrows at him as he stepped away from you to go to the sink behind him.

You smirked, grabbing the yellow box of pancake mix to scoop a small amount into your palm.

Jungkook didn't feel the powder until it started to fall from his now white hair and onto his shoulders, dusting his golden shoulders.

"You didn't." He turned to face you slowly, a playful glint in his eyes.

You pretended to be innocent, making your eyes wide and doe-like, looking up into his face.

"Didn't what?" you asked, twirling your hair with your left hand, the flour covered hand hidden behind your back to avoid incriminating yourself.

Jungkook reached a hand up to his head, feeling the flour as well as seeing it fall as he shook his locks with his fingers.

"You are a bad, bad girl baby."

Jungkook lunged for the yellow box at the same time as you reached for it, causing the box to tilt over, spilling the mix onto the counter and floor. He didn't miss a beat, grabbing handfuls to throw at your shocked face, taken back by the box spilling.

The next few minutes was spent with the two of you laughing as you ducked and dodged flour; hiding behind the island in the kitchen, crawling along the floor, all the while tossing pancake mix at each other. Finally, out of flour mix, Jungkook sat with his back against the stove, in an attempt to hide as you crawled along the other side of the island. You saw he had no more flour ammo and moved quickly to entrap his face in your hands, rubbing the flour that was on your hands onto his cheeks.

Both of you were breathing heavily as he stood, taking your hands to pull you up after him.

"What a mess." He looked around the kitchen, before his eyes rested on your face. "But what a beautiful mess it is."

You blushed, heat rising to your face as he continued to look at you in a way that felt like you were truly being seen.

He closed the space between the two of you, lips enveloping yours, this time with a little less control than earlier. His hands moved from your hands to your waist, where he lifted you up and placed you on the countertop of the island. Your hands wrapped around his neck, feeling his pulse speed up as he kissed you longer. Jungkook moved closer, stepping between your legs as his hands moved to your exposed thighs, slowly running his fingers up them. He breached the hem of the crewneck and kept going, letting out a moan into your mouth when he felt that you didn't have anything on underneath. His lips traced kisses down to your neck, and you shook your head slightly to move your hair out of his way, extending your neck to give him better access. He dusted wine colored love bites along your collarbone, marking you as his, as your body responded to him, hips rutting forward to find friction from his clothed member. Feeling you move, he pulled away, looking at your eyes lustfully as he dropped to his knees between your legs, never breaking eye contact. He pulled the crewneck up higher, sliding you closer to the edge of the counter so that he can taste you.

As his lips touch your sensitive mound, he flicked his tongue to separate your lips so that he can suckle on your clit. You throw your head back, bucking your hips at the sensation, wanting to be closer to his warm mouth. He responds by devouring you, placing his mouth fully on you, tongue diving in and out of you as you squirm under his grip on your thighs. You look down between your legs to find he is already looking at you, getting turned on by your reaction to him. He languidly runs his tongue around your leaking core, avoiding your clit as you shiver, wanting pressure on your bud. He leans you backwards on the counter, pulling your thighs up, placing your calves on his shoulders. Jungkook took his hand and put it up by your face, his thumb pushing into your mouth. You sucked his thumb, your tongue swirling around and sucking as you continued rolling your hips further into his face before he removed his thumb and placed it on your clit, now that it was free of any pancake mix.

"Fuck, baby f-fuck..." Your thighs trembled, and you could feel yourself circling higher until you fell apart, orgasm taking over your senses. Your hands that had tangled in his hair were now shoving at his head, trying to move him away from your oversensitive core.

"Jung- fuck.. baby please, I can't-" You moaned out, but he continued to lap at you, swallowing every drop of your slick that dripped out of you.

You were a trembling mess when he stood to his full height, panting with eyes shut as you caught your breath from how hard you came. His presence disappeared and you heard more than saw the sink running, before Jungkook returned. He leaned down over you, bracing your arms around his neck to pick you up and carry you, legs wrapped around his waist. You heard the rustling of his sweatpants and then he lowered you both onto a dining room chair, his hard member touching your thigh. His hands slid up the sweater and to your waist, and you brought your lips to his, biting his full bottom lip as he hissed from the quick pain. You could taste yourself on his lips, his face still wet from his dive between your thighs. He gripped the hem of his crewneck, pulling it up and over your head, leaving you as naked as he was. His hard cock twitched, and using your toes, you lifted yourself so you could position him at your entrance.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto his throbbing member, letting him fill you completely.

You moved slow, wanting to savor the feeling, your lips moving slow and sloppily as you consumed each other, his hands roaming your body at leisure. You rolled your hips, meeting slight thrusts, as his hands found purchase at your breasts, perky nipples rolling between his agile fingers.

