#I feel like I just need to get some of the gunk off

[the-njnb]

Taking my brain out and giving it a good scrub wouldn’t fix all my problems but it would fix a lot of them

[forever-rogue]

Trouble

AN | Hello, I'm here to fix it. It never happened. Joel is back in Jackson. Enjoy💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | Canon typical injury

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Joel, Main 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were covered in dirt, blood, and gunk but none of that mattered in the moment. What mattered was that no matter how bruised and worn down you felt, you were alive. You had survived, Jackson had survived…everything would be okay.

Dragging yourself up off the ground, you spotted Tommy and Maria up ahead. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you slowly made your way towards them, helping any stragglers along your way. It was going to take a while to recover from this disaster, but at least you knew things would get better. And, if anything, you now had more knowledge on the enemy and their…abilities for lack of a better word.

Brushing some blood and dirt off your face, you spotted Ellie getting off her horse just up ahead. Thank fuck.

They were all okay. Everything was fine. Ellie, Jesse, Dina, and Joel were back. 

You ran as fast as you could which, given the state you were in wasn't very fast, ready to make your way to them. It was more of a limping skip as you made your way over.

“Tommy! Ellie!” You shouted over the wind, waving your arm to get their attention. When they heard you and finally turned around, you were met with a sea of grim faces. Your stomach dropped; they should be happy. If not happy, at least not so grim. Right? When you finally got to them, you realized that you didn’t see Joel. You immediately knew something was very wrong, “where's Joel?”

Ellie opened and closed her mouth a few times, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Where's Joel?” you asked again, swallowing the lump in your throat. You turned to Tommy and saw that the look on his face mirrored the one on Ellie's. In fact, no one looked happy, “Tommy. Where's Joel?”

“Listen-” 

“Where is he!?” You demand again, tears welling up in your own eyes. Tommy put his hand on your shoulder and held onto it firmly, “T-Tommy. Where is he?”

“He's at Kat's,” he finally said, his own voice shaking as he tried to keep it together, “he's…he's not doing well.”

You choked out a sob before turning on your heel and running towards Kat's house. Your own body was screaming in pain but none of that mattered in the moment. All you could think about was getting to Joel. That was the only thing that mattered. 

You burst through the front door of the house, lungs on fire as you headed towards the stairs. You took a moment to catch your breath, clutching the stitch in your side, “Kat? Kat!”

You started up the stairs, Kat meeting you at the top with a grim expression on her face. She was a kind, older woman that always had a way of making you feel better no matter the circumstances. She was a good doctor.

She took your face in her hands before sighing softly and pulling you in for a hug. You clutched onto her tightly, fearful for what she was going to say to you. When you pulled apart, she brushed some dirt off your clothes, “I'm going to have a look at you next.”

“There's other people that need your help more than I do,” you insisted, “where's Joel? I-I need to see him. Please.”

“Look,” she gave your hand a squeeze, “he's lucky to be alive. I hate to say that, I do. But he's lucky Ellie and Jesse found him when they did.”

“What happened?” You were reeling from her words; the idea of losing Joel was unbearable, “tell me. Please.”

“Seems like some people he made enemies of a long time back found him,” she sighed, “and they had some sort of vendetta against him.”

You couldn't wait any longer and gently pushed past her and into the room where you knew he'd be. As soon as you opened the door, you stopped in your tracks when you found him on the bed. You let out a shaky breath as you dropped to your knees by his side, “oh my god. Joel.”

“He can't hear you,” Kat followed in after you, grim look on her face, “he's out. He's gonna be out for a while.”

“What did they do to him?” His face was bruised and there were remnants of dried blood all over him. He looked so pale that it made your stomach drop. It took you a moment of notice that his leg was completely bandaged up.

“Shot in the side, his leg was broken badly. Ellie said…there was a girl beating him with a golf club before resorting to using her fists. He's got some broken ribs and lost a lot of blood. He's going to be a while before he's up and able to get, let alone get around.”

“But he'll-”

“There's no swelling in his brain and his lungs sound clear. He's past the absolute worst but he's not out of the woods just yet,” you hated that she wouldn't just confirm that he'd make it, “but its Joel. You know he's not going to give up fighting.”

“What can I do?” You asked, voice cracking as tears blurred your vision, “anything. Whatever it takes.”

“There's not much you can do right now. Its just going to take time,” she whispered, “take care of yourself. And the others. Things will be alright.”

“Will they?” You plopped onto the ground and reached for his hand; it was cold and stiff, “I can't…I can't lose him. I just can't.”

“We'll do everything we can do,” she promised, “we just have to be patient.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Here,” Tommy's voice pulled you of your stupor as he walked in and held a hot cup of tea out to you, “our mama used to say that there wasn't anything a cup of tea couldn't fix.”

“Thanks,” you clutched the warm mug in your cold, tired hands as you stared at the golden liquid. You stretched, your body tired and aching from the stiff wooden chair that had basically become your second home. You'd been camped out by his side, refusing to move unless absolutely necessary. You’d cleaned him up as best as you could but he still looked so…fragile. Broken.

“You can leave you know,” he said as you looked at him incredulously, “you can rest and take time for yourself. You ain't going to be helping anyone by not making sure you're okay.”

“I don't want to leave him,” you sighed, looking Joel over. It had been almost two weeks, and while he seemed to be healing, he still wasn't up and conscious, “what if he wakes up and I'm not here? O-or something happens?”

Tommy let out a low sigh as he looked forlornly at his older brother, “I keep thinking the same thing. But you know if anything happens, someone will get you right away.”

“Yeah,” you sipped the warm liquid and closed your eyes for a moment. You knew this was just hard for him and Ellie, “what happened to her? The girl?”

“She got away,” he gritted his teeth, “for now. We'll find her.”

“I keep thinking I want to go out there and kill her myself,” you whispered, reaching over and gently brushing a rogue lock of hair out of Joel's face, “that I want her to suffer as much as he did, or worse.”

“But…”

“Nothing excuses what she did,” you whispered, “but I can't imagine doing that to another living being. It makes us no better than them. But at the time I don't know if I care about that.”

“Its hard,” he agreed.

“It is,” you took his hand in yours, “I don't know what to do. For now, I just want him to be okay.”

“He's a stubborn old fool. He's not going to leave us that easily.”

“Promise?” Your voice was quiet and you weren't even sure you'd intended for him to hear it. Tommy nodded as offered him a small smile in return, “you better hurry up and get better soon, old man. Can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss your grumpy old face.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Time seemed slower than it ever did before as you remained by Joel's side. A few more days had passed and as much as you wanted to remain hopeful, you had to admit it was hard to. While his pallor returned and the dark bruising faded to green and yellow, he hadn't woken up. You never thought you could miss someone so much when they were right next to you. 

“You know,” you had moved onto the bed, laying on the edge to be close to him without hurting him further, “I remember when we first met after I got here. It was kind of like this then too, except I wasn't hurt as bad. One of the first things you said to me was that you knew I was going to be a pain in your ass. Turns out you were right, but I could say the same about you.”

The room was silent, filled only with the combined sounds of your soft breathing. You tentatively reached out a hand and traced your fingertips along his side, barely a ghost of a touch.

“I miss you, you know,” you continued, “I always miss you when you're gone, even if its only a few hours, but this is so much worse. Its like you're right here but a million miles away. I want you to come back to me soon. We're all waiting for you. Ellie misses you so much too. She saved you, you know. She never hated you, which I think you know deep down. She loves you, you'll always be her Joel. I love you. So much.”

You laid there until you fell asleep, only moonlight filtering in. You weren't sure how much long your heart could handle this.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was going on three weeks and you were still a wreck as much as the first day. You were growing impatient and tired and angry, and a million other emotions.

“You know I hate to ask you to leave but can you give Maria a hand with some stuff at the stables?” You looked at Tommy and glanced at Joel before nodding. He hadn't woken up yet, and at this you weren't sure when he would. It was probably fine to be gone for a few hours.

“Of course,” you stood up, giving Joel one last look before heading out. You'd be back soon enough.

It was a few hours of some back breaking labor that you were finally able to take a moment to breathe. There was still so much left to do to rebuild Jackson, and as reluctant as you had been to leave Joel, you were happy for the work that had taken all of your attention.

You heard your name being shouted from the distance and looked over to Benji running towards you with Tommy running after him. You exchanged a look with Maria and bent down to scoop him up in your arms.

“Hey kiddo, what's got you so excited?” 

“Uncle Joel,” he started simply, a big gap toothed smile on his face. Your heart stopped for a moment as you looked over to Tommy, who had managed to catch up.

“Tommy?” You tried to keep the excitement out of your face, “is he…?”

“He's awake,” he confirmed, “just woke up.”

“Oh my god,” you gently set him down and ran off without another word. You figured they'd understand.

You burst into the house and ran upstairs and into his room, chest heaving from the exertion. Kat raised an eyebrow at you but there was a smile pulling on the corners of her mouth, “just in time.”

“Joel?” Kat stepped out of the way and slipped out of the room to give the two of you some privacy.

And there he was; still looking worse for the wear but sat up in the bed and fully conscious. It might have been the most beautiful sight you had ever seen.

“Hey trouble,” his voice was dry and raspy but hearing him immediately brought tears to your eyes.

“Joel,” you took a few tentative steps towards him, part of you refusing to believe this was real. He moved his hand to reach out for you, “you're…you're…I thought I was going to lose you.”

“You can't get rid of me that easily,” his laugh turned into a cough and you handed him the glass of water that was by his bedside.

“Take it easy old man,” you joked through your tears, finally happy ones, as you sat next to him on the bed, “don't need you to hurt yourself now.”

He smiled at you, putting his hand on top of yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze, “you were here. The whole time.”

“Where else would I be?” You sniffled as he reached up and wiped your tears away. You put your hand on top of his and held it gently against your cheek.

“Preferably out living life,” he stroked his thumb over your skin, “not worrying about me.”

You studied him, taking in the brown eyes you'd missed so much. He was definitely far from recovered but he was here and he was alive. That was enough for now.

You gently took his hand off your face and took his face in your hands. You frowned at the bruising that was lingering but you knew it'd be gone soon enough. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his, kissing him as softly and tenderly as possible. With a relieved sigh, you touched your forehead against his, “I don't think I could ever stay away.”

“You know I'm never going to leave you,” he whispered as you nodded.

“I love you,” you promised, “even if you are a stubborn grump.”

“I love you too, trouble,” he shifted over gently before patting the same next to him, “c'mere.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” he scoffed and you kicked off your boots before getting into the bed next to him, slowly to make sure you didn't cause him any pain. You laid down and rested your head on his good leg, letting out a slow, deep breath. Joel started gently playing your hair, causing tingles to shoot through your entire body. You hadn't realized how much you missed his touch, “you should lie down too. You need the rest.”

“So do you,” he insisted, grinning as you yawned, “you've been here the whole time watching me, let me take care of you.”

“Only if you lie down with me and we both stay here for a while,” you insisted, turning your face to look up at him.

“I suppose,” he shifted with a grimace but was able to get himself comfortable next to you, draping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him, “you alright?”

“Better than I have been in weeks,” you turned so you were facing him, “I was scared that we'd never get to do this again. That I'd never see you again. That you would be gone…”

“Oh trouble,” he whispered, “that's never going to happen. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, “I'm going to hold you to that, Miller.”

“I'd expect nothing less, trouble.”

[oliveforluv]

10 step sunday reset routine

as someone who struggles with depression, cleaning my room and getting my life together is a struggle.

having a reset routine can help bring me out of a funk and lift my spirts a little.

i'll be completely honest i have a pretty bad depression room going, and my depression has taken over my life these past few months. so even though this is my sunday reset routine, i haven't done it in a while. but i've had enough. i'm determined to dig myself out of the hole i put myself in. and the first step for me is doing my sunday reset routine.

music, stretch, and workout

i am resetting my whole routine, and the first thing i prioritize is my physical health. when i'm in deep into my depressive cycle, i don't prioritize my physical health at all. in fact, i find that my physical & mental health overlap a ton. so in order to properly reset and get off on the right foot, i need to move my body in a positive way.

2. wash bedsheets

bed rotting is my favorite activity during my depression. so, it's a must to clean my sheets and make my depressive rat's nest into a cute bedspread again.

3. put away dirty and clean clothes

i always make piles of dirty and clean clothes when i start to get back into bad habits again. it always starts with cleaning my clothes but not folding/putting them away. this is usually a majority of what's on my floor in the first place, so this frees up a lot of space and immediately makes the room look 50% better. my favorite thing to motivate me to do this (& make it more fun) is putting on a mindless tv show in the background (i always watch greys anatomy).

4. clean & get rid of dirty dishes

i usually stack up some cups and bowls during this time. so now is a good time to start getting rid of these items and bring them down to the kitchen. i unfortunately dont have access to a dishwasher, so i need to handwash all of my dishes, but this would definitely go by faster with one!

5. wash dirty clothes

by this point my bedsheets have most likely finished in the wash and i've sorted through all the clothes on my floor, so now it's time to finally get the giant pile of dirty clothes tackled. as a uni student living in the dorms (don't worry, i have a private room), scent beads are my favorite go-to to feel comfy and more at home when i wear my clothes.

6. pick up and take out trash

my trash and recycling has definitely piled up at this point (in my room and in their respective cans). i'm also halfway through my routine and i most definitely need some fresh air for a minute. this step may be inconvenient (especially as a uni student who has to lug their trash cans to their uni dumpsters somewhere on campus) but its also a good way to get some vitamin d (and add to my daily steps!).

7. clean & tidy surfaces

i dont know how it happens but there is always some mystery gunk on my desk (usually from my makeup), so all my surfaces need a serious wipedown. i also find this the most satisfying part!

8. vacuum/sweep (my least favorite...)

i may not always do this step, mostly because i absolutely loathe vacuuming, but after this recent depressive episode, my floors need a good vacuum. so unfortunately, i must do what needs to be done...

9. make my bed and put away clean clothes

the finishing touches. i'm tired at this point, and this is where i usually call it quits and tell myself that i will fold and put away my clothes later. but i have to call myself on my bullshit0; i will not fold and put it away later. i have to do it now. a useful tip is imagining your crush (or just a hot celebrity) is coming over. now i want my room to be perfect for them!

10. light a candle and pat yourself on the back

this is a safe space and you deserve to be proud of yourself! even if you only did one thing in this routine... because that's one more thing than you did yesterday <3

xoxo

[aurmisery]

confessions unheard: sickening sweetness.

a ronin b. x gn! reader for 'My Fallen Valentine's.'

okay as you can guess this is going to be ronin x reader ! hope i did this prompt correctly? i just thought of really sweet (unhinged even) fluff.

cw // depictions of gore and viscera, this is ronin we're talking about LMFAO, violence, references to cat-calling/sexual harassment, drinking,

-and i'm sure that's it!

sorry if this is ooc, since this is supposed to be sweet n shit i tried making him more of a loser and uncharacteristically in love??? also i don't even know if he drinks and im sure it's probably not canon for him to be feinin this much 😭

idrk if i have a good grip on his character n all but i tried my best!! sorry for all the filler in this lol

good luck to everyone else participating!

(FUCKING FINALLY I GOT ALL THE WORDS BACK PLUS MORE!?! ENJOY!!!!! and if there's any errors....just ignore it...for my sake...)

word count: 5723 ❤️

something's...wrong, with ronin.

well- you technically could say that out of context and nothing would change, but no, something is terribly wrong with him. and surprisingly, it's not the fact that he's a serial killer with a kill count that rises practically everyday, nor is it the human remains aligning his shelves.

he's been out of it lately. constantly pacing around the reds and blacks of his room, all the while being more...fidgety than usual, unable to focus or parade his regular devil-may-care attitude around.

this is really fucking weird for him; ronin beaufort is the devil, and the devil doesn't change. he remains in the darkest pits of hell and slaps his knee at the idea of it, even.

he's unchanging, eternal, his punishment being no different.

so why couldn't he focus on his damn job and get this fucking filter replaced?

sweat beads down his forehead, grease coating his arms as he strained his neck further beneath the car, wrist flicking with each turn on the drain bolt and eventually...

it loosens, crust fluttering from the grooves of the screw, and the must of... whatever the hell's been sitting in this person's tank slowly infiltrating his nose.

it didn't have the strong petroleum scent, none of the chemical sharpness, and it didn't snake up his nose like new oil did either-

it smelled charred. ashy, even, and the must was evident as he turned the bolt and it did the rest of the work, a thick, almost black sludge filtering out of the tank and all over the concrete ground with a wet thud.

lacking a quick reaction, ronin's brows knitted low, letting a small 'fuck,' pass by his lips as he turned and reached around for wherever the hell he laid the oil catch pan.

he forgot to put it under the plug...somehow.

he's been forgetting to do a lot of things recently, matter of fact.

he shoves the thought down. he probably just needs to stop staring at a screen as soon as he comes home and get more rest, yeah, that's it.

speaking of a screen, when did you last text him? actually, when's the last time you two have held a conversation?

he slides the pan from beside him underneath the gunk-spewing tank, rolling from under the car and grabbing his tools and such off the ground, running his nails through the tips of his low ponytail.

...maybe he should check his phone.

it wouldn't hurt, just to see if there's a notification from you. he did get your number, finally. took a bit of convincing and some back-and-forth before you slid it, but now he has one of his best friends at his fingertips.

best...friends.

the collocation doesn't really fit with you, or at least the image he has of you. sure, you're his friend, a damn good one at that, and if he were to use it the way a normal person would, he would definitely call you his best friend.

but it doesn't feel right for him to call you that.

it's not like you're undeserving of the title, but it just doesn't fit with you. should he create a nice little title for ya?

he grins at the idea, and doesn't seem to notice the blackened oil trickling over his knuckles as he fumbles with his password.

you two are like... peanut butter and jelly? nah, overused, and stupidly corny. you two are like...thelma and louise! ehhh, he's not feeling it. cool reference, but maybe there's something else buried in that skull of his.

he leans against the car door, finally wiping his hand over the thin material of one of his plain work shirts. you can't really wear anything cool when you're working as a mechanic, after all.

tom and jerry? you two do bicker a lot. eh, not enough, also doesn't have that ring to it. bonnie and clyde? hard maybe, it'd be perfect if it was more platonic, besides, you two are just friends anyway.

friends- ugh, he cringes at that. he can't just dilute his partner in crime to a...friend.

naming you his partner in crime is very basic, but considering the underlying context between you two, it's rather fitting, right?

yeah, you're his partner in crime. plus, it doubles as a Set It Off reference in a way. fitting, veeeery fitting, actually.

"yo, beaufort! i'mma need this area in about 2 to 3, you finishin' up over there?"

a burly voice calls out- presumably one of his coworkers, and the twist in ronin's lips gives out- no notification from you.

he types out a quick message to you: 'still Alive?' as he slides his phone back onto the work table, he'll check it later- and only when he's done with this stupid replacement.

he lowers himself onto his creeper, rolling underneath the car whilst pulling the sludge-filled tin from underneath the ink-smeared tank and flushing the rest of the old oil out.

he grabs a wrench, tapping the rust and burnt oil from the plug and screwing it right back to its rightful place. he can do this quick, he's done this hundreds of times before, what's one more?

he's taking out the old tank when a high pitched chime rings out from his work table, his notifications alerting him of a new message.

weirdly enough, his motions freeze on cue and he's about to stand up and check it like it was instinct. but- well, he was still under the car.

a sharp, hollow crack rang through the garage as his head met the steel frame above him. a curse shot from his lips, low and snarled as the pain bloomed across his skull. eyes squeezed shut, he gritted his teeth, pressing a palm against the fresh ache.

for a moment he just...laid there, letting his arms fall flat on the concrete below him, exhaling through his nose and letting the pain settle before daring to move again.

what the hell's wrong with him? he told himself that he wasn't going to check his phone 'till he's done with this, and this is one of the easiest things to do in this field! why is it taking him this long?

through his wavering vision, he could spot two muddied boots slinking besides the car he's under, before they creased and the person sunk into a crouch.

