#but literally I was fuckin sick to my stomach throwing up over the idea of having a cavity

[dayz-ina-daze]

I THOUGHT I HAD A CAVITY BUT IT KIND OF LOOKS LIKE ITS FADING SINCE IVE BEEN BRUSHING LIKE FIVE TIMES A DAY NOW AAHHH

[weebsinstash]

I keep thinking about Reader getting sick of YT's shit, physically fighting them (Totally, totally not projecting my own feelings at YT into that, whatcha talkin about? <<') and that being what leads to Miguel kicking them out of the Spider Society. Like, for the sake of this we'll say Reader made plans to meet up with the core group and properly set things straight- They've got a powerpoint ready, they've been running through a hypothetical dialogue tree all morning, they even got crayons too if someone's really not getting it. But most importantly, they've managed to scrape together proof of everything. So they rock up ready to plead their case, only to find YT already there doing the 'same'. YT somehow found out about this little meeting and decided to see if they could spin it in their' favour. At first Reader tries to explain what's really happening and that if they just look at the receipts they'd see that they're wrong, but the core group's just not having it. Peter's not having it, Gwen, Pav, fuck even Hobie, and Miguel's certainly not entertaining this anymore. They've had enough of 'their' lies and it's time they went home. At first Reader's devastated, weakly trying to tell them that they have no where to go back to, that they have no home that isn't here. But YT can't help but open their big fuckin mouth- low-key taunting them without giving anything away to the rest of the group- but YT and Reader know exactly what they're talking about. In that moment, something boils over in Reader. They can't stop themself from throwing the fattest punch at YT, and If this meeting started small it certainly won't be for long as Reader and YT's fight takes them all over. Hell, even spilling out into the rest of Nueva York. I'll spare you the rest of my ideas cause this is already getting long- But it certainly won't look good for Reader, now would it? :)c

That's the TRUE antagonist of the You vs YouTwo saga: making through this entire thing without absolutely beating the shit out of your doppelganger

It's all set up so perfectly. YT knows you're basically at your absolute breaking point and all but goads you into attacking them. YouTwo is standing there seeming like such the innocent little victim, having convinced all your closest friends that you're a fake, and you just absolutely explode

"I'll fucking kill you, you stupid fucking CUNT!!"

Punch them? They're lucky if that's all they get! The punch is essentially just to knock them down before you start trying to smack their head into the floor or straight up literally actually strangle them, and here come "your friends" to YouTwo's rescue. Pavitr's fighting style used to be a lot more cool to you before you got a solid gold bracelet cracking into the side of your head. You used to wish you could ask Gwen to teach you to be a little more graceful at gymnastics until she kicks right off of your face. You never realized how serious Hobie was when he told you he doesn't pull his punches until you're literally hitting a wall so hard it cracks underneath you because his guitar just slammed into your stomach. You never fully put two and two together on how Miguel's claws could CUT.

YouTwo may have gotten a little scuffed up but here you are, black eyes, busted lip, more than just a couple sprains and outright fractures as all of the people you considered your family, your FAMILY look at you with disgust. And suddenly you realize, with the biggest fucking pit in your stomach, that they just plan to open a portal to YouTwo's dimension and simply throw you through, completely unaware that you'll just slowly suffer and die after one of them swiped your watch during the scuffle. You'll have nothing to hold yourself together and tether you down, you'll just deteoriate and die and the thought fucking terrifies you. So you do the only thing you can think of, and you start absolutely running for your life for the Go Home Machine, because you either make it to that machine and prove you're the Real You, or you'll slowly suffer and die in another universe

The scene where Gwen gets sent home really does make the Go Home Machine look menacing. The way it can grab your arms and legs and drags you through the air kicking and screaming, holding you down at all costs, entrapping you in a bubble. You're just standing on the edge of the control deck with the gap and the machine behind you, still bleeding from wounds, and you're half wondering if Miguel is just going to kill you as he looks down at you with the coldest expression you've ever seen him make as he all but spits at you, "since you want to be the center of attention so bad, fine. Go home. Don't ever come back"

And you're being dragged back, left standing there on that platform feeling the most rage and sorrow and betrayal you've ever felt, you didn't even feel this fucking bad when your entire universe just suddenly poofed away, and all these people you thought of as your friends and family and coworkers are standing around, jeering at you, telling you you're not welcome there, some of them with your blood still on their hands.

The moment you're waiting for finally comes, the moment where the Go Home Machine finally goes to scan you, to throw you out like some anomaly, and it stops. It stops powering up as Spider Byte looks at the monitor in horror. Miguel is all but fuming as he storms over, "what are you doing?! Get them OUT OF HERE" and he freezes when he sees the same exact message Margo sees: 'NO DIMENSIONAL MATCH FOUND'.

Your vindication is finally here and you're so hurt by all of this that it honestly doesn't even matter. At this point you don't give a single fuck YouTwo stole your friends, because, they aren't your friends any more. You don't know any of these people like you thought you did, and apparently, they never really knew you either. They all get to stand there and feel bad for themselves as you stand there with your bruises and broken heart, starting to wonder where you're going to move now that you hate all of them and living in the Society is kind of traumatic now. They all try apologizing and talking to you, but you won't hear it. You're apathetic to it all, if not angered by it. NOW they want to be sorry?

They're trying to apologize, explain themselves, hug you, but you aren't having any of it. You've just got quiet tears streaming down your cheeks as you all but stumble your way back to your apartment, refusing medical treatment, refusing conversation, shutting the front door on all of them and finally crawling into your bed as a little voice inside of you says that you should hide yourself under the covers and never come back out

[shojimezolovemail]

to lay beside you (and have you in my arms)

A/N: most of my daryl dixon one shots were originally written with intention for a friend but, i can’t deprive the world of him :P also, no beta’d bc i’m tired

prompt: daryl gets sick and you care for him, plain & simple - gender neutral reader!

warnings: sickness overall, mentions of throwing up, reader mentioned to have gotten drunk in the past, allusions to sexual intimacy but blink and it might be missed

Daryl never was a man to take a break but when he did, it was usually not by his own choice. This time when he had even taken a moment to stop, he ended up sick and cooped up in bed.

That’s not to say he was necessarily having a bad time, he just hates to not be doing something productive. And you made sure he didn’t lift a single finger while confined from the world.

“Babe, you’re gonna have to let me up eventually,” he huffed as you appeared into his field of vision with a dish of food and glass of what looked like sweet tea. He could get behind a little sweet treat.

“Oh my dear Daryl, let me enjoy coddling you, hm? You never sit still long enough when you’re not sick. I have to soak this in as much as I can,” you laughed and waited for him to scoot to sit up.

He huffed again and rested against the headboard, the action making his head soon and muscles ache. A dull groan rose from his throat as you moved closer, a small food out tray coming to rest above his lap.

Daryl laughed for the first time in a few days, “Now what have you out in me here? Cant trust me to feed myself with a spill?” he nudged your arm a little and grinned.

You rolled your eyes and picked up the fork to his to be revealed homemade stir fry, zooming it up to his lips. “Well since you’ve given the idea that you can’t, I guess it is ‘cause you’ll spill it,” your lips read a devilish smile but eyes not meeting the same, only a gesture of love.

He accepted the forks full of food as you began speaking about what and why you cooked it. “So yeah, I made the stir fry because while there is seasoning and some rich flavored veggies, nothing should upset your stomach. I also brought you sweet tea as a little treat but, I’m not giving you a whole bunch because I don’t want you to get fuckin’ sugar high then puke on the carpet,” just bringing up the idea made you lean away form Daryl.

He wasn’t even the one who threw up on the carpet, it was you after drinking his spiked version of the sweet tea. Poor you drank an entire liter in the span of a few hours and ended up snuggling the old carpet in the hallway.

“Plus, I can only feed you so many popsicles before you turn into one,” you sighed and held the glass up to his lips. He tried not to laugh at the tone of your words, such a serious tone for a statement one would say to a child.

Once he was through enough of the stir fry to satisfy you, moving the tray to sit on your bedside table and paused for a moment.

Daryl paused as well, tilting his head a little at you and looking over his features.

“Something wrong?”

You didn’t speak, just pressed a hand to his forehead and waited a moment. “You’re not burning up! I think your fever broke,” you smiled and clapped to yourself.

“All thanks to your great work, my nurse,” he smiled and shifted to lay back under the covers.

“I bet you wish I’d play nurse with you, huh?” you rolled your eyes and slipped under the blankets with him, “even in sickness, you’re ever the charming type.”

“Just for you, my darlin’.” Daryl’s head found itself resting in your chest and let out a sigh he didn’t even know he was holding in.

You moved some of his hair back from his forehead and pressed a sweet kiss to it, warmth spreading through the two.

“You’re too good to me, ya know that? Dunno what I’d do without ya…” he murmured and if the world didn’t feel so quiet, you might not have heard him.

“It’s because you deserve all my love and more, my sweetheart.”

Daryl was quiet, he never knew how to respond to such declarations of love so, he just squeezed you closer. His eyes dropped and he felt another kiss splay out on his head.

[foli-vora]

more than words, pt.3

A/N: Thank you for all the love! 🥺🥰 overwhelmed by the reaction I’ve had to this story! Super excited that so many of you are coming along for the ride! There is a tag list for this—let me know if you’d like to be added! (I apologise if I’ve missed anyone!) I hope you enjoy! ❤️

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x f!reader, best friend!Benny Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, general first date nerves that trigger my anxiety x10

pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.4 / pt.5 / pt.6

+

He was trying to listen. He really was, but God, how many times can you hear the same thing over and over and over again before you start to drift away from the conversation? He knew the answer. He had a very short attention span when it came to certain subjects – he’ll admit that freely – so when you continued to gush about his best friend, his main man, naturally his attention fell to the couple seemingly having an argument by their truck in the parking lot. Hmm… wonder what they’re fighting about? He purses his lips, watching the girl deliver one hell of a slap across her boyfriend’s face and strut away, tears streaking mascara down her face. Cheater. Definitely a cheater.

“Benny? Are you even listening to me?”

His eyes roll back to you, taking in your narrowed eyes and angry chewing as a slice of pizza dangles from your hand. Was he listening? Well, he did for the first few minutes… does that still count?

He finally answers, tone flat and uninterested. “No.”

“Ben.”

He shrugs, gesturing to the scene outside the window with a flick of his head. “Malibu barbie just smacked the shit out of her beau.”

Your head snaps to where he was looking, shamelessly curious. “Cheater?”

“That’s my bet.”

You both fall quiet, watching the strangers play out a scene that really should belong in a cringe-worthy daytime reality show while you chew. It’s almost depressing, how eagerly you both watch someone else’s life seemingly crumble in public. But the longer they scream and cry, the longer they yell and fight, the harder it is to tear your eyes away.

“Shit.” Benny sighs, reclining in the booth and stretching his arms up and behind him once the couple in conflict goes their separate ways. “That was the most interesting thing that happened to me all week.”

“Not me,” you sing with a smile, fondly remembering the phone calls and texts you had been sharing with Frankie the past few days. Benny sighs in irritation, neck cracking as he rolls his head on his shoulders.

“I swear, if you talk any more about Fish, I’m gonna throw myself out of this fuckin’ window.” He levels you with a challenging stare, lips twitching as you eye the glass critically. “I’ll do it, too. Try me.”

Deflating, you sag in your seat and fiddle with the peeling label on your beer bottle, realising with a wave of slight shame that you had been talking about Frankie ever since you sat down at the table. “I’m sorry, Benny. I’m just excited. He seems really cool, and nice, and –”

“Alright then.” He stands abruptly, kneeling on the worn leather to brace a shoulder against the glass panel with a look of severe concentration.

“Okay! I’m sorry, I’m sorry – sit down, you idiot!” Laughing loudly, you tug at his shirt until he sits with a lazy grin and you shake your head. “God, you are such a child, Benjamin.”

He snorts, pinching a cold fry from the basket in the middle of the table and waving it at you. “You love me.”

Grinning, you snatch it from his fingers, and chew it loudly, grinning at his pout. “I sure do, especially when you set me up with your gorgeous fri–”

He groans loudly, “Enough, woman. I’ll throw you out of this fuckin’ window in a minute. Get me another beer.”

-

“You’re callin’ the wrong friend, angel.” Benny drawls lazily, “I’m no good with these kinds of pep talks.”

“Benny, I’m freaking out, please –”

The car feels small, cramped. The open windows letting in the cool evening air does nothing for you trying to suck in a lungful of oxygen as you pull nervously at your jacket. Have you overdressed? Underdressed? What would he be wearing? You hadn’t been on a first date in months.

“Look, I can almost guarantee you he’s somewhere having this exact conversation with another friend of mine. You’re both stress heads. Just relax – he’s gonna love you.”

You stare vacantly at your steering wheel, swallowing around the lump of anxiety stuck in your throat. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

He snorts in amusement, “Well, if you’re gonna do it, do it now – puking on the poor guy isn’t a first date thing. And don’t forget to rinse your mouth out.”

Leave it to the younger Miller to make you feel ten times worse. “Oh God. Ben –”

“You’ll be fine. Now get out of your car.”

“But –”

“Get. Out. of your car.” He waits, listening intently to the mechanical whirr of your windows as they close, smiling when he hears the loud thump of your car door shutting. “There we go. Now breathe, and get marchin’ – you got this. And don’t call me again – I’m watching a fight. Pay per view isn’t cheap.”

“Right. Sorry. Thanks Benny.”

“Anytime, angel. Have fun.”

You ring your hands as you start walking the short distance to the bar, running through a last-minute check of your appearance. Nothing in your teeth. No stains on your clothes. You fidget with the hem of your skirt, brushing the non-existent dirt from the fabric and making sure it’s not horrifically tucked in to your underwear at the back.

Oh God, your palms are so sweaty. What if he shakes your hand? His hand will slide right off. He’d be mortified. Who even goes for a handshake on a first date anyways? You’re being silly. Everything’s fine. You look great. Did you put deodorant on?

The twisting of your stomach and panicked rush of thoughts thankfully pause when your eyes catch Frankie standing outside the bar, hands buried deep in his pockets and dark eyes flickering around at the passers-by somewhat nervously. When they land on you, the apprehension seems to melt from his shoulders and he grins. Unable to stop the smile creeping on your face in response, you now walk without the sick feeling of anxiety creeping up your throat.

He strides forward to greet you, and for a brief second, you wonder how you should greet him. It’s not like you were strangers, per se, you had been talking on the phone all week, but where did you stand in the physical sense? Certainly not a handshake.

Throwing caution to the wind, you bounce forward and greet him with a hug, hoping to high heaven he doesn’t push you away and call the whole thing off.

He doesn’t.

Inwardly screaming, you melt at the feeling of a pair of strong arms winding around your waist, a small quiet chuckle brushing past your ear. Oh shit, oh fuck… he smells divine.

“Hi,” you mutter shyly when you pull away, a flush of warmth flooding through you from top to toe when he smiles kindly and hovers only a step away.

“Hi,”

You can’t help but admire his features up close; the ones that were lost on the photo Ben had shown you when first trying to convince you into this arrangement. His eyes were a lot darker, tousled curls longer than they had looked when they were hidden under a well-loved hat. A light flush of pink sweeps up his neck and along his cheeks, and you watch it fondly with a wild flutter of your heart.

Okay, you could just stand here all night and stare at him, but that might freak him out a little… maybe try speaking. Talk. Just talk. Say something smart – something stimulating. First date impressions and all that.

“It’s fucking freezing.”

What? No. You did not just say that. Seriously? That’s what had to bubble from your mouth? Are you kidding?

You want to face palm, want to just turn around and march right back to your car with a text to Benny saying ‘thanks, but we can’t be friends anymore’ and just disappear from the face of the Earth. God, he’s going to give you so much shit for this.

Thankfully though, Frankie doesn’t seem bothered by your blurted out statement in the slightest, and even grins, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, it is.” He watches you shift on your feet, smile widening just a little more at the look of complete horror that had just washed your features before he had spoken, and then half turns, “Shall we?” Oh God, what was that? Pope’s gonna kill him. You’ve got his head in a complete spin and now he’s forgotten Pope’s whole pep talk. Shit. Shit. Be cool. Be cool... what the fuck does ‘be cool’ even mean?

The bar’s warm when you both walk in side by side, Frankie’s hand placed softly on your lower back as he leads you to the bar, and then through to a spare table, nestled out of the way and tucked into the farthest corner after he buys your drinks. He lets you sit first, and you’re pleasantly surprised when he stays close and, instead of sitting opposite you, he sits to your right, knees bumping yours softly under the table.

It’s not until you both sit, quiet and fiddling with your beers while sharing nervous smiles, that you remember something you had been meaning to ask all day.

“Oh. How did Mena’s appointment go?” You ask immediately, recalling his slight worry the day before over her slightly warmer than normal forehead and uncharacteristic crankiness. Your stomach plummets when he shoots you a startled look.

Oh no… have you blown it? Were you not meant to ask about kids on the first date or something? What were the rules for this kind of thing? You’d never dated someone with a baby, you had no idea what was okay to ask and what wasn’t. You guys had literally only just sat down, and here you were, ruining it already. That’s got to be the quickest end to a date, well… ever.

Panic creases your features and you frown in worry, “Sorry, should I – should I not have said anything? I’m sorry, I’ve never –”

“No, no – you’re fine! I just… I didn’t expect you to remember.” And then he smiles. Blindingly. The dread crushing your chest quickly morphs into something sweeter, something that has your heart quickening. “She’s okay – she’s getting her molars. Thank you for asking.”

You smile, turning bashful under the pure admiration shining in his eyes, and shrug lightly.

“It’s alright. I was worried for you.” You’re quiet when you admit it, unsure if that’s something you should be upfront about with only knowing him for such a short period, but he seems to take it in stride, smiling fondly at you and reaching a hand to cover yours softly. The immediate heat from his skin encompasses yours, shooting wave after wave of electric tingles up your arm and straight to your chest.

If your pulse was racing before, it’s downright wild now.

He flushes when your fingers part ever so slightly, letting his nestle in between yours, and then you’re smiling at each other, laughing quietly as the awkwardness all but evaporates.

You talk about everything. Growing up, moving around, Frankie’s time in the military being a pilot. You have so many questions, but pick up on the wave of tension that rolls through him at the mention of flying. For a short moment, you wonder why he didn’t want to talk about such an achievement – being a pilot was incredible, but not wanting to ruin the easy-going atmosphere that had fallen over you both, you leave the topic of flying instantly, and switch for talking about Mena, thankful to see the light return immediately to his eyes as he gushes about his little girl.

“Can I ask a question?” You ask sometime later in the evening, now comfortably closer to Frankie as your legs tangle under the table.

He hums, sipping on his third beer and nodding, “Of course.”

You watch your fingers play with his on the table, before grinning up at him slyly, “Why ‘Catfish’?”

He groans, throwing his head back with a chuckle, and wipes a hand across his face.

“My whiskers.” He finally admits with a playfully defeated sigh. When you frown in confusion, his grin widens, and he scratches his fingers along his jaw and through the patch of facial hair. “The guys used to give me shit because I can’t grow much more than this.” He gestures to his face, rolling his eyes. “Used to say I had whiskers – like a catfish, apparently.” He chuckles, shrugging light heartedly. “It just seemed to stick after a while.”

You’re laughing, and it keeps the smile planted firmly on his face. What a sound.

“Well, it’s an interesting nickname, but I think I prefer Frankie.”

He softens, unable to resist melting closer to you, and nods, “Me too.”

He likes the way you say it… sweetly, softly. He’s desperate to hear it fall from your lips more, in all sorts of ways.

Disappointment floods you both when you notice the late hour, Frankie explaining dejectedly that he should probably go and relieve his babysitter before said babysitter gets too comfortable with his refrigerator and the beer in there. You can hear the fondness in his voice when he tells you about his sitter for the evening, Mena’s tío – another close friend of Benny’s apparently – as you leave the bar, his hand automatically falling to tangle with yours.

“I’m this way,” you point a thumb over your shoulder, fully expecting to say your goodbyes outside the brightly lit bar, but frowning in slight confusion when he merely nods and starts to walk the way to your car.

“Oh – are you parked over here, too?”

He shakes his head, pointing to the complete opposite direction. “No, I’m over there. I don’t want you to walk to your car alone.”