You moved your kisses to his jawline, hearing his gentle grunts every time he bottomed out in you, his musical moans lightning strikes to your heart. His head was tilted back, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, arousal evident in the sounds he made.

"Uh, mmm, huh," he sighed out, with every thrust, the last one with a little more force, causing you to bite down on his neck. A shiver went through him, and you sucked at the skin on his neck, still tasting a minimal amount of the pancake mix that had clung to his glistening skin. You stopped bouncing on him, sitting fully on his muscular thighs to rut your sensitive clit against him. You went back to his lips, kissing him hard, wanting more of him, all of him, feeling insatiable. He picked you up, standing, his hands under your thighs so he could hold you as he began to thrust in and out of you. The head of his erection teased your g-spot, building you to your second orgasm. His eyes watched as your breasts bounced with every thrust, before dropping his lips to the swell of your breasts, leaving small love bites.

"I'm gonna- fuck, I'm gonna cum babe." Jungkook breathed into your neck as he pumped in and out of you.

"Cum for me, please Jungkook," you begged, wanting to feel him release his load into you. "Ah, like that baby, fill me with your seed, sh-shit," you moaned.

He moved towards the wall, pressing your back to it as he sped up, his thick thighs slapping against the bottoms of your own thighs, your hands pulling at the nape of his hair as you gasped from pleasure.

"I'm- ahhh, I'm coming," you breathed, walls contracting hard on his rigid dick, sending him to climax as well.

You could feel him fill you up, and as he slowly pumped into you, milking it all inside of you, you pulled his hair to bring his face back to yours, your eyes on his beautiful face, lips red and puffy from kissing, eyes glassy and dilated, skin flushed a golden red tint from exertion. He took in your appearance as well, your maroon markings across your décolletage, skin with a sheen of sweat, your eyes hazy with love for him.

Once he was empty, he pulled out of you and set you on your feet, though he didn't let go of you, knowing how unsteady you would be from your double orgasms.

"My bad, bad girl," he said, looking down at you like you were the most interesting thing he had ever seen, "I think you need a shower. You've got flour all over you."

You smirked; eyes still low from the sated feeling of euphoria.

"So do you, you dirty, dirty boy."

"Mmm, should we go take one together?" he asked, nuzzling his face into your neck. "Wash this breakfast off our skin?"

You laughed, thinking about how breakfast in bed turned into breakfast, no bed.

"I really wanted to surprise you with breakfast." You pouted.

"Oh baby, trust me, you are the best breakfast I could ask for. Plus, we still have the batter in the measuring cup if you're actually hungry..."

"Aka, you would love it if I finished making your surprise breakfast..."

"If you insist."

Jungkook picks you up as you giggle, carrying you to the bathroom so you could clean up the mess you both had made on (and in) each other's bodies, and make a few more messes while you were at it.

끝

MASTERLIST

[browneyedhimbo]

Like Father Like Daughter (2/?)

Paring: Tony x Daughter!Reader

Summary: Tony and Stephen bud heads as the need to come up with a plan ensues, causing some unpleasant memories to arise as well your sarcastic humor.

Warning: Slight angst, fluff, swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of cacw

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I finally got the inspiration and motivation to write chapter 2! I'm so so sorry it's taken long loves. I'm looking to write chapter 3 as well so hopefully that'll be out there soon. As always, I hope you enjoy!

▪︎LFLD Masterlist▪︎《MASTERLIST》

You looked between the three men, your thoughts racing away in your head. You bit your bottom lip, casting your gaze to the floor. You steadied your breathing and made eye contact with your father. 

“This is it.” You got up and stood between Tony and Bruce. Arms crossed loosely over your torso, you looked over at Bruce and took in his appearance again. His eyes were so haunted, fear and logic battling within. Hulk fought Thanos, you concluded. But Hulk lost big time.

“What’s our timeline?” Tony voiced, already trying to come up with a plan.

“No telling.” He made his way closer to Tony. “He has the Power and Space Stones, that already makes him the strongest creature in the whole universe. If he gets his hands, on all six Stones, Tony…” 

“He can destroy life on a scale hitherto undreamt of.” Stephen finished, squaring his shoulders. You and your father shared a look as he leaned against a cauldron, stretching.

“Did you seriously just say "hitherto undreamt of"?” Tony scoffed, looking at you and then then Strange.

“Are you seriously leaning on the Cauldron of the Cosmos?” Stephen fired back. You quirked an eyebrow at the exchange. 