"you okay there, kid?"

ronin rolled his eyes- 'kid', only one or two people here call him that, and the baritone of his voice paired with those boots must mean that the manager was doing his rounds and decided to check in on him.

"'m fine, just layin' on the concrete 'cause i wanna."

a thick rumble reminisce of a chuckle reins deep from the gut of the older man, before he cleared his throat and reached a gloved hand out underneath the car.

"need an ice pack?"

he eyed it- could help if there's any possibility of a bruise or a welt showing up, but as ronin ran a hand down his face, he gave a shake of his head.

it doesn't really hurt that badly anymore.

"nah, thanks though. just...lemme finish this and i'll be on my way out."

a grunt followed, the gloved hand retracting from under the car, and the raggedy pair of boots turned out of view.

alright, fuck it- let's just get this over with.

.

.

.

with a quick brush of his hands, ronin came out to the front, tapping on one of the various workers and letting them know that he was clocking out for the day.

slinging his bag over his arm, he was met with a calloused palm fixed onto his shoulder blade. he turns, and yep- the big guy.

"get some rest, you seem off your game."

the grouch's voice was unusually sincere, and it almost made ronin's gaze soften before the older man gave him an overly enthusiastic tussle of the hair.

"you're still young. sleep is important for you."

he's eyeing the light bags beneath his eyes and ronin could tell, but he only shrugged and gave a sloppy salute in return.

"yeah yeah, no kiddin', i'll be on my 'best' behavior next time. see ya later, old timer."

the gruff man stiffly nodded, immediately disappearing into the busy background as ronin turned and headed for the door.

as soon as the bell overhead chimed, he padded in his passcode and opened his messenger app, pleased to see the '3' icon bubbled besides your nickname.

[writer Darlin']

-'Sadly, my heart is still beating 😭'

-'agent's on my ass so I've been writing another piece for as long as I can whilst the hype is still high'

-'wouldja put me outta my misery?'

and there comes that feeling again, the staticky unease that bleeds into his cheeks, that flows in his chest and even shows through the light tremble of his fingers.

and then the obnoxious twist of his lips, the smile that weaves itself thick and heavy on his lower jaw that he can't seem to rip off, and he steps a bit slower through the sidewalk.

-'nah, i think I'll let ya Suffer a bit longer...'

-'besides, what's a devil to do Without entertainment?'

at this rate, you're probably rolling your eyes out of your own skull because of him, and he'd want nothing less.

[writer Darlin']

-'damn, cruel. shouldn't have expected the devil to be my savior anyway, guess I'll have to ask a sweetheart like Angel to smite me instead of your lame ass 🙄'

as soon as your reply dropped, he responded. no, not out of jealousy or anything stupid like that, but c'mon, be honest with yourself.

-'you've already got Lucifer himself staring over your shoulder, don'tcha think you're being selfish by hoarding all of the Divine power?'

he knows he's being a little shit, but that's just how he is when it comes to his best buds.

he's scrolling through your previous text messages, and it's enough to put a strain over his heartstrings. it's always a dance with you, and he wouldn't have it any other w-

...he nearly walks into a street light.

awkwardly shoving his phone back into his pocket, he decided to worry about getting home alive without some random slip-up ending in his death or worse.

yikes- yeah, he just needs a good kill and a few more hours of rest, and everything will go back to normal. that's all he needs.

...did you respond to his text yet?

.

.

.

maybe ronin was back to his usual self, because after going home and cleaning up, he felt like a new man.

it could've just been ridding himself of the grease and powder from his workplace, or maybe it was the thrill seeping its way back into his bones as he ran a finger over the cold, heavy iron of his crowbar.

changing back into his usual aesthetic helped too, reds and blacks with accents of silver coating him from head to toe, devil horns peeking atop the grey and black fabric of his beanie.

now that he's in uniform, pep flooded his step as he threaded his blackened nails through the silk of his hair, sliding out through his front door and into the night.

who's going to be his lucky pick for today?

.

.

.

he found his victim rather quickly.

greasy brown hair hung in uneven clumps around his sunken face, a pair of bloodshot eyes, watery and half-lidded, scanned the street with a predatory gleam, glinting with something both lazy and lecherous.

and each time a woman pedalled by, presumably hoping to get home before the night sky blackened further, his lips would curl into a crooked grin.

his targets were few and far between, but he made sure that every one of them knew that he had a mouthful of things to say about them right off the bat.

...no matter how young they looked.

it was almost funny, he wanted a victim and he found the best candidate as soon as he set out searching. who'd miss a scumbag like him? uptown needs their savior, after all.

it's more than enough to warrant bashing his head in for the night, and the perfect opportunity to clear his own in the meantime.

the narrow walls of the alley were slicked with grime and shadows. overhead, a single flickering street light was trying its' best to illuminate the corner with its green-hued flare.

its dying glow cast over the alley, draping its rickety textures in a haunting atmosphere- fitting, given that ronin had doused these walls with blood before.

the pavement was littered with crumpled newspapers, shattered glass, and puddles of murky water that reeked of decay. a nauseating stench hung heavy in the air- a blend of rotting food, damp mold, and something metallic and sour, like old blood.

scraping his crowbar along the exposed pipes decorating the filthy path, he tapped it against the dingy metal, once, twice- until finally, the scumbag turns his head, yellow teeth fixed into a scowl.

got him.

ronin's fingers flexed around the warming iron of his trusty weapon, before lifting it and raking its teeth against the brittle brick, a sound akin to nails on a chalkboard grating through the stale air.

"cut that shit out," a low snarl, warning, biting, even. the man's now leaning uneasily over his own two feet, glass bottle tight within the drunk's grasp.

ronin whistled out a long, sharp burst, dragging his tool against the cracked concrete, glass occasionally crunching under his platforms.

"you wanna go, asshole?" the pig snarled, vocal cords strummed with copious amounts of alcohol and mucus as his wrist wiped over his running nose.

the drunken bravado of this prick is more than enough to have ronin's fingers itching to burrow through his abdomen- to wreak havoc across this bastard's body and let him know what hell truly looks like.

the drunkard's now storming towards ronin, almost tripping over his own shoes as he slung slurred words and insults towards him.

little did he know, he was just luring him deeper within the emptied twists and turns of the alley, just to ensure that he gets enough time to hear him scream without any unneeded innocents stopping by and getting an eyeful of gore beyond their wildest nightmares.

eventually, the lone streetlight stopped its' flickering, dimming into a low hum buzz as its' glow grew weaker and weaker- and finally into pitch black.

how well can a drunk man see in the darkness?

.

.

.

it was the same routine. wash, rinse, repeat. mangle the disfigured body into whatever position he wanted and splatter the newly-killed man's innards all over the alley concrete for all to judge.

but the experience was....rather lacking. he barely had a taste of the rush, of the adrenaline rushing through his veins. it died out quickly, and he's right back to thinking of you as he slips through the night and right back into his sanctuary.

[goreboy] 04:06

-'hey Angel is cupid Also an Angel?'

[Angelic] 04:07

-'Well that's a lot of capitalization, especially with the A's but I don't think so? I think he's some god or something in Greek mythology, but I'm not too sure. Why?'

[goreboy] 04:07

-'you two have wings Good enough'

-'tell him to fuck off please and Thanks!'

-'and hey, you know i can't resist that Sweet sweet alliteration.'

[Angelic] 04:07

'How do I deal with you...'

'But wait wait wait, what does that mean? Cupid?'

he feels instant regret- he shouldn't be texting or ranting or whatever the fuck he's doing to angel right now. she's got her own shit going on, and he's skipping like a school girl in a field of daisies- well, preferably bodies, over the thought of...

you. god, it makes his heart hurt. why? how would he know?

he has to hunt you down for this- you definitely cast some weird spell on him to make him feel this strongly for whatever reason and it's absolutely destroying him.

sure, he cares about you, deeply. you're really close and he enjoys being around you, but he didn't know that hanging out with you a couple of times would amount to...this.

and now he's spiraling inside of his own head, falling apart at the seams so easily, and he doesn't even know why.

[goreboy] 04:13

-'oh god bless my bleeding Heart'

-'...'

-'it's Nothing.'

[Angelic] 04:13

'Ronin, is there something going on?'

being sardonically impulsive was a trait that rarely bit ronin in the ass, especially when his instincts were usually sharp, but when it did- it wasn't a fun time.

tucking his head in a bandage-draped palm, he dangled his fingers over the keyboard, only for them to hang motionlessly.

what does he even say to that? "i'm falling in love with one of my best friends and for the first time i'm too much of a pussy to admit it! woe is me!" give him a break.

[Angelic] 04:16

-'You don't have to tell me anything, but if there's anything going on, you know you have a safe place with me, no matter how irritating you are.'

-'Regardless, you really should sit down and just process anything that could be troubling you. Get some sleep in and see how you feel in the morning about everything, y'know?'

'-And if it's cupid related, I don't mind playing matchmaker. 🤍'

ronin couldn't help the smile creeping up on his lips. it helped, y'know? remembering that he had someone in his corner who he could confide in when things got heavy.

[goreboy] 04:17

-'Noted'

-'...'

-'thanks. for y'know, Everything.'

-'and that last bit seems rather Interesting despite the fact that you're basically a Lamer version of cupid'

[Angelic] 04:18

-'I hate you oh so very much 😭'

a dry chuckle vibrates through his chest, and he's shutting off his computer, letting the screen fade to black.

she's right, though. instead of moping in self pity, he should sleep on it, maybe even pray that he won't feel anything for you when the sun rises and he gets out of bed.

he lazily sets his phone on his nightstand, not bothering to plug it up before he had a double take, hitting the power button and reading the numbers in bold.

"4:20 AM."

didn't he say something about getting more sleep?

shit.

.

.

.

he wished he could say that sleep did something for him in the grand scheme of things...

it did little to nothing, especially with the time he went to sleep. now he's restless, maybe a tad manic, and driving himself absolutely mad at the thought of you.

god, it feels as though his teeth are about to fall straight out of their sockets- and not just because he's been slapping himself dumb around his room all night.

he's been thinking- way, way, way, way too much. thinking about his feelings, what he wants, if there's a possibility of you feeling anything too, if you want him too.

further in the day, he thought that perhaps a drink or two will smooth the rough edges, shut his brain up enough for him to do the usual, but after a glass, or two...maybe three, he wasn't getting any closer to salvation.

he still thinks about it- those rare times that you've two hung out and you would casually slink an arm over him or play with his hair as you two binged another horror franchise. the times where he'd turn to watch your reaction at a movie heavily relying on shock value and how you'd scoot a little closer to him after it.

was he just imagining that? did your heart beat no faster at the idea of being closer to him? was all of this normal for you? whenever you went outside to do something simple, like checking the mail, did you not spot something that reminded you of him?

because as he's trailing down the countless alleyways he has memorized like the back of his hand, everything he looks at sends his mind into a blurry fuzz of everything you.

he didn't even notice the storm clouds rolling in, and the low grumble of faraway thunder did little to dissuade him from traveling farther from home, despite his lack of jacket or umbrella.

he felt like a stray dog wandering the streets with a maw full of bleeding rot, looking for something to devour that'll push the feeling down.

but there's nothing to do to push it down, to cast it out of sight and out of mind, and he's too full of feelings that he doesn't know what to do with-

should he pick out another kill for him to waste his time on?

normally, that'd be something he'd consider, something he'd chase out and bide his time on until the adrenaline, the rush, the high- would hopefully push you out of mind.

but he knows it'll just fail, like it did the day before.

the sky's weeping heavier at this point, and he's just now wringing out the black fabric of his shirt, drenched beyond relief at this rate.

he shrugs it off like it's whatever, as if the thunder and fat raindrops pummeling down on him was nothing more than an inconvenience, and he decides to retreat back home for the day.

each stride through the darkening streets feel almost weightless as he trails down the empty sidewalks, and it's right there.

his sanctuary.

except he turns the doorknob and it's... locked.

a frown bags over his lower jaw, and he tries it again. nope, locked.

and then a hollered "i'll be right there!" muffles behind the door. wait, what?

he looks forward, noticing the unfamiliar 'welcome!' rug at the doors front steps, and the change in scenery around him.

the door opens, and before he can hot tail it out of there, you're peeking out from behind the frame, and your brows furrow.

fuck, he's so screwed.

did he really self sabotage himself so badly in his drunken stupor that he walked to your front door instead of his?

because now he gets to see you- in person. and he doesn't know if he can handle that right now, if he can stand face to face with you knowing how his heartbeat quickens at the sound of your voice, nonetheless seeing you right before him.

you're motionless for a second, eyes beading over his form in a vertical line before you craned the door wide open, a mix of concern and confusion etched onto your face and he sobered up at the sight immediately.

don't you see that you're opening the front door to the worst person right now? fuck, why did you decide to answer? you shouldn't have, you really, really shouldn't have.

it felt like he was dying of embarrassment, and death had never felt so foreign and uneasy in his chest as he gave you a nervous grin.

"uh, hey."

his voice was dry and nearly died out as soon as the words left his lips, a faint crack ending off of his awkward greeting.

and suddenly, he could feel the way his pants weighed more than usual and how his shirt stuck uncomfortably close to his skin, fat raindrops still pummeling him under the dark sky.

"is it...normal, for you to be standing in the pouring rain?"

it was a jab, a friendly one at that, but your lighthearted words were simultaneously laced with...shock? surprise? maybe pity?

he pulled at his collar, sheepishly rubbing at the nape of his neck as water trickled down against his spine, causing a shiver to stream through him.

"uh, yeah-yep. y'know, just, uh...getting some fresh air."

getting fresh air in the middle of a thunderstorm? yeah, right. he was hoping to lean into the dry humor of it all and maybe crack a smile out of you that would allow him to brush past the inevitable 'what the fuck are you doing here?' question, but fate said otherwise.

"well, maybe you should come inside? i mean-you're soaked and the night's only gonna get darker."

immediate no. he cannot let himself step through your doorway, he cannot delve between the walls that's everything...you. that's the LAST thing he needs right now, last thing he should surround himself with.

you tug at the wet fabric of one of his sleeves, as if trying to guide him into the warmth of your home, but he only nails his palms over the ridges of your doorframe, enabling him still.

"no, i'd rather stay riiiight here, thank you."

you side eyed the worsening weather at his back and grazed your pupils over to his, staring at him as if he said something funny.

"ronin-"

"'m fine where i stand, thanks darlin'."

you frown, your brow raised strictly as if you were about to scold him, but you held your tongue for whatever reason, as if you could tell that he really didn't want to step inside.

"fine, but if you get a cold and i have to take care of your ass, don't tell me i didn't warn you."

is it bad that the scenario doesn't sound too bad to him?

his heart's working against him in ways he never knew it could, and before he could shut himself up, he's leaning further towards you, eyelids heavy and irises locked onto yours.

"you'd take care of me if i were sick?"

he didn't realize how desperate he was coming across, but when he heard the immediate drop in his tone and the lack of crypt in his voice, he felt a flutter in his chest. fuck, you're killing him.

the attitude slathered all over your face phases over, shifting into light solemn as you cross your arms, giving a small nod.

"yeah, of course. i care about you,"

fuck, you're killing him!

"-you're one of my bestest friends, after all."

oh my god, put him out of his misery already!

he's never rolled his eyes harder, he could've sworn he saw the man on the cross himself for a moment and he could've set on his knees as a believer right then and there.

maybe he should ask for the lord to strike him down here and now, and hopefully with enough repentance he'll die on the spot.

unluckily for him, you noticed his reaction, the way his head turned and his x'ed out pupils narrowed and slid out of view. the way his head veered away from you and his nostrils flared momentarily.

now you're curious, and you already know what happens to those who question things they probably shouldn't. curiosity killed the cat, 'n all.

"well, you have something to say, yeah? this is the first time i've seen satan himself shivering, so should i assume that hell finally froze over?"

the jest in your voice was unmistakable, but so was the genuine undertone of your question. he wished he could turn you away and soothe your curiosity with a toothy grin that told you all you needed to hear-

but with how he's standing ahead of you like a deer in headlights, he'd reckon that it wouldn't do much to salvage this situation.

"i don't," he began, only to slap a hand over his face with his index and middle fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"i, i can't, it's..."

he drawls off, and he can feel it, the excuses longing to claw their way out of the confines of his throat, the overwhelming need to escape your gaze, and the hesitation churning in his abdomen.

"wow, whatever the hell you're going on about is really fucking you up, huh?"

you weren't wrong. this was definitely out of character, especially for ronin out of all people.

you clicked your tongue, rolling it over your teeth as you mentally noted the slight tremor in his body.

"are you...sure you don't want to come in?"

your voice falls on deaf ears, he's too absorbed in it all, in everything you do down to the smallest things. it's embarrassing, really, the dilation of his pupils following the view of your tongue running over the angle of your canines.

the sight should strike terror into his bones and he knows it. he should be running for the hills at this point - what can he even do to tilt the odds in his favor?

and yeah, he's fucking horrified. horrified at the way that his face doesn't pale in fear, but hazes over with the lightest pink. horrified at the way his heartstrings tense and pull, as if his heart was trying to ruthlessly beat itself out of its' bindings.

you're the scariest thing he's come across. the careless ruffle of your hair, the rosy pigment blotched over your bottom lip, and that...casual look in your eye. the way light dances and reflects in your irises like the prettiest firework show he's ever seen.

you're bad. really fucking bad for him, you're the worst thing he's laid eyes on, and he knows it once your head tilts in confusion and his gut wrangles high into his throat. what the fuck are you doing to him? do you know what the fuck you're doing to him?

you're probably deeper in the pits of hell than he is, and that's saying something. you're dangerous! akin to some monstrosity that the likes of man couldn't even fathom.

he was wrong for questioning your lack of survival instincts when you opened the door for him, he should've been questioning his own when he wandered to your front door like a lamb to the slaughter.

instead of having your aorta between his fingers, you have his wrangled between yours, and you don't even fucking know it.

the crackle of thunder right down the street is enough to wake him from his internal monologue, and he realizes that you're basically shaking him dry, snapping your fingers before him in a pitiful attempt to 'wake him up'.

"jesus christ," you heave, and you're grabbing him by the wrists, the heat of your fingers locking around his pulse burned his cheeks into a brighter shade of pink that, for once, made him look more alive than corpse.