Your insides turn to jelly, smiling to yourself as you grip his hand a little tighter. Thoughtful. He returns your smile, but hates that you seem so surprised by the notion of being walked to your car in the dark. What kind of losers had you dated previously that either didn’t walk you safely to your car?

“Thank you for tonight, Frankie.”

He grins, thumb rubbing soft circles over your knuckles. “Thank you – I had a great time.”

“Next time, it’s my treat.” You say, hoping you weren’t thinking too much of something that wasn’t there. Would he even want a second date? Was he just being polite saying he had a good time? Is that what people said before never calling them again?

Unbeknownst to you, Frankie was having a hard time reigning in the enthusiastic excitement that had flooded through him the second you had spoken. You wanted another date? With him? He had to mash his teeth together to stop the eager grin threatening to break his face completely in half. Thank God he hadn’t blown it. You were… God. You were fucking incredible. He owed Benny – big time.

“I can deal with that,” he eventually agrees, face warm and giddy at the prospect of taking you out again.

You turn and envelope him in a hug when you reach your car, breathing in one final lungful of whatever delicious aftershave he had used, and smile to yourself against his shirt when he folds his arms around you, a hand cupping the back of your head to keep you pressed tightly against him.

Pulling back to say one final goodbye, you’re struck by how close his face seems, eyes flicking across his face before meeting his dark ones.

Suddenly trapped in a gaze that had a fire licking up your spine, your breath goes in a stuttered exhale. Rough fingertips trace your jaw, and then you’re holding your breath entirely as he leans in closer. Anticipation kicks in, heart thumping through your chest as he closes the distance much slower than you would like, and you fight away the wave of impatience that screams at you to just push forward and kiss him.

You don’t expect him to stop however, only a breath away from your lips, and you panic for a small second, wondering if you’re doing something wrong, but when he murmurs a quiet question, it takes all the strength in your legs to not fall to the fucking ground in a lump of melted goo.

“Can I kiss you?”

God yes. Please.

Unable to stop the shy smile that tugs at your lips, you try not to nod too eagerly and definitely fail miserably. You want this, more than what you’ve ever felt with anyone else. Frankie had you feeling like a giddy teenager with a huge crush and you were desperate to feel more of it, to see where it goes and what it could develop into.

At your nod of approval, he moves in the rest of the way, hand moving to cup the side of your neck below your ear, and he sighs lightly when your soft lips finally meet his. The kiss is tender, warm, and does nothing to soothe your raging pulse. He can’t hear your heartbeat, can he? God, can you hear his? He briefly worries, but when your lips move against his, his mind blanks.

His moustache tickles your lip, nose bumps gently with yours. Your hands find his chest, fingers gripping at the soft material, and for a moment it feels like you two are the only ones in existence, floating in a hazy whirl of space.

You take a minute to open your eyes when he eventually pulls away, and when you do, you find him gazing at you with a shy smile and a rosy flush across his cheeks. Lashes fluttering as you blink, you try to get a hold of your heart beating heavily against your ribs while your lips tingle from the aftershocks of his kiss.

Holy shit.

Before you can even think it through, his shirt tangles in your scrunched fist and you pull him back to you, replanting your lips against his with a desperate urgency he meets head on and returns eagerly. His hands, previously gentle, now grip at your waist, squeezing the flesh greedily as you let him walk you back into the side of your car. The metal is cold, even through your jacket, and you arch into him, moaning softly when his tongue traces your lip.

Your knees buckle when his tongue tangles with yours, and he presses you harder into the car to stop you dropping.

“Holy shit.” He breathes huskily after separating, lips widening into a grin when he sees you mirroring his breathlessness. You giggle softly, the fire roaring in your stomach turning into an affectionate warmth that floods your system when he brushes his nose along yours tenderly. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Stop.” Your smile turns shy, teeth digging into your lips as he chuckles again, dark eyes shining. He watches you wrangle your breathing into something semi normal, glad he wasn’t the only one that got swept up and carried away with the moment. 

He traces your cheek, planting one more, less hungry and more affectionate, kiss to your lips.

“Goodnight, mystery girl.”

“Goodnight, Frankie.”

He backs away, face split as he smiles, eyes admiring you before he turns and starts to meander away to wherever he was parked, turning to look at you over his shoulder every few steps. You climb into your car, grinning at the final wave he sends you before disappearing around the corner.

Finally alone in your car, you let out the disbelieving chuckle you’ve been keeping in all night, face feeling hot as the aftereffects of such a great date rests pleasantly in your stomach, mind running through every little moment of the night. Starting your car, you start the drive home, unable to stop touching your lips every so often, insides clenching at the memory of his lips moving against yours.

+

Tags: @anu-simps @seasonschange-butpeopledont @withasideofmeg @you-got-me-starry-eyed @emilykjh @peterhollandkait @sara-alonso @starlightsearches @bookishofalder @empress-palpat1ne @shadowolf993 @rosiefridayrogersunday @canyonmirrors​ @eoz-stuff @blackonemasie​ @layniapetrovnaaa @alberta-sunrise @goldielocks2004 @betterthanbucky​ @linkpk88​ @afootnoteofhappiness​ @livilottie​

[thishintoflove]

“I Think He Knows” - A Kingsman Fanfic

TSwift Songfic Week Day 5

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x M!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Explicit (Pining, dirty talk, hand jobs, oral sex)

A/N: I feel like there’s a lack of M/M in the Pedro cinematic universe fandom, so here’s some bisexual Whiskey having a good time with a fellow male agent.

Summary: You and Agent Whiskey are paired together for an out-of-state mission. On your last night, your pining and his flirting finally come to a head.

I think he knows his hands around

A cold glass

Make me wanna know that body

Like it's mine

The mission was long but you were finally finished with it. Three weeks in Dallas were more than enough for you, and you were looking forward to getting home to your own bed and your own office in Kentucky. You were aching for the privacy it offered, after spending almost a month sharing a hotel room with your fellow agent. This time you’d been paired up with Agent Whiskey, and because of that you were glad the trip was almost over.

It’s not because Agent Whiskey- Jack - was incapable. Quite the opposite. He was extremely efficient and good at his job but he was also… extremely attractive. Which was a huge distraction.

You took pride in being a capable agent but Jack and his pretty face compromised that. You’ve never been in a situation like this before. Lusting over your coworker felt extremely unprofessional, but it was impossible to ignore him. He was an in-your-face kind of guy, always butting in with a comment or joke, always using his body as a weapon. He’d lounge around your shared hotel room in nothing but a thin towel, his wet hair draped across his forehead, and you swear he did it on purpose. The man knew how attractive he was and he obviously loved flaunting it.

He was tall and tan, with soft brown hair, a pair of beautiful round eyes that seemed to sparkle with amusement, and a smile that made your knees weak. The downside was that his smile made just about everyone weak. You were living in your own personal hell. Every single day having to watch Jack be attractive without even trying, and then watch as everyone in his vicinity tried to flirt with him. Tonight he was wearing a black leather jacket and extremely tight jeans, looking more like a movie star than an undercover agent. The man could pull off anything. It’s actually unfair.

You were out at some dive bar, celebrating the end to a successful mission before flying home tomorrow. It was Jack’s idea of course, but you’d agreed because you needed a stiff drink after these three long weeks and honestly you couldn’t say no to him.

“Another round, kid?”

You glanced up and saw him staring at you, a twinkle in his bright eyes. His hand gripped his empty whiskey glass and you eyed your own half-full drink. You couldn’t throw it back like him.

“I’m good for now,” you answered.

He nodded and slapped you on the shoulder as he stood up, “I’ll get you another one anyway. You better finish that by the time I get back.”

You sighed as you watched him walk away. His ass looked fantastic in those jeans. All the training and harsh exercise routines that Champ put the team through really worked for him. No wonder he could get any pretty thing he wanted.

Speaking of which, he seemed to have turned his affections on someone else. You groaned, your eyes never wavering from where Jack stood. He was currently making small talk with the pretty brunette bartender. He was giving her the full Whiskey treatment- gazing at her with those soft, mocha-colored puppy dog eyes and giving her a charming half-grin. Watching him flirt was simultaneously entertaining and torturous. He threw his head back, laughing at some dumb joke the bartender must have said, and you almost growled out loud as you hungrily stared at his neck.

Stupid horny bastard.

He got that boyish look that I like in a man

I am an architect, I'm drawing up the plans

It's like I'm seventeen, nobody understands

No one understands

You were getting really sick of hiding your partial hard-ons and jacking off in the cold shower, but everything the man did was hot. The deep voice and accent alone were enough to get you going on most days. God, you hadn’t felt like this since high school.

If Jack noticed you staring or caught on to the fact that you took extra long showers, he didn’t say anything. You were openly out at the agency and your sexuality wasn’t a secret. When you first joined the Statesmen, you felt you had something to prove at work, as if you had to demonstrate your masculinity by keeping up with the largest members of the team. But you’ve excelled in your role for years now and you were beyond proving yourself at this point. You were just glad that Agent Whiskey wasn’t one of the people who cared that you liked men.

In fact, he treated you just like he treated everyone-- this meant he wasn’t shy about flirting and teasing you. Sometimes it seemed like he was coming onto you, but you had to remind yourself that he was like that with everyone-- you weren’t special and there was no way he was actually interested.

Before falling asleep each night, you’d listen to Jack’s soft snores and run scenarios through your head of every possible way that you could share your feelings. You thought about all of the things you could say, and all of the ways Jack could react. It was agonizing but your analytical mind couldn’t stop. You wished you had the courage to just ask him out. The worst that could happen is he’d say ‘no’ and maybe request to never work with you again, but then at least you’d be free of him.

Wanna see what's under that attitude

Like, I want you, bless my soul

And I ain't gotta tell him

I think he knows

A loud laugh suddenly interrupted your thoughts and you looked over to the bar again. The bartender was giggling and grasping at Jack’s arm. The sight made your stomach turn, and you made a quick decision to get out of there before you had to watch them start making out over the bar.

You stepped up next to Jack and finally drew his attention away from the girl.

“Hey, hold off on my drink. I’m gonna head out,” you told him.

“What? Come on now, it’s so early!”

“Yeah. I just don’t really feel like hanging out anymore. I’ll see you back there.”

Before Jack could respond, you threw down some cash on the bar and turned away. You were already across the floor and on your way out the door when a hand on your arm stopped you.

“Hey. Are you pissed at me or something?”

“No,” you muttered, trying to ignore the shot of arousal you felt when he grabbed you, “I just don’t feel like sitting in the corner, watching you flirt with some chick.”

You tried to turn away from him, but Jack let out a quiet “ohhh” of understanding. His grip on your arm tightened.

“We’ve been on this mission for weeks now, and on our last night you finally decide to say something?” Jack laughed, turning you around so you were facing him again. He invaded your personal space, ducking his head and trailing his nose along your neck and jaw.

“What?” you asked, confused because he couldn’t possibly mean...

“You're so slow, that’s what,” Jack mumbled, his lips tracing along your neck. It felt amazing, but... was Jack- your fellow agent and known womanizer- really nuzzling your neck right now?

“I'm confused, are you really into this?” you asked again, trying to hold back a moan. Jack pulled away and looked at you with huge eyes.

“God, you’re an idiot. I've been sending you obvious signs, makin’ eyes at you and showing off what I got, and now I'm literally biting your neck, and you're still asking?” Jack said incredulously. You searched his face and saw eyes that were filled with desperation and lust.

“I just assumed…”

“I like it both ways, kid. Is that clear enough for you?”

He then took one step forward and kissed you fully on the lips. There was only a moment of shock before you melted into the kiss, pressing your bodies closer and running your hands over Jack’s shoulders and back. All of your worries disappeared then. You didn't feel the terrible anxiety that constantly filled you with dread. Your mind stopped frantically thinking about every possible worst case scenario. Everything stopped. There was only Jack.

“Oh ohhhh right. Yeah I’m an idiot,” you quietly mumbled against his lips, “Want to go back to the hotel?”

“Fuckin’ finally,” he replied with a grin.

Lyrical smile, indigo eyes, hand on my thigh

We can follow the sparks, I'll drive

So where we gonna go?

I whisper in the dark

You weren’t sure how you made it back to the hotel so quickly, but as soon as you tumbled through the door, Jack had you pinned to the bed underneath him. His hands roamed all over your torso, and he pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside before quickly doing the same to his own. The room was filled with your little whimpers every time Jack ground his hips against yours. You stared up at him, his lips swollen and red bitten and eyes blown with lust, and you were positive that you looked just as debauched. He looked just as beautiful hovering over you as you’d always imagined, and you wanted to feel him everywhere.

“More,” you whined, canting your hips up into Jack’s.

He groaned and trailed his hands down your chest, his fingers brushing against your nipples, causing a moan to slip from your mouth. He continued his journey down until he reached the fly of your jeans.

“Lift up,” Jack mumbled, leaning in to kiss your neck as he tried to tug your pants down. You obeyed and soon your pants and your boxers were off, leaving you completely exposed.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he moaned, his fingers barely brushing over your erection, “You’re even prettier than I thought, darlin’.”

You groaned, pushing your body closer to Jack’s. As his hand slowly learned the feel of your cock, your own hands wandered all over his body. From his strong shoulders to his muscular back, to his waist, his hips, his thick thighs. You slipped one hand into his jeans to grab his ass, finally getting the chance to touch the part of Jack’s body you’d fantasized about the most. You could feel his clothed erection rubbing against your thigh as Jack continued steadily stroking your cock.

“Jack,” you whimpered, gazing into his dark, lust-filled eyes. You were barely able to control your thoughts properly since Jack’s pace was getting quicker and way too distracting. He grinned down at you.

“This good, baby? You want it a little rougher?” he asked, a groan slipping from his lips as you squeezed his ass in response.

Jack pushed forward and kissed you harder this time, moving his hand faster along your cock. Then he kissed his way down your neck, sucking and nipping all your sensitive spots. Suddenly he bit down hard on the skin between your neck and shoulder, following it up with a long lick with his wide tongue. That show of possessiveness was enough to push you right to the edge. You cried out as pleasure tore through you, coming in ropes all over Jack’s large hand. You gasped for breath, your chest rising and falling as your head lolled against the pillows.

Jack hovered over you, continuing to kiss your neck and upper chest as you came down from your high. “I’ve been told I’m good with my hands, can I get a confirmation on that, darlin'?“ he asked with a cocky grin.

Your eyes blinked open and you smirked at him. “You’ve got the confirmation all over your hand.”

“Ooooh, so he’s mouthy all of a sudden. Guess I just had to get you in bed to see the sassy side of you, huh?” Jack tutted.

“I’ll show you mouthy,” you muttered, blushing at the stupid euphemism even as you trailed a line of kisses down Jack’s sternum and belly.

When you reached the top of his jeans, you surprised your fellow agent by flipping him over and yanking his pants down in one fluid motion. Jack growled at the switch, but when you took his cock into your mouth, he gasped and surged forward. You enjoyed the desperate moan he made as you swallowed him completely, his hips bucking into your mouth. But you wanted to take your time with this. You grasped his hip bone with one hand and held him down, before pulling off his cock and moving to lightly lick his balls. Jack was making beautiful, desperate noises and you loved the idea that this strong, confident agent was falling apart because of you. You smiled against him and swiped your tongue along the bottom of his shaft before taking him fully into your mouth again.

“Holy hell, you’re fuckin’ amazing,“ Jack groaned as you bobbed up and down on his cock, “I’m so close-”

You sucked harder and reached your other hand down to fondle his balls again as Jack thrust into your mouth. Soon he was arching forward and shouting your name. You let him come in your mouth, swallowing his seed down like it was another shot at the bar.

When you looked up at Jack from between his legs, you grinned. He had his head tilted back, one hand thrown across his mouth as he stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily. When he felt your eyes on him, he looked down at you with a satisfied smile.

“Damn, that was…”

“Amazing,” you cut him off, “Even better than I imagined.”

“So you imagined it, huh?”

Unable to control the urge any longer, you leaned forward and pulled Jack into a sweet, affectionate kiss. You ran your fingers through his soft hair and you could feel him grinning the whole time. When you finally pulled back, he was still smiling but he also looked a bit confused.

“Why haven’t we done this sooner?” he asked.

“I was convinced you were straight. I’ve been a fucking mess trying to decide if I should say something or not,” you replied.

Jack hummed and reached for you, but you chuckled and pulled away.

“You need a shower,” you said, “Then we can talk some more.”

“Only if you join me, sugar...”

I want you, bless my soul

I ain't gotta tell him

I think he knows

[obsidiancreates]

Oh jeez, sure!

I forget the year... but I believe I was like, 11 years old, about. Freshly 11, as this was during a Christmas trip and my birthday is December 3rd.

We went to Lake Tahoe to visit our extended family. It was my and my brother's first time ever seeing snow, as we live in one of the warmer states. I remember distinctly that we had no tissues on the plane, so I wiped my nose on the knee of my jeans while my allergies acted up, and when we got out of the plane the snot froze and my jeans made crackling noises while we walked.

All this to say, we immediately got very sick. Throwing up, aches, fever, the whole shebang, and we passed it to everyone. We had like... let me think... it was my aunt and uncle, like 3 cousins, both grandparents, and a few days with our great-grandma. Plus me, my brother, and my mom. And two large dogs and a Chihuahua. All in one single-story 2 bedroom house and a like... garage-type thing used as a guest room. Fuckin' packed.

So yeah. We got sick, everyone got sick. Lots of throwing up.

Well, we're there for a couple weeks, I think, since it went into New Years. I forget if it started before or just after Christmas, but I got sick again. Throwing up, fever, the same thing as before.

Except.

Much worse.

It got to the point where I literally has to drag myself around on the floor like a zombie and carry a cardboard box lined with a trash bag everywhere I went. I couldn't keep anything down, even little sips of water. I don't remember a lot of it, honestly, because. Dying. I do remember the large girl sleeping at my side a lot an being really sweet.

Anyway, eventually we came to a night where they drove me to the nearby hospital because I was clearly very, very unwell. All my baby fat? Gone. My skin? Paler than we thought it could get. My energy? Nonexistant.

We get to the hospital. I don't remember much from there either, I kept passing out. I remember getting stuck in both wrists and both elbows with the IV needle because they couldn't find a non-deflated vein to get it in. And then the IV (it was just for fluids at the time I think, this was pre-tests and scans) made me vomit on myself, just because of the water going in.

I remember having one of those moments like a TV show, where I was being rolled through hallways on a gurney and looking up as the white hospital ceiling and lights flashed over me.

They did an X-Ray, Ultrasound, and cat-scan. Apparently during the Ultrasound they asked my mom, "Has she ever had any damage to her liver?"

Again, was mostly passed out or just unable to take in info during this time. The next thing I personally remember after the ceiling was being told to drink this awful stuff, tasted like pure Bitterness with a hint of stomach bile. And then I passed out again.

And when I woke up I'd had major surgery!

Apparently, my appendix was not only ruptured, but twisted up and jabbing into my liver. Infected, ruptured, and jabbing into another much more important internal organ! And the pain of it all?

Nonexistent. I couldn't register it at all, because I was so sick I just couldn't feel my own body pain. I had no idea there was even a pain in side, because I was distracted by literally not being able to hold even a sip of water. I was throwing up pure stomach acid half the time because I had nothing in me, but my body was still trying to get something out. Just completely overshadowed the pain of an infected and ruptured organ jamming itself into another one.

So they had to do 3 little incisions and go in with a laser and cut my appendix up into little pieces and pull it out. One of them was in my belly button, and now my belly button is smaller than it used to be, and I have a Scar within my Scar.

But the surgery went well! I bled a lot less than they thought, healed really well. I couldn't have solid foods for a while so mainly lived on applejuice. But my hospital room was by a helipad so I got to watch that take off and land a few times, which at the time was cool because I'd never seen that before. My poor mom was a wreak, because my dad had to stay home while we did our trip so he wasn't there for the whole thing.

On top of all of that, I also had Strep Throat at the exact same time.

I did get 2 teddy bears though, and after it all I went on a hike and went ice skating and sledding. It was very difficult and it hurt, because my limbs were like, atrophied from the sickness. But I did it! And I was very proud of myself!

And that's the time I almost died when I was 11.