“Is that what this is?” Tony smirked slightly, looking at the thing. The cape thing Stephen was wearing slapped Tony’s arm, causing him to stand straight. You cleared your throat trying to suppress your laughter. “I’m going to allow that.” He tried to waver his offended look with a glare only making you want to laugh more.

“Laugh it up Y/N/N, laugh it up.” You shook your head, a big grin plastered on your face. You coughed and tried to get serious, but the laughter inside kept trying to bubble to the surface. 

“Whenever you two are finished. It’s not like the fate of the universe is at stake or anything.” Stephen glared at the both of you, clearly not having any of it. 

“Look, if Thanos needs all six, why don't we just stick this one down the garbage disposal?” You proposed, pointing at the necklace around Stephen’s neck. 

“No can do.” He shook his head. 

“We swore an oath to protect the Time Stone. With our lives.” Wong said, stepping next to Stephen. You groaned and rolled your eyes.

“And I swore off dairy, but then, Ben & Jerry's named a flavor after me, so…” Tony trailed and you smirked. 

“Stark Raving Hazelnuts.” Stephen sighed looking at Tony.

“It’s not bad.” 

“A bit chalky.” You stared at the two men shaking your head. 

“Junior Stark Strawberry Blast is my favorite. Personally it’s the best one,” you mumbled earning a few side glares.

“A Hunka-Hulka Burning Fudge is our favorite.” Wong stated, nodding his head. You playfully rolled your eyes, small smile playing on your lips. 

“That's a thing?” Bruce asked incredulously. You turned to him and nodded happily. 

“Sure is. When we get out of this we’ll head over and grab some cones.” You pat his shoulder.

“Only if you're buying.” Tony turned to the both of you, causing you to laugh.

“Does fate of the universe mean nothing to you?” Stephen glanced between you and Tony.

“Listen,” you started making your way to stand in front of the doctor. “You’re talking about saving the universe right? You’re talking about fighting this mad titan right?” Stephen nodded. “Then maybe humor is my way of coping with the idea of possible untimely death. Got it doc?” You spat. He sputtered as he looked to Tony who only shook his head.

“Well you know what they say, mess with the bull you get the horns.” He smirked, hands shoving into his pant pockets. 

“Anyways…” You trailed. 

“Right. Point is: things change.” Tony stated, glancing at the necklace briefly before making eye contact with Stephen.

“Our oath to protect the Time Stone cannot change. This Stone may be the best chance we have against Thanos.” Stephen said, taking a step closer to Tony. 

“And still conversely, it may also be his best chance against us.” Tony took a step to Stephen, squaring his shoulders, trying to appear taller. 

“Well, if we don't do our jobs.” 

“What is your job exactly, besides making balloon animals?” Tony asked condescendingly. 

“Protecting your reality, douchebag.” Stephen smirked slightly, as he calmly fired back. You rolled your eyes for the millionth time that day and crossed your arms. 

“Oh god there’s two of them.” You groaned, leaning against Bruce’s shoulder dramatically.

“Okay, guys, could we table this discussion right now?” Bruce sighed, getting their attention.

“Thank you.” You whispered standing up straight and putting your hand in your pockets. 

“The fact is that we have this Stone. We know where it is. Vision is out there somewhere with the Mind Stone, and we have to find him now.” You visibly cringed at his words and ran a hand through your hair.

“What? Y/N what’s wrong?” Bruce questioned, extending a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“Yeah, uh, that’s the…” you chuckled dryly. “That’s the thing.” You scratched your forehead, not knowing how to phrase the words.

“Two weeks ago, Vision turned off his transponder. He's offline.” Your dad stated. Bruce’s hand fell from your shoulder and slapped against his hip.

“What?” His jaw dropped “You two, you lost another super bot?”

“Okay technically Ultron wasn’t my fault.” You pointed at Bruce and he deadpanned. 

“We didn't lose him. He's more than that. He's evolving.” Tony said, breaking up the soon to be argument. 

“Who could find Vision, then?” Stephen asked, looking between the three of you. You and Tony shared a look.

“Probably Steve Rogers.” You clench your jaw and close your eyes, looking up at the ceiling as your hands landed on your hips. 

“Oh, great.” Stephen sighs exasperatedly. 

“Maybe, but…” Tony runs a hand through his hair. You look to the ground before your gaze locks on your father. For a split second you saw his face bruised, cut, and bloody; just the way it was back in Siberia. You blinked and it was gone.

“Call him.” Bruce encouraged. You scoffed causing a look of confusion to take place on Bruce’s face. 

“It's not that easy. God, we haven't caught up in a spell, have we?” Tony shook his head. Bruce stepped closer to Tony. 

“No.” He looked between you two, patiently waiting for some sort of answer.