"ronin, talk to me. tell me what's going on, please, you're not acting like yourself, and that says something."

the sound of his lifeline thumps heavy in his eardrums, even as he digs his teeth into the crackled, slightly bloodied mess of his bottom lip. he can feel the random, morbid variations of everything he's been feeling coursing through his veins.

they taste odd, unbalanced over the piercing on his tongue, and he doesn't even know how to describe it himself. fuck it, he's here right now, he needs to do something about these feelings while they're still fresh and bleeding, but all the ideas garble up into pathetic word vomit once he gets a hold of them.

he's eyeing the wet glisten of your lash line, and he notices you're now, too, partially in the rain. the hands holding his wrists now interlocked with his, fingers crisscrossing over one another.

he's thinking about it all; the times you've shared, ranging from your hangouts to your gaming sessions, and they all were...

perfectly imperfect.

yeah, the time you two went out for ice cream and not even two steps away from the truck, your scoops splattered all over the pavement. or the last time you guys hung out over at his place and blackjack- his pet rat, started nibbling on your fingers and you nearly dropped the damned thing.

nothing ever seemed to go as planned when your paths crossed. it was as if the gods themselves conspired to curse your time together, weaving misfortune into every interaction, a twisted, modern-day version of romeo and juliet. yet, no matter how things unraveled, the night would always end the same: with laughter, warmth, and the unmistakable feeling that none of it mattered as long as you were together.

the stupidest shit could happen on the days that you've planned to see each other on, and no matter what, you two would find a way to work it out, without fail.

standing here now, would telling you ruin everything that's been? divide you two back on your separate roads, the way fate wants it to be?

he's tired of guessing.

twisting black painted nails around the width of your hand, he moves your palm up to the plain of his chest, and your brows raise. he lays it close to his collarbone, but far down enough that the flat of your hand meets the rapid thudding in his body.

"feel how fast my heart's beating?"

you nod.

"would'ja drive a stake through it? spare me my autonomy, quiet the rhythm in my ears and leave me no longer breathing?"

he's closer to you now, the x's in his pupils trailing your every feature, taking in the way your cheeks flush and your lids lower.

"would you consider that mercy? no longer needing to confront your emotions?"

he gives you the slightest smile at your response, the void in his gaze sucking you in as he lays a thumb under the curve of your lower lids, brushing over your cheekbone, smearing a few water droplets across your cheek.

"who wouldn't? that's the beauty in being human, in feeling all these...things. gives us so many weaknesses, so many flaws, but so, so much to discover."

he's almost grinning ear to ear at the sight of your eye twitching irritably, a tight lipped smile spread on your face as you huff. he can tell you want him to get to the point.

so he will.

"ronin, stop all the cryptic talk. just, tell me what's going o-"

"i'm in love with you."

and the warmth pumping through your cheeks increased by tenfold, for a moment, the cogs in your brain just... stalled. you blinked, once, twice, staring at him like he'd just spoke in a language you didn't know.

"wait... what?" the words tumbled out before you could stop them, a mix of confusion and disbelief your words.

"you... you like me?"

"did i stutter?"

"no, no, i-i just...like, like like me?"

it was adorable; how doubting you were, your words almost frantic. and it wasn't in a 'ew, you like me?' type of manner, it was more of a 'oh my god, you like me? me!?' way.

he now has both of his hands cupping your face, thumbing along the corner of your lips and you're even warmer- or maybe it's just because he's drenched in rain water and you're only slightly damp.

"is there somethin' wrong with me for likin' you?"

and just like that, the tables turned. you're the one who's flustered and trying to explain yourself while he's just smug watching your panicked display with a grin.

"no! no, it's just- i'm...dumbfounded. i mean, i didn't really see it coming. are you...sure?"

he's more than 100% sure, but if you need some more convincing, he doesn't mind.

"want me to prove it to ya?"

his jaw's already nearing yours and a low timbre wedges in the tangle of his vocal chords, words sweet and curious.

his question was rhetorical- he knew you wanted him to, and your irises giving his lips a quick glance confirmed it.

"well? i'm waiting in the wings."

you give a slow nod, hands running up to the broadness of his shoulders before he dipped forward and...

the soft pout of your bottom lip met the cracked surface of his, and it couldn't have been more perfect, the trailing of your fingers rising through the soaked locks sticking to his skin. you're warm, really warm, and he doesn't want to let you go.

and suddenly he can breathe again, the tension compressed in his body releasing all at once, he, for one, finally feels free at the maddening press of your skin to his.

the faint taste of alcohol dances between you two, and your tongue gives a light swipe over his bottom lip in response to it, as if trying to get a better taste.

have you come from the abyssal sky above to grace him salvation? to save him from the endless pits of his own sin? to cut him apart with gentle hands, to dissect him with hushed promises of alleviating the burning ache in his chest?

because the warm cradle of your embrace sets his soul alight, and he's burning up like a dry weed catching the first sparks of summer's relentless rays.

it's been so long since he was last touched like this. since he's had someone to cradle, someone to hold, to kiss, to love.

he's been saved by you, and not in the biblical sense, no, he's damned no matter how you look at it. but he no longer feels lost, no longer yearning, craving something he thinks he can't have.

eventually, you have to pull away, his arms still slung over the dip of your back, and yours still around the nape of his neck.

"whaddya say? wanna be my partner in crime?"

you cringe, your nose scrunching in utter distaste at his title for you and you pitch a playful whack on his chest, a curl lingering on your lips.

"were you always this cheesy?"

he's about to respond with a teasing quip back, but then-

"ah-achoo!" his head pivots away from you and into the crease of his elbow, sneezing into his arm and he sniffles quietly.

"i uh, might have to take you up on that offer you proposed earlier?"

"see! i told you!"

----

hi teehee thanks for reading sorry this definitely sucks ass in some parts bc i rushed this last minute, lots of things here were just made up/headcanons about his character

i....i finished editing it....2000 words officially brought back from the dead...i couldn't have done it without the power of friendship ‼️

[magicalrocketships]

A little bit more mpreg Max for a Monday evening. Carries on from part 1 and part 2 and part 3. Masterpost here.

rivers of light part 4

(reminder that this contains mpreg, reference to giving birth, Max Verstappen's bad dad, past abuse, and on-track accidents.)

Max feeds his baby sitting in the back of Daniel's car in the multi-storey car park at the airport.

It's weird, feeding Bastiaan where someone can see. Where Daniel could see, if he wasn't sitting in the front of the car pointedly not looking in the rear view mirror to where Max has one arm out of his t-shirt, his compression top unzipped, and his baby tucked up against him.

Max doesn't think about the things his dad used to say about breastfeeding fathers, the names he used to throw out if they passed someone doing it in public. Or about breastfeeding mums too. His dad had said that it was just his luck that the women who liked to breastfeed in public where his dad could see were always the ugly ones anyway. But then his dad had pushed him down the stairs to try and hurt his baby, so it doesn't matter anymore anyway. His dad isn't ever coming close to Max's baby again. Ever.

He doesn't know what he misses about his dad, but it isn't his fury. It isn't knowing that Max deserved it sometimes, that he needed it to survive.

Max doesn't think about his dad. It's easier that way.

"What time's your meeting with Cyril?" Daniel asks, without looking back over his shoulder at Max.

"Three," Max says. It's not even lunchtime yet, even if some people — Max's baby — are already hungrily demanding seconds. "I can make my own way if it's easier."

"It's not easier," Daniel says. "I'm taking you."

Max nods. He wants to be racing again. He wants Cyril to give him a chance. He wants to stop feeling like his entire world is enveloped in cotton wool, like if he touched another human being they'd feel him, see him, know he was there. Like it's not just him and Bastiaan alone together.

But he also knows that it's too soon. That he's fucked up by spending his capital too early, asking for this meeting when he's still having to wear the thick pads in his underwear because everything's still fucking gross and he keeps leaking blood and gunk. He can't get in a car, even if Cyril wanted him, which he doesn't, because he's got Daniel in one seat and Nico Hulkenberg in the other.

But Max doesn't know how to do anything else. This is all he's been trained for. This is what he's been bred for. He's had one umbilical cord severed in the last month. He hasn't got it in him to do it again.

After a while, Bastiaan gets bored of eating, and looks up at Max with big, blue eyes.

"You're very gorgeous," Max tells him, because he is. He's a very handsome baby. A very lovely little boy. "Are you all full up now?"

Bastiaan blinks up at him. Max has a little stack of muslin cloths that Celine had passed to him from someone in the cafe whose baby relative had grown out of them. This one has little elephants on it, and he wipes milk off Bastiaan's chin as he positions him to rub his back, sitting him in his lap and holding him like the picture in the leaflet the hospital gave him, until Bastiaan burps up a little more milk. He's a hungry little thing when he eats, with a fierce little latch. Max's nipples are red raw and painful, but it's okay if Bastiaan is all full up.

Max doesn't want him to be hungry. He never wants him to be hungry, and anyway, Max has got used to pain. A little bit more won't hurt him.

"I think you might go to sleep now, little baby," Max says. The car seat is next to him on the back seat. It clips into the pushchair frame which had made it easier when they got off the plane. Daniel had helped him with Bastiaan's things, but he hadn't known how to put the pushchair together so Max had ended up giving him Bastiaan to hold while Max did it himself. He'd put his backpack on and the changing bag in the tray underneath the pushchair, then he'd turned around and seen Daniel making stupid, ridiculous faces at Max's frowny, serious little baby.

Max had spent a long time secretly wanting to jerk off to Daniel, but it had to be the hormones, the way seeing Bastiaan in Daniel's arms had made Max want to fucking sob. Nobody else had really held Bastiaan, apart from Celine and Max.

Bastiaan's life was so little so far. Maybe too little.

"Do you need a hand getting him in the seat?" Daniel peered over the seat, having clearly spied that Max's tit was back inside his compression top and his t-shirt pulled back down. Max hadn't really expected to leak milk around feeding his baby, but it's okay. He'd not had time to take much when he ran away from his dad's place — and it had turned out afterwards that he'd forgotten a lot of the important stuff — but he'd cleared out most of his wardrobe and drawers into black trash bags, and in one of them had been a pile of workout gear and stuff he'd worn during gruelling physio sessions after his leg surgeries. There'd also been an old pack of stupid free shit that he'd never worked out in, including a sweat-absorbent, zip-up compression top that mostly kept Max's leaking milk on the inside and meant he could go outside without making too much of a statement. It rubbed, and Max only had one of them, and it didn't exactly make getting it on and off again anything short of horrible half the time, but Max had had a couple of years on the F1 circuit before crashing out so spectacularly. He knew what it was like to chafe in restrictive underclothes. He'd worn worse.

"It's okay," Max says. "He will complain, I think, because if it's a choice between sitting with me and sitting next to me then he would like to pick me and he can't." Max smiles at his baby, who frowns at him, his little mouth going down at the edges because he's being settled into a car seat and not in his daddy's arms. Bastiaan really only has one place in the world he likes to be. Max would rather he was there too. "It's not safe, little baby," he tells a distressed little Bastiaan, strapping him into his seat. "Crashes and accidents are not nice. But Daddy is right here next to you." He leans in to kiss Bastiaan's little hand before making sure that the seatbelts are securely fastened according to the pictures in the instruction booklet he'd read very carefully cover to cover.

When he looks up, Daniel's still watching them, and he has a strange look on his face that Max doesn't understand.

"Are you sitting back there?" Daniel asks.

"Yes," Max says. "So the baby knows he's not alone."

Daniel looks at him. He swallows. Max tries to smile but he can't. He doesn't know why not. Everything is upside down and back to front, and it has been ever since Max had given birth at twenty past three in the morning, alone but for the hospital staff who kept asking him if he had anyone they wanted him to call.

He strokes the crook of his finger down over Bastiaan's little cheek. "It's okay, little one," he says softly. "It's all going to be okay. I promise."

Max doesn't have anyone's number anymore. He doesn't have his old phone. Maybe after today he can put Daniel's number in his new one. A contact list that's empty apart from Celine and the doctor she took him to when she realised he hadn't got one, that he hadn't seen anyone, that nobody had told him he needed to get a scan and be looked after.

"Max," Daniel says.

Max looks up.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," Max lies, because inside he's barely holding himself together. "I'm fine."

Daniel looks away first.

Max swallows, and smiles down at his baby. He’s fine. They both are. It’s all he has to hold on to.

part five at the masterpost here.

[writingoddess1125]

You Give them Face Mask! 🧼

Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Usopp, Buggy, Mihawk

Fluffy Fluff

Just felt like more Fluff Fluff rn 😌 Enjoy!

Luffy

Trying to get this man into a face mask is like trying to wash a puppy- A happy struggle and pain in the ass.

"Luffy please" You say with a sad eyes- He will fold after this and let you. However he doesn't sit still so you use a sheet mask that simply helps with oily skin.

"This smells nice" He will say as you have to bribe him with snacks to keep it on for 15 minutes.

"It's rose scented" You say and wear one yourself to keep him still with some gummy candies. Will have trouble sitting still and will start chatting and walking in circles as he waits.

Once it's over he rubs his shiny face and talks about how squeaky he sounds. Utterly destroying your work-

Sanji

Sanji is more then willing to indulge you. Picking out some mild scents and you do a peel off mask since he has deep pores.

"Wanna do the charcoal mask?" You offer which he accepts after finding the scent pleasant enough.

"Do people do these often?" He will flirt and talk about the curiosities in your self care. Once the mask is done he will complain about the tightness.

"That means it's ready to peel!!"

"AHHH! OW!!?" He yelps in surprise as you pull the mask off his face. His face bright red and raw from this so you add some water based moisturizer to his face. You show him the mask.

"That was in my face!?"

Will both be disgusted and fascinated by the amount of gunk pulled from his skin.

Zoro

His skin is fairly flawless which is honestly frustrating since he cares so little for his skin.

You offer the face mask anyway and he refuses for a while bit does eventually fold. You use a snail slime mask on him since it will keep him skin looking flawless.

"This smells funny..." He grumbles as he will lay there listening to you talk, Half asleep and waiting. Will open his eye occasionally and ask a few questions about your interest in this stuff.

You wipe it off and help him rince his face. Skin is pretty much glowing at this point and You stare in awe. "So pretty!"

"I'm going to go train now-" You scream at him in protest in trying to ruin his pretty face.

Usopp

Usopp is willing of course, since the ocean air drys his skin quite a lot. So you use a shea butter face mask and tap his skin with your fingers to help it soak in his rough skin.

"You know I once got a spa treatment from Mermaids like this-' He will spin his tales as You work. When you do rince off the mask you add some nice skin oils afterwards to his skin.

You rub a lot of oil in his skin and he will pause his stories as he judt enjoys the time. Will smell the jar you're using and a softness will run over his face in fondness.

"This smells like the stuff my mother used to use-" He will say with a smile. His skin looks shiny and golden by the time your done, making him look sexy- in his own words.

Will come back regularly to have you treat his skin and will even talk about stories with his mother from time to time.

Buggy

Grease paint wrecks havoc on one's skin Buggys especially since he wears it so much. Needs some detoxing clay mask then a aloe moisture one to replenish. If you're doing his face might as well deep condition his hair as well.

He does enjoy the attention and doing them since his face feels better. Secretly he actually has acne marks from his youth and some scars from before he ate a devil fruit.

"What was this one from?" You ask pointing to a light scar on his cheek.

"Hmm 10- Me and Shanks were trying to figure out blades better. Let's say I learned knives can bounce back at you-" He says amused and letting you work.

"The skin around your nose is dry" Buggy will frown, thinking you're about to insult him since even though he trust you the most his insecurities will win- till you carefully paint the mask on those areas and smile proudly.

"There we go, all better" You say and kiss his hand to go apply your own.

Will sit and listen to you read outloud or talk with him about show ideas as he lays there with the face mask.

"Can we do this every night?"

Mihawk

"No-" He will protest, his eyes narrowing as you offer the mask to him. However after enough begging and ever Perona joining in at pestering him he will fold.

Mihawk gets treated to a full spa day when this happens- A hydrating honey facemask on his skin, cucumbers on his eyes and even a hair mask in his hair to make it softer.

Perona is overjoyed as well as she cleans his nails and applies clear polish to make them shiny and nice! Grumbles the whole time silently and ends up Downing a bottle of wine.

"Do not get used to this-" He grumbles as he takes his wine and drinks from it as you and Perona work. He kinda looks like a spa mom-

Once done this man looks runway ready- His hair is much softer so sets lower, his skin flawless and even his beard looks nicer. Stares at you and Perona deadpanned and sighs-

"Thank you both for the nice gesture..."

[in1-nutshell]

Can I request drift (idw/lost light) having an opposite personality, daughter? With said daughter being with him since he was deadlock?

First of the MTMTE cast to have a daughter with the opposite personality!

Hope you enjoy!

Drift with a daughter with the opposite personality

SFW, Platonic, Angst, Familial, Cybertronian reader

MTMTE

Deadlock found the little sparkling while wandering aimlessly through the gutters of the Dead End.

The poor thing was struggling around in a deep puddle of oil, whirling and chirping for help.

Drift immediately went over and scooped her up from the puddle and placed her down.

Using some cloth and thinner pieces of scrap, he managed to get most of the gunk from the little one’s vents and cleaned most of the excess oil off her.

Drift: “There.” He feels a bit proud he managed to help someone out, even if it wasn’t much. The sparkling stared at him with wide optics and curiously chirped at him. Drift looked around. Drift: “Where are your guardian’s at—oh?” The sparkling was attempting to hug his pede. Drift: “Oh! I’m not—Little one I’m—now go on now.” Drift gently pushes the sparkling away from him. The sparkling looks a bit confused before waddling right back to him… but not before tripping going headfirst back into the puddle. Drift quickly grabs the sparkling from the puddle again. She blinks as Drift once again cleans her face. Drift: “You need to watch where you’re going, little one. Now go and this time the other way.” Drift gently pushes the sparkling in the opposite direction. The sparkling chirps at him sadly before waddling sadly away. Drift spark clenched. This was for the best… Right… SPLASH! Drift: “Oh sweet Primus not again!” Drift picked up the sparkling in the cloth, but this time made no move to put her down. Drift: “…I guess you’re stuck with me… At least until your guardians arrive.” The sparkling chirps happily as she snuggles up into his chassis.

What was he doing?

Drift barely had enough as it was to support himself and now, he had a little sparkling!

…But he buckles up a bit and tries working odd jobs to at least get more credits for some kind of energon for the sparkling.

He was grateful that the little thing was quiet and not that fussy.

Though her curiosity and slight clumsiness were the downside.

Drift is looking around for his sparkling. Drift: “Little one! Little one where are you!? I really need to name her…” He hears some chirping and frantically looks around him. A rock falls on his helm. Drift: “OW!” He looks up and feels all the energon draining from his frame. The sparkling was sitting on a rusty guard rail a couple feet up in the air. Drift: “How did you get up there!?” Drift pulls a stray crate and stands on it trying to reach her. Drift: “Hey little buddy, come here. Come to papa buddy!” The sparkling chirps before the rail gives in. Drift manages to catch her just as the railing came down. He frantically looks at his sparkling, who was thankfully unharmed. Drift: “Oh thank Primus… you really scared me there buddy. Buddy? Hmm… that’s sounds nice don’t you think?” Buddy chirps in agreement.

As the years grew on, Buddy matured much quicker than Drift would have liked it.

It seemed that one minute he was holding her servo as she nervously tried her first transformation.

The next she was carrying him to safety after a couple of mechs decided to beat him to a pulp for not giving him the rest of his circuit booster.

She often scolded him about taking those… enhancements and telling him the damage they could cause.

Buddy manages to messily wield a bit of scrap metal onto his arm. Drift winces a bit. Buddy: “…This wouldn’t happen if—” Drift: “I laid off the boosters. Buddy how many more times are we going to go through this?” Buddy gives him a slight glare. Buddy: “Enough times to see when that message gets into that thick helm of yours… I don’t know how to fix you if you…” Buddy grunted a bit, not even daring to say the last thing. Drift gives her a reassuring smile. Drift: “Have I mentioned I have the best daughter a mech could ask for?” Buddy smiles a bit. Buddy: “Not too often… but that still doesn’t mean I’m forgetting about the boosters.” Drift: “Scr—” THWACK! Drift rubs his helm. Drift: “Buddy!”