[tigerdrop]

in lieu of doing more strenuous hand-based activities heres the Dogboy Gordon In Heat Megamix ive been talking about. i wrote this over the course of a couple months in an effort to feel okay about writing horny shit again and i only just realized there are nearly 6 thousand words here. and they only really fuck for like 10% of that

ta-dah

ive thought a lot about gordon being stuck back at gordonhouse after getting kicked out of barneyhouse. i think its ripe for a lot of pining. (and yes, he is pining over the guy hes actively banging. hes being a big mopey idiot over the fact that he doesnt get to have his fuckbuddy around 24/7.) absence makes the heart grow fonder or whatever and gordons already at a baseline of "wheres benrey. wheres benrey"......and now i am about to turn it up to 11

so lets say......gordons starting to feel weirdly under the weather. sweaty and irritable and tired. hes holing himself up in his room a lot, wrapping himself up in blankets to fight off a chill and a sniffliness that wont go away. and hes gettin awfully moody, too. real fuckin testy. starting shit with freemind for no reason and snapping at og gordon like hes a teenager. and......hes nesting, almost, or at least, gathering up a whole bunch of blankets and pillows and anything that smells vaguely like benrey. (hes not really aware hes doing this last thing.)

basically, long story short, feetman is fucked up. hes pathetic. hes being a huge bitch. at least og gordon feels vaguely sorry for him, and expresses this by way of observing him and trying to treat it. for science. its better than freemind, who just loudly complains about him being a huge bitch and reeking up the place. theres something weird coming from vr gordons corner of the house.....a musky, heady, hormonal kind of thing that makes freemind act simultaneously territorial and irritable and more lascivious than normal. and that also piques og gordons attention, because having both of them be wound up little freaks at the same time is enough to make even the most resilient person pull their hair out

now gordon primes got his suspicions as to whats going on, but hes not gonna tell vr gordon that he suspects hes going into heat. that would compromise the experiment, and all that. so poor gordons just going thru all this shit not knowing what in the fuck is wrong with him and getting more worked up and irritable about it by the day. hes convinced that hes just got the flu, or something......except, uh, haha, jesus christ he is horny all the FUCKING TIME

he doesnt get it! he feels like shit all the time, so why is he constantly fighting off boners and having weird wet dreams and thinking about-- well. his fucking boyfriend, he guesses. (are they boyfriends?? he doesnt know. he gets a weird, sharp pang when he thinks about them not being boyfriends, at this point, but its not like theyve ever talked about it!) gordons half-convinced that hes just losing his mind from being stuck inside all the time and he really just wants to see benrey again. its, like, all he thinks about. (see? hes losing it. theres the proof.)

the sucks thing for everybody else is that gordon is also Extremely Vocal about how shitty he feels and how much he wishes he didnt feel shitty so he could go see benrey and how much he cant stand benrey for not being able to read his mind and come over when he feels bad. eventually freemind gets so sick of his shit that he decides to cut out the middleman and get benrey involved directly. "come take care of your fucking dog before i call the aspca! animal neglect is a crime, asshole!"

(if pressed, freemind would adamantly reject the idea that hes being nice to gordon. but on some level, hes kinda sympathetic. the guys clearly miserable, and he just keeps asking for the same fucking thing. might as well humor him to shut him up.)

vr gordon is completely unaware of these machinations, however. hes just holed up in his room trying to work out what makes him feel better because, uhh, powerade isnt helping

jacking off doesnt do a whole lot for him anymore. like, it feels good, but its not very satisfying. gordon just ends up feeling more restless than anything afterward. and hes always stupid horny. more blankets. a box fan. less blankets. sleeping with one of benreys shirts pressed up to his face. grinding into his pillow when he wakes up hard from yet another weird dream. theyre all a little helpful, and he feels like hes working towards the right thing, somehow, but its never really enough to take the edge off

and then.....he tries......jerking off more. especially when he realizes that its bizarrely soothing to do so while he can smell benrey up close and personal on that stupid shirt of his. better still when he rolls onto his side.....and then his stomach.......rocking his hips into the mattress until he gets the idea to lift his hips a little. and......oh. cool. something kind of......clicks. in his head. as he raises his hips higher while he keeps his arms wrapped around a pillow and benreys shirt jammed against his nose. hes got that lil moment of realization that this is good, actually. this feels like a good move. and its making some of that discomfort melt away

and gordon thinks about.....how it felt. earlier. when they were with barmey. and benrey had him just like this, ass up, face down, and was spreading him apart and licking him open and making him submit and he groans so fucking hard that embarassment just rips through him like lightning. but his tail starting to wag a little faster.....electricity shooting through his belly......and he cant help but wonder. what if benrey had kept going? pulled back and-- maybe, replaced his tongue with his fingers, one at a time, curling them inside him and telling him how well hes behaving and-- and his dick throbs, hard, and gordon realizes he wants fingers inside of himself right fucking now, thank you, hes not fully certain how to accomplish it be he is going to fucking try

(sigh) so my guy figures out about the old fingers in the ass trick. and i need you to understand that i am fully convinced that this is one of those guys who has an uproarious reaction to getting fingers in his ass. mr repressed and uptight over here doesnt really get what the big deal is until he gets braver and pushes a little deeper and hes rock hard in an instant, goodbye, just like everybodys favorite creative writing exercise

and this is what he decides to do for a solid day or two without leaving his room, because, honestly, this is awesome. and the longer he spends jerking off the less time he spends stressing about the fact that his imaginations getting really vivid, here. sure, like, hes no stranger to weird dreams even before this, but this is the first time hes really letting his mind run wild and this dude is nonstop thinking about being bred and gordon still has no fucking idea that hes in heat. doesnt even occur to him

unfortunately this also does not solve his problems but at least it feels baller and it keeps him occupied. also, unfortunately, the increased rate of jerking off is causing a serious uptick in Dog Smells, the effect of which is turning freemind into a nightmare. its just not good vibes in this house. enter: benrey

now i need you to understand that when these two meet up again i want gordon to get Emotional. think about how genuinely excited he gets to see some of his pals in canon. the like......excitement and disbelief when benrey shows up outside his window throwing rocks at it before noclipping in. he forgets to even act pissed off at first. i think it would be super fucking cute for him to drop the game for a moment just out of shock, basically. his tails waggin, his ears are perked up, and hed probably tackle benrey to the ground if he wasnt also a sweaty, trembling mess whos been holed up in his room for days.

and benrey has No Fucking Idea what he has walked in on here. as far as benrey knows, freemind just demanded he get over there and take care of his dog.

(INTERLUDE: here is the part where i gin up a freemind POV of this exact scene. b/c i am out of my fucking mind

so. i had the thought of a freemind POV chapter where hes spying on gordon and benrey.....because. gordons in heat. ive talked about that scenario before too (literally so many FUCKING times okay i just need this dude to have the uncontrollable urge to be bred like a little bitch! and for benrey to take pity on him and make him feel better by nutting in him literally as many times as is physically possible!!!)

but i wanna manifest it in this specific way: from an outside perspective. voyeurism is great and also i have a one track mind and basically the only time i traffic in Other Guys in this fandom anymore is as a participant in gordon and benreys horse shit. Im not apologizing for this

lets say.....vr gordons behavior has been getting worse and worse for "unknown reasons" and freeman prime just sees it as a key observational opportunity for his research. while freeminds getting really irritated at how much its cutting into his normal way of life. for one thing, vr gordons room reeks, and he cant even escape it in his own room! and its turning him into a feisty, aggressive, and loud son of a bitch. but he cant even resolve it in his usual fashion at this point (baiting vr gordon into another competition/fuckfest) b/c gordons being a little sadsack holed up in his room and doesnt wanna play

but also.....he kinda just feels bad for the guy at a certain point. hes clearly really miserable and looks downright ill and all hes asking for is to see his boytoy again. (gordons convinced that hes dying, and feels the need to dramatically speak to benrey one last time before he croaks.) so freemind decides, in all his benevolence, to go over gordon primes head and drag the guy over there anyway. (with machinations, not his literal bare hands. what is he, a caveman?) he reasons that itll be a good opportunity to twist gordons arm into groveling at his feet later

and he spies on the two of them in gordons room.....why? idk. possibly something to do with investigating this relationship between a gordon and a barney that he had yet to fully analyze. tl;dr he gets trapped in their closet for a remix of that one barmey voyeurism chapter b/c why the fuck not

i just.....i dont know.....i think theres something really charming about a 3rd party not being able to fully make out what theyre saying or doing but piecing things together anyway.....like benreys weirdly soft tone of voice when hes talking to a super agitated gordon. as far as any of them know, hes not really like that. he either sounds bored or smug, but either way, its usually straight-up antagonistic

it would make freemind bristle to hear it b/c its almost a mocking tone, but.....it makes gordons shoulders drop and gets him to let go of some of that tension and thats probably fascinating to watch. literally soothing him like a stressed out dog, huh. smoothing back his hair and murmuring things in a low, even tone that freeminds enhanced hearing still isnt good enough to make out. (the guy mumbles, okay? he needs a fucking toastmasters meetup.)

it would equal parts horrify and fascinate freemind, in my onion. watching a version of himself fall that hard into the loyal pet role.....its pathetic! for all that gordon goes on about not being a slave to his instinct or whatever, he sure is doing a bad job of acting like it! its like watching himself, but worse.

and benreys having to soothe him like a startled animal b/c he doesnt even know whats wrong with himself, but theres something thick enough on the air that even benrey can smell it, and hes taking some stabs at the dark. especially with how charged some of the shit gordons saying is......"i cant fucking take it anymore", "you smell so good", "i dont know whats wrong with me, man, my dick hasnt gone down for days and im pretty sure i need a doctor-- no, a real one, not the other gor-- NOT a vet, JESUS"

and the whole time.....freeminds peeking from behind a closet door. watching them devolve from outright hostility into "gordon climbing into benreys lap and shoving one of benreys hands up his shirt and demanding that he fucking touch him already"

normally i dont think freemind would be averse to a little bit of voyeurism, here. if it was anybody else, hed probably at least engage in a little heavy petting. but this is getting weird, man. he cant shake the uncanny feeling that this is something too intimate for him to be watching. for one thing, gordons whimpering like a goddamn dog just from a little necking, and for two, hes never really been the kind of guy to watch people make out for 15 minutes before they get to the good stuff

its just kind of unsettling how much these two clearly really, really like each other at this point. its not like watching gordon prime give vr gordon a handjob as part of a "test". freemind expected more of a hatefuck kind of deal out of these two, what with how often gordons normally going on about how much he hates the guy, what a pain in the ass benrey is, how he just wishes benrey would stop jerking him around.....etc. freemind could shit himself right now. that lying bitch!

i imagine its also kind of painful, on a personal level, for him to watch this borderline-sappy shit. he cant even fathom being on the receiving end of that behavior, let alone from......well. theyve all got their barneys, right? and gordon primes basically doomed himself to incel status b/c he wont nut up and do anything about it. freemind just assumed they were all in the same boat: cursed to casual sex with their roommates/clones, forever, and unable to achieve any kind of intimacy b/c all 3 gordons are fucked up in the exact same way. since theyre all just diff flavors of the same fucking guy, right?

well, theres the evidence that hes wrong. and that vr gordons better than him, somehow. thats gotta suck, bro

anyway then he watches vr gordon get railed in the ass a bunch and jerks off anyway b/c its still hot. see ya)

“take care of your dog”. huh. hes got no clue what that means but, yknow, he does kinda miss his dog. hasnt seen gordon in awhile. and he immediately comments "wow. you look fucked up" in as blunt and unsympathetic a way as possible. but gordons so far gone that he cant even work up a good anger about it. he is pretty fucked up, man. and benrey sits on the bed and slaps his forehead with a palm to take his temperature (and that gets gordon to bitch at him, finally, that thats not how you do it, asshole) and judges that, uh, he is hot. in his expert opinion

and thats when gordon kinda grabs his sleeve and tugs it and starts tryin to say something. hes really bad at it, because he is having to perform the mortifying task of Owning Up To It, but eventually he manages to grind out that he needs benrey to touch him, please. just pet him. something. he feels really bad and he just needs benrey to scratch his fucking ears. this is the most gordon can cop to in one go, and it is such a sad struggle to watch, but benreys caught off guard by it and he feels weirdly bad for gordon upon hearing it so  hes just like "whoa, okay" when gordon tugs his hand to his head

gordon groans the moment his fingernails start scratching behind the ears and digging into his scalp. even just that much feels really fucking good. its comforting, for one thing, and its benrey, for another, and the physical touch feels so fucking good right now that goosebumps are crawling down his neck. gordon cant help but lean against benrey and bury his head in the crook of his shoulder. he wants to hide his face from scrutiny and he wants to get closer but he doesnt know how to say what his fucking problem is

and benreys weirdly quiet. just kinda mumbling and shushing him intermittently, awkward and not sure what to do b/c this is a level of intimacy he was not expecting but gordons sure is responding nicely to a second hand in his hair

so having both of benreys hands scratching at his scalp is really getting to gordon. hes scritchin behind the ears and gordons tails wagging at a mile a minute. the feelings making goosebumps race down his neck and arms. he starts kind of mumbling something into benreys shoulder, how hes been feeling so fucked up lately, and he squirms a little closer. hes not really aiming for anywhere in particular but every neuron thats firing in him right now is telling him to get closer. make contact. he missed the fucking guy, what can he say.

and one of benreys hands......slips down to gordons face. his jaw. a thumb pushing into that soft little divot between his jaw and neck, like hes trying to push up into gordons fucking teeth. its weird and bizarrely intrusive, but benreys hand is broad and warm and gordon leans into it anyway, groaning with relief. its not like its not doing anything for him. kind of the opposite, actually. then he palms at gordons neck, and gordon starts breathing harder. he can feel his heartbeat rabbit-fast, pushing against benreys skin (and theres no way benrey isnt feeling that, too).

benrey eyes are lidded and his breaths starting to get heavier, too. naturally, yknow, since gordons practically draped over him right now, melting all the more the longer benrey keeps petting him. oxytocin is crazy, man, especially when a guys in the full throes of some kind of chemical meltdown of the glands. gordons eyes are screwed shut, tail thumping furiously against the bed, and hes panting at benreys neck like hes a fucking dog.  he just doesnt know how to articulate what the fuck his problem is

benrey smells insanely good to him right now, and gordon just blurts that out. benrey gives him some shit for it, but when gordon only makes a weird noise in response and fists his hands in benreys hoodie, it makes him shut up real quick. hes squeezing out words about feeling like he needs something, but its clearly a fucking effort. its almost pitiful

so. gordons crawled right into benreys lap, too impatient after days and days of feeling like this (you know, being in heat, in so many words). hes been pounding off like crazy, that brand new collar of his strapped to his neck nearly every time b/c hes that desperate to feel… well. *benrey*. he cant fucking jerk off to thoughts of anything else - porn doesnt do it for him, and his fantasies slip right back to the same thing every single time. its frustrating! hes bisexual, for gods sake! its not like hes normally immune to the wiles of the Phat Ass White Girl, but lately he just keeps ending up on his hands and knees and whining benreys name into his pillow and he couldnt focus on a girls rack if he tried

point being. hes being awfully fucking demanding. (and also, hes wearing the collar *right fucking now)*. he shoves benreys hand up his shirt and shivers the moment he makes contact with gordons burning-hot flesh. and hes demanding that benrey touch him already, jesus, hes losing his mind! and benreys just crooning at him, “bossy, huh,” but hes scritching gordons ears and palming at his side and nosing at gordons neck and gordon starts to feel like hes melting into it. his protests at being talked down to are perfunctory at best

benrey licks a stripe up gordons neck and starts muttering his stupid horseshit right in gordons ear and it makes gordon clutch his shoulders so tight, claws digging into the meat of him. benreys kind of into it, though, and it just makes him laugh, low and harsh and right in gordons ear. that just makes gordons problem worse. he lets out quiet, nasal whines on every exhale, like a literal fucking dog.

he starts teasing, like, “haha, you’re *gagging* for it, bro,” but gordon doesnt respond with the defensiveness he expects. instead, its like opening a floodgate - he is, hes fucking *desperate*, okay, his dick hasnt gone down in days and he wants benrey so bad he cant see straight and he cant stop thinking about him and all of this comes tumbling out of him at once. gordons trying to press himself as close to benrey as he can physically get, legs straddling benreys lap and arms clutched tight around his back. and when benrey prods a little more, tells gordon to say what hes been thinkin about, gordon starts to pant, squeezing his eyes shut. but he cant bring himself to do anything more than choke and stutter on the words

hes half-hard in his underwear already (and, lets be be clear, he was only in boxer briefs and a tank top to begin with. hes sweating buckets and its the least amount of clothing he could get away with wearing around the house) and his tails thumping a mile a minute and hes so far gone, just from benrey talking down to him and kissing his neck and scratching his ears. but hes not budging yet, so benrey slides that hand on his ears over to his ponytail and *yanks*. tells him, “speak.” gordons dick twitches rapidly, and he lets out a sharp sound, and he finally says it: he needs benrey to *fuck* him, jesus

benrey lets out a harsh breath at that. “yeah? thats what puppy wants?” and the nickname should blister him, make him feel to embarrassed to continue, but gordons too desperate to care. he just starts spewing a litany of “god yes”s and “please”s. hes getting harder and harder, pressed up against benreys belly, and benrey can *feel* it. “good boy,” he mutters, and those claws dig harder, that panting gets louder and harsher

he slips a hand around to gordons back, rubbing slowly for a moment as if to soothe him, and then slides it under the back of gordons boxers. and lower still. starts rubbing at gordons hole. that gets a quiet “oh god” out of gordon.

gordon cant help himself - he rocks forward against benrey, just a little, rubbing his bulge against what he realizes is benreys *extremely* hard dick in his sweatpants. hes not the only one whos got it bad. but he *is* the only one whispering, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” as benrey pushes a little further, makes as if hes about to breach gordon dry. the poor guys so needy that he probably wouldnt even argue!

but benrey just stares at him, wide eyed and flushed, mouth hanging open a little. gordons so hot for this that it surprises the both of them.

anyway after some boring position finagling benrey coaxes gordon onto his hands and knees, running a broad hand down gordons shaking back. and he pulls back gordons tail, exposing him. its so fucking humiliating - gordons got his face buried in a pillow, and his ass in the air, and hes never felt so *vulnerable* before. he wants to argue, he wants to lift his head and look back to make sure that everythings, like, okay back there - benreys staring at his entire asshole, okay, and he wasnt exactly anticipating benrey making a house call to fuck him in the ass - but every time he lifts his head, or starts to say something neurotic about it, benrey chides him about it. clicks his tongue. tells him, “hey. dogs dont talk” or “i said *bow*, bro”.

for all his insisting that hes a real guy, that hes not just a dog, gordons feeling less and less like a human and more like something in thrall to his instincts. the condescension rankles like it always does, but doing what benrey tells him to feels good. feels natural. presenting himself like this feels like what hes *supposed* to do. it doesnt stop him from running his mouth entirely, but it helps to mitigate some of the embarrassment.

and then… benrey *licks*. gordon tenses and gasps. he doesnt know how benrey can stand it, its gotta be, like, unhygienic! but that didnt scare him off the last time they tried this, and its not like gordon hasnt thought about it since. hes thought about it a lot, actually. but hes been too neurotic to ask for it. benreys not stupid, though. hes a good dog owner (at least, so he thinks) and hes gonna take care of his dog. so he licks again, and again, pressing a little harder against gordons hole on each pass with the broad side of his tongue until he dares to breach it with the tip.

gordons rock hard again in an instant. his dick hangs between his legs and drips onto the sheets. he digs his fingers into the pillow now, tearing holes in its surface with those sharp nails of his, and he makes embarrassingly high noises that he muffles into into the pillow, too. hes tense, hes so fucking tense, he should be clamping down and making benreys task really fucking hard, but theres bright pink sweet voice dripping from his hole and benreys rubbing the side of his thigh in an effort to soothe him and both of these things work in tandem to get him to relax. and benrey works his tongue in further, further than a human ought to.