“The Avengers broke up.” You stated, a sad tone to your voice. “We're toast.”

“Broke up? Like a band? Like The Beatles?” Bruce’s voice slightly went up an octave due to the tremendous confusion. 

“That’s one way of putting it.” You bit the inside of your cheek, hands stuffed in your pockets, nervously playing with the fabric.

“Cap and I fell out hard. We're not on speaking terms.” Tony looked at Bruce, pain evident in his eyes. 

“Tony, listen to me.” Bruce outstretched a hand to him. “Thor's gone. Thanos is coming. It doesn't matter who you're talking to or not.” He pleaded. You and Tony locked eyes. You sighed and he shook his head. You both didn’t want to do this, but if it meant saving everyone…

With a heavy sigh, Tony fished his pockets for the black flip phone Steve mailed him. You walk closer and put a hand on his shoulder. He looks at you again and you nod, a silent encouragement. There was a rumble and you felt the ground shake.

“Say, Doc, you wouldn't happen to be moving your hair, would you?” You looked up and noticed Stephen's hair gently moving against a breeze. 

"Not at the moment, no." He responded looking up at his hair.

You looked up at the hole in the roof and saw pieces of debris flying over it. You turned your attention to the doors and saw they were rumbling a bit. You sighed as you rolled your shoulders back, getting ready for a fight.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

LFLD Tags: [OPEN]: @ilovetomatoes3000​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @dianadov @rinthehufflepuff @seasaurusrrex @sebbbystaaan @wwwwyamd​ @blaizeannyt​ @honeyvbarnes​  @fading-mentality-bouquet  @miss-liliths-madness​  @lizlil​

Permanent tags: @becausewhyknotme @disasterbuckley @imma-new-soul @justmebeingtheweirdmeiam @officialtonystarkprotectionsquad @theladyoffangorn @itsunclebucky @mushyjellybeans @writingforhoursonend  @this-kitten-is-smitten @agentpeggybarnes @fangirl-introvert @ninjabucky @cosmicbucky @yougottakeeponkeepinon 

[im-a-space-gay]

Making My Way to Florida! (Gay Gamers Fic)