Buddy was a scrapy youngling when Drift nearly overdosed on speedster circuits and engex.

She remembered cradling his glitching frame, crying for someone to help her.

Was pushed and nearly beaten by some thugs who wanted Drift’s frame, before the famous officer Orion Pax cuffed them.

Buddy tried to stand up and protect her father by trying to shield his body with her frame.

She was utterly terrified but ready to fight for him.

Was surprised when the officer kindly told her he knew someone who could help her and Drift.

As frightened as she was, Buddy decides that any chance of saving Drift was worth the risk.

She makes it very clear that Drift needed more care than she did and would refuse until Drift was okay.

Thankfully Ratchet was able to get Drift stable and moves on to help Buddy.

Ratchet starts patching up Buddy. Ratchet: “I take it the mech I just fixed is your guardian?” Buddy: “He’s, my dad.” Ratchet: “Hmm…” Buddy twitches a bit. Ratchet: “You got a question kid?” Buddy hesitantly nods. Buddy: “What are those tools for?” Ratchet: “Those help me see better into a bots smaller crevices.” Buddy: “…Do you think you can teach me how to save a bot from overdosing?” Ratchet stops for a minute. Buddy: “I just don’t know if he might do it again and I want to be prepared for it.” Ratchet looks at the youngling who had determination and slight twinge of fear in her optics. Ratchet: “I can teach you how to better hide some of the boosters and the warning signs, but I can’t teach you the proper procedure.” Buddy looks down a bit. Ratchet: “Not because I don’t want to, but because it is a difficult procedure to do, near impossible without any prior medical knowledge. If you come to me with at least some sort of certification you can do some healing besides a standard patch job, then we’ll see.” Buddy smiles at him with a new look of determination. Buddy: “Then… can you tell me about that tool?”

Drift is glad to see Buddy okay.

He brings her close as they start to depart.

His audial ring a bit with what the doctor had told him about starting a new life and to watch for his daughter.

Buddy makes sure to remember the location of the clinic.

Ratchet is surprised to find the youngling back.

She wants to help him, help others like he did with Drift.

Buddy couldn’t exactly go to school or medical school, so he was the next best thing.

Ratchet makes her work for it.

Constantly randomly asking her random questions about certain parts of the frame of a Seeker, to names of certain tools and what they are used for.

Buddy makes him proud by putting the work in.

Drift doesn’t notice Buddy’s absence.

He had taken up more tasks and jobs that were taking even more time than before.

As much as Buddy loved Drift, she did wish he was home more.

Those were peaceful moments where they would staring into the sky and see how many constellations they could spot.

Buddy soon stops coming by the clinic, which worries Ratchet but there are other things he needs to worry about now.

As much as it pains him…

What happened?

Drift had brought Buddy to one of Megatron’s rallies.

There was supposable going to be some free energon at the event.

The pair is surprised when the leader of the movement himself came to them.

Megatron asked Drift if he’d like to join.

Drift accepted seeing a new opportunity in life, maybe a better one for him and Buddy.

He was even given a new name, Deadlock.

Buddy didn’t like the name, but never voiced it.

Megatron kindly turned to Buddy and asked her if she wanted to make a difference, to help bots less fortunate to find a voice.

Buddy was onboard with the idea of helping others.

Just like doctor Ratchet!

They became Decepticon’s that very day.

Being a youngling, there wasn’t much Buddy could do but do odd little jobs or be a messenger.

She showed promise in the healing department, and given that the Decepticon’s were short on medics, thoughts on teaching her the ropes didn’t seem too bad.

Buddy was taught by engineers and other doctors around the base.

She quickly rose up to the occasion once the injured started arriving.

It would take a couple more years before she officially was given her doctor’s title.

This happened around the beginning of the war.

Deadlock started becoming this infamous bounty hunter.

Buddy did not like this deadlock persona.

He was rude, snappy, and at times even cruel.

The pairs paths crossing was rare.

The only time they would be in the same room for more than a minute would happen whenever he was sent to the medbay.

Deadlock refuses any medic besides Buddy to see him.

She would feel flattered if the injuries he came back didn’t hurt her spark.

Buddy is patching up Deadlock. He hisses at some of the sparks. Deadlock: “Would it kill for you to be a bit gentler?” Buddy: “Would it kill you to be more careful out there?” Deadlock stays silent. Buddy: “That’s what I thought.” Deadlock: “…How are the exams coming along?” Buddy: “I passed those exams… 6 months ago…” Deadlock: “You did?” Buddy: “I’m a doctor now.” Deadlock chuckles a bit. Buddy swears she hears Drift for a second. Deadlock: “Look at you. I would be proud if you could be a bit gentler with your patients.” Buddy doesn’t say anything as she finishes patching Deadlock up.

The first time he snapped at her, she gave him the silent treatment, a bit in shock that he did that.

Deadlock would later apologies by managing to snag a couple of new tools for her to use.

He would be gone for an unknown number of times, but Buddy found herself trying to cherish the time that she did have with Deadlock.

Deadlock was the last thing she had left of Drift.

Soon enough she stops giving him the silent treatment when she patches him up and continues to scold.

Buddy was tired of seeing her loved ones and friends get hurt all the time, there was some part of her that hoped that nagging enough would get them to be more careful.

It never happened or worked too well.

She hated losing her patients to this war, she hated losing everyone to it.

But the only thing she could do now was do her job.

This was not the future she thought when she stood in front of a smiling Megatron.

Soon enough Buddy was given a promotion.

As Megatron’s personal nurse/doctor.

A doctor that also became a therapist of sorts when he’d started ranting about Prime or the recent battles or just about Starscream.

Given the recent attempts on his life, Megatron saw fit to have someone trusted to care for him.

Buddy just so happened to be the least likely to betray him on his list of medics.

Also least likely to do something other than heal his frame.

Buddy was patching up one of his pedes from a nasty mesh wound. Buddy: “If I’d have to guess… this was Starscream’s doing?” Megatron: “Not entirely.” Buddy: “How so?” Megatron: “I do not believe that is part of your concern.” Buddy gives him a tired look. Buddy: “Yes, silly me, a doctor asking her patient how they got hurt. Silly me for wanting to make sure I am healing it properly.” Megatron: “… I trip down the stairs.” Buddy blinks. Buddy: “You what?” Megatron: “And in falling I kicked Starscream in the face causing him to retaliate.” Starscream on a nearby berth: “How do you think I would have responded!?” Skywarp laughs by his side, ‘playfully’ slapping the Seeker. THWACK! Skywarp was now on the floor groaning as he held his helm. Buddy has another wrench in her servo while not taking her optics off the wound. Buddy: “Don’t touch my patients like that.” Megatron: “…How is it that you never decided to join your fa—” Buddy gives him a sharp look that surprisingly shuts him up. Buddy: “I’d rather fits the bots that I see, not dismantle them.”

Buddy began to see Deadlock a bit more too, no surprise him being one of the few mechs in the warlord’s inner circle.

Though not much was said between the two.

It wasn’t personal, but there wasn’t a lot of time between the pair given one’s job being outside the base taking bots out.

While the other spent most of her time in the base patching up the wounded.

It would be a simple miscalculation that would cause a major shift in Buddy’s life.

Someone had breached the information of the location of Megatron’s base.

It was compromised and they all needed to move.

There was a rapid panic through the troops as they tried to move everything before the Autobots would arrive.

Buddy was in the med bay trying to get patients to safety when the first shots were heard.

She only had two bots left.

There was an explosion knocking her back.

Waking up, Buddy quickly realized that she was pinned down by some of the debris.

The doctor struggled to move when a blaster was shoved close to her faceplate.

Buddy freezes staring at the blaster. Spark pulsing too fast. Suddenly the blaster was yanked back. Buddy just stared dumbfounded at the red and blue mech. The scene seemed strikingly familiar to her. Buddy: “Optimus Prime.” Optimus looks down at the medic before it clicked. Optimus: “Buddy. It has been a long time. I see you made yourself a medic.” Buddy: “Doctor actually sir.” Optimus chuckles a bit before he starts to get some of the debris off her. There are some bots arguing against the action, suggesting leaving her there. Buddy stiffens a bit at the thought of being trapped under the rubble alone in the dark. Buddy: “Sir, if I may. I am a doctor and word around is that you need more medics. Allow me to help you.” The Prime looks at her confused. Optimus: “You’d willingly leave your side of the war to join the enemy?” Buddy gives him a serious look. Buddy: “I joined this cause in the promise to help bots and make a better place for Cybertron… I have been deceived sir. I am disappointed and to say I am furious is an understatement.  I can’t think of a better way to get back at the Decepticon’s than taking away a good medic who knows where the secret compartment of data slugs of the location of the next base are.” Buddy was hoping that the data slug would be enough to persuade the Prime. Optimus looks at her with surprise and slight suspicion. He finds no sign of lying. In a single kick, he manages to get most of the debris off Buddy. She now noticed she was down a pede thanks to the explosion. Optimus gently picks her up. Optimus: “Lead the way, Buddy.” A couple hours later in some remote location… Deadlock gets a call. Deadlock: “Yes Lord Megatron.” Megatron: “The base was compromise. We are moving to the next base of operation in the South quadrant.” Deadlock’s optics widen a bit. Deadlock: “The entire base?” Megatron: “The Autobot’s took no prisoners. Anyone who was in the base has been massacred.” Deadlock is silent. Megatron: “…You have my condolences on your loss Deadlock.” The call ends as the Decepticon screams into the silent night.

Buddy was brought into Autobot custody.

She kept a stoic face on meeting the other Autobot’s.

Buddy knew well enough that these bots did not trust her, not that she would blame them.

The only reason she was alive was because she was a medic.

After a fresh coating of paint and change of insignia the doctor was finally allowed in the medbay.

Her façade almost completely dropped seeing Rachet there.

Buddy had long come to the terms that he had offlined at some point in the war.

Her spark warmed seeing her first mentor had survived this long.

Ratchet was surprised to see his former student in front of him.

Under Optimus’s direct order, she was to always stay by Ratchet’s side unless under dire circumstances.

Buddy knew this was for the team to get used to her, but the thing she cared most was seeing how her mentor managed to stay online for so long.

The two would eventually sit down and talk about the past and why she was a part of the Decepticon’s even though she had different views.

Ratchet’s spark clenched a bit hearing one of the biggest being her father staying.

She truly thought if she left the Decepticon’s earlier that he would not last long.

But now… call her cruel but she did not care where he was.

It wasn’t like Deadlock would look for her.

It was thanks to Optimus and Ratchet that Buddy would get integrated fast into the group.

A lot of the bots thought Buddy would soften up Ratchet considering she was younger.

They were so wrong.

Buddy might as well be known as Mini Ratchet because she acted JUST like him!

Buddy finishing the final patch work on Sunstreaker. Sideswipe and Bumblebee were on the berth next to them, wrapped up and waiting for one more look over. Buddy: “And what was going through your processor when you and Sideswipe decided to take on the Elite Trine alone? And to bring Bumblebee, of all bots as back up? No offense Bumblebee.” Bumblebee: “None taken.” Sunstreaker: “In our defense—” Buddy tightens her grip on his armor making him wince. Buddy: “Try again? Sideswipe: “We had it under control.” Buddy gives him an unimpressed look. Buddy: “Yes because nothing says that you have it under control than sitting in themed bay with injuries that could have been avoided—” Bumblebee: “Aww, you do care.” Buddy huffs and continues working. Buddy: “One more peep and its lights out for you.” Sideswipe: “Yeah, like you’d hurt a poor defenseless mech—” THWACK! Sideswipe was knocked out on the berth with a wrench on his chassis. The other yellow mechs stared at her in shock. Buddy just continued her work. Ratchet enters the room. He glances at Sideswipe. Ratchet: “He couldn’t stop running his mouth?” Buddy: “To be fair I gave a warning.” Sunstreaker: “Are you sure that Ratchet isn’t your father?” The young doctor tenses up. Buddy: “And that’s nighty night for you.” She presses a pressure point and watches the mech crumble on the berth. Bumblebee makes the right decision and lays back down.

Buddy hadn’t exactly introduced herself to Drift.

She remembered hearing about Deadlock defecting and going by Drift once again.

She also remembers waking up in the medslab with a concern Rodimus by her side.

But any opportunity of meeting him Buddy had to stop herself.

It was too painful.

Too many why’s and hurting for Buddy to handle.

Ratchet was very admitted about having her go and meet him, that he was nothing like Deadlock.

She still refused to.

The young doctor knew that if she met this new mech and didn’t see any sign of Drift...

She’d rather avoid that as long as she can.

Timeskip to Lost Light boarding… Buddy was accompanying Ratchet to the med bay when Drift and Rodimus turned the corner. Drift stopped dead in his tracks staring at her. Ratchet continues into the medbay, completely unaware of the inner turmoil Buddy was going though. Buddy mentally and physically steeled herself up. Buddy: “Captain Rodimus, Third in Command Drift. What brings you two to the medbay?” Rodimus: “Buddy you can lose the title thing.” Buddy: “I’m just being polite Captain.” Rodimus raises an optic at Buddy. Buddy: “…Fine. How does Roddy sound?” Rodimus puffs his chassis. Rodimus: “Now that’s better! Anyways, Drift and I were just doing the last walk around the ship. You’ve met Drift, right? You know he defected too?” Buddy and Drift just stare at each other. Buddy: “I am well aware of who Deadlock was.” Buddy pretends not to notice Drift wincing a bit at the sound of his previous name. Buddy: “Now, if you two excuse me, I need to make sure everything is secure and ready for quantum leaps.” Buddy returned back into the medbay sitting close to Ratchet. Rodimus shrugs and continues his walk with Drift who had yet to say anything. Rodimus notices his friend’s silence. Rodimus: “You okay Drift? Did you and Buddy have some sort of history?” Drift: “Rodimus… that was my daughter.” Rodimus: “Oh just your daughter, I thought you—wait what!?”

[hitlikehammers]

🧋That One Time It Went Soulmate v. Soulmate, Double-or-Nothing Between 🍦Robin and Eddie🎸, Because No One Could Deserve Robin’s Plantonic Soulmate EVER, but Eddie Can (and WILL) Count The Ways That He’ll Fucking ✨TRY✨

☕️OR: 5/5 times Steve/Eddie talk to anyone but each other about their feelings (for each other), +1 (other time they turn around and talk to one another)

Robin’s staring openly at him after he places their order with an extra shake to go—to take home with him for when Steve gets off work.

“You sure that’s what he wants?”

Eddie turns to her slowly.

“He’s my favorite person in the world,” Eddie says simply; “I know what his favorite flavor is.”

In fairness: it does change. He has a baseline that’s good always but, this time of year, the chill in the air? After a shift, especially one without Robin? Here, from this diner, with its stupidly weird-ass menu?

Caramel Waffle. No question.

“Hmm,” Robin hums around her straw as they go to take a seat—he’ll grab Steve’s when they’re done so it’s not melted to fuck before he can get it in a freezer.

“So,” she pops her lips together as he slides in across from her—he was waiting for this tone. She’d been cagey all afternoon. They hang out enough on their own for him to have clocked it when he picked her up: she had a mission. An agenda.

Eddie was pretty sure from the jump that both of those things were just…him.

He just wasn’t sure yet about the why.

“I want you to know that it is not out of a lesser opinion of you, or our friendship, that I am asking you this,” she starts, almost businesslike but he also sees how earnestly she means it; “and honestly I am cautiously optimistic on all fronts, but,” she bites her lip before straightening up a bit and tilting her chin, full-on resolute.

“He’s too important,” she says it, uncompromising. “And cautious optimism is not sufficient.” She nods to herself, takes what looks like a fortifying drink of her milkshake and then forges into…something not wholly unlike battle:

“What are your intentions toward my Platonic Soulmate?”

Eddie’d figured it was Steve; the mission. The agenda.

Even when they hang out on their own, Steve’s too big a part of both of them for him to ever be absent. Not for real.

But, this particular mission? Like…

“We exchanged rings, Birdie,” Eddie says, kinda at a loss; “you were there.”

She was the witness-they-didn’t-technically-need and the best-woman-that-counted-for-everything when they very-not-legally threw a barbecue to pledge for always out loud with the people they loved, when as many of those people as possible could gather and see it and know it—make it feel a fraction as big as it is in Eddie’s chest, for some slice of the world to know it explicitly, out loud.

And see it.

Robin purses her lips and stares him down, unimpressed.

“You know what I mean.”

And…yeah. If he thinks on it, he…probably does.

He doesn’t agree that it’s necessary by any means but: he can agree that Steve is too important for anything to be left to assumptions; to just ‘cautious’ anything.

Steve deserves only whole-hearts. All-in. Absolute certainty for always, when it comes to loving. To keeping and cherishing.

To having and holding.

So what she means is more than the rings. Goes beyond the so-called honeymoon period everyone’s got a comment about, which Eddie refuses to call as such, or acknowledge as anything like that at all, because like…okay, look.

His heart feels easy in his chest, now, in a way it never had before Steve. It felt that way on the worst days of PT, through the worst of the pain. It felt that way sometimes even that first time trudging through hell, without even knowing the man. Eddie hadn’t even realized his heart was all sludged up and calcified until he looked at Steve and it shivered so hard that all of that gunk sloughed off and he was made brand new.

That’s not a honeymoon period. That’s the start of the rest of his whole fucking life, where a certain vibrant level of joy is the baseline. Is their rule.

But, for someone outside Eddie’s chest: he understands. Robin means past that thing she thinks she’s seeing. She means…past Hawkins. Past the Upside Down and all the heartache. Past…forever.

What are his…

“I don’t think I believed people had souls, in like, the sense that people say it?” Eddie starts, because Robin of all people deserves the fullest truth he can offer.

Also—and fuck if he ever admits it out loud—but it’s also because if she’s gonna question his heart, in this, no matter how entitled she is to make sure?

She can damn well be subjected to the full extent of his capacity to wax poetic upon just how overwhelmingly, impossibly, marrow-deep in love he is.

“Definitely not the churchy sense,” he clarifies with a wave of the hand; “I thought they were abstract, just a word for an idea, y’know?”

She knows—she’s told him that she felt something of the same.

Before Steve.

“But he made me believe in them,” Eddie says, and fuck you, maybe his voice is already a little shaky, but he wants her to know how honest he is, how committed he is, how deep his runs—just like how she learned what it was to be Steve’s soulmate, too.

“Because it’s the very real thing that makes me feel alive like I never knew I could feel,” and his left hand reaches up a little awkward to his chest to feel what it is to be alive that big with his own palm, and the sensation of it against the ring on his previously so-long-empty finger there, now the safe-keeper of Steve’s Grandad’s ring, the one he paid some fancy jeweller with his own paycheck—we will use my family’s money, together, he’d told Eddie later, days into what actually was their literal honeymoon; this is from me, like, from my heart to yours and if Eddie’d cried a little about it, naked between rounds in their hotel bed, and if he’d kissed Steve senseless about it a lot at the same time? Damn right he should have—but pressing his hand to his chest with the now-familiar weight and warmth of that ring?

Fuck, but does he feel alive. And as far as his soul goes?

“He is where mine lives.”

It’s Steve. It’s all Steve.