the tip was one thing, but it gets wider as benrey pushes it in, and its just as good as it was before - better, even, because now its just the two of them, just a master and his dog, and benreys the only one he wants to see him like this. bent over and whimpering. he cant— he cant stomach the thought of anybody else doing this to him. hell, there was a point once where the idea of stomaching *benrey* doing this to him would have made him laugh. but here he is. benreys fucking him open with his tongue and pressing against something thats making him see stars and gordon just wants *more*. he says it so sweet, too, voice growing hoarse and raw as he begs benrey to just fucking do it already, he doesnt wanna come like this!

gordon gets so worked up and emotional about it that benrey takes the time to scratch behind his ears again, shushing him and telling him to chill. benreys got him. hes been a good dog, and good dogs get treats. hearing the words “good dog” makes gordons entire body flush. thats all he wants, really. he wants to be a good dog. he wants to be *told*. he blurts out, “oh my god— say it again,” and benreys like, “huh? say what? youre gonna have to be more specific,” clicking the last syllable. it makes all the hairs on gordons head rise and prickle with shame. the best he can do is mumble it into his pillow.

benrey hears it, though, and tugs at gordons collar from behind, just enough to raise his head. “whassat? you want me to call you a good boy?” gordon cant bring himself to answer that directly, but his stupid body betrays him by making him whine. jesus christ, yes, thats all he WANTS! he needs benrey to be good and nice to him for once in his fucking life and give him what he wants instead of taking, taking, taking! but benrey just tells him that hes gonna have to earn it. gonna have to be *real* good for him. gordon could fucking snarl at that, but benreys pulling back to rub his dick between gordons cheeks and against his hole and that shuts him up pretty fast because hes *so close* to getting what he wants and hes not about to fuck it up now by running his big dumb mouth

and then… he starts to push in. that sweet voice has loosened gordon up enough to take even benrey, who, uh, is definitely the bigger of the two, in that regard. he goes slow, uncharacteristically so, and gordons chest heaves with the force of how hard hes breathing. a quiet string of “oh god”s spills out of him as he tries to crane his neck back to watch. the head breaches him with a strange popping sensation, and benrey groans, loud, as the rest of him slides in with little resistance in comparison. “good,” he pants in turn, “youre takin it so good,” and—

and gordon comes, in weak, aborted spurts. it snuck up on him. he clenches so fucking tightly that it winds benrey a little. he breathes out, “whoa. did you—” but gordon just begs him to shut up, keep going, hes not— hes not done yet, its always like this, its not *enough*. his dick barely even flags afterward, it just hangs there, achingly hard and dripping with cum. benrey cant even find it in himself to make fun of him. he wants it so fucking bad, doesnt he? and he feels so good, so fucking tight and slick around benrey that the only thought running through his head is “gotta take care of my dog gotta fuck my best friend gotta nut in him and make him howl”. so he pushes himself alllll the way in until theyre pressed together, skin to skin.

then he starts to move. slow, careful thrusts, more for benreys benefit than gordons. if hes not careful, hes gonna blow his load, right then and there, and hes trying to make it good for gordon, too, okay? unlike *some* of them, hes not gonna bust in two minutes and then spend the next half hour crying and trauma-dumping to the guy hes still got his dick inside of.

once he thinks hes got a grip, though, benrey starts fucking him in earnest, and that changes gordons vocalizations from weak little whimpers into something louder. less restrained. hes given up any pretense of being quiet so that his other selves dont hear that hes snuck his boytoy into his room. just loud, wordless moans on each thrust, initially muffled into the pillow but soon spilling into the wider room when he turns his head to catch his breath. the only words hes managing are “oh god” and “please” and “benrey, benrey, *benrey*”, and benrey just responds to him like, “yeah? thats good? fuuuck, bro, so good for me,” all short of breath and barely able to speak himself

he wants to see gordons face. he *needs* to see gordons face. needs to see what hes doing to him, needs to see that cute fuckin blush of his. so he tugs on gordons collar again, bringing him to his hands and knees properly instead of that bowing position. and then further still - pulls him back so that benreys on his knees, and gordons on his knees in turn, on his lap, cock still buried inside of him and fucking him in short, hurried thrusts. “paws up,” benrey tells him, and gordon does it. instantly. no resistance. just folds them at his chest like a real dog would.

“whos a good boy?” benrey croons, right in his ear again. gordon gasps, “i-i am!”

“yeah? youre a good boy?” nod, wail. “whose— whose good boy are you?”

and gordon chokes on his response. he cant say it, he *cant*, he doesnt want to be benreys but he does, he *does*. he doesnt want to be benreys because its not fucking fair! he cares so fucking much! so much more than benrey does, it feels like, obsessing over the guy like hes wrapped thorny vines all around gordons heart and he cant so much as shift in his seat without feeling the tug and the ache and thinking of benrey again. and benrey doesnt care, he never fucking cares, except—

except he showed up at gordons house, in his room. without even being asked. like he knew something was wrong. and he— hes always talking to gordon, shooting him stupid texts just to make him laugh. scheduling *date nights* for them. date nights where, yeah, maybe they couldnt see each other in person, and maybe they always end in some kind of depraved sexual act, but its not like gordons not into it. hes frighteningly into it, actually. and hes *so* into hearing benreys voice, low and crooning, right in his ear, and seeing him lean on an elbow and smile at him afterward. its— its practically genuine. and benreys always making excuses to talk with him, do things with him, watch stupid fucking movies that only gordon cares about and stream with him on twitch to help boost his subscriber count and—

and—

oh god. maybe he *does* care. that might be more terrifying than the alternative.

then benrey yanks the collar again. presses the whole of gordons back against his front in one hot, unbroken line. and asks, “i said, whose good boy are you, bro? *speak.*”

“benrey,” he blurts out, a ragged moan, “d-dont make me sa-AY it, oh god—”

“no?” benrey stills suddenly. his hands keep gordon stuck in place, unable to move or bounce or feel benrey shift inside of him. “thats, uh… thats too bad, friend. this trains for good boys only. good dogs go to heaven 2. no bad dogs allowed. gonna have to, uhh, escort you off—”

“im not a bad dog!”

“i dunno, gordo. bein’ kind of, uh… disobedient.”

(sorry. thats all i got . byeeee)

[nikki-writes-stuff]

Straight Lines and Sharp Angles (Tony Stark x Reader)

Summary: After finding out that Tony Stark is your soulmate, you spend the next several years avoiding the wild, cocky playboy. But when he shows up on your doorstep one day asking for you to give him a chance, you start to reassess your assumptions about the man with your matching soulmark. 

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader, Soulmate! AU

A/N: I still don’t know if this is going to be a oneshot or not, but for the moment there aren’t any warnings here! Maybe just fluff if you squint; I didn’t realize I was so soft for Tony Stark before writing this! I hope y’all enjoy. Let me know if you think I should write a second part. 

Tony Stark – it was a household name, one that everybody had heard of, no matter what country they lived in, what language they spoke. Nearly every person in the world had heard of the famous billionaire, and you’d grown up hearing his name on the news.

Up until the day you were 16, he was just another celebrity, albeit one that you looked down upon. Nearly every month, he was in the papers for doing something reckless and stupid, but at least it made for good entertainment. However, that all changed after one of his more drunken interviews on Access Hollywood.

When your mother had called you into the living room that day to watch it, you’d been confused by the shocked, almost horrified look on her face.

“Mom, what is it?” you’d asked, furrowing your eyebrows. “He didn’t blow up a country, did he?”

“I… No,” she’d said carefully.

“Screwed the first lady?”

“No. But-“

“Skinny dipped in a public fountain again?”

“Honey, just… Just watch.”

Picking up the remote, she’d gestured for you to sit down beside her before pressing play. Perplexed, you’d dropped down onto the sofa, watching as the famous philanthropist swayed drunkenly on his feet.

“Mr. Stark,” the reporter started, “Is it true that you broke a world record for the amount donated to UNICEF in one year?”

“Oh, please,” he slurred in response. “The point in giving to charity is to do it out of the, the goodness of your heart. So I will by no means confirm the fact that you just stated. It just wouldn’t be, be ethical to mention the literal billions myself and my company have given to charity in the past couple o’ years.”

The reporter had smiled at that, but you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath.

“So are you out celebrating tonight, then, Mr. Stark?” the reporter carried on.

“Oh, yeah; Playboy called and said their models are eternally grateful for my contributions to humanity.” He winked at young man beside him, who only grinned and nodded. “So I’m headed over to the mansion to let them thank me in person, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea.”

“Mom, this guy is a complete douchebag,” you said, “but I don’t see why you wanted me to-“

“Shh! Just watch.”

With a sigh, you did as she said, watching as Tony seemed to sober up a bit, looking into the camera.

“Sorry - I’ve been told it’s not good for business to talk about banging supermodels. Plus, I mean. I can only imagine how pissed my soulmate is by now.”

For a minute, the reporter froze, his eyes darting to the cameramen in surprise before turning back to the billionaire.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, but I wasn’t aware that you had a soulmate.”

“Oh, yeah,” the young man laughed. “Shit, my bad. I’m not supposed to talk about that on tv. Fuck, Obadiah is gonna kill me-“

“Are you and your soulmate together, Mr. Stark?”

“What? No. Fuck, you think I’d be out right now if I had a hot piece of ass waiting for me at home?” He stumbled on his own feet for a second, and he reached out to stabilize himself on one of the cameramen. “Shit- Nah, I haven’t even met her yet. At least. I mean, I think it’s a she. Might be a he, who knows? But, I dunno, I just have a feeling that they’ll have tits.”

All of a sudden, Tony looked as if he’d just come up with a brilliant idea, and before anyone could say anything to stop him, he was reaching down and pulling his t-shirt off, flinging it somewhere behind him. And, all of a sudden, you realized why your mother had made you watch this debacle of an interview.

Tony Stark had a soulmark that sprawled from his left shoulder down to his right hip, and it was made up of a geometric pattern. The mark contained crisp lines and sharp angles, all coming together in unique shapes that stretched across his torso. Your mouth went dry, and you felt the blood drain from your face as you stared at it and the man who it belonged to as he pointed at the camera.

“If you’re out there,” he started, but a hiccup shook his entire frame before he could continue. Blinking his eyes a few times, he shook his head and tried again.

“If you’re out there, and you have my matching mark, please, just…please contact me. Send me a letter, shoot me an email, fuckin send a carrier pigeon – just let me know you’re alive, at least.”

From there, he made to say something else, but he suddenly looked as if he was going to be sick. His face took on a greenish tinge, and he covered his mouth and turned away from the camera, stumbling away by a few feet. Your mom paused the tv at the first sound of his retching, and for a long moment, you just sat there in silence, feeling the weight of what had just happened settle over your shoulders.

Your eyes trailed down to your thigh, to the geometric soulmark that had been painted across it since you’d been born. You’d always liked to think about who your soulmate was, what they would be like and how the two of you would meet. But never, in all of your years of fantasizing, had you ever imagined you would be bonded to a celebrity. Much less an arrogant, loud-mouthed, entitled playboy.

“…Sweetheart, I… I’m so sorry. He had no right to speak about you that way-“

A bark of laughter escaped your mouth, and you looked to your mom incredulously.

“He has no right to do any of the shit he does,” you fired back, and your mom didn’t even try to correct you on your language.

You’d stood up, pacing the length of your living room, feeling a cold dread start to settle in your stomach.

“…He’s not my soulmate,” you eventually declared, eliciting a sharp exhalation from your mother.

“Sweetie, his mark looked just like yours-“

“Well, I don’t care,” you interrupted her. “He doesn’t get to be my soulmate. And not just because he talked about my tits on national television. It’s because he makes his billions off the suffering of others. He manufactures weapons, for God’s sake. And he thinks that a few donations to UNICEF is gonna make up for it?

“I would rather die than be with Tony Stark.”

_____________

Years passed after that fateful day when you were sixteen, and you went to painstaking lengths to make sure Tony Stark remained unaware of your existence. Even after he hung up his weapons development and turned into the beloved, lauded Iron Man, you couldn’t find it within yourself to reach out to him. In your mind, he would always be the same spoiled, drunken brat you’d watch humiliate you on Access Hollywood.

Ever since then, you only ever wore pants that covered your whole leg, even in the summertime. You didn’t have any social media profiles, and if anyone asked if you had a soulmate, you would lie and say you were one of the many who’d been born without a mark. Even when you moved to Massachusetts to start college at Harvard, you did your best to stay out of the limelight, instead choosing to throw yourself into your studies. And despite the temptation, you avoided all news that pertained to Tony Stark.

But, despite all of that, you still had a social life. You had a good, tight-knit group of friends, and you were mostly happy with where you were at. You were in your second year of college, and you were living on your own in a tiny, matchbox apartment just three minutes from campus. And you had grown comfortable with what you had.

Too comfortable.

Because one day, when your good friend Jade asked you for the millionth time to hang out at her parent’s pool with her, you’d said yes. She’d worn you down with promises that it would only be you, her, and a few of your mutual friends, and you’d reasoned that it wouldn’t hurt if the people who were closest to you knew about your soulmark.

And, sure enough, the pool day came and went without incident. You went, you swam, you dodged any questions they had about your mark, and you quickly forgot about the entire day within a week of it happening.

But on the seventh day after the pool, you heard a knock at your door.

_____________

“Coming!”

You put down your textbook and rubbed your eyes, glancing at your phone. It was 6:45 in the evening, and you’d once again gotten carried away with your homework. With a sigh, you stood up from your bed and stretched your arms above your head, listening to your joints pop with the movement.

Once again, a firm knock came to your door, and you let your arms drop to your side with a huff.

“I said I’m coming!” you called out, crossing the small living space.

Unlocking the door, you went to pull it open, but it barely moved an inch as you tugged at it. It wasn’t the first time that had happened; in fact, every day you told yourself that you would get one of your friend’s dads to come help you fix the door jam, but over a year had gone by without you doing anything of the sort.

With a grunt, you pulled on the doorknob with all your might until, finally, it popped open. You huffed, pushing some hair out of your face as you straightened up.

“Sorry about that. It sticks someti-“

Your words died on your tongue when you saw who was standing before you. You blinked, wondering if you were dreaming as you stared blankly at Tony Stark, who was looking between you and the door with arched eyebrows.

“…Candy gram?”

You huffed, looking down to the large bouquet of red roses he held in his hands. His hair was slicked back, and he was sporting his usual impeccably-sculpted facial hair. Plus, you knew next to nothing about men’s fashion, but even you could tell that his charcoal-gray suit had to have cost him thousands of dollars, if not tens of thousands.

“Um… Hi,” you greeted, shifting on your feet. “Can I help you, Mr. Stark?”

Once more, his eyebrows twitched, and he took a step forward.

“You know… For most of my life, I’ve been preparing a little monologue for whenever I finally got to meet you, but for the life of me I can’t remember a single word of it,” he admitted, a ghost of a smile spreading across his lips.

You nodded your head, still unimpressed.

“Does any of it include how you found me?”

The smile faltered on his face, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“I have my A.I. routinely check the internet for any image matches to my soulmark,” he explained. “Your picture popped up this morning, so I flew over from Malibu and-“

“Wait, my picture? I don’t have any pictures of myself up on the internet. Not any that have my soulmark in them, at least.”

Tony furrowed his eyebrows and made to reach into his jacket pocket, trying to juggle the large bundle of flowers for a second before giving up.

“Uh… Here, hold these for me,” he said, all but shoving the roses into your arms. You scrambled to accept them, immediately getting hit by a wave of their scent as you watched him pull out his phone.

After unlocking it, he turned it around to face you, showing you his home screen background. Your eyes widened as you looked at the picture of yourself in your swimsuit, smiling at something off camera with your soulmark in plain view. You hadn’t even remembered seeing anyone take your picture, but there was no denying that it was from Jade’s pool party.

“I… I didn’t post that,” you stammered. “How did you-“

“Someone named Jazzi put it on her FaceBook,” he explained, shoving the device back into his pocket. “Friend of yours, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah…” You trailed off, frowning. “But, wait, you set it as your phone background?”

He didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish.

“Well, yeah. I mean, my soulmate turned out to be a smoking hot college girl. Why wouldn’t I have you as my screensaver?”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you shook your head, not knowing what to say; your world had suddenly been tilted on its axis, and your brain couldn’t keep up with it.

“So,” he continued on, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “I thought that we could have some dinner together tonight. You know, wine, dine, get to know one another. From there, I can have your things moved to my place – you’re gonna love Malibu. It’s so much nicer than Massachusetts – summer, all year long. Beaches, palm trees-“

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said, holding a hand up. “Just… Pause for a second. Pause. You want me to move in with you?”

“Well… Yeah. I’m on the wrong side of 40, hon – I’ve waited long enough, I think. Now, I’m starving. Do you like Italian? I know a place close by-“

“Tony!” you interrupted.

He stopped in his tracks, his mouth still open as you shook your head.

“I’m not… I’m not going to move in with you,” you told him incredulously. “I can’t just put my life on hold at the drop of a dime. I have my own home; I’m in college. I’m not going to leave that behind just because you showed up at my doorstep saying you want to make up for lost time.”

Tony sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets as he chewed on his bottom lip for a second, thinking over what you’d just said.

“…I get that,” he finally conceded. “I guess that would be a little too fast. …Alright, well, I can buy a place up here, I guess. We can live there until after you’re finished up with university-“

“Ok, you’re…clearly still not getting this. Tony, has it occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, there’s a reason why you haven’t found me until now?”

At that, he was left speechless, and for a second you wondered how many times in his life someone had managed to leave him without anything to say. You could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he tried to fathom the idea, and you used his silence as an opportunity to speak your mind.

“Listen, I get that you’re a big deal. I mean, you have your own action figure for crying out loud. But I’m perfectly content with where I’m at right now. I don’t need a reckless, arrogant billionaire showing up in my life thinking he owns me just because we happen to have the same pattern on our skin.

“Now, if you want to get to know me, I guess I can live with that. And maybe something will one day come of it. But if I do ever move in with you, that’s gonna be years from now. And any kind of relationship we do go into is going to have to move slower than what you’re clearly expecting.”

As you spoke, you could see Tony’s face start to grow more and more somber, and there was an edge to his stare that made goosebumps spring up over your arms. His hands were balled up into fists in his pockets, and once you were done speaking, he ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered his next words.

“…You don’t know a thing about me,” he started off. “Reckless? Yeah. Arrogant? Maybe on a bad day. But there’s a whole different side to me that you would be able to know if you just gave me a chance. Do you know how much it’s hurt? To watch the years tick by, knowing you have someone out there that the universe hand-picked for you, but still not able to do anything about it except sit and wait with your thumbs up your ass until something turns up?”

“Not as much as it hurt me to hear you objectify and humiliate me on television when I was sixteen years old,” you fired back. “And, yeah, my heart bleeds for you. However hard it was for you to wait for me, I’m sure the women, booze, and drugs did more than enough to numb the pain. I’ve been meaning to ask you, how did that evening at the Playboy mansion go, hm?”

“…I had no way of knowing you were only sixteen,” he tried to defend himself. “And that was one time; it was a drunken mistake, and I don’t even drink like that anymore. And, for the record, I haven’t touched drugs in years; I’ve gotten better-“

“And yet you show up here, thinking a bouquet of flowers and a fancy dinner will be enough to get me to move in with you? Even if you’ve gotten better, I can’t just look past that arrogance, Tony. If you want me in your life, you’re gonna have to prove it.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked back into your apartment, slamming the door shut behind you. The last thing you saw before it closed was the look of hurt on Tony’s face as he watched you walk away, and you waited by the door until you heard the click of his footsteps as he walked away. As soon as you were sure he was gone, you felt the dam inside of you burst, and tears started leaking down your cheeks as you lowered yourself into one of your dining room chairs.

You sat there for a while, crying and clutching the flowers, watching as your tears dripped down onto their blood red petals. Because even though you’d been avoiding Tony for your entire adult life, and despite the fact that you’d meant every word you’d said about his arrogance, you still couldn’t deny that there had been a small, treacherous part of you that had wanted to go with him to dinner. That was the part of you that whispered to you, saying that he was still your soulmate, that there had to be a reason why he was your chosen one, even if you couldn’t see it.

But, as you dried your tears and stood up to find a vase for your roses, you snuffed that voice out. Whether or not Tony would get his chance with you was now completely up to him. If he was willing to show you that he would be able to put away his pride and work with you towards the relationship he wanted so desperately, then you would give him a chance.