... read the title, I guess??

~~~~~~

Virgil felt absolute chaos consume his being as he finished packing everything, knowing he was ahead of schedule. At least, the schedule his friends knew about.

He sighed, about to sit down before his phone buzzed, and he looked down to see a text in the group chat.

Prince_Of_Creativity: Anx, start setting up! We playing the CC server!

CoolLogic101: The grammar in that text fills me with anger and fear.

Virgil smiled and was about to do what he was told before he remembered that in order to throw them off his tracks, he couldn’t participate in recording day. Bummer.

Anxie_Tea&Biscuits: Actually, I can’t record with you guys today, sry :(

Mor-Pal-Ity: What?! Why?! ;^;

That’s when Virgil paused, realizing he didn’t think of an excuse beforehand. F*ck.

Okay, he couldn’t use a sick card. He’d always somewhat record for the group channel even when sick, so it’d be suspicious if he did that. He also couldn’t use a bad day excuse, because he’d still record believing people would find his expense funny. Come on, think... oh!

Anxie_Tea&Biscuits: Something came up with my family who live a town over, so I can’t game for a while. Sry...

Prince_Of_Creativity: Np dude!! Take as much time as you need!! I hope your fams ok!

Anxie_Tea&Biscuits: Thanks. Have fun recording, okay??

He read their confirmations with a smile before checking again that he had everything in order. Suit case, check, house key, check, maps, check, plane ticket, check.

Virgil smiled even wider as he clapped, deciding it was a good time to eat as he waited for his friends to finish recording and editing, wanting to see how they’d do without him. It was official.

He was going to Florida tomorrow.

——

It was official the sequel.

Virgil f*cking hated planes.

It was cramped, quiet, and honestly having to get on the plane at four in the morning was a major let down because of the nine hour flight and five hour time difference, landing in Florida at eight AM.

Nonetheless, he was there, recording, and running by a Walmart in order to buy a huge cardboard box and neon pink packing peanuts wondering how he was going to walk the two miles between the address he was given and the Walmart without being seen by his friends.

Eventually, he got to his friends house -more like mansion, Jesus- unlocking the door and stepping inside, tempted heavily to just collapse onto the couch and lay there until his friends got back from their weekly shopping trip. But alas, he was too stubborn for that as he dragged his suitcase into what appeared to be a hall closet after grabbing another camera and setting it up in a flower pot.

“Alright,” he huffed, facing the camera he’d been carrying all day. “It is now eleven in the morning in Florida, and after carrying a huge-*ss box, dragging my suit case, and recording for two cursed miles, I am at Dork Manor with all residents on a shopping trip. So far, all according to plan. Now, to execute by far the easiest but somewhat boring phase of my plan: scaring the daylights out of my American friends. Let’s do this!”

Virgil clipped the camera onto his jacket again as he opened the bags for the packing peanuts, making commentary the entire time as he poured them all into the giant box.

He stood before the filled box within ten minutes, and he disposed of all garbage before looking at the camera that was fairly hidden in the pot.

“Okay, the others should finish their trip soon, meaning into the box I go! I wonder how long I’ll have to wait before they actually get here. Time to find out!”

He jumped in the box without spilling anything, thankfully -curse his height!- and sank down into the peanuts, closing the lid behind him.

Virgil waited for what he later found out was twenty minutes when he heard the door being unlocked, and he held a hand into his mouth to ensure he wouldn’t make any noise.

“Roman, please, I’m sure he- why is there a box in our living room?” A voice- Logan said, and Virgil heard somebody walk to his box.

“What does that- wow there’s actually a box, I thought that was a metaphor,” Roman muffled voice made it’s way to Virgil, and he heard the crinkling of shopping bags as another person walked over.

“Where’s it from?!” Patton now asked excitedly, being the only one putting stuff away from the sound of it, and Virgil had to hold in a squeal at the settling weight that his friends were there in person.

“It doesn’t say,” Logan said, probably inspecting the box. “Should we open it?”

“Yes!” Roman said. “Patt, hurry up I wanna open the box!”

“Coming, coming!”

Virgil, shaking with excitement, heard the last pair of feet bound over and then Roman counting down.

“Three... two... one!”

Virgil felt the box be opened, and didn’t move.

“... well that was anti-climatic.”

Then, Virgil decided to make his move as he stuck his head out of the box quickly.

“GUYS!”

They all shrieked and jumped back, being startled before they realized who he was. He didn’t give them the chance to say anything as he continued.

“I found so many packing peanuts at the store! Isn't this amazing?!” He asked in an excited voice, playing with the packing peanuts while they stared at him in shock.

Then, Roman started laughing, quickly followed by the other two, and Virgil couldn’t help but notice how they sounded hysterical. Virgil just huffed, sinking below the packing peanuts again as they continued.

“You guys are bloody weird. I’m taking a nap.”

He smiled as he heard them laugh harder with murmurs of “I can’t breathe” or “my LUNGS”.

When they were done, he suddenly felt two sets of hands grab both his arms and drag him into a standing position. He shook his head to get the peanuts out of his hair before looking at them with a wide smile.

They were all staring at him, looking like they were still processing he was he there with shaky smiles and misty eyes.

“Soo...” Virgil said, and they all snapped back into reality as he looked at them with a more sheepish smile than before. “Can you guys, uh, help me out of here? I’m very smol, in case you didn’t notice.”

They all started laughing again, and Virgil pouted.

“Guuuuys,” he whined, which made them laugh even more somehow. “This isn’t funny! I’m genuinely stuck, please help!”

When they continued to laugh with no signs of stopping, Virgil decided he hated them all and regretted coming to America, sinking back into the box and closing the lid behind him.

“Fine. No hugs for you guys, I guess,” he said loudly, and they all immediately stopped, and he felt the box open again.

“Wait wait wait, no please I want hugs,” Patton whined this time, and Virgil moved into a sitting position so they couldn’t reach him.

“Nope. Feel free to send me back to the UK.”

“Virgil please can we get hugs?” Roman cut in, and Virgil could already tell he was sticking his arms in the box in hopes of grabbing him.

“Nope!”

Then, Virgil felt the world give way beneath him as Logan lifted the box, and he and all the packing peanuts fell out the bottom. Virgil gasped loudly, pretending to be upset.

“Look what you’ve done! All my packing peanuts!” He cried out, grabbing handfuls of the peanuts and fake glaring at Logan. “How dare thee? This sin shall not be forgiven nor forgotten!”

He planned on continuing, but then he felt arms wrap around him from behind and he immediately melted and started purring, leaning back into the warmth.

“Are you purring?” Patton gasped happily, apparently being the one to grab him.

“I haven’t had a hug since I was eighteen, can you blame me?” Virgil said in response, purring increasing as Roman and Logan joined the hug.

“Are you recording this?” Roman asked after a bit, being the first to notice the camera on his jacket. Virgil nodded.

“Been recording since four in the AM.”

“You’ve been recording for eight hours?” Roman asked in shock, and Virgil shook his head.

“Ah, let me rephrase. I’ve been recording since four AM UK time. Here, I’ve been recording since eleven PM or something.”

“WHAT?!”