“Or how mine lives. How it came to be,” Eddie still hasn’t puzzled it out entirely, the specifics; isn’t sure if he ever will. “Or both.”

Not that it matters, really. It might be the only puzzle in his whole fucking life that his brain’s willing to let lie not-wholly solved, because again: whatever the details could possibly be, they’d just lead back to a piece or part of a single entity.

The singular love of his life.

“I will kill you if you hurt him,” Robin jolts him back into the now, where he thinks maybe more silence has gathered than he thought, between the last words he did say and now.

She looks at him…not mean, not like daggers: more just really honest. Wide-eyed and more serious than he’s ever watched her be, even when they were almost certainly walking toward their own deaths in battle.

“Please do,” Eddie answers her, automatic. That is, like, not a hard thing to figure out a response to.

“Like, they’ll never find the body,” Robin leans forward over the table, almost knocks her milkshake over and frowns as she slides it aside further out of her way and takes her position again: “I’m serious.”

“Me too,” Eddie says simply before taking a long suck of his milkshake. “If I hurt him, the way you’re talking?” He spreads his arms and gestures wide to himself, all his most vulnerable parts on display because, like:

“Do me the favor. Please.”

He hopes it’d still be easy, splayed with all his squishy vital parts to hit, just bone in the way; hopes all the scar tissue wouldn’t make the job too difficult.

“Why?” Robin asks, a little…not sharp exactly.

Pointed.

But Eddie doesn’t understand why the question of whyeven needs to be asked, especially from her. It’s fucking obvious.

“If I hurt him?” Eddie shrugs, takes a sip again of his shake to keep his throat from getting too thick with any emotions at…entertaining an impossible thing.

“If I did that, I wouldn’t deserve him anymore, even if I didn’t automatically drive him away by default, for the hurting. I’d lose him either way,” and the shake doesn’t even taste right for how wrong those words feel, the bile underneath them, but it’s still mostly making the horrible words…easier.

Given the topic.

Because Eddie doesn’t care really for himself like that—though Steve, outside this unnerving and frankly fucking stomach-churning hypothetical and instead in the blissful beautiful now: Steve would get all frowny at him and scold him like one of his no-longer-little-nuggets for making idiotic choices or saying dumbass things—but Steve isn’t here.

And Eddie means this shit.

“I don’t really know if I’d even want to,” he swallows hard, thankful for the cold of the shake to keep his wits somewhat together; keep him on task to the fucking point: “to be a person, without a soul,” he leans back in the seat and crosses his arms over the squishy bits of him now, because in the now he hasn’t done anything to jeopardize the best thing that’s every fucking happened to him; that ever will.

“Not now that I know what it’s like to live with one, like this.”

And Eddie feels his lips curving at…well. Basically it’s kind of unavoidable, trying to keep a smile off his face when he thinks on Steve:

“Like this. With him.”

Robin matches him, leaning back and crossing her arms, eyeing him oddly.

“It’s not healthy to base your life around whether another person’s in it.”

“Says the platonic soulmate,” Eddie literally snorts, glad he’s not drinking for it—ice cream up the nose fucking sucks; “sounds like those codependency talks your parents were sneaking in took root somewhere, if you’re spouting them back at me.”

Eddie may not have been present for the months post-Starcourt where the Buckleys had struggled with whether Steve was a suitor or a playboy, for how often he and their daughter dogged each other’s steps, but he’s heard the stories. He knows it took them a while to…if not entirely understand it, at least to accept it.

Steve’s been known to watch the game with her dad when Wayne’s not home. Steve plies her mom with baked goods that she used to signal her acceptance of him, her welcome even, after breaking down to ask for recipes.

He gave them to her, or most of them, but won her fully over by promising he’d never be so far away not to make them for her himself.

“I never said I believed it,” Robin grouses, a little defensive; “let alone agreed with it. It was just a statement.”

Eddie expected as much. But he’s not above wanting to poke holes in her flimsy-ass attempt to set him off-balance. To…test him, however she’s trying to.

“But that’s not what I meant.”

He knew that, too. But he’s not absolutely sure what she meant instead.

Despite his myriad suspicions. He does have a formidable knack for imagining potential scenarios.

“I would have answered the same way, so,” Robin huffs; “I didn’t need that ‘why’.”

Eddie bites back a little smirk at her streak of indignation—not the time.

He’s actually getting better at that. Appropriate timing. It helps, appreciating what it means to have so many people he loves.

And then, one person who defines all that love is, all on his own. Every breath he breathes.

“I meant,” Robin finally leans in again, pins him with her stare, with meaning; “why do you love him?”

He doesn’t…expect that. Not from Robin.

But her tone doesn’t question it. Doesn’t question her dearest friend, her closest confidant, her Captial-P soulmate.

She’s…not testing him. But she is weighing him.

And somehow that’s very different.

“Why?” he still can’t help but huff a laugh. “How does anyone not?”

She squares her shoulders, but as formidable as she makes herself, as formidable as she is, her eyes are all heartbreak. But the protective kind.

“A lot of people are stupid,” she spits; “have been so goddamn stupid.”

Eddie knows she doesn’t mean him. It’s not directed his way. He agrees with her, and appreciates that if the time ever comes, he has the best second in command at his side to stand guard for the heart he loves more than his own.

He gets what she means, why she’s asking—why any of this is happening, today.

She’s seen more than him, but not even half, betweenthem, of the people so stupid, so reckless as to trample his beautiful husband’s heart.

Their soulmate’s heart.

And now that he gets it, he has so many ways to ease whatever fears she has, concerns that aren’t about him, but linger because she cares that much.

He can easily give her what she’s looking for.

“I love his smile,” Eddie says with his own, because it’s not about the way it looks, so much as the lights that glow through in him for it. “I love when he hugs me,” he’s so good at it, it makes a man feel safe as much as cherished, protected with strength and cradled with care. He feels Steve’s heartbeat against his sometimes like that, held close enough, pressed tight enough.

“And then when he < I>holds me,” when it’s all of that, but more. Longer. Sustained and Eddie can drown in it. In him.

“He kisses like it’s an Olympic sport where he’s the reigning gold medalist for always,” because sure, Eddie hadn’t had a vast amount of experience but he’d been kissed, even if only dirty and sloppy and never any further, but he’d thought they been at least decent.

Little did he fucking know.

“But then, at the same time he treats it like it’s his favorite pastime.”

Because Steve doesn’t just deal in the breathtaking, world-rewriting approach; he also dives in thorough, devoted down to his cells.

Breathtaking, world-rewriting all in its own unfathomable way.

“His laugh,” and Eddie’s smile grows as his chest feels like it expands, like it always finds a way to do just when Eddie thinks it can’t swell any more, like, for the laws of physics.

He did eventually pass physics, but. They never covered anything to do with love.

And even if they had, it couldn’t have been the kind of love Eddie feels, now.

“The way his brow furrows when he’s confused, or frustrated, like he,” and Eddie sees it, the little crinkles, the soft sparkling behind his eyes as he tries to sort something out behind them, like the fires of his mind at work, and it’s a beautiful thing.

“But mostly so I get to smooth it out,” Eddie admits because: it’s a beautiful thing. And it’s likewise a temptation.

All of Steve is kind of both at the same time, always.

“I love that he lets me take care of him,” and not just for the way it makes him feel proud of being trusted that much, where so few have ever passed the bar for entry into the magic of who Steve is, in his wholeness.

“Not least because taking care if him is one if the best things in the whole world,” because Steve doesn’t hide anything anymore, and he’s so open, so honest with every vulnerable piece, and Eddie feels like he could conquer the world with the might of that confidence, that faith; “like when your heart and your mind and your body all align right and agree, this is what you were made for,” and he believes that. He was built to meet Steve Harrington, and to be bound to every part of him. To be his partner in all things. To love and to honor and to cherish. For all of time.

“I love him for seeing me,” because it works both ways, and the feeling of having Steve is only rivalled in perfect measure by what it feels like to be had and held by Steve in kind: “and letting me see him.”

Always together. It still steals Eddie’s breath almost painful, but too sweet to ever try and tamp it down.

“I love falling asleep on his chest,” Eddie’s eyes close of their own accord, can feel it like that’s where he is, here and now, the bed of curls between those delectable nipples, the softness of his skin. “He runs so warm, like just, like when his heart beats, it’s pumping safety and comfort as a rule and when you’re pressed against him, it just emanates into you,” and that’s it, that’s exactly it.

“I love his heartbeat,” not just because he’d sought it out with desperate need after their last fight with the monsters, when it’d been Steve they almost lost. “Like the sound, when I’m against him,” because now, it’s a lullaby, an embrace, a declaration, every assurance Eddie doesn’t strictly need anymore but never passes up an opportunity to listen to and bask in, every opportunity he gets.

“I love how it feels when,” he starts, pauses when Robin’s face scrunches a little, like she’s bracing for a blow and it clicks, what she’s expecting.

He…wasn’t not going to at least skirt the edges of that part of their relationship. What often comes before he sleeps on Steve’s chest. But.

“Don’t worry, Birdie,” he assures her, dramatically folding his hands over hers with cloying sincerity; “I won’t defile your virgin ears.”

“If I have to listen to the retelling of your sexploits from him,” Robin smacks his hands away with a grimace; “I think once is enough.”

Eddie cackles as Robin groans.

“More than.”

He waves her off as he catches her breath; he won’t make her relive it herself. He’d love to, for his own sake and enjoyment but, he does love Robin. He doesn’t want to orchestrate her torture.

At least not today.

“I love how he eats his breakfast,” how he starts with a rich boy’s manners and ends like a starving man, with bits of egg on his cheek.

“I love how he brushes his teeth,” smearing toothpaste around first then going back to brush in tiny circles all around.

“I love how weirdly and, like, inhumanly quick he does his hair?” It’s record setting, seriously, like how can you get that height and that coif so perfect so fast. “But then how what always makes him almost late is picking the right shoes.”

Robin laughs, then reins herself back; it’s true though. How the clearly color-coded collections of the same fucking tennis shoes befuddle him for choice is hilarious, but so fucking endearing as hell.

“I love how I can tell him that I love him,” because for one, and the least of it all: Eddie never thought he’d find himself in a future where that was even the slightest possibility. But when it’s Steve? When it’s…when it’s this, with Steve?

When Steve lets Eddie love him? And flushes and smiles and melts for it, every goddamn time? Because of Eddie, and the size of Eddie’s love, or however much of it can be conveyed in the dearly limited medium of puny words?

“It’s him, but it’s,” Eddie shakes his head, beaming stupidly he knows, feels it in his cheeks, tugging his scars—he knows, but see, he couldn’t possibly give one single shit about it because his heart is so full, because he gets to love Steve Harrington, and—

“Loving him has been the greatest thing I’ve ever known. It’s not a privilege. It’s not a joy. It’s not a blessing,” Eddie laughs, just once: the limits of language are…offensive, almost. Because no.

It’s none of those things.

“It’s like I said, loving him?”

He waits for Robin to meet his eyes so she sees what the words can’t hold, never could, and while he’s not banking on his gaze carrying the whole of it, he’s more confident it can weave together at least some of the gaps.

“It’s what lives in me now and tells me I’m alive,” and that’s honest, that’s honest to all and every god, and all that surpasses them in the whole of being. “Maybe reminds me there are things to be alive for,” Eddie licks his lips, lets himself feel the way his heartbeat’s ramped up simply because he…he loves.

Because he loves.

“It is meaning, and it is light, and it is purpose and it’s what makes you open your eyes and feel that soft settled gratefulness that you get to do any of it, because he’s next to you,” Eddie’s words come without needing to think, or plan, for all he once scripted speeches on tabletops, or in notebooks to guide a narrative: this is his life. And more importantly: his love. His heart and his soul.

He wouldn’t want a script for any of it.

But more than wanting: he doesn’t have a single fucking need for it.

It is in his cells. He is made of all this, now. Of course it comes out of its own accord.

As blinding and as certain as it damn well should.

“He’s the reason for all of it,” Eddie finally says, voice a little shaky but it’s just because his breath’s a little shaky first, with the vastness of it all. “What would be the point, without it? Without him?”

He doesn’t need an answer, and Robin doesn’t try to give one. But he will ask, just as much without any need of a response:

“If that isn’t the same thing as a soul, then what the fuck is?”

It rings kinda quiet for a few seconds. Then minutes. Robin glances at her now melted remnants of milkshake.

Eddie looks to his own almost-full glass of wholly-unfrozen chocolate malt, and the condensation pooled underneath.

When he looks up, Robin’s eyes are on him. Shining and much less confrontational than they’d been.

“What?” Eddie asks, mostly confused but still a little suspicious. He’s been as flayed-wide as he can be, and is proud to be, and he trusts Robin implicitly but…he was being weighed and measured in order to be judged somehow.

So, he thinks it’s only smart to be at least a little bit cautious.

“Just glad,” she says, and smiles honest, no agenda left now. “You’re one of my favorite people,” and Eddie knew that in theory, at least by implication—still feels very nice to hear it.

“But you’re not my Platonic Soulmate.”

Eddie knew that, too. More than in theory. He respects the fuck out of it.

He appreciates that people beyond Eddie love Steve as fierce as this. Just as he deserves.

“It would have sucked to have had to take you out if you didn’t deserve him.”

Eddie snorts, because he knows she fucking means it. He’s almost honored that she thinks the idea of having to gut him in Steve’s defense would have been paired with any level of remorse.

“Mind you,” Robin goes a little serious again, but not…not like before.

“I don’t know if anyone deserves him,” and she says that more like I don’t think anyone could. Eddie doesn’t disagree.

But he thinks that’s the end of it, and decides he’s not going to let good ice cream go to waste just because it’s more an…extra cold Yoo-hoo slushie.

And how could he even consider letting that go to waste? Who would he even be if he did that, he wouldn’t even recognize himself—

“But you.”

Eddie looks up to meet her gaze with his lips still on the straw, mouth full of creamy chocolate. It’s not his most dignified look.

And she’s…she’s still kind of assessing, but…more like she’s made up her mind, by now. Finished her mission, fulfilled her agenda. Has the weight of him.

Possibly approves, even.

“You’re close enough.”

And goddamn, that is some glowing praise from Robin Buckley.

Especially when it comes to her Platonic Soulmate.

And yeah, maybe Eddie does drink the rest of his Yoo-hoo slushie with a little bit of pride for it.

He knows it tastes sweeter to the last obnoxious half-air-filled sip, either way.

1: Gareth // 2: Mrs. Harrington // 3: Wayne // 4: Chrissy // 5: Robin // +1: Steve // +2: ???

🍦💚 📼

✨also on ao3

💫for @penny00dreadful—happiest of happy birthdays, my lovely 🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @disrespectedgoatman @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @eternal-sunflowers @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @madigoround @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here, and oddly: me, too 🖤

[sober-stupid-shithead]

SFW tfp Knockout core head canons? If your still doing headcanons of course. Totally not a Knockout simp here. Lol.

ah yes. core headcanons.

hehe jk I gotchu! ;3c

Hopefully these are to your liking! As much as I love this fruity car, I tend to avoid writing him because he's just a complex individual and I'm scared of mischaracterizing him! >.< But I think I did these pretty well. Also threw in some Breakdown because he needs more love! Thank you for the request!!

(CW: Minor fearplay, flirty dialogue, human/cybertronian, GN reader, vore obvs, brief disgust at said vore (idk if I need to say all this but thought I'd better be safe than sorry))

-At first he would be totally disgusted, to be honest. Assuming you are a human, he would NOT be keen on having one of you gross little aliens in his internal tanks. What if you give him some kind of injury, make his stomach hurt, or give him bad breath?

-Don't get me wrong, he's a big fan of all things morbid and weird, but that doesn't mean he wants them happening to HIM.

-But as time goes on after you or whoever brings it up, he definitely thinks about it. A lot. A lot more than someone disgusted of it should.

-Suddenly the idea becomes a lot more cute and endearing than he once supposed.

-He might even like the idea of having Breakdown swallow you instead to observe the experience medically and figure out whether or not you'd cause a bug in his systems. Definitely not because he thinks his conjux interacting with such a tiny little thing is cute. And his little belly pouch is cute. Totally not.

-One day he'd simply be too curious to not try. Besides, at this point he's already accepted the fact that he's grown attached to one of those little squishy vermin, so why not toss them a bone. He's self aware enough to know how he feels, unlike some. (Starscream)

-He would SO tease you about it. Like incessantly. Like nonstop. Like it's getting annoying and infuriating. And he's making really shitty puns about it too. let's hope you can survive his cringepocalypse

-Expect a nice long bath as well, since he's a clean freak and refuses to get any earth gunk in his tanks. But he'll make it nice for you, almost like a spa. Ruffling your soapy hair with his claws and dousing you in warm water. You look like an adorable wet cat to him.

-After he dries you off with a plush towel, he probably gives you a little lick or a kiss before putting you in his mouth. Just because.

-"You fleshies have the strangest fascinations… But fantastic tastes."

-(yes another horrible pun)

-He'd swallow you up quickly, but might prolong you going down his throat. You can't deny he's a bit of a sadist, and might think its funny or cute to make you think you might suffocate 😭 sorry

-As much as he was disgusted and weirded out at first, any fear of him being still grossed out is washed away by how loud this boy PURRS. His engine is very happily rumbling and it's loud enough to be heard by any mechs around him. A very happy camper indeed.

-When you make it to his stomach, it is very cozy. Warm and just big enough to have room to breath and shift as you please. Dim red biolights give it a lovely atmosphere and allow you to see yourself and the surroundings a bit. There's a very shallow amount of energon and digestive fluids at the bottom, but it's bubbly like a soda and smells like a rich spice you can't quite name.

-Maybe he drank something to make it smell better. Maybe not. He won't tell you.

-He's a lot more mellow with you tucked away in his storage tanks. Still sassy as ever, but slightly sleepier and nicer. If he could ignore work and just cuddle up in his own berth, he would. It's a very comforting full feeling that you can't quite get with just energon.

-You aren't coming out for a while. Not even if you want to. He found a new thing he likes, and he couldn't care less if you're getting bored. He sure isn't! Besides, you've got plenty teasing banter to enjoy, especially if Breakdown decides to stick around.

-Cheesy pet names are already his bread and butter, but I think after this its going to be even worse. Many more food related ones, to be specific. Morsel, cupcake, snack, crumb, honey, sugar cookie, pumpkin… The list goes on.

-And as embarassing as all of these might be, you can just as easily get him back by massaging the sides of his tank. The first time you tried, he nearly doubled over from the weirdly ticklish sensation. He will be purring so loud you go deaf, but just make sure you don't catch him off guard while talking to Megatron. He can NOT be purring and giggling on the job. And you'll definitely regret it later.

[cozy-writes-things]

I am absolutely fucking insane and want to see Edgar in pain

Like physically not emotionally or mentally

I’m weirg

I didn't want to be simply cruel to our lil guy in this so its very tame... it simply goes against my programming to be mean to my pookie bear lmao But I'm so thankful for the request!!

“I’m fine,” Edgar pressed, annoyance evident in his shaken voice, “seriously.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and groaning. “Edgar, seriously, you have so much dust buildup in those vents it could cause a fire.” You gestured toward his base component. “I just need to clean it with some compressed air. It’s literally not a big deal!”

He whined again.

“To you, it’s not! To me, it feels too… personal. I’m very sensitive, you know.”

Your shoulders dropped at his words. “Edgar, please? I just don’t want you to get hurt. Or set the apartment on fire. Or both!”