But miles away, soaring through the air, Tony was developing his own plan. He’d spent enough time waiting. And now that he’d found you, he was gonna make damn sure that you didn’t slip away from him again.

_____________

You’d worked at the campus coffee shop as a barista for about a year, now, and you’d grown to enjoy it. It wasn’t your favorite among the three jobs you kept to afford rent and student loan payments, but it definitely wasn’t the worst. You’d gotten to know your regular customers, and your coworkers were generally cool people, easy to get along with. You were used to the little routine you had at the café, and that was why it was so jarring when, in the middle of your shift, a UPS delivery man walked in with a large package, claiming it was for you.

“I… I didn’t order anything,” you’d tried to tell him. “And even if I had, I wouldn’t have given my work address.”

“Look,” he’d sighed, “your name is on the package, and I had very specific instructions not to leave until you’ve accepted it. Can you please just sign for it?”

With an annoyed huff, you’d done as he asked, taking your 15 minute break to open it in the back room. Your coworkers had all watched the scene with piqued interest, but you’d shrugged them off when they asked any questions.

Cutting through the tape and cardboard, you sliced across the top seam of the box and opened it…only to find three more boxes. Shoe boxes, to be specific. One was labelled from Miu Miu, one read Christian Louboutin, and the third was from Louis Vuitton. You gulped, opening them each up to find the most stunning pairs of high heels you’d ever seen.

You jumped when you heard a gasp sound from behind you, and you turned to see your coworker Anna staring over your shoulder.

“Oh. My. God! Those shoes are to DIE for,” she squealed. “Ohmygosh, can I hold them?”

Arching an eyebrow, you handed her one of the Miu Miu heels, which were encrusted in glittering gemstones that you were sure couldn’t be actual diamonds. No one would be able to bring themselves to wear diamonds on their feet, right?

“Holy fuck, I think these are real diamonds!”

Well, shit.

“How in the flying fuck did you manage to afford these?” Anna demanded, handing the shoe back to you reluctantly. “Did you get yourself a sugar daddy?”

“No,” you immediately answered her. “No. This is just… It’s a long story. But I’ll tell you one thing – I will not be keeping them.”

“What? Girl, are you crazy? …If you’re going to get rid of them, could I have maybe just one-“

“I’m giving them back to the asshat that sent them here in the first place, Anna,” you informed her. “I’m 99% sure I know exactly who it is, and if he thinks he can buy me, then he’s got another thing coming.”

There hadn’t been a return address on the package, and so at the end of your shift and before your American History class, you dropped it off at your apartment and told yourself you’d get them back to Tony later, not even thinking to wonder how in the world Tony had been able to guess your shoe size perfectly.

The next day, though, while you were working your shift at the campus bookshop, yet another package had come for you. This time, it was a Chanel purse with a note attached to it that simply said, ‘I’m sorry.’ You’d simply snorted and thrown it into the box with your unwanted shoes that night when you got home, only mildly concerned that Tony had found out A) where you worked, and B) your work schedule. But, you reasoned, if he’d been able to find out where you lived, it wasn’t that surprising that he knew the rest of it, what with the resources he had at his disposal.  

The third gift, though, went above and beyond the others, and it crossed a line that you hadn’t even thought Tony Stark would cross.

That night, you’d come home from your day of classes, feeling relieved that no other delivery men had tracked you down to give you an insanely expensive package. You’d changed into your pajamas and snuggled into bed, ready to watch some Netflix and get a head start on homework.

And, of course, that was when you heard the doorbell.

With a sigh, you’d stood up and marched over to the door, ready to tell Tony that it was too late for him to bother you and prepared to force him to take back all of his gifts. But, instead of your soulmate, a delivery woman was standing at the door, holding a package in one hand while a crate rested at her feet.

“Are you (Y/N)?”

With a sigh, you nodded your head and signed for the gifts, not even wanting to fathom a guess at what Tony had in store for you this time. After accepting the crate in her hands and setting it down on your couch, you watched in surprise as she picked up the crate, cooing to whatever was inside of it before holding it out to you.

“I hope he’s able to find a good home with you,” she said, smiling, and your heart clenched when you heard a soft whimper come from inside.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said, shaking your head. “Please tell me there isn’t a living organism inside that box. Please, tell me he didn’t-“

You were cut off by a sharp, high pitched bark, and you backed up a step.

“I can’t accept this,” you told the woman, and you watched as she pursed her lips.

“Well, whether you want it or not, there’s a dog in here for you. And I was told that, if you didn’t take it, it’s going to the nearest pound.”

“I…”

You trailed off, watching as a small, wet nose poked out of one of the thin slots in the crate. You didn’t have a dog, nor did you want a dog at the current point in time – you could barely afford to feed yourself, much less a pet.

But you weren’t heartless, and you couldn’t bare to send an innocent animal to a pound that, for all you knew, could be a kill-shelter. And so, with a heavy feeling in your gut, you took the crate and closed the door behind the delivery woman, setting it on the ground and kneeling down to open it.

Inside was the most beautiful puppy you’d ever seen. It was a Samoyed, and its fluffy, pure-white fur offset its big, black eyes and its dark, button nose. It squirmed in your hands as you lifted it from the crate, and your heart all but melted when, after you sat it down, it climbed into your lap and rose up on its back legs to put its paws on your chest.

“Well, hey there, little guy,” you murmured, reaching down to the collar on its neck. It had a circular pendant hanging from it. On one side, there was a phone number listed, one that you didn’t recognize, and on its other side there was a name printed on its gleaming silver surface.

“…Ozzy, huh? Nice to meet you, Ozzy. I’m so sorry that you’re just a pawn in a rich man’s game to win my heart, but…at least you’re cute.”

Ozzy panted as he looked up at you, and you found yourself scratching behind his ears as your eyes fell onto the other package that had come with your new household member. You leaned over and pulled it to you, peeling off the tape as Ozzy waged war against one of your slippers.

Inside of the box, there were all the supplies one would ever need to take care of a dog. There was a black harness that came with two matching leashes, and further down you found two marble bowls for food and water. There were also more toys for Ozzy than you’d ever owned cumulatively during your childhood, and beneath it all there was a small, embroidered dog bed that had “Ozzy Stark” embroidered on it in gold thread. You huffed at the last name, wondering if it would be too petty to use a pair of scissors to remove ‘Stark’ from it, but you reasoned that you wouldn’t resort to that just yet. After all, you didn’t even know if you would be keeping little Ozzy.

That night, you took Ozzy outside to walk around for a little bit, and after he did his business, you went back in to set up his supplies. Luckily, Tony had included puppy food in his doggy care package, and so you served up a bowl of it for Ozzy to chow down on. From there, you put off your homework and played with him, watching his antics with a smile on your face; he really was adorable.

Despite the fact that his bed had probably cost more than yours, Ozzy slept curled up against your side all night, and you had to admit that you slept sounder than usual with him tucked against your hip. And when you woke up to him laying sprawled out against your stomach, you couldn’t hold back the happy grin that had come over your features. Luckily, it was your one day off during the week, and so you were able to sleep in, watching the little puppy slowly wake up.

As he lifted his fluffy white head up and yawned, your eyes caught on the tag hanging from his collar. More specifically, the phone number printed on the back of it. You chewed on your lip, weighing the pros and cons of giving Tony a call, but you reasoned that it was your only day off during the week – if you were going to return all of his pointless gifts, then it would have to be today.

And so, after taking Ozzy outside for a short walk, you took a seat on your bed and pulled him into your lap, dialing the number and waiting with bated breath as the phone rang.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Tony said, having picked up right after the third ring. “How’s our son doing?”

“He’s not…” You huffed, letting yourself fall back against your pillows. “Tony, c’mon. You can’t just get me a dog.”

“Why? You allergic? ‘Cuz Samoyeds are actually hypoall-“

“Tony, you know why! This isn’t a pair of shoes or a purse – which I’m fully planning on giving back to you, by the way. This is a living being! I’m too busy to take care of a dog. And he’s going to grow up to be big; he’ll need more space than I can give him.”

“I know. I’ve thought about all of that,” your soulmate assured you. “And I have a proposition for you.”

“Tony, I’m not going to move in with you-“

“So you’ve said. Look, just… Can I come over? I’d kinda like to be able to see your face again. It’s a nice one.”

“I…”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“You’re the most difficult human being on the planet.”

“Aw, love you too sweetie. I’ll be over in five.”

With that, he hung up, leaving you just barely enough time to get dressed. You threw off your pajamas and pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt before frantically arranging your hair into something mildly presentable. You studied yourself in the mirror even though you told yourself that you didn’t care about what Tony thought about your appearance and straightened up as much as you could, throwing dirty clothes from your floor into your hamper and washing as many dishes as you could before a knock sounded from your door. Your heartrate jumped when you heard the tap-tap-ta-tap-tap, and you hurriedly dried your hands off before walking over to let him in.

Once again, the door jammed as you tried to pull it open, but with a bit of finagling you managed to pry it away from the frame. There Tony stood on its other side, holding a box of donuts and wearing, this time, a burgundy button-up with a black tie.

“I brought breakfast,” he announced. “But you have to let me in to have one.”

You rolled your eyes but, wordlessly, stepped aside, closing the door behind him as he took a seat on your old, threadbare sofa. You crossed your arms as he turned his head, taking in the small studio, his eyes lingering on the chipped paint on the walls and the water stains on the ceiling.

“…Well, this certainly is an apartment,” he deadpanned.

You were about to say something snarky back, but Ozzy chose that moment to jump into Tony’s lap, prompting a wide grin to spread over the man’s face.

“Well hey, there, buddy,” he cooed, scratching behind his ears. “You been wearing her down for me?”

“No,” you answered for the dog, taking a seat on the opposite end of the sofa as your soulmate. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised that you bought me an entire-ass dog, but I am.”

“What can I say? Chicks dig puppies.”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head as you reached for the donuts; you were hungry, after all.

“I can’t keep him, Tony,” you reminded him. “I mean, he’s really sweet, but it just wouldn’t be responsible for me to have a dog right now.”

“Oh, I agree,” he replied, arching his eyebrows. “At least, not when you’re living here. With not one, not two, but three jobs. Fuck, how you’re not exhausted 24/7 is beyond me.”

“I am exhausted, Tony,” you sighed. “All the time. But some people weren’t born rich geniuses.”

“But some people are born as their soulmates,” he pointed out. “And you haven’t heard my latest offer yet.”

“A relationship isn’t a transaction, Tony-“

“I will buy you a house,” he spoke, stopping you dead in your tracks. “One that’s not too far from your campus. And I’ll give you a weekly allowance so you don’t have to work so much; all you’ll have to focus on is your classes, Ozzy here, and yours truly. And before you say anything, I won’t be living with you in this deal. I mean, I’m totally going to buy some property really close to you so I don’t have to fly up from Florida a couple times each week, but you’ll have your own space.”

You gulped, turning his words over in your mind; if this were anyone else, you’d tell them that they’d have to be a fool not to accept this offer. And Tony had clearly thought a lot about this a lot.

“Oh, I do have some conditions, though,” he added, as if it were an afterthought.

“…Ok. What are they?” you asked warily.

“I wanna see you at least two times during the week,” he started. “And I want to be able to spend at least one day out of the weekend with you – Saturday or Sunday, take your pick. And one other thing.”

At that, he leaned forward, scooting closer to you on the couch, and you noticed that his face had gone stone-cold. There was no joking whatsoever in his eyes, and there was no hint of a smile on his features. Your own eyes widened; you’d never seen him look like this, not even during his famous ‘I am Iron Man’ press conference.

“I want you to give me an honest chance,” he said solemnly. “I know I’ve done some stupid shit in the past, but I meant it when I said that you don’t know me. Not yet, at least. So no more of this ‘arrogant billionaire’ bullshit – I’m asking for a clean slate in return for a full-ride through the rest of your college career. And a shot to make it work with the person you’re destined to be with.”

You bit your lip, looking away as you processed everything that he’d said. If you said no, you knew, without a doubt, that you’d spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you’d said yes. You would still have your pride, sure, but you would also have a student debt that you’d never even be able to dream about paying off. And the sentimental, optimistic side of you whispered that you would lose your chance of getting to know the person behind the mask Tony wore, the person who shared a destiny with you.

“…Deal.”

Relief settled over Tony’s features, and he closed his eyes as his wide, joyful grin returned to his face.

“…Thank you,” he murmured, almost under his breath. When he finally did look back up at you, he leaned forward, his hand planted on the sofa cushion beneath him.

“Would a celebratory kiss be too much to ask for?”

“Yes, Tony,” you chuckled in spite of yourself. “Yes, it would be.”

“Damn.”

__________________

Moving day came only a week later. Tony had emailed you several listings that were within five minutes of Harvard’s campus, and you’d at first balked upon seeing that not one of them was below one million dollars. You couldn’t say that you were surprised; the location alone was enough to drive any property’s worth up by a considerable amount. But you’d still felt guilty as you looked them over.

“Are you sure this isn’t too much?” you’d asked him over the phone.

“Hon. I could buy all of the homes on this list and still have enough money to live comfortably for over a century. Pick whatever you want.”

You’d eventually picked one of the more modest listings, comforting yourself by forcing Tony to take back the shoes and purse he’d bought for you. From there, you’d packed up all of your belongings and posted your furniture to Craigslist; your over-zealous soulmate had already hired an interior designer for your new townhome before you’d been able to warn him not to do such a ridiculous thing.

And now, the day had finally come to move your little life from your ratty studio apartment to a three-story brownstone on the other side of campus. Truth be told, everything was moving so fast that the week had gone by in a blur. Tony had left you alone for the most part, busying himself with getting your house ready for you, and you’d put in and worked your one-week notice at your three jobs. Anna had known right off the bat that your quitting had something to do with the mystery man who’d bought you the shoes she so coveted, but she surprised you by not saying anything about it, merely telling you on your last day that she wished you luck and happiness.

Now, you were dressed in an old pair of overalls and a Rolling Stones t-shirt you’d stolen from your dad as a child, and your hair was pulled back as you lifted your boxes into the moving truck Tony had hired. He’d had a meeting that morning in New York, but he’d assured you that he’d be able to make it back in time to help you with moving them into the new place.

You’d assured him it was alright, but he’d still insisted on hiring movers. After about two minutes of watching the men carry your boxes down the stairs and into the moving van, though, you’d insisted on helping them with the work. And now, here you were, shoving your last box of books into your van as Ozzy barked from the front seat. You’d asked the movers to crack the window and blast the A/C for him, but he was still anxious from being away from your direct line of sight.

“Alright, I think that’s it,” one of the movers said. “You all set to head out, young lady?”

“Just a second! I need to leave my key under the mat for my landlord.”

“Okey doke. Well come on down to the truck when you’re ready to. We’ll keep it running for you.”

“Thanks so much!”

After dashing upstairs and leaving your key, you turned to walk back out of the old apartment building. But you paused for a moment, turning back and taking one last look at the space. So much had changed in such a short time, and you couldn’t quite believe you were leaving this behind. But despite where you were going, despite how uncertain you were of the future, you knew that you would always be proud of the person you’d worked to become while living in your tiny, broken down apartment.

Taking a deep breath, you turned around and walked out to join the movers, and you offered them small smiles as you climbed into the backseat of their truck.

From there, it was only a twenty minute drive to the other side of campus, and you watched as the buildings along the way started becoming nicer and nicer, dissolving from worm apartment buildings popular with the students to sophisticated brownstones favored by the wealthiest of the university’s professors. You couldn’t believe that you were going to be living among them, in a house with three floors and a small, fenced-off backyard.

A suspicious voice whispered to you in your head, saying that it felt too good to be true because it was, but you pushed it aside. Today, you were solely focused on the move, and you’d be damned if you let your anxiety ruin your day.

Part of your optimism faded, though, when you saw a sleek sports car parked in front of your building, with none other than your soulmate leaning against its hood, a pair of gaudy sunglasses perched on his nose as he tapped away at his StarkPhone. You fought against the urge to roll your eyes when you saw that he, too, was wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt under his black blazer, but it was too late to change now; hopefully, your overalls would cover yours up enough for him not to notice.

After the movers parked the van, you picked Ozzy up and exited the vehicle with him tucked under your arm, squirming with excitement as Tony walked over to greet you, a wide grin parting his lips.

“What took ya so long?” he asked, eyes darting up and down your figure in a way that brought heat to your cheeks. “And one of us is gonna have to change.”

Damn.

“Hello, Tony,” you sighed, finally letting Ozzy down while keeping a firm grip on his leash. “How did your meeting go?”

“Boring – painfully so. But the rest of the day looks promising.”

“What do-“

“Holy cow, is that Iron Man?”

You were interrupted when one of the movers approached you, jaw slack in disbelief as he looked between you and your soulmate. You watched as Tony’s smile dropped into something plastic and practiced, indulging the mover by striking up a conversation with him as you turned to unlock your new home’s front door. The other mover, bless him, seemed unaffected by the superhero’s presence, and so the two of you began unloading boxes as Tony took a selfie with his enthralled fan.

“Woah, hey,” he suddenly interjected, gesturing for you to put down the boxes in your arms. “These guys got that covered; I thought we could go get lunch while they finish up.”

At that, both of the movers started working in earnest, and you glanced between them and Tony, arms still full.

“I mean… I feel bad just leaving it for them,” you reasoned. “And there really isn’t a lot to move – shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. You can wait for me inside, if you want to.”

A bemused huff escaped the billionaire, and he quirked an eyebrow at you before starting to shrug out of his jacket. You watched as he threw it onto the hood of his car before brusquely taking the boxes from your hands and starting to carry them inside.

“You know, I did hire them to do this so we wouldn’t have to,” he grumbled, but there was a fond gleam in his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder at you on the way in.

Pleasantly surprised, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you grabbed the next box from the van, making sure to put Ozzy in the downstairs bathroom so he couldn’t escape through the open door. With the four of you working together, it only ended up taking five minutes to complete the move; you really hadn’t owned a lot of things, a fact that Tony was clearly unsettled by.

“So, is that it?” he asked once you were done, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on his brow. “All of your things? Clothes? Kitchen stuff? Books?”

“That’s it,” you confirmed, turning towards the movers as they started towards the cab of their truck. “Thank you guys, by the way. I appreciate the help.”

“No problem, miss,” the one who wasn’t Tony’s fan assured you. He, on the other hand, had been making moon-eyes at your soulmate the entire time, and if you’d been more invested in your relationship with him, you might have even felt jealous.

“Oh, before I forget,” Tony suddenly startled, reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out a black leather wallet and fished out a few hundred dollar bills, causing your eyes to widen as he handed it to his still-enraptured fan. “Divvy this up between the two of you; thanks for helping my soulmate out.”

Now, their eyes widened, and even the more chill of the two men stared between you and Tony. You felt as if your cheeks were going to catch on fire as he smugly smiled and turned towards you, placing a hand on your lower back and spinning you around to steer you towards the house.

“Now, about lunch…”

___________________

The two of you ended up going to a boujee outdoor bistro for lunch, located smack dab in the center of the nearby shopping district of town, and you were already deeply regretting your decision not to change into something other than your paint-stained overalls. The menu didn’t even have prices listed, for crying out loud, and there were things like ‘herbed Israeli couscous with preserved lemon’ and ‘brunch galette with spring greens, herbs, and feta’ on it. You couldn’t even pronounce some of the items, but Tony looked right at home as he ordered a bottle of champagne for the two of you.

“Starting to drink early?” you asked, arching an eyebrow, but he’d just grinned and shrugged.

“Champagne hardly counts as drinking,” he defended himself smoothly.

As the two of you waited for your drinks, you fell into a silence that was, at least for you, supremely awkward. To distract yourself from it, you stared down at Ozzy, who was curled up at your feet with his leash looped securely around the armrest of your chair. The bistro apparently not only allowed dogs, but actively encouraged them, if the bowl of whipped cream your waiter had brought out for him earlier was any indication.

“So… How’d you like your new digs?” the man across from you suddenly asked, and you turned to find his eyes locked onto your face, his chin resting atop his fist as he rested his elbow on the table.

“It’s…nice. Still entirely too expensive,” you added, at which he playfully rolled his eyes, “but it’s nice. …Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he immediately fired back. “It was part of our deal; I’m getting something out of this, too.”