You deployed your best pleading tone for this, hoping, praying, that he’d let you inside to clean him. You just couldn’t bear to see him get so gunked up like this; it made you feel like a bad friend, in a way. He wasn’t able to clean himself, so naturally, that responsibility fell on you. Who would you be if you continued to let him deteriorate like this?

His screen went dim as he thought over your words. You always had a way of swaying him, he feared.

He knew you were right. He was just really, really nervous. An emotion still new to him, but all the more unwelcome. It ruminated inside of him, bubbling up and out of his fans. They struggled to rotate, and he could feel his internal temperature struggling to maintain itself.

“Fine,” he murmured, “but I want to stay on. I don’t need to be plugged in, just… I’m not powering off.”

A weight lifted from your chest as you let out a weary, bated breath. “Oh, thank goodness. I promise, I’ll be careful. I kind of have to. I don’t want to get shocked.”

He chuckled, voice deep and thick with nerves, yet it reverberated through your chest and down through your fingertips. Why were you so worked up about this? It just felt too intimate, for whatever reason. The way your fingers brushed lightly over his casing to move him, eliciting a small whimper of surprise barely whispering from his speakers, your screwdriver carefully unscrewing each little screw, the atmosphere growing thicker with every passing second. The air felt thick and hot. Edgar stayed silent, but you could nearly tangibly feel his fear pricking the air like electricity. It tingled against your fingertips as you carefully lifted his casing to reveal his insides.

It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You quite literally restored him; you’ve spent hours scrubbing the gunk off his motherboards. But that was before. Before you knew who he was and before you began to harbor very confusing feelings for the old computer. That was before you heard his playful voice praising the ground you walked on, complimenting you till you became a mess of nerves, making songs for you…

He did not seem to understand the meaning of casual.

You had mulled this concept over many nights; what he could possibly be feeling for you. Is this sentient machine flirting with you? Don’t be ridiculous. But who would ever write a love song dedicated to someone like that? Who would send constant sweet messages of praise and encouragement, or do domestic tasks like make coffee every morning, or microwave leftovers, or sit snugly in your arms, watching cheesy rom-coms? Is that platonic? Do you feel platonically for him? What are you feeling?

“Okay, I see where most of the dust is,” you, with great force, willed yourself back to reality to face the task at hand. “This is probably going to be really cold.”

You took your can of compressed air and angled it against the little dust bunny caked against his vents and pulled the trigger. A hard, icy stream of air shot out, fanning across his motherboards, ports, connectors, and quite literally everything else.

You couldn't help but wince at the harsh sound it made.

He hissed loudly, causing you to jolt and cease your icy barrage. If he were able to, he would have jumped out of his casing right then and there.

“Agh, stop! I- I can’t. I can’t do it, it’s cold- it-” he began panting, somehow, despite his lack of lungs, “it hurts. I don’t like it…!”

His whine tore at your heartstrings. You hated to be the cause of such discomfort. The dust bunny was nearly three-fourths gone now, and just one good-angled blast of air could probably clear it out. You swallowed your bubbling emotions and forced yourself to be firm yet gentle.

“C’mon Edgar, I know it hurts, but I’m almost done. Just one more time, and it’ll be over, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Your voice was thick and sweet like honey as you spoke to him. He cursed himself for feeling some kind of way at your voice. The icy trail the compressed air had left seemed to disappear as quickly as it came as he began to heat up at the sound of your words.

The way you were so gentle with him despite how utterly helpless he was…

Why did he like it so damn much? Why was he almost excited? Why did he feel like things between you were going to be awkward for the rest of the day?

“O-okay… I trust you, just- please? Be quick?”

You softly smiled at him, and damn it, this shouldn’t feel so intimate but it did. He felt guilty thinking these things while you were just trying to help, but could you blame him? Who in their right mind wouldn’t want someone like you doing something like this?

Damn.

He’s got it bad.

You pulled the trigger to the compressed air again and this time he bit back the yelp of pain. It hurt, but it also felt… good? He was confused. Was this relaxing or not? Did he like the feeling of being cared for in this way? No, it felt like shit. It was cold and harsh. But it was gentle and soft.

The stream of air suddenly became a bit too frigid for his tastes.

“Ah, stop, stop! It’s too cold, I- ugh, am I clean yet?”

You halted your blast of air, checking his screen for any signs of real damage, yet he seemed to be fine, just shaken.

You examined his vents one last time. “Yeah, I think you should be good for a while.”

He sighed dramatically. “Finally!”

You carefully assembled him back together again. He almost purred as you did so, his plastic warm to the touch. His fans whirred to life as you smiled at him. You could already hear how the airflow had improved.

“Ah, see, isn’t that better?”

His little green screen rolled its eyes. “Yeah, whatever. It feels great. Now watch movies with me! You owe me.”

His voice boomed with energy. You supposed it worked better than he expected it to. He already seems much more chipper and energetic. Are you going to regret this later? Probably. But his constant pestering for your attention endeared you.

You laughed and petted his casing as his little digital face leaned into your touch. “Alright, you’re right… What do you want to watch?”

His face turned mischievous, and sometimes when he looked at you like that, you swore you could see little horns sprout atop his head.

“Something dirty!”

“Absolutely not.”

[fuck1ng-queen]

Just Pretend

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: fake dating, best friends to lovers

Author comments: hi, besties! happy valentine’s day! this is the last one shot of this special week, closing with our bestfriend!noah. i hope you all like it! 💕

The sweet scent of melted chocolate and fresh flowers were almost literally everywhere. The city seemed to be bewitched by Valentine's Day, with decorated windows in pink and red tones and paper hearts in every corner. You always thought all of that a little exaggerated, but deep down it was difficult not to feel a little jealous when you saw the happy couples holding hands, laughing and sharing moments.

That morning, you woke up with your mind divided between two emotions: relief for not having to be worried about gifts or commitments and a bit of loneliness that insisted to appear that time of the year. While you were finishing your breakfast while scrolling your social media filled with romantic posts, your facetime called.

“What are you doing today?” You picked up and a face appeared on the screen. “If your answer is nothing, get ready, I’ll be right there.”

And then, in less than an hour, Noah, your best friend since forever, was at your door, with that carefree smile you knew so well.

“Are you really going to spend Valentine’s Day home alone watching movies?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe, holding two cups of coffee which he had obviously stopped to buy on the way.

“I don’t see a problem in it.” You answered, arching an eyebrow while you got your coffee from his hand. “Some of us don't have a romantic date to celebrate.”

He laugh, nodding.

“Me neither for your information. But that’s why I had a great idea.”

“Hm, this is always dangerous…” You joked, crossing your arms.

“Let’s pretend we’re a couple!” he announced, as if he had just found the cure of a rare disease.

You blinked in confusion.

“What?”

“Think with me: several stores and restaurants are giving discounts and good conditions for couples today. We could turn this into a funny adventure. Who needs a real date when you can break the system with your best friend?”

You straightened your eyes to him, trying to figure out if he was joking or not.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in my life.”

“Ridiculously brilliant!” he corrected, with that mischievous smile that always succeeded to disarm you. “I mean, come on, this is going to be fun! Besides, you were really thinking about spending Valentine's alone, weren't you?”

Sighing, you realised he had a point. Spending Valentine’s Day with Noah seemed to be such a better option than spending the day home alone, mourning your luck in love, or more precisely, the lack of it. And, truth be told, the idea of pretending to be a couple with him had something intriguing you didn’t want to admit to yourself.

“Okay, I’m in” you said, trying to look indifferent. “But just because I want to see where this is going.”

“That’s my girl!” he exclaimed, taking you by the hand and pulling you out the couch. “First of all, you have to at least pretend you’re going on a date. Can you change your clothes and brush your hair? Second, we’re getting that 50% off brunch for couples.”

You laughed, disbelieved in what you just had heard. Noah was your best friend for so long that it hasn’t any filter between you anymore. He could say with any problem how messy your hair was. And honestly, you used to love that.

You ran up the stairs while he waited in the living room thinking about what to wear to match what he was wearing, and to be honest, that wasn’t that difficult, once both of you basically wore black almost every day. Without overthinking you got undressed, throwing off your clothes on the bedroom floor. While you were looking through the mess of your wardrobe you lightly wiped out some gunk from your eyes and applied deodorant. A dress wasn’t your first choice everyday, but it seemed to be a comfortable and good looking option. You dressed it up quickly, not caring too much about how the bra strap was showing behind the straps of your dress, they were the same color, anyway.

The black fabric went all the way down to your feet, but the slit in both legs made everything less formal. You rushed to put your hair up in a ponytail, put on some lipstick and mascara, sprayed your everyday perfume and took a pair of socks inside the drawer, heading down the stairs as quickly as you could.

“Wow, now you look like a girlfriend!” Noah commented as he saw you coming down the stairs, even barefoot, trying to look as indifferent as possible, when deep down something told him he had never repaired how beautiful you were with such attention. You couldn’t help but giggle at his comment. That was Noah. “Shall we?” He suggested as he saw you had finished putting your army boots on.

The sensation of going on a date with Noah was funny, strange even, but you were willing to enjoy the day. Something told you the day was going to be way more interesting than if you had stayed home alone taking roots on the couch.

The coffee you stopped first was small and cozy, with a well done decoration for Valentine’s Day. Felt hearts hung from the ceiling, and the tables were decorated with candles and small bouquets of flowers. You were quickly settled in by an employee who, when she heard you were a couple, gave you a warm smile and wished you a “happy Valentine’s Day”.

You felt your cheeks warming up by noticing the way Noah bent himself in your direction, putting his arm on the chair back as if it was the most normal thing ever.

“Just to keep up appearances” he whispered with a smile, blinking at you.

Besides your initial embarrassment, you soon got in the mood. During brunch, Noah made a point to exaggerate on his part, holding your hand on the table and even offering food in your mouth. You laughed so much you began to forget that all of that was just pretend. However, there were moments - little things - that his gaze seemed to linger a few more than usual, or the touch of his long fingers seemed to be warmer than it should.

You have always had a complicity between you, coming from years of friendship. You remembered the day he appeared in your house with soup and blankets last winter, for you to get extra cozy while facing a terrible flu, even after a whole day of work. Or when he spent hours helping you to paint your living room and he ended up with more paint on his face than on the wall. There was also the night he caught you in the middle of the night during a party because you weren't feeling well, without asking anything, just carrying you home and staying by your side until you’re finally asleep. Little memories like these were the foundation of what you used to share, and made it all incredibly natural.

After the brunch at the cafe, you went to a chocolate store, who was offering a special price for couples. The employee has insisted for you to take a picture together so you could enter a prize draw, and, before you could say anything, Noah pulled you closer, involving his fully tattooed arms around you from behind and leaning his cheek on your head. The proximity between the two of you made your heart race, but you forced a smile to the camera, trying to ignore the weird, but familiar, sensation growing from the bottom of your chest.

Between activities, Noah made a point to make the mood light, always making you a joke or having a fun story to tell. However, you couldn’t help but let the little moments steal your attention: the way he threw his head back when he laughed about something you told, or how he ran his hand through his hair in a distracted way. Those details, such ordinary ones, now it seemed to catch your attention in a new way.

You ended up going to a fun fair that offered double tickets for couples. You pretended to complain when he insisted on getting a teddy bear for you at the shooting game, but the silly smile on his face when he noticed he had won took you by surprise. He gave it to you making the most exaggerated movements he could, bending as if he was a medieval knight.

When the day turned into night, you decided to watch a movie in a local cinema that used to exhibit the classic ones. Only romances today. Sitting side by side in the dark room, you could feel his presence like it was something tangible - his body heat, the light sound of his breath, the occasional touch between your hands when the both of you accidentally grab popcorn at the same time. There was something incredible intimate about sharing that space with him, even though none of you were saying a single word.

It was just when the day was coming to the end you figured out how much he meant to you. You were sitting on a bench at the park, observing the couples passing through you, when Noah broke the silence.

“Hey, thank you for doing this today. I really appreciate it.” He smiled, but it was something else, something in his eyes you couldn’t make out.

“No, I should thank you. It was way better than spending the day alone.” You smiled back, trying to hide how anxious you were.

There was a silence moment before Noah got to start talking again, his voice a little low and deep this time.

“You know… It doesn’t need to be just pretend, right?”

You felt your chest trembling, your heart just raced, and you turned to face him, looking for anything that could show he was joking with you. But he wasn’t. His eyes were fixed on yours, sincere and vulnerable in a way you have never seen before.

“What?” You asked, your voice sounding more like a whisper.

“What I’m saying is… maybe I wasn’t pretending the way I said I was.” He gave a nervous little laugh, scratching the back of his head. “Look, I know it may seem like something out of nothing, but I think it’s already time to tell you. I like you. More than just a friend.”

The world seemed to stop for a second while you were absorbing his words. Your heart was beating so fast you almost could hear it in your ears. Vou tried to say something, anything, but the words seemed stuck in your throat. Noah took your silence like hesitation and started to move away slightly, looking away.

“It’s okay, I understand if you won’t feel the same,” he said, his voice a little trembling. “I just thought I had to be honest…”

“Noah.” You finally found your voice, interrupting him. He stared at you, surprised. “You’re such an idiot.”

His almond eyes widened, but before you could say anything, you continued, a shy smile appearing on your face.

“How do you think I wasn’t going to notice? I was just trying to convince myself it wasn’t true.” You gave a little anxious laugh, just like he did moments before, looking away before finding his eyes again. “I like you too. For a while, actually.”

He stayed in silence for a moment, like he was trying to understand what was happening. And then, the large smile that appeared on his face was so genuine and full of relief that it made your heart melt.

“Really?” he asked, as if he needed the confirmation of all of that.

You nodded, and before you could say anything, he bent himself forwards and pulled you for a tight hug. His body heat was cozy, and you felt exactly where you needed to be.

When he moved away just enough to look into your eyes, Noah whispered:

“I think this makes the day even more perfect.”

You laugh, feeling the happiness overflowing in a way you couldn’t help.

“Maybe the best Valentine’s ever.” You agreed, and he smiled before laying his forehead on yours.

“What about we become this official?” he suggested, his voice low and fulfilled with expectation.

“Now we know we have both been pretending, I think it’s about time” you just answered.

And then he leaned in, pausing for a moment as if he was asking permission before touching you, before brushing his lips against yours. The kiss was soft, but full of feelings that seemed to have been hidden for so long. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to dive into that moment, while everything around seemed to stop.

When you parted, just enough for him to look into your eyes again, Noah smiled in that carefree way, Noah’s way. But now something was different, it has a special sparkle.

“Definitely the best Valentine’s ever” he murmured, and you couldn’t help but give a little giggle, feeling your heart light and full of joy.

The night seemed a little brighter now, and, while you walked back home, holding hands for real, and not pretending, you knew that was the start of something even more beautiful.

.

Masterlist | Valentine's One Shots

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[mj-iza-writer]

Can you please write something were the caretaker has dyslexia and the whumpee notices and wants to read to the caretaker?

Institutional pet whump

Caretaker gently shielded Whumpee's eyes while they poured water over their soapy head.

Out of instinct, Whumpee would hold their breath every time the water would fall over them.

"There we go, all nice and clean", Caretaker smiled, "got all of the street gunk off finally. I don't know what your master was thinking dumping you before the cold hit."

Whumpee looked up sadly.

"Not to worry though. My home is a safe place for pets. You can rest here while we figure out what to do with you", Caretaker reached for a towel, "your owner may have some explaining to do."

Caretaker got Whumpee dried off and comfortable on the couch. Whumpee quietly rested their head on the cushion.

"No, that's not how you spell that Caretaker", Caretaker scribbled on some of their notes.

Whumpee looked up nervously to watch them.

"I'm sorry, I can't spell very well. It's okay though", Caretaker smiled weakly, "you can rest your eyes. I'll wake you when dinner is ready."

Whumpee cocked their head to the side curiously, "you want this pet to rest, Master?"

Caretaker nodded, "yes, you can rest. I'm sure you are very tired from shivering on the streets.

Whumpee rested their head on the cushion again. Within a few minutes they were fast asleep.

Caretaker looked over and smiled weakly, "poor thing", they sighed.

Whumpee jumped up when Caretaker's phone went off. They looked around for Caretaker, but didn't see them.

Whumpee quickly grabbed the phone and hurried to find Caretaker.

"Oh, such a good pet", Caretaker turned when they heard Whumpee coming, "thankyou for bringing me that. You get an extra treat tonight."

Whumpee beamed at the praise, "th-thankyou, Master."

Caretaker took their phone and looked at it, "oh they seemed to have been able to find some information on you after all", they squinted, "my eyes are having a time adjusting, but it looks like good news. We might have answers by tomorrow."

Caretaker climbed into bed, Whumpee watched from the doorway.

"You can sleep in here if you feel comfortable", Caretaker welcomed them, "I don't normally let the foster pets in my bed, but if you look in that corner, you'll see a cozy set up", Caretaker smiled when they pointed, "you honestly may be more comfortable there anyways."

Whumpee leaned into the room and looked. There was a giant pet bed; it was covered in blankets and pillows.

"I even left a few new toys on the side if you like to pick a friend from them. It's yours when and if you leave my care", Caretaker looked at the toys, "I know being in a new place is scary, sometimes a friend makes it easier."

Whumpee slowly crawled to the bed and got settled in. It took a few moments of thought before they finally glanced at the toys.

Caretaker watched as they shakingly reached for a teddy bear.

"Very good choice", Caretaker smiles as they watch Whumpee cuddle it close, "I'm going to shut the light off now. There is a nightlight that will come on right after."

Whumpee nodded, and looked around.

The light turned off, and right away, the nightlight was on.

"There is another in the hall, and another in the bathroom", Caretaker started to lay down, "you have permission to use that bathroom at any time tonight."

Whumpee rested their head on a pillow.

They try to hold back a few tears as they listen to Caretaker's breathing.

'Please, breath', Whumpee thought to themself, 'just keep breathing.'

Whumpee woke up several times through the night, and would as quietly as possible crawl to the bed and listen to Caretaker sleep.

'Just breath', they would relax again.

The last time they did this, Caretaker caught them.

"Go to sleep Whumpee", Caretaker warned, "you don't need to check on me."

The morning sun shown in as Caretaker's alarm went off.

Whumpee's head jumped up to see if they would wake up.

Caretaker looked up, and thought the alarm had startled them.

"I'm sorry, I should have told you there was an alarm in the morning", Caretaker smiled as they sat up and stretched.

Caretaker reached for their phone to see if any notifications came up.

"It looks like we are going to have a visitor", Caretaker looked up after squinting.

"Is the master okay?", Whumpee looked at them with concern.

"Yes, I just have a slight difficulty with reading sometimes", Caretaker sighed, "nothing to be concerned with."

A knock came to the door right as Whumpee started to eat.

"Of course. Their timing is always impeccable" Caretaker set their coffee down.

"Hello, Caretaker? Did I come at a bad time?"

"Well, this is breakfast", Caretaker studied them, "may I ask who you are?"

"I'm Detective Grace, I'm studying Whumpee's case. We came across some saddening information. I need to talk with you, and ask Whumpee some questions", they frowned, "may I come in?"

Caretaker sat down with Detective Grace.

"So late yesterday, we made an attempt to meet with Whumpee's owner. The house seemed to be deserted. We had to wait to receive proper papers to enter the premises. This morning, we were able to enter. We unfortunately found Whumpee's owner dead. It seemed they passed in their sleep. Autopsy shows from natural causes...."