You glanced up as the waiter suddenly appeared to pour the two of you champagne, and despite your initial protests, you found yourself gulping down half of your glass as soon as it was filled. When he asked for your orders, you just blandly stated that you’d have whatever Tony was having, but your soulmate seemed immensely pleased with your words before launching into his order.

Once the waiter had retreated to the kitchen, he turned back to you, tilting his head slightly as he took in your features.

“Has your opinion about me changed at all?”

You were momentarily taken aback by such a sudden question.

“…Tony, it’s going to take more than just gifts to get me to like you the way you want me to.”

“Oh, I figured. You wouldn’t be the one for me if they were. But what will?”

You bit your lip, tracing the lip of your champagne flute with the tip of your finger.

“…You said that there’s a side of you that you don’t let people see,” you started. “Tell me about it.”

The man smiled, mischief gleaming in his eyes.

“Only if you show me yours, too.”

You nodded, and he leaned back in his chair, snatching up his flute and taking a quick sip of the bubbly booze.

“What do you wanna know about the ‘real’ me?”

“Whatever you think is important.”

He paused, considering that as his eyes flickered between you and the puppy at your feet.

“…You make me incredibly nervous,” he started, taking you off guard. “I’m used to people pandering to me at least on some level, either because of my money or fame or their sense of ‘gratitude’ for me, you know, saving the world on a few occasions. But not you. And I like that about you, I do. I hardly know you, and I already love your sass. But I’m not used to it in the slightest.”

Unexpected warmed bloomed in your chest, and your lips twitched up into a smile to match his as he carried on.

“I got you the gifts because that’s what I’ve always done in relationships in the past, but I was secretly glad when you gave back the shoes and the purse. …Not enough to stop buying you things, obviously, but most girls I’ve met took the presents even if they insisted they weren’t in it for the money.”

“So you have tried to date other girls?” you asked, not feeling surprised or offended that he’d date people that hadn’t shared a matching soulmark with him.

“Jealous?” A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes, but you only raised your eyebrow at him, prompting his smile to fall by a few centimeters.

“I wouldn’t call it dating,” he eventually sighed. “But it’s been, uh…lonely. I would swear off relationships for a year or two at a time, saying I was gonna just buckle down and wait for you, but then I would meet someone and feel that spark and think, what the hell? Might as well.

“But they, predictably, never worked out, and then I was back to waiting. And the cycle would repeat itself.”

You felt a pang of sympathy for him, seeing the earnestness of his words in the set of his shoulders and the depths of his eyes.

“…I have to admit,” you murmured, “I’ve never pictured you feeling lonely before. The possibility hadn’t even come to my mind.”

He shrugged, trying to make light of something you knew weighed on him.

“Well. Now I have you to bother, so I don’t expect to feel that way much longer.”

For the rest of your lunch date, the two of you made easy conversation – easier than expected. All of Tony’s comments were laced with carefully constructed humor, but you quickly realized that it was just a coping mechanism, a way of protecting himself from sounding too vulnerable when discussing matters that hit a little too close to home.

During that first deep conversation, you found out that, though his relationship with them hadn’t been perfect, Tony still missed his parents deeply, and that a lot of his actions stemmed from a place of wanting to make them proud, even in death. He was also a genius, but while he was very much aware of that fact, he didn’t flaunt his knowledge nearly as much as you thought he would.

He briefly touched on the Avengers, but it was still too soon after Captain Rogers’ defection for the subject to not be painful for him, so you steered the conversation back towards lighter matters, noting the grateful look on his face after you did so.

In return, he asked you question after question about your life, proving to be a better listener than expected. He soaked up everything you had to say, learning about your family, your hobbies, your preferences. As it turned out, both of you enjoyed art, and while you didn’t consider yourself a gifted artist by any means, you enjoyed listening to his opinions about different genres and classical painters.

By the time your food arrived, you were so in deep with your conversation that the waiter startled you as he arrived with two artfully arranged plates.

“Here you are,” he gushed, his voice filled to the brim with pride as he served your famous counterpart. “Creamy oven risotto with crispy roasted mushrooms and lemon-pepper chicken.”

After placing the food in front of you both, you noticed a small bowl tucked into the crook of his elbow, and you smiled as he knelt down in front of Ozzy, presenting him with it as if he were a patron at the table.

“And some frozen strawberry yoghurt for this little one,” he cooed, giving the pup a pet behind the ears before straightening up. “Can I get anything else for you three?”

“No, thank you,” you assured him, picking up your fork.

The food, predictably, was delicious, and both you and Tony were quiet as you dug into it with relish. Ozzy, too, gorged on his food, getting pink yoghurt all over his face as he dived headfirst into his bowl. The two of you laughed at his antics, and by the time you were finished with lunch, you realized that you felt…content.

Tony really was different than what you were expecting. He was still slightly full of himself, aware of his own accomplishments to a fault, but he was also considerate of yours. You’d always pictured him as the type to talk over others while flaunting his superior intellect, but he was more down-to-earth than you’d ever hoped he’d be. After the two of you finished and the check was paid (all of your offers to help cover it had been met with eye rolls and pseudo-glares), you didn’t even hesitate to take him up on his offer to stroll through a nearby park before heading home and starting to unpack.

The weather was bright and sunny as the two of you watched Ozzy run down the sidewalk, his tail wagging so fast that it was just a little white blur as he sniffed at everything that crossed his path, and you walked and talked until Tony got a call at 4 o’clock. F.R.I.D.A.Y., his AI that, as he put it, ‘ran his life’, had informed him that it was from someone named Happy, and he’d apologized before stepping to the side to answer it.

As you took a seat on a nearby bench and watched him talk, you felt your own phone start buzzing, and you pulled it out of your pocket to find that it was your mother calling.

“Hi, Mom,” you said as you accepted the call.

“How did moving go?”

Your mother, when you’d first told her about your deal with your soulmate, had been apprehensive, to say the least. She’d never forgiven Tony for the way he’d unwittingly spoken about her daughter, and she’d made it clear that, while she would support your decisions, she didn’t trust your soulmate as far as she could throw him.

“It went well,” you assured her. “He actually carried boxes.”

“I know,” she sighed, and you could all but picture her rubbing her forehead in exasperation. “There are already pictures of the two of you floating around on the internet.”

You bit your lip, unconsciously darting your eyes around the park if you could see anybody sneaking pictures. It was mostly empty, though, with the only person in your range of vision being Tony, but you were still nervous about what you would see when you searched for yourself on Google later that evening.

“He’s…been really nice,” you admitted lamely. “Today has been really good, so far. He took me and Ozzy out to lunch-“

“I still can’t believe he mailed you a dog.”

“…And now we’re walking around a little park close to campus.”

“Has he said anything rude to you?”

“No, mom. I promise. If he does, I’ll slap him just like you said to.”

“Kick him in the balls for me while you’re at it.”

You huffed out a laugh, perking up when Tony hung up his phone and started making his way over to you.

“I have to go,” you told your mom. “But I’ll call you as soon as I get home.”

“You’d better.”

“I will! Love you.”

You hung up after she echoed your last two words back to you, and you watched as Tony lifted one sculpted eyebrow, glancing pointedly at your phone.

“Should I be jealous of someone?”

“Not unless you see my mom as competition.”

A relieved smile came over his features, and he held out his hand to help you up off of the bench. You didn’t comment when he kept it in his as he walked you back towards the entrance of the park, but you did let go when a couple of joggers did a double take while passing you on the trail. For a second, you thought you saw disappointment flash over his features, but he made no comment as the two of you made your way back to his car.

“So, what did your mom have to say?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“…Well, she started by asking how moving went,” you began, wondering if you should tell him about her distrust. “I told her you were very helpful.”

The corner of his lips quirked up at that, and he shot you a glance from the corner of his eyes.

“She’s not a fan of me, huh?”

You were puzzled by his deduction, and it must have shown on your face.

“I figured. I wouldn’t be a fan of me, either, if I were in her shoes.”

“I find it hard to think of you as being anything but a fan of yourself.”

A hiss of laughter escaped from behind his teeth, but his expression was surprisingly devoid of a smile.

“Your soulmate ended up being a self-righteous playboy who’s nearly 20 years your senior,” he deadpanned. “Not really the type of person you bring home for Thanksgiving.”

“…If it makes you feel any better, I’m probably going to end up hosting my family’s Thanksgiving this year. And I’ll invite you.”

At that, he did smile, and a part of you was relieved to see it.

“It does, actually. Thanks.”

The rest of your walk was done in silence, with both of you watching as Ozzy became less excited and more sleepy with every step. At his first yawn, you bent down and scooped him up into your arms, and by the time you’d arrived back to Tony’s Lamborghini, he was fast asleep with his nose tucked against your chest. The sight was enough to make your heart melt, and you jolted when your soulmate reached over to rub his upturned belly, his fingers just barely grazing against your breast as he did so. Even though you knew it was unintentional, your cheeks were once again enflamed as he opened your car door for you.

The two of you only spoke next when you were stood on your doorstep, whereupon Tony hesitated as he stared up at you from his place at the bottom of your steps. Neither of you knew how to say goodbye, and neither of you knew whether or not you should address the instant connection you’d made over lunch. You didn’t regret giving him a chance, and while you were still apprehensive of the man you’d been avoiding for the past several years of your life, you couldn’t help but wonder, almost hopefully, if he’d kiss you goodbye.

“…I had a good time today,” you started, clutching your puppy even closer. “Thank you for lunch. And, um…the house.”

The both of you chuckled at that, and Tony kicked his heel, digging it into the concrete beneath him with something resembling bashfulness; the sight was endearing, as was his honest smile.

“Thanks for giving me a chance,” he replied. “It’s…probably more than I deserve.”

Your heart squeezed at that, and after a moment of deliberation, he determinedly rose up onto the second step of your small porch and leaned closer, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. It was over in a moment, barely as long as a heartbeat, but his lips were soft and warm against your flesh, and you’d been able to smell his warm, spicy aftershave as he leaned close.

“Call me,” was all he said before turning around and climbing into his car, leaving you with a fluttering heart as you walked into your house and closed the door behind you.

Something had blossomed somewhere behind your ribcage, and it took you a second to identify it as your thoughts swam and spun around Tony. It was hope, you realized, and a small smile spread over your lips.

It was hope, and it was beautiful.

[wilhelmjfink]

Daryl Dixon Drabble #6 - Part 4 (Finale)

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST BRI GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!!!

I absolutely despise how Tumblr formats these on mobile. If anybody knows how to fix this, let me know PLEASE

thnx for waiting

—

You assumed it was around high noon when you woke up, judging by the thick layer of sweat that replaced your sleeping bag in hugging your entire body. It was now sprawled across the canvas floor, forgotten, and your hair clung to the skin of your forehead. And between the heat and the events of the prior night, you felt almost feverish and sick.

It was a nice surprise that nobody had disturbed you, though — and you silently hoped that theme continued throughout the remainder of the day as you begrudgingly emerged and reveled in the cool fresh air that greeted you on the outside of the sauna that was simply a tent in the Georgia summer heat. Judging by that sun... it was going to be another miserably hot day.

Before, you had never been one for swimming in any body of water that wasn’t a clean and chlorinated pool. Maybe it was the small part of you that had been spoiled, but ponds and creeks weren’t your favorite means of cooling off until you, quite literally, had no other choice; but you would always fondly reminisce of the in-ground swimming pool at your moms house growing up as you waded into the cloudy pond water. You were only ever there one week a month, so it was a damn luxury even then, and a far-fetched dream now.

The suns reflection shimmered on the water ripples you caused as you waded in and you sighed contently, actively trying to ignore the constant lingering scent of fish and mud and algae as you scrubbed your filthy fingernails against the soap bar in your hands, lathering it up enough so that, maybe after one or two rounds, your skin might begin to feel relatively clean again. Your now-soaked tank top clung to your skin — you think maybe it was white at one point, but decided not to question the faded stains that decorated it now.

Dunking beneath the surface you rubbed your fingertips vigorously against your scalp, silently wishing you hadn’t spent years taking advantage of all of the luxurious products and fancy soaps always at your disposal. Fuck — even a new, cheap 50¢ soap bar would be like gold right now compared to the slimy old bar in your hands. Your hair was dry and coarse, and admittedly you’d be mortified at the current condition of it if you had any time to worry about anything other than not starving or getting eaten alive. You scrubbed your eyes free of the murky water and stretched, content to take your time and daydream for the moment until you had to start your day. You’d been left alone, and figured it was intentional.

Good. You could get some shit done.

So you hadn’t expected to turn towards the shore and find Daryl standing there, frozen like a deer in headlights when your eyes met — yeah, modesty had gone out the door for you months ago, but you couldn’t fight the smile that crept up on your face when Daryl instantly whipped around and threw a hand up to shield his eyes as if he had really anticipated finding you pond bathing, what, fully clothed? What was he expecting to see?

“Shit,” he stammered, “uh, ‘m sorry, I just —“

“I do have some clothes on,” you replied as you fully emerged onto dry land and doubled over to pick up your dirty towel tossed carelessly into the grass. Even in the skew of the sunlight and shadows you could see the flush creep up his neck and cheeks and turn the tips of his ears pink. But you found yourself wanting to squash any sort of relief or joy you’d first experienced upon noticing him there when last nights fiasco began to run through your mind. You had no idea what he possibly wanted with you — was he going to chew you out again? The mere notion had your stomach twisting in knots as you rung out your soaking wet hair and cast your eyes back down to the ground and away from his own piercing gaze that had returned upon hearing you weren’t completely nude.

“I thought.. I thought you were doin’ laundry,” he explained, again turning away as he spoke, quickly and sheepishly. Like a child caught red-handed, he was always fleeting and nervous and ready to escape. “Nevermind, ‘m sorry, I’ll — “

You didn’t allow him to finish because, when you saw him start to take a step forward and leave, you lunged your hand on to his shoulder. Where the sudden balls came from, you had no fucking idea. Daryl was the one notorious for his bravery when everyone else needed the strength, but situations like this? He would turn tail and run away at the very first opportunity you even hinted at that might give him some sort of escape. But the way you saw it, he had obviously sought you out for a reason; and the way that things had ended last night left a bad taste in your mouth that you, whether you admitted it to yourself or not, we’re desperate to alleviate.

“Stop.” It was a bit more forceful than you’d intended but you were so positive that he would break into a sprint just to get away from you at that moment that you didn’t try to soften it. To your surprise, he stiffened, but nonetheless halted in his tracks. “Do you need something?”

Almost as if to prove to you that you knew nothing about him the way you thought you did, he spun toward you abruptly: “M’sorry — for last night.”

The apology took you by surprise in the best way, uncoiling the anxiety that had slowly begin to twist around in your gut. He had a way of keeping you on your fucking toes, it sure seemed. Quite literally speechless, he’d blindsided you, and you shook your head to clear the swarm of thoughts and prioritize your next words knowing that you didn’t have a lot of time to voice them before he would inevitably shut you out again or take off running. “Wait,” you tried, feeling him start to pull away at your lack of an immediate response; you could see the uneasiness etched in his features and even feel it in his stance. “Wait —“

But he cut you off, just like he did when he was chewing you out back in the woods the night before. This time, however, was far different, and you couldn’t quite decide what exactly had changed.

“Jus’ listen to me for a second, alright?”

He was breathing heavily and rapidly through his nose — not from overexhetion, but in an unreliable attempt to keep his voice steady and confident. You nodded in response.

The tensity in his body, the stiffness in his muscles, it was tangible — his legs were actively trying so hard to move him away from the situation, to let him pace like the caged animal he always reminded you of, desperate to run and hide. He wanted so desperately to speak, but seemed unable to form the words.

“I didn’t... I never meant to...”

Seeing him so vulnerable and helpless, it absolutely broke your heart as you stood there watching. Waiting. Waiting for some other words to come to you because the ones that you kept drumming up inside your head just weren’t good enough to fall on his ears.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Daryl’s head dropped, and he choked out a sob.

You felt strangled. The breath was knocked from your lungs at the sound. The guilt that followed was crippling and seized your entire body within its white-knuckled grip, but was almost instantly overshadowed with fear; fear and regret and shame and you thought you might be sick with the overwhelming emotions before you just decided to throw your arms around his broad shoulders, standing on your tiptoes, pressing your still damp body so close to his that maybe you could meld the two of your souls together.

“I’m sorry, Daryl.” Face pressed into his chest, your words were muffled and wavered unsteadily as you struggled yourself not to break down. “I never shoulda said what I said. It was fucked up, but it was a lie. I swear I didn’t mean it, I just wanted to piss you off.”

“That don’t make it okay to hurt you!”

Admittedly, you faltered at his reasoning, but your mouth kept rolling on autopilot because you knew how Daryl would take to your silence as a reply. “No, but —“

“No, it ain’t ever okay to do what I did.”

He shook you off with a violent shrug of his shoulders, your arms falling limply to your sides.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you,” you offered, not surprised when he shook his head in response and gestured wildly with his hands on either side of your head, hands clenched in fists, almost as if he was fighting some internal battle and, by the looks of it, losing miserably.

“Ya don’t get it, Y/N!” He spun on his his heels, abruptly turning away from you and replacing that distance between the two of you that you were growing to detest. “Ya don’t get it. Ya were right.”

You raised your eyebrows at him though you weren’t sure if it mattered with how he faced away from you, and you weren’t sure if you could just see his own features particularly well today or if it’d come from hours of staring at him, watching him, studying him while you simply tried to figure him the fuck out.

“I dunno why, but ya get me so.... fuckin’ mad sometimes. It’s like, ya know how to get right under my fuckin’ skin.” His voice was low now, rough with exhaustion and the scent of lingering alcohol. And while you could feel your heart drop at his admission, you had to fight the sense of pride and joy you were feeling that he even fucking admitted it.

This is what you’d been working so hard to get from him; it’s also exactly what got him so mad in the first place, and therefore the mess you were currently in that ensued. Whether or not the alcohol coursing through both your systems had anything to do with it didn’t matter to you anymore.

“When ya said that, it just...I dunno. I didn’t wanna fuckin’ believe it,” he ran an exasperated hand down his face before turning away from you, fueling your unconscious need to step forward after him again, softly, like you were trying to catch a wild animal, fearing that he would turn and break away from you at any second. “But what I did — Merle woulda done the same damn thing! He woulda done it without a second fuckin’ thought!”

His hands raked through his hair, distressed and frantic, and you reached out to grasp his wrists and steady him, your hands comically small next to his, strong and secure and familiar. At first, he flinched; tugging away from you half-heartedly before giving up and allowing you to gingerly lower his hands down in front of him, in between you, where they remained trapped in your grip.

“That’s exactly what I mean, Daryl,” you said softly, choosing your words carefully as if any wrong one would scare him off and send him fleeing again. As firmly as you held his wrists before you, one foot remained turned as you anticipated him doing just that. And the fear of watching him run again had, at some point, outweighed the fleeting fear that Daryl might actually want to hurt you — and you felt disgusted in yourself when you realized it. “You aren’t like Merle. You’re so much better.”

It was almost worth celebrating when he didn’t reply, and instead remained still as a statue, towering over you in the blazing mid-afternoon sun. The same type of heat, you thought, that burned inside of his very being; one that he’d spent so many shadowed years trying to extinguish. Thinking it was wrong. Thinking it was weak to simply care about somebody. All because of one single person.

You hated Merle Dixon, and if you ever saw him again, you swore you’d make sure he’d hate you just as much.

“You said Merle would’ve done that without a second thought — but you? Look at yourself, Daryl. You obviously feel so bad, so... guilty. Otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here. Do you think Merle ever felt this way about anything he’d ever done before? Do you think he ever apologized to anyone?”

Once again, his silence was reassuring. He was listening, considering your words... you only hoped that you wouldn’t say the wrong thing this time.

“The fact that you have so much remorse just shows that you are nothing like your brother. You are so, so much better. You are worlds away from ever being anything like him, Daryl.”

You could almost hear the gears turning behind his ocean blue eyes as he took in your words, deep and powerful though they were short. You couldn’t deny you were just content that he had stopped his angry outburst although now it was clear he was far more mad at himself instead of you.

“And I... I’m so sorry for the things that I said. I hope you can forgive me. I was drunk and angry. But I want you to know that... you can trust me. And I’m here for you.”

Now, you could almost feel his stare boring through you, the intensity behind his eyes unable to be ignored as it rose the hairs on the back of your neck and sparked goosebumps that trickled down your spine with a shiver you tried to stifle.