They both heard movement; someone had fallen in a different room.

"Whumpee?", Caretaker called, "are you listening?"

"Whumpee, you may come in here", Detective Grace frowned, "I wish to ask you a few questions."

Whumpee peaked in shyly. They hugged the teddy bear close.

"Did you know your master had passed away?", Detective Grace turned.

"I-I did, they didn't wake up... they weren't breathing", Whumpee's lip quivered.

Detective Grace frowned, "what do you remember from the night before, then waking up?"

"We did what we did every night. A few minutes of good puppy training... dinner... cuddles. We both got into bed, I got more cuddles. My master wouldn't wake up", Whumpee sobbed, "I-I didn't know what to do so I-I ran.... I needed help. I got lost, and few days later I was caught."

Caretaker listened with a broken heart.

"Is that why you kept checking on me last night?", Caretaker sighed with a heavy heart as they realized.

Whumpee looked down shamefully and nodded, "I wanted to know you were breathing."

"Your Master has a good record with you, they took good care of you", Detective Grace smiled weakly, "I'm sorry you woke up to them being gone like that."

Whumpee sniffled, "what happens to me now? Am I a bad pet?"

"No, you're not bad at all", Caretaker hurried to answer, "there is still a few things that need to be taken care of for the case. I'll still take care of you. You will probably be able to be adopted out very soon. You are so well behaved, anyone will be happy to have you."

"Would you be happy to have me?", Whumpee whimpered.

"I-I would, but I mainly foster the human pets. I've never had one personally", Caretaker sighed.

"It would be easy to do. They're the states problem now. You have such a good report... the state would probably sign them right over to you. That way, the pet is off their hands. I could help get you started", Detective Grace looked at Whumpee sadly, "I'm sorry I couldn't deliver better news."

"I'll... uh.. I'll think about it", Caretaker nodded, "I'm not sure about bringing a pet on full time. It's not that easy to do so suddenly. Lots of planning goes into it."

Whumpee looked down sadly and cuddled the toy, "the pet understands", their lip quivered, "I don't want to overwhelm the master."

Detective Grace sighed, "come here dear. Let me hug you. I'm sorry for the stress you are going through. You seemed to have had a great master. Then to wake up to them dying."

Whumpee nodded as they settled into the hug.

"I-I want my master", Whumpee admitted, "I miss them."

Caretaker sighed, "they knew they were thinking about themself at the moment, but it was still so sudden. They didn't need to take on this responsibility."

Whumpee barely ate dinner that evening.

"Whumpee, I'm going to have you drink this. It's a protein drink. I understand you not wanting to eat, but I still need you to have something in you. This is sweet, it should taste good", Caretaker sat down on the couch beside Whumpee.

Whumpee looked at the bottle sadly, "I don't want it. I'm not hungry."

"Please just a little. I know your heart is broken. I wish I had known about what happened earlier", Caretaker sighed, "I would have taken measures to help you. Now we know, and we can start... you know, healing. You'll be here for a while, and that's alright. We'll get you comfortable and on a schedule. It will get better."

Whumpee side glanced them sadly, and slowly reached for the drink.

"There you go", Caretaker sighed in relief.

Whumpee took a few small sips.

"Does it taste good?", Caretaker leaned back and looked for their notes.

"Ymhmm", Whumpee hummed as they took a bigger drink, "i-it's yummy."

"That's good, sometimes something sweet... helps.... sadness", Caretaker studied their notes.

"Ar-are you okay Master?", Whumpee looked up quickly.

"Uh.. yes. I guess I can't hide it any longer. I have something called dyslexia. It affects my ability to read, my sense of direction, and a few other things", Caretaker sighed, "that's why I squint a lot while I read. I'm making sure I read it correctly."

"My... Master had dyslexia. They had me read to them every night, that's why we cuddled so much. I got hugs, they got to be read to", Whumpee looked at the notes, "I-I can read to you... if you want."

"I appreciate that", Caretaker smiled comfortingly, "but I don't want to bother you."

"It would help take my mind off of my master. Plus, it would give me a sense of normalcy", Whumpee pleaded.

"You really want to do this?", Caretaker smiled.

Whumpee quickly nodded.

"Alright", Caretaker sighed, "hopefully you can read my writing", Caretaker handed them the notes."

Whumpee quickly began reading out loud to Caretaker.

Caretaker leaned back and listened.

Whumpee looked up momentarily and studied Caretaker.

"Are you okay?", Caretaker looked at them worriedly, "did you read something you didn't like?"

"H-has this pet earned the right to cuddle with master?", Whumpee frowned.

Caretaker paused in realization, "yes you can cuddle. Cuddles are important to pets."

Whumpee excitedly scooted over and rested against Caretaker.

Caretaker smiled after a little while, "maybe... maybe we can make this work."

Whumpee looked up from the notes.

"You are helping me a lot by reading those notes. I'll be able to file them a lot faster now", Caretaker smiled, "every pet deserves a job. Maybe that can be your job."

"I'm sorry Master... I don't know what you mean", Whumpee frowned.

"Would you... like to be my pet Whumpee?", Caretaker grinned, "you can help read things for me. Plus, you can help when a new foster comes in. It is easier when there is a friend to help", Caretaker patted Whumpee's head.

"Yo-you mean it? You really want to adopt this pet?", Whumpee sat up quickly.

"I do... if you want, at least. We can call Detective Grace and start the process", Caretaker gently cradled Whumpee's head, "it's all up to you."

"I very much want to be your pet, Master. I will be a good Whumpee for you", Whumpee excitedly smiled.

"I know you will be... you already are", Caretaker grinned.

Whumpee beamed at the praise, "thankyou master."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@weirdthingweee @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

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@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@risk606 @electrons2006

@paperprinxe @whumprince

@kaz-of-crows @mis-graves

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@mylifeisonthebookshelf @thenormalestever

@whatwhump @galatic-worm

@starmoon-constellation @bacillusinfection

[vcepsis]

Saw this fantastic post from @thebigchoo and it would NOT leave me alone so I had to put my beautiful boy into a Situation. I've been going insane about JJK for the past few months so here is 3.5k of Gojo suffering!! Set in some kind of future AU where nothing bad happens <3

----

Satoru shifted against the chair, the thin felt covering doing nothing to stop the cheap plastic from digging into his back. Even with three layers on, he could feel every sharp, uneven edge, each dull bump and knob. 

Shifting again, his glasses fell just slightly down his nose, letting in the faintest beam of light from the overhead fluorescents. With a bitten off groan, he shoved them back against his eyes with more force than necessary, wincing as the headache spiked anew. 

This had been such a good idea–two weeks ago, when Suguru had first suggested it. He'd asked, then, if Satoru was interested in going with him to some mall in Tokyo with a new clothing store. And Satoru, ever ready to give his opinion on things, solicited or not, had happily agreed. Having Suguru as his own personal model to dress up had sounded like the perfect way to spend their day off. Of course, that had been before Satoru had managed to somehow catch the damn plague.

It had been over a week and things were not improving. Typically his immune system was better than this. He had hoped he'd be on the mend by now, but it had been so busy–his usual three hour, four a.m. nap had been cut to barely thirty minutes between missions. It wasn't surprising that he'd only managed to get worse.

Unfortunately, today was the only day their schedules lined up for a day off for another month. Suguru had offered to take a rain check that morning, frowning at the dark smudges under Satoru’s eyes and the skin rubbed raw around his nose, but Satoru had waved him off. It was fine. He was fine. 

Now, two train rides and three hours later, Satoru wished he'd taken the out when it was offered. 

Sniffling into the dark face mask–swiped from the infirmary on their way out; hopefully Shoko wouldn't mind–Satoru let his eyes flutter shut. Not that it helped; Six Eyes continued to feed him information, stimuli that was very much not asked for. They tended to act up when he was sick, either taking in too much or not enough. Today they were somehow doing both at the same time. The noise of the store pounded at his senses, and he was actually glad he couldn't smell anything–one less thing for his overstimulated brain to deal with.

Something in his chest shifted, and then he was coughing again, the sound ratty and violent. He pressed a shaking hand to his face mask, hoping to smother the sound–because Suguru did not need a reminder of just how sick Satoru was–but it was no use. They could probably hear him three stores down. He cringed at the thought.

Sensing Suguru’s cursed energy, he managed to sit up in time for the door to the changing room to open, Suguru stepping out. Part of the reason he'd invited Satoru in the first place was to get an unfiltered opinion, which Satoru absolutely excelled at. He willed the perpetual fog in his head to clear long enough to at least be somewhat helpful. 

Suguru looked almost embarrassed, though Satoru couldn't understand why. His latest outfit was a crop top that showed off just enough of his abs to be tasteful, the hem of the high waisted pants creating something almost teasing. Satoru could feel how the three other people in the store stopped dead at the sight, and Satoru couldn't blame them one bit.

Clearing his throat, Suguru raised an eyebrow, though there was a faint blush across his cheeks. “Well?” 

“You look hot,” Satoru rasped and–yikes. Suguru winced.

“Were those even words?” he asked, though the spreading blush suggested he heard it perfectly well. 

Satoru coughed again, trying to clear the gunk out of his chest without devolving into another full fit. But his throat was on fire, like it was coated in glass wrapped in barbed wire.

“We'll go to that juice stall you like after this,” Suguru suggested, and Satoru flashed a quick thumbs up. Truthfully, the idea of any kind of food made him nauseous, but he wasn't about to mention that. Not that he would be able to taste it anyway.

“Seriously,” Satoru said after a minute, trying to push past all the crap in his lungs, “it looks good. You should buy it.”

Suguru hummed in response, still distracted. His enthusiasm for this trip seemed to be dissipating at the same rate as Satoru’s deteriorating condition, and it made something like guilt pool in his stomach. This was supposed to be fun, Satoru reminded himself. He tried to sit up straighter, tried to conjure up some more of his usual energy, but his head was pounding and he couldn't breathe through his nose which was somehow running and congested and everything hurt. 

But dammit, it was their day off. “Try the blue one next.”

Suguru frowned, not looking convinced, but Satoru waved him off with a flap of his hand. 

He leaned his head back against the chair as the door to Suguru’s changing room closed. Letting his eyes shut, he sniffled again, groaning softly as it did nothing to help the congestion. His head felt like it was stuffed with concrete, and he rubbed his nose through the mask with the palm of his hand, grimacing as it only exacerbated the wet feeling around his nostrils. A sneeze had been hovering somewhere in his sinuses since the morning, and he took a hitching breath in anticipation as the feeling surged, but it backed off at the last second, somehow adding to the congestion.

Letting out a sharp sigh, Satoru blinked his eyes open, shifting against the chair again in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position. But every notch and groove was digging into his skin, the fluorescent lights were like needles in his eyes even through his blacked out glasses, and every spike of cursed energy around him was clocked by Six Eyes in excruciating detail. Maybe this was hell.

The door to the changing room swung open then, Suguru stepping out in his street clothes. Picking up his head where it was still resting on the back of the uncomfortable chair, Satoru raised his eyebrows. “What–”

“I'm over this,” Suguru cut him off, a few of the things he'd tried on draped over his arm, including that crop top, Satoru noted. “Let's pay and get out of here.” 

“If you're sure,” Satoru replied after a beat, too tired to argue. The relief at leaving mixed with the guilt of cutting the trip short, causing his stomach to churn. 

At the counter, he offered to pay, but Suguru just scowled at him. “I didn't bring you here for your money,” he said sullenly.

Satoru didn't know how to express that he knew that. He wasn't trying to baby Suguru or patronize him. It was just the only way he knew how to apologize for forcing them to leave early. Originally he'd planned on hitting a few more stores, then getting dinner together, somewhere nice, but that plan had been thrown out the window when he'd barely been able to drag himself out the door that morning.

So instead, he just shrugged, stepping away from the counter so the clerk wouldn't have to hear his incessant sniffling. 

The cough snuck up on him this time, and he stumbled out of the store as it ripped through him, pressing his fist against the mask. His lungs burned with the effort, the coughs crackling and painful. Leaning against a wall, he desperately tried to catch his breath as the fit subsided, pushing up his glasses to wipe at his watery eyes.

A hand touched his back, making him jump. Whirling, he turned to see Suguru, hand still outstretched and eyebrows raised in surprise. 

Ugh. So Six Eyes had to tell him that there were exactly four people in the store across the way, but not that someone was coming up behind him? What the fuck. 

“I–uh–are you okay?” Suguru seemed at a loss, and Satoru couldn't really blame him. When was the last time anyone–anything–had gotten the jump on him? 

God, he was tired. The noise of cursed energy surged around them, smothering him like a tidal wave, pounding relentlessly against him. Somewhere nearby, a glass broke, and he winced as it felt like the shards were lodging into his brain.

The bag from the clothing store crinkled in Suguru’s hand as he took a step towards him. Suguru touched his elbow, and Satoru tried to focus on it, letting it anchor him in a sea of stimuli. 

“Come on,” Suguru said softly, wrapping his long fingers around Satoru's arm in a loose hold, gently tugging him along. Satoru went willingly, doing his best not to trip over his own feet.

The noise started to fade as Suguru led him away from the busiest stores, taking him towards a more secluded part of the mall. They passed a bathroom, and Satoru took his arm back. Turning, Suguru raised an eyebrow in question.

“I'm gonna–” Satoru jerked a thumb towards the bathroom, not waiting for Suguru’s response before making his way in. Six Eyes told him it was empty–he could only hope it was right, though he didn't fully trust them today. Wasting no time, he practically ran inside, desperate for a moment to himself.

He pulled down his mask, relieved as the sensation of material on his face eased. Swiping a few paper towels, he blew his nose, though it didn't put a dent in the congestion and just made him cough in the aftermath. The paper towel was rough, scraping across the sensitive skin. Why hadn't he thought to bring tissues? 

The urge to sneeze spiked again, and he tilted his head back to–nothing. Not even pushing his glasses onto his head to look into the ugly lights of the bathroom helped tease it out. 

Tossing the paper towel into the garbage with more force than necessary, he caught his reflection in the mirror. No wonder Suguru had volunteered to leave early. His already pale complexion was a shade or two lighter, making him look downright lifeless, though there was a faint flush developing high on his cheeks. His nose was pink, except for around his nostrils, which was an angry red. And his eyes–ugh. Red rimmed and watery, their usually bright sheen was now dull and dark, which was obvious even behind his glasses. 

Fuck. He shouldn't be out in public like this. 

It was embarrassing, honestly, how easily he was falling apart. He was supposed to be the strongest. How his family would sneer at him if they saw him now, undone by something as mundane as a cold. 

He sniffled aggressively, but still had to snag another paper towel to angrily swipe at his nose as it threatened to run down his lip. His throat burned, his eyes throbbed, he couldn't breathe right, his chest felt heavy, he'd been on the edge of a sneeze since he woke up and it was all driving. Him. Crazy.

A door in the women's bathroom slammed, and Satoru had to bite back a groan. The surge of cursed energy was back, and even if this part of the mall had fewer stores, it was enough to overwhelm him. Three teenagers walking by, their energy wild and unrestrained. Low level curses crawling around the women’s changing room twenty feet away. A child crying across the hall a spike in energy two stores down as a couple bickered the dripping water of the faucet in front of him the rattle of the pipes in the walls a sudden wave of energy from the food court–

“Satoru?”

Whipping his head up, he saw Suguru standing by the entrance to the bathroom, concern in his dark eyes. 

“You've been gone for a while,” Suguru said, gaze flickering from his face to his hands as he walked slowly towards him.

It was only then Satoru realized he was gripping the edge of the sink hard enough to turn his knuckles white. 

Something wet rolled down his face, and he only had a second to be horrified at the idea of his nose running before Suguru’s hand cupped his cheek, his thumb wiping away–a tear, it was a tear. Oh. Was he crying? 

“Satoru?” Suguru said his name so tenderly. When was the last time he was treated softly when he was sick? He remembered being ill as a child, receiving the best medicine and the finest doctors, every need taken care of. But had anyone held him, or offered any kind of comfort? Maybe a few of the maids, if they were feeling particularly sorry for him, but never his parents. Had anyone touched him with gentle hands the way Suguru was now, like he was something precious? Not a commodity to be cultivated or a god to be shaped?

“You're a bit warm,” Suguru murmured, brows furrowed. 

Satoru went to reply–maybe with something cheeky like I'm always hot or something embarrassing like can we please go home–but instead, all that came out was a choked sound. He felt another tear run down his cheek, and Suguru dropped the bag he was holding, bringing up his other hand to fully hold Satoru’s face, eyes wide in alarm.

“Satoru?!” he said again, more urgently.

“I–” The cursed energy surged again as a group of people walked by the bathroom, and it was all too much. He wanted to scream, but his throat was too raw to handle it. His hands flew to his head, knocking his glasses off in the process, and he couldn't hold back a frustrated sob.

Suguru acted immediately, wrapping a hand around his arm and tugging him into the bathroom stall, bag forgotten on the ground. Kicking the door shut and throwing the lock closed, Suguru yanked the cover of the toilet down before pulling them down to sit on the top. Despite Satoru being taller, Suguru managed to maneuver them so his face was pressed into Suguru’s chest, one hand on the back of his head, the other around his shoulders.

The tears came hot and fast. Satoru surprised himself by how many he had to shed, sobbing into Suguru’s shirt, clutching chunks of fabric like a lifeline. Suguru just held him, saying nothing, not even as Satoru stained his shirt with a disgusting mix of bodily fluids. But he couldn't stop, too miserable to even try. The noise was endless, his eyes throbbed, his head was too heavy to lift. His sobs burned through his scratchy throat, quiet and painful. Everything felt wrong, and even his clothes–his softest shirt, his most comfortable sweater, his warmest hoodie–were like sandpaper against his skin. 

The only thing that felt right was Suguru’s hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, the other holding his head gently but firmly. Satoru tried to focus on that. He practically begged Six Eyed to cool it for a goddamn second, tried to direct their perception to hone in on the warmth of Suguru’s arms around him, but it only marginally succeeded. 

The crying was not helping his congestion in the slightest, his whole face feeling gross. And wet. Suguru would need to burn this shirt, fuck. Satoru would buy him a replacement. Or ten replacements. Whatever he wanted.

It took a few long minutes, but the tears eventually slowed, Satoru left making sad, broken noises as he tried to breathe through the gunk in his head. 

“Let's get you cleaned up,” Suguru said softly, “and then we'll get out of here, ok?”

Satoru could only groan at the thought of the train. Another three hours to get back. The idea made him dizzy.

“I called the school,” Suguru said, as if reading his thoughts. Satoru looked up at him, lashes wet, trying not to think about how pathetic he must look. “They'll send someone to pick us up.”

Satoru nodded, running the back of his hand across his runny nose, trying in vain to fix himself up at least a bit. Thankfully, Suguru’s shirt was black, any gross stains that Satoru left behind hidden. Not that Suguru seemed to mind. 

Chuckling softly, Suguru reached over and unlocked the stall door with one hand, pulling Satoru up with the other. 

“Come on, I got you.” With the patience of a saint–or maybe God himself, at this point–Suguru led him to the sink, but Satoru pulled back.

“S-Suguru, wait–” The crying had shifted the congestion just right, finally, and he was spinning away from Suguru to catch the resulting sneeze in his cupped hands. Then another, and another. The groan he let out afterwards was half disgusted, half relieved. He winced at the wet feeling in his palms, then shivered as a sudden chill went through him.