Now what? Daryl was unpredictable. Especially when it came to raw emotions like this, you thought to yourself. Can you stop him from turning tail and running, should that be his next move? Did he believe anything you were saying?

With one swift motion, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, warm and familiar, quick enough as to not be able to stop himself from doing so once he decided it was what he wanted to do, it seemed.

Though it was forceful, it was good. It was much more natural than the last time he’d moved that quickly toward you, you recalled. Much better actually, you realized, as you silently acknowledged that, this time, you sure as fuck didn’t flinch away and instead, hugged him back.

You looked down at the ground, sighing contently — oh. Despite your minimal clothing and every excuse to be totally naked in the cool water of your pond bath, your boots were still strapped on tight. You know... just in case.

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

Contagious

           Your dad, Sebastian, is sick. And your only jobs are to take care of him and not get sick.

-

           You walked the aisles of the grocery store, blindly grabbing everything your dad asked you to get, when your phone rang for about the third time in fifteen minutes. You couldn’t lie. You were getting a little frustrated with your dad’s constant calls.

           “What?” You asked him, sighing as you stopped in the middle of the cracker aisle to let someone through.

           “Can you also get ginger ale?” He asked.

           “I’ll add it to the list. A two liter or cans?”

           “Cans?”

           “Okay.”

           “And can you go to the pharmacy too? They should have something for me that’s slightly…” Your dad’s voice faded into a sneeze. You blessed him, said you’d go, and hung up the phone. He’d been sick for about a week, ever since he’d gotten off an international flight, and nobody was sure of what it was. He was only sure that he had never felt so bad in his life. You’d taken him to the ER, even, and all they’d said was that they didn’t know either.

           An hour later and you’d gone through half of Manhattan, including going to one of his favorite Romanian restaurants to find his favorite soup. His mom would normally come down, but she wasn’t feeling well either and you didn’t want her to get sick. The doctors had said it was very possible for you to get sick, too, but you were all your dad had and you barely ever got sick anyway.

           “I’m back with your drugs!” You called into the house, putting everything down on the kitchen table. You got a can of ginger ale, his food, and carried it along with the medicine into his bedroom, where he was sitting on the bed, legs crossed, blanket around his body, and a box of tissues was right beside him. He was sweating, but he still looked cold.

           “Hey, sweetheart,” your dad said, “thanks.”

           “I got some soup for you, too. You need to eat something.”

           “You’re one to talk. Have you eaten anything all day?”

           “Not really. I ran down to your agent’s office to drop off that contract, then the restaurant, then the store, and then the pharmacy. So no. I’ve been running around for you all day.”

           “Then get a fork and sit with me, I’m bored.” You laughed. Your dad was the worst adult you’d ever met, so much so that your grandmother constantly asked you to watch over him instead of the other way around. You both ate takeout most nights, and then leftover takeout the next day, neither of you ever knew where anything was, you hired someone to clean because you didn’t want to do it yourselves, and you both had no sleeping schedule whatsoever. It wasn’t rare for him just to not wake you up for school because he thought you should sleep a little more. Right now, though, he was the biggest mess in the universe. He’d moved the Playstation into his room and was playing some stupid game that he’d been playing that morning before you even left.

           “Fine,” you said, “what are you playing?”

           “Honestly, I have no idea.” You went into the kitchen and grabbed a fork, walking back into his room. He made room on the bed for you and the two of you ate the food as he continued playing whatever game he was playing.

           Eventually, you started watching a movie and he fell asleep, so you did what any good kid would do. You pushed him until he was lying down, cleared his bed off, turned on a fan, and covered him up with a blanket. You left the TV on, mostly because you didn’t know where the remote was, and you went to bed yourself.

           The next morning, you felt it. Whatever your dad had. It was in you now. You knew because you were sweating so badly that your bed was absolutely soaked. Your muscles were sore, too, and definitely not from walking halfway around Manhattan hunting for everything he needed. You sighed. Maybe you wouldn’t have it as bad as he did. And if he found out you had it, he would blame himself when it was probably your fault. You changed your sheets and grabbed some medication, taking it with a bottle of water, and went to go see what your dad was doing.

           He was in the same place he’d been in yesterday, only he’d evidently made a trip to the kitchen to get more crackers and ginger ale because it was all over his nightstand. He was still on his drugs, blanket pulled over his head, and he looked at you with hollow eyes.

           “You sleep okay?” He asked you.

           “When I wasn’t kept up by you coughing.”

           “I’m sorry, sweetie.” You shrugged and sat down next to him, grabbing the sleeve of saltines and eating a couple. Your stomach had started churning as soon as you had started walking to his room.

           “It’s okay, you’re sick. It’s fine. Just don’t make me go all over the city today?”

           “I’ll order in. You should go do homework or something.”

           “You’ll call me if you need anything?” He gave you a thumbs up and you went back to your room, taking the crackers with you. You doubted he even noticed. But your stomach was hurting just from moving. You had an excuse to stay in your room most of the day, though, so you won that round.

           You spent much of your day like he spent his; you opened your laptop and played the Sims for what was most likely hours. You ate the entire sleeve of saltines and only once got up to steal a can of ginger ale. Finally your dad suggested that you both move into the living room, so you tried to hide the fact that you were sweating out of your mind because of how bad your stomach was hurting by wearing shorts and a t-shirt, even though he always kept the house super cold. You wanted to find a way to sneak off and use the thermometer, just to see if you were actually sick or the food last night had made you that way. Eventually you just said you needed to use the bathroom and hid the beeping noise of the thermometer in your shirt.

           You had a fever. A fever. About the same as your dad’s. 101. A couple more degrees and you would be in trouble, so when you went back you sat closer to the air vent, hoping that it would cool you down a little bit. At least you hadn’t coughed or sneezed yet, you thought, thanking your lucky stars.

           “I actually feel so much better,” your dad sighed finally, about to get up to tune into a meeting he’d called out of earlier. “Thanks for taking care of me, kid.” You nodded, giving him a thumbs up, and tried to hide your clenched fist underneath the blanket. You were about to throw up if you ate or drank anything else. And you had a fear of throwing up. It was one of your least favorite things ever because the last time you’d thrown up, you couldn’t breathe, and then that had sent you into a panic attack where you got sick again.

           “Yeah, you’re welcome,” you said, rolling onto your side. That was a bad idea. That made your entire stomach shift, and not in a good way. No sudden moves, no sudden moves, you told yourself, bracing yourself.

           “You okay?” He asked, looking over at you from the other couch. You shook your head, sitting up, and that made it worse. You ran across the hall, falling to your knees on the floor, and threw your hair to the back of your head. And you threw up. You tried to swallow it down, but that only made it worse. You eventually felt your dad walk into the room, hopefully with some water, and he sat down behind you.

           “I got you sick, didn’t I?” He asked with a sigh. “I heard the thermostat beep but I just thought you were turning it off from when I checked earlier.”

           “Nope. 101,” you cringed, holding onto your stomach like it would make it stop. You threw up once more and then you were done, at least for a little while, and leaned on his shoulder.

           “You’re a fuckin’ mess. You had one job, and that was not to get sick. And what did you do?”

           “I got sick,” you sighed. “Why are you shaming me for…” You gagged again. Your dad handed you a cup of cold water and you drank as much of it as you could.

           “I’m not shaming at you, I’m laughing at you. There’s a difference.”

           “You’re my dad, can you please just take care of me instead of laughing at me?” He actually laughed out loud, helping you up, and handed you your toothbrush.

           “Yeah. Only if you brush your teeth first.” You did what he told you to do and then he was helping you exactly like you’d helped him, even ordering your favorite soup from your favorite place.

           “You know, I wouldn’t be sick at all if you hadn’t gotten me sick.” Your dad playfully whacked the back of your head, causing you to laugh a little bit. You were swaying in the place you were sitting and he chuckled for a second.

           “Yeah, yeah, I know. Lay down before you get motion sickness, I’m not dealing with that.”

           A/N: I’m sorry this is so short! But I hope you like it!

Taglist (if you’d like to be added, just shoot me an ask/dm!): @an-adventureland, @firstangeldragonranch, @ssebstann, @winterreader-nowwriter

[dastardlydandelion]

Max Mayfield and Tory Nichols in a horror film, what would be the plot/monster and would they survive?

this is it. this is the tumblr ask. the ask i've been waiting for my whole life. my time to shine, here we go!

filming begins under the cut:

tried and true creature feature, this is a werewolf movie. let's go with a werewolf between the van helsing (2004) and trick r treat (2007) variety. the beast once transformed is fucking huge, clearly both lupine and human, head almost entirely wolf, body primarily bipedal in shape, but robust, sinew shredding claws and big ass bone tearing teeth. also tails!! bc tails are cute!!! powers include monstrous strength, accelerated speed, healing factor. weaknesses silver and decapitation.

okay, so van helsing (2004) werewolves are mindless rage monsters and trick r treat (2007) werewolves are cognizant. for our max & tory creature feature, they're gonna of the in between variety. i chose a werewolf movie for these two specifically bc they both have their anger problems and the werewolf has long been a symbol of anger unleashed in the horror genre, even tho common gray wolves are just like. i mean, yk, animals, they hunt and howl and pee on trees and most of the time would rather avoid humans. but obvi horror genre werewolves are not common gray wolves, they need to be scary, and like, the remnants of traditional folklore influenced by rabies and discourse in the middle ages...wait, where was i going with this? anger, yes, max and tory both have anger problems and i think this works for what i'm gonna do with this theoretical movie.

who's the werewolf in town? terry fucking silver. bc terry is evil and dramatic and also, i think it's rly funny for a werewolf to have silver as a surname. he's fully cognizant in his transformation and he's purposefully biting kids and teenagers bc he wants more talented karate students. and like. yk, with the enhanced strength, speed, and regenerative recovery of lycanthropy, well. there u have it, more talented karate students.

do max and tory know each other, if so, how? okay, so in this 'verse tory is a lil older than max. that reflects their canon ages, i think. let's say max is 13 and tory is 16. billy has tory in some of his classes and he more or less makes a deal to spilt his allowance with her if she'll babysit max bc he's tired of neil riding his ass to babysit max. tory needs money so she's like, 'sure, why not.' max finds it rly stupid that she's 13 and neil thinks she needs a fucking babysitter but as far as babysitters go, tory is fun. she likes to show max what she's learning in cobra kai and they spar together a lot. max would actually like to join cobra kai but 1) neil would throw a fit on various fronts and 2) lucas is in miyagi-do. max knows there's some rly intense beef between cobra kai and miyagi-do. ofc tory's filled her in on the karate war, how could she not?

well one day tory takes max to the playground to watch a plane fly like she does with miggy in ck, and it's nighttime, ofc, and lo, the full moon is out. shining up in the sky. they hear a howl. they both look at each other. max is kinda curious but tory's like nah, nah, we gotta go. she grabs her, starts pulling her along. but the next howl is a lot closer and they can hear smth running and it just sounds fuckin big. they're running too now, legs pumping hard, but there's no escape once the beast is right behind them, hot, rancid breath blasting the backs of their necks and harvest gold eyes glowing in the dark.

max gets bitten first. tory tries to kick the big ass beast off of her and then it rounds and bites her too. the terror is real now. and then shockingly, as fast as it'd come, it leaves. neither girl has an explanation for wtaf just happened but tory takes max home. billy gripes at her for being out late but helps her patch up. when susan learns what happens she decides to take max to get rabies shots right away. loads her up in the car, runs her off to the emergency room-- but when the bandages come off, they are no wounds.

tory's bby bro tries to help patch her up too. but he's like 4 yrs old and his idea of "help" is sticking bandaids with cartoon characters up and down the wounds in haphazard fashion. tory plans to redo it all properly once she's put him to bed. sure enough after he's asleep, and she peels the bandaids off from every open mouthed pac-man to every green teenage mutant ninja turtle, the wounds are gone.

meanwhile there's missing ppl err day on the news. terry turns kids and teens but kills adults for the lulz.

tory and max know what happened to them was an event that tangibly, definitely happened but neither have any explanation for their wounds just disappearing. max, our resident horror fan, is the first to propose a real life werewolf as an explanation. she cites the missing ppl on the news. tory thinks she's tripping balls but reluctantly gives an inch when she acknowledges no, she can't think of any other explanation.

life goes on. max tells lucas what happened only she leaves out the part abt tory bc she's not gonna tell a miyagi-do student she's kickin it w the enemy. he doesn't rly believe her, like how she didn't rly believe him about the upside-down in their canon. he thinks the horror movies are rotting her brain.

tory almost tells her dojo but she gets distracted being pissed off by sam and that should be her priority, right? sensei kreese is always going on abt getting back at the enemy. she spends her shifts daydreaming abt revenge bc it's more comforting than worrying abt past due bills and her mother looking paler by the day.

full moon next month comes around. neither tory nor max are cognizant of or during their first respective transformations. max's first kill is neil. she's seven feet of fur and fury, tears his ribcage open with claws like daggers and sinks her teeth into his putrid, maggoty heart. susan isn't home. billy is, but he doesn't hear any of the fracas. he's unconscious on the living room floor, crisscrossing impressions of neil's belt buckle blaring red on his back.

tory's first kill is sam. sam larusso wants to think she's a bully?? fine, tory will show her a bully. she hops the miyagi-do fence after hours. she just wants a fight. just a fight, they always fight. but then she's sprouting fur and tory as tory gives way to smth else. she'd not aware of being a person when she doesn't have fur. not really, all she knows is rage and ravenousness and the morsel below her has bunny rabbit wide eyes.

neither of them remember what they did the next day. not vividly, anyway. it's there but it's cloudy and hard to discern, like a groggy fever dream more than a memory. but max burps up neil's wedding band and tory finds señor octopus (sam's stuffed animal) bloodied in her bed. it's apparent what happened. max accepts this more easily than tory bc 1) she always kind of suspected she'd turn, since she sincerely considered what attacked them was a werewolf and 2) max isn't terribly upset abt killing neil while tory is acutely horrified she killed sam.

max kinda had some smidgen of attachment to neil bc like, he's the only father figure in her life and here and there they've had their moments. but his abuse (psychological/physical toward billy, sexual/financial/psychological/emotional toward susan, psychological/emotional toward herself) outweighed any and all of those moments. she is genuinely concerned that she tore a human being to pieces and only vaguely remembers it but like, if she had to kill anyone, she figures neil was the best to kill. max is mostly concerned bc she can't kill neil a second time. she's worried the next time she turns it could be an innocent person, or one of her friends, or her mom, or billy.

tory is blindsided and scarcely able to comprehend the reality, holy shit, max was right, she's a fuckin werewolf. and she's sick to her stomach bc she hated sam but she never wanted to do anything like that. she didn't want to kill, she just wanted to break her face. scare her. rough her up. she didn't want to eat her. she just killed someone. she's a literal horror movie monster and she just killed sam. what's miguel going to think?

tory and max talk. they decide they need to find the werewolf who turned them. we get montages of them going over the news articles with a fine-toothed *ba dum tss* comb and searching areas where it seems like a werewolf would be. the woods. some caves. max all of a sudden has a freakishly tall man constantly hounding her to join cobra kai. neil's gone but she still hesitates bc of lucas being in miyagi-do. also he believes max now and with the proff, she's decided to let the rest of the party in as well. they also exist in this 'verse. she showed them the crime scene and the wedding band she burped up. billy isn't a roid rage racist in this 'verse bc that would be a giant buzzkill. he doesn't believe the werewolf shit either. he thinks max saw neil get attacked by some animal and that the carnage was so traumatizing for her, she subconsciously created a werewolf fantasy to cope.

tory meanwhile spirals downward. bc she passes sam's memorialized locker in the hall everyday. her memorial table in the other hall, full of sticky note condolences and mournful teddy bears, and a picture of sam right in the center always, always accusing her. miggy is heartbroken and distraught. hawk didn't care for sam but even he's freaked out by what happened, how the news said there were only torn up chunks and bones picked clean found in her bedroom. tory is terrified of herself. she's desperate to find whoever did this bc she wants to make them pay. if sensei silver has been asking her extra questions lately and presenting her performance to the class more than normal, she doesn't notice at all. aisha notices tory's fucked up but tory can't exactly tell aisha that she *ate* sam. aisha is also mourning, she and sam used to be bffs. so she doesn't say a word.

max has a theory that if u can learn to control ur anger, u can learn to control urself when u shift. she is, after all, v familiar with angry horror movie werewolves. and she's savvy enough to know it's smth she and tory have in common. neil is dead but that doesn't mean max isn't angry anymore. she's still angry at the damage already done and tbh also angry that there's some werewolf around turning ppl willy nilly bc she recognizes the danger in that and it wasn't smth she consented to. but controlling ur anger is an easier feat for max than tory insofar that max has a support system w her friends, and better relationships with the remainder of her fam. tory has two mentors actively, adamantly teaching her and her friends to be ruthless, view the world as ur enemy, use violence as ur go-to solution, and that mercy is weakness not to be tolerated.

when the next full moon rolls around, they decide to spend it together under the correct inference that they will transform. they think it's better to be together. they're hoping they'll be able to control each other, if not themselves. or that if they are both mindless rage monsters again, that rage will be turned on each other. this would be a better outcome operating on the presumption that one werewolf will be able to take what another can dish out, at the v least more so than a regular human being.

max is successfully able to maintain enough of her consciousness to control her actions once transformed. she feels aggressive and hungry, but not enraged and ravenous. she can keep it in check. tory, on the other hand, uh...tory can't do it. she throws her wolf head back in the most bloodcurdling howl ever and takes off like a bat outta hell. max goes loping after her. they can't speak like human speak in this form, but max tries to communicate with her. whimpers plaintively. tackles tory at one point, not out of anger but just tryna subdue her, licks at her ears and tries to get her to settle. tory bucks her off.

tory runs off again, max in pursuit. they wind up at the skate park where billy n robby are prolly up to some fuckery or another. i could easily see pre miyagi-do robby n billy getting up to all kinds of mischief. ooh, actually, they're prolly arguing abt that. now that robby's in miyagi-do he has another outlet for all his energy and he's getting the positive attention he craves so he's not participating in hooligan activity or shenanigans w billy anymore and billy is like. offended. except suddenly there's werewolves. fucking. snarling, gigantic, toothy, hairy ass werewolves.

let's say robby kicked miguel down two stories in this 'verse too and tory recognizes him in her werewolf form even if she isn't exactly cognizant of herself. she tears straight for him, jaws open. billy doesn't exactly *mean* to protect him but it's kinda an automatic reaction from putting himself in between whenever he thought neil was getting too aggressive w susan or max. and like, sure, robby's the better fighter (not that billy would ever acknowledge this) but it's not like he's gonna karate kick the motherfuckin werewolf anyway-- billy is bigger, he's bigger and it's instinct and the next thing he knows, he's in between robby and the thing w sharp teeth (tory).

and that's when max gets serious. she bowls tory over, away from billy before she can bite. they're rolling, tearing at each other with teeth and claws. lo and behold, terry silver is lurking in the background like the evil mastermind he is, just watching them shred each other and evaluating his experiment. it's a p close match and tory is the more aggressive of the two but she's also been going, going, going since she shifted and she's burning herself out. she's also fighting with the blind instinct of a threatened animal while max maintains more precision bc she has better control of herself. max also isn't wasting energy unnecessarily. max gets her jaws around tory's throat and tory just goes slack. but she can think and she doesn't want to hurt tory, so she opens her mouth and relaxes her maw, teeth grazing harmlessly thru tory's fur.

tory's being shown mercy. possibly for the first time. it's so unlike her conception of others' ruthlessness, so unlike the worldview that's been instilled into her that it startles her enough to crack thru to her cognizance. she does the wolfy deference thing where they tuck their tails and lick at the dominant pack member's muzzle. max responds in kind and lets tory up.

this is when they notice terry lurking (billy's already worked out the werewolf that came to his defense is max so he's just dumbfounded watching all this shit, and robby's not abt to leave someone who just saved his ass, so he's stuck unsuccessfully tryna pull billy away and inevitably watching too). terry calmly slinks over, sizing up his charges. he's pleased with the performance. but tory and max are anything but, another werewolf fight ensues.

so while they all get huge after transforming sheerly on the basis of being werewolves, i'm gonna guess the size is proportionate to their human forms. so tory is a little larger than max and terry significantly outsizes them both. terry is also the more experienced werewolf. it's two against one but it's not the curbstop it would be if this was some weaksauce werewolf, it's dramatic evil karate werewolf terry fuckin silver. terry's shredding tf outta these two. their healing factor can't keep up, he's dishing out faster than either of them can recover and tbh they were already winded from fighting each other first.

but it'd be a major buzzkill if our movie had a downer ending. and also, the power of determination and friendship and shit. terry's got his jaws around max's throat now. he's a millisecond away from tearing it open. tory's pinned under him but she thinks fast, frees a hind leg, and rips her claws down his soft underbelly as deep as she can and doesn't stop ripping, like pedal kicking almost for a human, but with her hind claws. his intestines shoot out like paper snakes from a gag candy can!! okay, well, maybe they don't shoot out w that much gusto, but still. the bowels are free, the bowels are hanging low and tory's tearing 'em tf up, fluids n fecal matter errywhere. on tory. i'm sorry tory. ur under him, that's just how gravity works.

terry dies. healing factor can't keep up with the damage done, it's too critical. but nobody knows it's terry until the dawn breaks and he reverts back to his human shape.

max is v much 'i told u so,' in billy's face. robby promises not to tell. he doesn't want to get mauled or killed or anything. tory's able to cope better with what she did to sam knowing that it won't happen again, that she won't hurt anyone else she doesn't want to be she can control herself now. tory believes in mercy now bc max spared her, she trashes kreese's philosophy and joins eagle fang when johnny and daniel join forces in this 'verse too. max also joins eagle fang, takes her place in the front row right between tory and lucas at her v first practice.

credits roll.

after the credits we see tory considering turning her mother in the hopes that having the healing factor would help her mom's condition improve.

is that a teaser for the sequel?

idfk.