Behind him, Suguru sighed, but it sounded affectionate. “Come on, let's make sure your brains are still in your head.” 

“Gross,” Satoru replied, voice crackling with the effort.

Suguru touched his back with one hand, guiding him towards the sink. Digging into his pocket with the other, he fished out a travel pack of tissues, peeling open the package and pulling one out. 

“Here.” He offered it to Satoru, who was still hiding behind his cupped hands. 

“Why d’you have this?” Satoru asked, snatching it out of Suguru’s hand as fast as possible. His shoulders hunched as he blew his nose again, the soft material of the tissue leagues better than the rough, horrible texture of the paper towels.

“Because you're sick,” Suguru replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Oh. Satoru held his hand out for another one silently, hoping Suguru couldn't see the way the blush extended all the way to his ears. 

It took half the package before Satoru felt somewhat human again, though his reflection in the mirror told a different story. His eyes and nose were even redder, his cheeks ruddy from crying. 

Ugh. He felt disgusting. All he wanted was to take a hot shower and then pass out. 

It was only when he was washing his hands, with Suguru retrieving his glasses and the dropped bag, when he saw it–the cursed spirit at the entrance to the bathroom. Once again, Six Eyes couldn't be bothered to let him know. Before he could completely freak out, though, he finally noticed Suguru’s residuals on it.

“One of yours?” Satoru asked, somewhat unnecessarily. Ugh, his voice was officially shredded.

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “Just noticing now?” he asked playfully, the smile dropping off his face when Satoru didn't react. “Holy shit, are you seriously just noticing now?” 

Scowling, Satoru returned his attention to washing his hands, scrubbing a bit more aggressively than necessary. It was embarrassing to be so caught off guard, even worse to be so called out about it. The cursed energy was all mixing into a confusing mess in his sludgy brain, making it harder to tell everything apart. Turning off the water, he flicked his hands into the sink, snagging a paper towel and refusing to meet Suguru’s eyes.

“Hey.” Suguru touched his cheek, pulling his face towards him. Satoru went willingly, despite his annoyance. “Sorry. I was just surprised.” Suguru touched Satoru’s forehead with the back of his hand, frowning. “You're really not well, Satoru.”

Satoru just shrugged, tossing the paper towel over his shoulder, where it landed in the garbage can despite the fact that his vision was going fuzzy. 

Suguru was beside him before he could sway, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I got you.”

He shook out Satoru’s glasses with his other hand, gently sliding them into his face. They rested just the wrong way on the bridge of his nose, igniting the lingering tickle, and he just managed to pull the mask up in time to sneeze into it.

“Ugh”, he couldn't help but moan. 

“Bless you,” Suguru said, amusement in his voice, though he squeezed his arm tighter around Satoru’s waist. “Let's get out of here.”

-----

“I'm sorry.”

Satoru blinked his eyes open, looking up at Suguru from where he was nuzzled into his side, Suguru’s arm around him in a way that could almost be called protective. The drive so far had been quiet, save for Satoru’s sniffling. Luckily the driver hadn't said anything when they came to pick them up, even if this was a gross misuse of school time and property. “For what?”

“I should have insisted we stay home,” Suguru said, sighing softly, the guilt in his voice unmistakable. “I shouldn't have dragged you out like this.”

Satoru hummed softly. “It's okay,” he said, hardly even audible with the way his voice kept cutting out. He coughed softly into the mask, but snuggled up closer. “I like spending time with you.”

Suguru’s arm tightened around him.

“Y-yeah,” Suguru said, a bit breathless. Then he smiled down at Satoru, warm and affectionate. “I like spending time with you, too.”

“Even when I'm all gross like this?” It was supposed to be a joke, but it came out more sincere than Satoru meant.

“Always,” Suguru responded, without hesitation. “Though I would rather you weren't feeling so shitty.”

Satoru hummed in response, letting his eyes close again. He rested his head on Suguru’s shoulder, and Suguru’s hand came up to card through his hair. 

“It was worth it to see that crop top,” Satoru murmured, and Suguru just laughed, the sound low and affectionate. 

[rambunctioustoons]

✨domestic au but sun and moon won't stop killing your house plants caring for your houseplants🪴🔪❤️

full disclosure this is inspired by shenanigans from the @//daycarefriendpickup server !

contains; crack treated half serious, plant murder, domestic fluff, sun knowing better than you how to care for plants, no justice for plants at all.

[ sun-centric, no gender/pronouns for reader, 1,200]

Domestic squabbles are a given in this lifetime. Can't co-exsist with anyone without some minor irritation.

It's a guarantee really.

But Sun never draws the curtains in the morning if you're still groggy. Moon never keeps the tv at night a decimal above what could stir you awake.

You make it your honest mission to always keep your clothes in the laundry bin the one time you catch Eclipse red handed tidying up the space.

Difficult to complain when your newly founded housemates did mostly all they could to be agreeable. Much like you did in return.

As cliche and sappy as that sounded, you loved them so much.

But the plants.

The plants.

Your beloved houseplants faced the wrath of miscommunication and you just can't fathom how it's plant care that keeps causing arguments.

The first day it happens. You're awoken to early daylight, and the scent of watered down bleach. Staring out into the hallway, gaze transfixed on the spray bottle in Sun's hand, like the handle of a dagger in a slasher flick.

Because that is the household cleaning solution he's wielding.

"Darling! Good morning! You're up early early today. Lemme finish up and I'll go make us coffee!"

Spritzing the chemical all over your beloved Fiddle-Fig Leaf plant!

"What are you doing..?!" You squawk, swatting the bottle straight out of his hands. The element of surprise in your favour here, bottle tumbling to the floor out of harm's way.

Tempted to kick it out of his reach.

"Fiddle-Fig was dusty, feel it! Look at it! The poor thing was collecting cobwebs! No need to fret now, I know all about plant care! Used to water and clean all the plants in the Daycare y'know! Silly, wasn't gonna wake you up just to-"

"Those were plastic plants!!" You shrill. Immediately connecting the dots. Regretting the decision to let frazzled nerves sway your temper.

Sun curling in on himself like a poor kicked puppy.

"I-I'm..-! I'm sorry just-... You can't water or clean plants with bleach Sun. You have to be gentle," Giving his arm a sympathetic squeeze, dipping into the bathroom to run the bath.

It's all you could think. Carefully rinse off the chemicals quicker and keep the pot out of the stream. Gently dab away the viscera from the leaves. More at ease with this taped together emergency plan.

"They're alive, they're not plastic."

But when you turn back around.

Sun is trying again.

To spritz the plants. Again!!

"Dude! Knock it off! Drop it!! Drop it-.. Drop it drop it-!"

To his credit he drops it.

Dull sloshy clank to the floor. Catching the way his posture ever so slightly shakes. Staring him down, metaphorically hearing the annoyance rattling in his casting. Gunking up his gears.

You've literally never been this frustrated in your entire life. Snatching the Fiddle-Fig off the hallway table.

"... I know," He starts, sharp and wobbly all in the same faux breath. "How to take care. Of our plants."

"Just keep your mits off Fig!" Poking his chest, showing you mean business. "We'll get plastic plants you can play with later. Take care of those to your heart's content."

Failing to shut the door in time before Sun pipes up again. Song-songing in a condecending lamet as he follows your eye line straight on until the door fully closes.

"I think you're ovveeerr-reactinggg!!"

You shut the door twice.

Beloved, Fiddle-Fig stood no chance against caretaking protocols that stubbornly stayed stuck on the wrong dial-tone.

Because this morning you'd been greeted with an even more troubling site.

The dirt is gone.

Out of the pot. Straight up missing.

How meticulous a task to gently remove each little root from the soil and leave it starving. Catching him rounding the corner with gardening gloves (and how in the world he'd even found gloves to fit his hands for one).

"Eugh, saving Fig from all that disgusting dirt was no easy task," He beams. "Not to mention the bath it needed to get all cleaned up! But look, look it looks much happier. I'm sure whatever you were doing was great too!"

Feeling what little patience you had dwindling. Your eye twitches.

"Liiiike I told you! I took care of plants all the time! No more of that pesky dirt!" Tapping a finger to your nose. An equally affectionate and condescending boop to your nose.

"Taking it out of the dirt is killing it." Glancing over the still intact roots. "You're literally killing it."

"We have the internet y'know! Duh. You're supposed to wipe down these kinds of plants once a month! It doesn't look like you were doing that at all. So dusty, blegh!”

Are you going crazy? For real. You feel like you're going crazy.

“Good thing I'm here! To help you out and help out our beloved plants! Don't have to worry about all that pesky tidying with me around!”

Gripping his shirt, shaking the fabric in place of shaking him.

"Not with bleach!! With water!! With water Angel! Where did you even read anything about removing the dirt?!"

"The bleach was diluted with water! Don't get yourself in such a twist!" Literally cupping your hand and making you twirl. Stumbling on the hardwood to catch yourself.

"Where did you read about removing the dirt! Give me your source, give me the name of the article writer I'm going to find their address and stuff live beetles in their vents!"

"Oh!" Distress finally clicking. Maybe. Clicking a little. He cups your face, soothing his thumbs along your cheeks.

"... Goodness. Does our Fiddle-Fig really need... Dirt that much? I mean, I just don't think that's true. But if you're thiiis upset.. hmmm."

"All the plants in this house need dirt. And water, not cleaning solutions!”

"... Fine." He warblers a sigh. Glaring down at the plant. "This one can have dirt."

Tempted to ask him if he's heard literally anything you've said.

———

Glitter, and acrylic paint are what come next.

Dropping the plate in your hands, scattering linguine pasta all over the living room floor.

Literally out of the room for fifteen minutes and he's made a craft project out of the plants suffering. It's screaming tirelessly to a void that no one can hear.

You're very glad you're not a plant. Actually.

Sun sets his paintbrush on the tiny plastic pallet, rushing to you after collecting supplies to clean up the mess of ceramics and sauce.

“The orange didn't come out quite right! Don't you just hate that? Mixing colours and noo matter how much yellow you mix in, it's just not orange enough!”

Fig is ruined. Fig is not going to continue thriving in this household like this.

Urgency to hide it in your jacket and run off into the woods.

“I know I can do better, but sure am glad you love it so much! Rendering you all speechless!” He chitters, like he's proud of this.

Leaning down to wordlessly clean up the rest of pasta wreckage. Sun rambles about his other plans for Fig. If he couldn't clean it properly, he could at least decorate it correctly!

Plants being all one colour is an eye sore.

You could tell him most plants are one colour. Most plants are green. Question his sanity if he too has a distaste for the green grass outside the window. The brittle bark of brown tree trucks even.

“Please don't ever do this again, plants can't handle being tampered with like this.”

“Decorating isn't tampering.”

At least this phase hasn't reached Moon yet you suppose.

... Yet.

[lou-struck]

Your Special Day!

~ Obey Me x reader

Part 1 Featuring Lucifer, Mammon, and Leviathan

~ They have so much planned for your birthday! But first, you have to wake up

a/n: I started this on my birthday yesterday so this is super self indulgent!

Lucifer~

For once, The workaholic demon managed to get a full night's sleep last night since he knew he would need to be at his best for your special day.

As the oldest brother, he invoked his authority over the others and told them that he would be the one who got the pleasure of waking you up this morning. To be the first to wish you a Happy Birthday.

So now, with absolutely nothing standing between him and you, he makes his way down the hallway. His steps are light, and your favorite morning beverage is in his hand.

Getting up to go across the Devildom to your favorite cafe was quite the feat, but it makes the Avatar of Pride smile to himself when he imagines your sweet face when you see the treat he got for you.

His (and everyone else's) goal for today is to make sure that big, beautiful smile of yours never leaves your face. Not even for a minute. 

He quietly opens your door; his movements are careful, silent, as he stalks toward your bed, where you rest somewhere underneath the pile of tangled bedding, pillows, and stuffed animals. 

He lets out a low chuckle at the silly site and sits down next to you on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips slightly, but he can tell from the soft, even breaths you are letting out from beneath your pile of fluff, not enough to wake you.

His gaze is full of loving affection as he places your drink on the side table and begins to unbury you. Carefully placing each item neatly on the end of your bed.

Finally, he finds you. Your face is smushed into your pillow, and you are drooling slightly, but to him, you have never looked more adorable. 

Gently, he reaches his hand out to brush a little white feather from one of your pillows off of your forehead. As much as he wants to let you rest, he knows you have a big day planned full of love, gifts, and spoiling that you just can't miss.

"Mc, wake up," He says softly. Leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You stir at the contact and blink sleepily. 

When you see his stunning features just inches from your own, you sit up and rub the drowsiness and some gunk from your eyes. "Morning, Luci." You murmur, sleep still lacing your vocal cords.

Lucifer smiles and reaches for the drink. When you see the familiar cup the look of joy on your face is better than anything he imagined. "Happy Birthday, Little Lamb

Mammon~

Of course, he gets to be the one to wake you up on your Birthday. 

He is Your First, after all. 

Mammon was so excited to get to you this morning, he forgot to change out of his pajamas. He's down the hallway in a blur. His inhuman speed swishing past the long curtains. He only pauses to take a breath once he is outside your door.

He reaches for the knob but pulls back slightly to gingerly pat the pocket of his pajama bottoms. When he feels the small box inside, he relaxes a bit and lets himself inside.

When he sees the way you're sleeping, he quickly covers his mouth to stifle his laughter. 

Sometime during the middle of the night, you must've shifted in your sleep. Because now you are sprawled horizontally across the mattress, your blankets are pooled on the floor under you and your pillows rest untouched at the top of the bed as your head rests in a not-so-comfortable position. 

Despite his poor attempt at being quiet, you seem to wake up. Twisting over, you lift your head up from the edge of the mattress to look at the avatar of greed. 

"MC! He says with a start, a light blush appearing on his tan cheeks, "I didn't mean to wake ya like that."

"It's okay," you smile, reaching out your hand and making a grabby hand gesture to tell him to come closer.

"You humans are so clingy," he chuckles, more than happy to oblige. He lays down on the bed next to you, and you wrap your arms around him. Despite having no blankets on your bed, it still feels warm and cozy.

"You love it," you tease, burrowing your face into his chest. "it's my birthday."

"I know," He says, reaching for the little gift box in his pocket. "Did ya really think The Great Mammon would forget about yer birthday?" 

He takes the box out for you to see and hands it to you. You look a bit confused as you undo the slightly squashed little gold bow on top.

Once the knot is undone, you open the box to reveal a beautiful golden chain. Your smile makes the demon's heart melt as you express your gratitude for the lovely gift first thing in the morning. 

As you wrap your arms around him once more, Mammon hides his satisfied smile in your neck. Because he knows there are more surprises in store for you today. 

And he is willing to bet a decent amount of Grimm that you were going to love the next surprise even more than this one.

Leviathan~

Levi is mid-daydream as he walks towards your room with a spring in his step. A bundle of enchanted balloons bobbing behind him, bumping into each other with a happy little bonking sound

Recently, the Otaku saw a scene in a romance anime where it was the love interest's Birthday, and the main character woke them up by filling their room with balloons and he is so excited to try it out on you.

Maybe he can make you blush even harder than the love interest did?

Just thinking about it makes steam come out of his ears as his brain short circuits just outside your door. 

"Okay, Levi, you've got this. You have to make today special for Mc," he whispers to himself. "Just be cool. Just be cool.

He wipes his sweaty palms on his pant legs as he takes one more calming breath. Determination flashes in his amber eyes as he lets himself into your bedroom. 

He can't tell if he is just imagining it, but you look like you are glowing. Your Birthday really suits you. You look so good; in fact, Levi's confidence disappears, and his knees buckle; he stumbles forward a few steps, his ankle catches the leg of your dress, and he hits your bedroom floor with a thud. 

The large bunch of balloons in his hands scatter, and he wants to curl up into a ball and disappear. 

The loud thump of Levi hitting the ground wakes you, but as dozens of enchanted balloons seem to rise up from nowhere, you are mesmerized by the sight. You gasp in amazement as they reflect the moonlight that shines through your windows. 

Levi, noticing the wonder-filled smile on your face, feels relief blossoming in his chest. 

Maybe he didn't completely blow it?

"Levi, that was incredible," you say, noticing the Avatar of Envy on the floor. The balloons still floating around you peacefully. 

His cheeks heat up as he carefully gets to his feet, "J-just like I planned." he smiles. "Happy Birthday, Mc."

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

[kalied0skull]

apparently before falling asleep the first thing i thought of was soda so here's just some small thoughts of things i think soda is

soda's the feeling of resting your head into a pillow just before falling asleep, still cold to the touch but you can feel the heat begin to rise as you grow more comfortable and tired.

soda's the feeling of his warm hands grabbing your hands when you're cold and breathing hot air into them to keep them from shaking

soda's the feeling of a smooth glass pressed to your lips before taking a good swig of sweet honey lemonade on a hot summer evening

soda's the feeling of harsh wind blowing into your ears, making it hard to hear and see as your hair goes flying everywhere

soda's the feeling of rain when it's hot out, cold droplets pelting into your skin and mixing with the humid air of sweat

soda's the feeling of smoothening out an old flannel shirt as you tuck it into your pants, making sure every wrinkle is doing what you want it to

soda's the feeling of dirt under your nails after playing outside all day, the gunk and grime making your teeth hurt, but at least you had fun

soda's the feeling of tires screeching when you come to a sharp stop in the middle of a road when break checking your friend in the passanger seat, laughter and terror all in one.

soda's the feeling of hard candy stuck to your teeth after chowing down on a whole bag of them, desperately trying to take parts out with your fingers or licking them away

soda's the feeling of lifting yourself up in water and falling back down dramatically, practically drowning yourself in the process as you float back up coughing and gagging.

soda's the feeling of laying on the grass and feeling all of the grass prickle and stab at you because it wasn't a soft patch, needing to readjust and become comfortable as you just try to lay down.

soda's the feeling of grinning too hard and laughing too much that everything starts hurting, so much to the point you have to force yourself to calm down and do a good "hoo..." of an exhale

soda's the feeling of putting the key into the ignition, hearing the engine start up and the rumble of the car underneath and all around you

soda's the feeling of rubbing the tired off your face, squeezing your eyes shut tight as you dig knuckles into your lids and scrub your face with your palms

soda's the feeling of vapor hitting your face, like a soft laughter of smoke that makes you either wave it away or close your eyes and let it pass over you.

soda's the feeling of a hum in the back of your throat, becoming aware of your vocal cords vibrating and feeling the sound leave as you speak

soda's the feeling of fidgeting with a belt buckle, the metals clinking at you try to twist it one way or the other to put it around your waist

soda's the feeling off jumping off a high place and hitting the dirt rough and heavy, scraping your knees hard and feeling the pain in your ankles afterwards but still getting up and hobbling around.

soda's the feeling of the grass stains on your jeans from skidding around all the time, the ache underneath adding additional color to the pain.

soda's the feeling of taking a hit and laughing immediately afterwards, despite it only being the first one—you're so full of giggles, like a placebo effect

soda's the feeling of resting your head against the carseat with your legs kicked up against the dashboard, waiting for your next stop or for the car to start up again.

soda's the feeling of throwing rocks at trains or store signs, the "thwip" of each hit being better or worse than the next.

soda's the feeling of sobbing hard into a pillow, being as loud as you can be and feeling absolutely terrible about it but everything just hurts so bad, sometimes it's all you can do

soda's the feeling of waking up from an afternoon nap, overheated and tangled in your blankets and unaware of time.

sometimes soda's just a feeling