[ranboounlabeled]

Incorrect Quotes

So I had the bright idea one day to make incorrect quotes based on a DnD campaign and the players. Why not post them here? If any of them find this and request this to be deleted, I won’t mind. Blu - DM, any other character you don’t see listed here Tuck - Alzora Autumn/Me - Aria Maria - Yeet Bard - Tad Whipple - Niyana ~ Aria at 3AM: Alzora wake up Alzora, annoyed: What is it? Aria: If butterflies fall in love, do they feel humans/mobians in their stomach? Alzora: The rest of Team Supernova: Niyana: aria what the fuck Yeet: No no, wait. She has a point. Yeet: What if they’re mobian butterflies? Snipe: What if they just feel really tiny butterflies in their stomachs? Niyana: That’s morbid. ~ Aria: is pink panther a lion Alzora: say that again but slower Aria: i don't get it? Alzora: he's the pink PANTHER Aria: okay? but is he a lion? Alzora: Aria. he's a panther Aria: is that a kind of lion??? Alzora: no it's a fucking panther Aria: I just googled it. Are they not pink?  Alzora: AND LIONS ARE??? ~ Yeet: *gets shot* Shit. Alzora: Language! ~ Niyana: Is 4 alot? Aria/Alzora: Depends on the context. Aria/Alzora: Money? No. Aria/Alzora: Murders? Yes. ~ Yeet: Just a reminder that I'm non-binary so if you've got a crush on me, u gay bro ~

Alzora: if one of you says that stupid thing again I will not hesitate to give you frost bite Aria: aw that's so sad alexa play despacito Alzora: starting with you Alt idea from our DM (context, Alzora is an ice dragon and I compare her to Elsa alot): Aria: thats so sad, alexa play Let it Go. Alzora: you will die in 3 days ~ Niyana: THE FLOOR IS LAVA Yeet: *helps Snipe onto a chair* Alzora: *throws Aria off the table* revenge Niyana: There are two types of people ~ Alzora: If anyone says ‘mood’ ‘same’ or 'me’ in response to something I say ever again, I will throw you out the nearest window Yeet: Mood Aria: Same Niyana: Me Alzora calling tad: hello? Tad can you come here quickly? Tad: why what happened? Alzora: well lets just say there’s a gun in my hand, 3 dead bodies on the floor, blood on the walls floor and ceiling, and police on the way Tad: Tad: what Tad: The police are going to be there? Yeah, you're on your own ~ Aria: Mobius is a hot, molten core with a solid crust. Therefore, its a ravioli Alzora: Please stop Yeet, taking notes: No no let her finish ~ Aria: Comparing me and Alzora is like comparing apples to oranges. Aria: I mean, I like apples, and I really don't like oranges. Aria: Oranges are annoying. ~ nesta: fuck your cake! aria: 

~ Niyana: I’ve been working on my evil laugh! ‘Cause everybody’s got an evil laugh, you know, like... Ha ha ha ha HA! Like that. Alzora: Okay, here’s the thing. You’re not ready... for the evil laugh, okay, you can do a chuckle? Like a mildly upset chuckle? After MY evil laugh. ~ Snipe: You're smiling. Did something good happen? Aria: Can't I smile just because I feel like it? Niyana: Alzora tripped and fell down the stairs. ~ Yeet: So, why is Aria mad at you? Alzora: They sneezed and I accidentally said "shut the fuck up" instead of "bless you". Yeet: Alzora: Yeet: How do you accidentally say "shut the fuck up"?! ~ Alzora: Anyone who says 'uwu' or 'owo' again is being arrested for crimes against humanity! Aria: Cwimes against huwumanity. Alzora: I'm going to break your fingers. ~ Yeet, while crying: LOVE IS DEAD AND NEVER EXISTED! ALL YOU DID WAS BETRAY ME AS I LAY SICK AND FESTERING! YOU ARE THE DEFINITION OF DREAD! Snipe: Are you ok???  Yeet, crying even more: NIYANA STOLE MY FUCKIGN WEAPONS! [This breakdown is immediately followed by Yeet trying to beat the shit out of a 15 year-old] ~ Alzora: Good Morning!   Aria: Good Morning everyone Snipe: Good Morning. [ half of everyone else says their good mornings] Yeet: My god you all sound like robots! “good morning” this “good morning” that. Yeet: Spice it up!!! Niyana: HEY MOTHERFUCKERS ~ Alzora: *falls*  Alzora: Alzora: I suppose I’ll have to add the force of gravity to my list of enemies. ~ Aria: Tall people are the enemy! Alzora: I'm sorry, I can't hear you from up here. Aria: I will tie your fucking shoelaces together and you won't even know it! ~ Niyana: But rules were made to be broken! Tad: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Nesta: Uh, pinatas. Alzora: Glow sticks. Yeet: Karate boards. Aria: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. Niyana: And rules! Snipe: Don’t forget bones. Yeet: Ye-Wait no- ~ Aria: Onion rings are just vegetable doughnuts. Alzora, used to Aria: Sure they are, Aria. Aria: Your stomach thinks all potatoes are mashed. Alzora: Okay. Aria: Lasagna is just spaghetti-flavored cake. Alzora: … Aria, oblivious: Lobsters are mermaids to scorpions. Alzora, crying: Aria, please stop. Yeet, fascinated: No, continue. ~ Yeet: Hey, Snipe, what are you doing here? Snipe: This is where I come to cry. Yeet: What. Snipe: I said this is where I come to be a cool guy. ~ [loud crashing comes from Team Supernova's room, Tad runs in to find the room completely trashed] Tad: What happened in here!? [The rest of the Team are on an elevated surface]  Aria, on top of the bookshelf, shaking: We saw a spider... ~ Yeet: Isn’t it amazing what friends learn from each other? Aria: I learn a lot from Phin because he makes so many mistakes. ~ Aria: AVJDJAHDHSHS Tad: what is that? Aria: a keyboard smash Tad: how do I do it? Aria: just press anything Tad: 7 ~ Alzora: Bitch. Aria: Blocked. Alzora: Wait, unblock me, I need to tell you something. Aria: Unblocked. Alzora: Bitch. ~ Alzora: Don’t say a word. Aria: Aria: Fergalicious. Alzora: I said no words. Aria: Oh, I see. Two weeks ago playing Scrabble, it’s not a word. Now suddenly it is a word because it’s convenient for you. ~ Aria: Olli? Why are you outside? It's pouring! Olli, drenched: The aesthetic, Miss Aria. Aria: Olli, please. Olli: ThE aEsThEtIc, MiSs ArIa! ~ Niyana: There’s no “i” in happyness. Aria: There is if you fuckin’ spell it right. ~ Niyana: Do you care if I take the skin off the Furby? Niyana: I want to make him a God. Once he is free of his sinful flesh he can begin the path towards enlightenment. He will take care of Us. Niyana: Also I want to softhack his circuits. Yeet: I literally could not care less but never say anything as frightening as that sentence ever again. Tad, not looking up from his sketch book: I could design some long furby designs if you need me to. ~ Stella: I have a mafia! Yeet: We have a Niyana. ~ Yeet: Bro. Snipe: What bro? Yeet: Tell the whole world we’re bros. Snipe: *whispers* We’re bros. Yeet: Why’d you whisper bro? Snipe: Because you’re my whole world bro. Yeet: B R O. ~ Yeet: Your house is burning down! You can only save one thing. What do you save? Aria: My house?? ~ Aria: Yeet, do you ever want to talk about your emotions? Yeet: No. Alzora: I do. Aria: I know, Alzora. Alzora: I’m sad. Aria: I know, Alzora. ~ Stella: *looking around in closet* What should I change into? Snipe: A better person. ~ Whatever characters Yeet writes into fanfiction: *hugging and vibing* Yeet: Who would ever want to harm such a loving relationship? Yeet, brandishing a pen: I WOOOOULD! ~ Yeet: Chillax~ Alzora: That’s not a word. Yeet: Sometimes the ones who deny “chillax” are the ones who need to chillax the most. ~ Aria: 13 year old me would be both terrified and in awe at who I am now. Niyana: 13 year old me wouldn't think I'd get this far. Yeet: I would fight a 13 year old me. ~ Snipe: Yeet came into my room in the middle of the night, I pretended to be asleep, and they stroked my hair for a minute then left. Are they planning to kill me??? Aria: No they just care about you, idiot. ~ Yeet: Well, I guess you could say I’ve fallen for you. Snipe: You just fell down seven flights of stairs, how are you even alive? ~ Yeet: I wish I could block people in real life. Alzora: A restraining order. Niyana: Murder. ~ Alzora: What the frick is wrong with you? Snipe: Please be more specific and resubmit with the proper paperwork. ~ [on a city bus] Stranger: Are you traveling for business or pleasure? Alzora, in full armor: Combat. ~ Aria: Who ate my fries? Yeet? Yeet: I don’t like fries. Aria: Snipe? Snipe: I don’t need food. Aria: Niyana? Niyana: …It was Alzora. Alzora: Yeah it was. Aria: wh ~ Alzora: They are completely literal people. Metaphors go over their heads. Yeet: Nothing goes over my head... my reflexes are too fast! I would catch it. ~ Yeet: Live by the ass, die by the ass. Tad: S t o p ~ Niyana: Is there a word that is a mix between sad and mad? Tad: Malcontented, disgruntled, miserable, desolate. Yeet: Smad. ~ Tad: If someone is trying to rob a civilian, what is the correct course of action? Yeet: T-pose to assert dominance Tad: No. Niyana: Say "Thank you Chaos, for this meal I'm about to have" and then- Tad, interrupting: even worse Yeet, taking notes: Wait, let her finish ~ Aria: Hey Alzora, do you think Snipe feels regret? Because i just saw him choke down one of Tad’s pancakes in half a second. Alzora: Snipe has only one emotion and that’s hubris. ~ Yeet: *peeling a banana* May I take your jacket lol Snipe: Do you think other people can't hear you? ~ Aria: You have to pick your battles, Alzora. Alzora: I’m full of rage and I’m picking all of them. ~ Nesta, T-posing in the hallway: Good morning, parental figure. Tad, not looking up from his coffee: Hello, problem child. ~ Yeet, throwing his head in Snipe’s lap: Tell me I’m pretty. Snipe, lovingly stroking their hair: You’re pretty fucking annoying, that’s what you are. ~ Yeet, hoarsely: I think I'm losing my voice. Niyana: Ha! That means you can't yell at me anymore! [later that day]  Niyana: Turns out, Yeet is scarier when they’re quiet. ~ Snipe: WE'RE SINKING IN DEEP WATER. Yeet: Don't worry. I learned this from a survival TV show. Yeet: OH TOOOOODLES-- ~ Niyana: Who else uses can openers to drink soft drinks? Yeet: This is extremely unhinged I must try it immediately. ~ Snipe: Boil up some mountain dew. It’s gonna be a long night. Aria: You could have said anything else. Yeet: fire burn and cauldron bubble, baja blast to fuel my trouble. ~ Aria: What do you want for dinner? Niyana: How about Sonic? Aria: *whispers* He's so fast how would we catch him-

[southwalessubculture]

Physical Affection with - Jungle Boy

added author’s note, pre-posting: fuckin’ love how the queue doesn’t apparently work...anyways, i thought it was gonna be up a few days ago, so sorry and also fuck off, tumblr.

I really enjoyed the last one (and also @sansammy requested it), so here’s physical affection HCs with Jungle Boy!

He’s gonna be hesitant about PDA (something I mentioned in my friends-to-lovers with JB, which you can find here)

He’s young and a little shy; he doesn’t really understand where the line between cute and cringey falls for those around you, so he errs on the side of caution

He’ll definitely be more open in front of close friends that he knows won’t mind (think among the lines of Stella, Marko and Luchasaurus, etc.), although he’ll still be kind of reserved

When you’re alone, though?

He’s all in on the physical affection train

Holding Hands

By and far, his favorite thing to do

It’s small, casual, and something that he can easily take comfort in

He loves to hold your hand when he’s nervous, especially in public; it’s something that isn’t too attention-grabbing, but it’s still personal

Before his matches, he’ll sit you on one of the equipment cases and stand in front of you, holding both your hands in his as you hype him up

If you wear rings or bracelets, he’s gonna fidget with them during those moments as a way of bringing himself back to you

When you go to the ring with him, he’ll reach down and squeeze your hand from on top of Luchasaurus’s shoulders (although he probably won’t hold your hand for more than a few seconds on camera)

If he needs your attention, then he’ll walk past you and give your hand a quick squeeze; it’s easier than texting and he knows you won’t miss it

He also holds your hand when you’re nervous! 

He works with a lot of Loud and Intimidating people, so he understands that it’s easy for you to get overwhelmed by all the noise, large bodies, and even just the general backstage rush

If he sees you struggling to keep up with a situation, he’ll take your hand and squeeze it to check on you

If you squeeze back, he’ll take you out of the area with some sort of “Marko got stuck on top of a locker” type of excuse that makes no sense, but he’s trying so hard for you

Totally the type to whisper in your ear about well your hand fits into his (yes, he knows it cheesy. he doesn’t care.) 

Bonus: He jokingly kisses your hand when you’re alone, especially if you’re about to go on a date or something. He’ll also call you his princess when he does.

Hugging

He loves to hold you while you work

He hugs you from behind, watching how you do even the most simple things like washing produce or typing a paper as if it’s the most enamoring thing in the world to him

If he sees that someone’s making you uncomfortable, he’s absolutely going to insert himself into the situation

And he’ll absolutely do that by putting his arms around your waist and setting his head on your shoulder, glaring at the person until they get the hint and leave

It’s the most publically forward he’ll be about dating you, and he’ll only do it if he knows that you’re uncomfortable

He knows the difference between you having fun with a friend and someone hitting on you, but even if he gets a little jealous, he won’t intervene unless he sees that you can’t get them to buzz off by yourself

(what i’m saying is that he trusts you, but he’s still aware that people might not listen to you unless he gets involved on your behalf)

(and this got very off topic)

If you’re hanging out with close friends, yours or his, he’ll sit next to you and throw an arm over your shoulder

If someone calls him out on it, then he’ll do the same thing to the person on his other side and ask if it’s a problem now (although he’ll hold you a little tighter as he does)

He’s a cheeky little shit and he will tickle you when he hugs you

Especially if you’re alone

Bonus: He loves when you hug his teammates! They’re a very affectionate trio in that sense, so he’s definitely going to think it’s cute to see how comfortable you are with them.

Kissing

He loves to kiss you

He’ll look for excuses to kiss you

Win a big match? He’ll kiss you

Did you do something super cool? He’ll kiss you

MJF got his ass beat? He’ll kiss you (he doesn’t like MJF, okay?)

I lowkey see him a fan of neck kisses, especially when he’s watching you do something

He’ll bury his face in the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with little kisses and telling you how pretty you are

He’ll kiss your nose when he thinks you’re acting cute; if you’re acting grumpy after he wins in a video game, getting excited over a new dessert you want to try, or even when you’ve just woken up and given him a giant smile, he’ll peck the tip of your nose and smile at you

Alternatively, if you’re in public and you do something cute, he might pull your hand up and kiss your knuckles since it’s not as apparent

Except for that, he will very, very rarely kiss you in front of other people; mainly if you’re going to be apart for a little while or you’re seeing each other for the first time in a few days or longer

And maybe when something Very Big happens and he can’t stop himself

Bonus: He once kissed your cheek after winning a tag team contendership match while Stella was recording for her Instagram story, and nobody noticed until the internet lost their shit about it.

He got super embarrassed about it, but he also secretly asked her to send the video since he thought it was so cute to see how you smiled and covered your face, mildly in shock from his unusual behavior.

Cuddling

He’s always gonna want to be cuddling you when you’re alone

He loves playing video games with you, laying down on the couch and holding his controller in front of you

He’ll hold you, chest-to-chest, and rub circles with his fingers on your body when he’s a little stressed

Speaking of stress, he could listen to you vent forever

He’ll let you sit in his lap and play with his hair, his fingertips drawing circles on your leg or stomach as you tell him about what’s bothering you

He’ll try his best to give advice (he’ll often end up recommending that you ask Luchasaurus or one of the older members of the roster if he can’t help you, although he tries not to unless necessary) 

If you get self-conscious, then he’s gonna literally kiss every inch of your body as he tells you everything that he loves about you

He has absolutely done this while drunk (regardless of whether or not you needed to hear it in that moment, per se) and he ended up crying in your arms while telling you about how much he loved you

He loves waking up next to you, almost more than falling asleep with you

He adores how you curl up against him when you fall asleep, the way that you nuzzle into his chest

Absolutely lost his shit the first time you woke up next to him, giving him a quiet “good morning” in your sleepy voice

Bonus: The first time that you stayed with him, he had to wake you up from a nightmare. He was so scared, although he didn’t want you to see that; he pulled up a movie on his laptop and held you until you fell back asleep, and then nearly stayed up until dawn in case you needed him again.

Miscellaneous Things

Totally wants to do that cliché thing where you sit in his lap and he puts his hands over yours on a keyboard or controller, teaching you to play a video game he likes

He likes to go on swimming or on hikes with you, if you’re into that kind of thing; he sees it as a great way to show you some of his favorite places and also get a bit of alone time with you

He will carry you through the woods on his shoulders if you let him and that is not a question

Also, loves carrying you! He doesn’t like the idea of you getting tired, so he’ll just pack you up on his back and carry you around (especially if you’ve been standing for a long time and he’s worried about it)

I feel like he’d also lowkey fall in love with you all over again if you fell asleep against his shoulder while you’re hanging out

He’s always a little worried about you, and he’s very attentive to what you need, so expect to find random snacks, water bottles, or phone chargers lying about exactly when you need them

I feel like he’d probably start keeping a first-aid kit with different over-the-counter medicines in his car or bag in case you get hurt or sick when you’re with him

If you use feminine care items, he always keeps some on him in case of emergencies (and he’ll defend it to the death if someone tries to make fun of him for doing it)

He’ll also absolutely memorize any allergies you have and he’ll be super vigilant about that shit (like, to the point where he’ll text you about dust/pollen for the day if it’s going to be particularly bad)

Basically, he’s not going to be super publically affectionate, but he loves that shit in private

He will, however, show his affection much more in terms of caring for you and making sure you have everything you need; he’s such a sweet and thoughtful person, and he doesn’t want you to ever worry about anything when you’re with him

[theres-a-goldensky]

16 + 2 Reddie Fic Recs pt. 2

I’m back and still on my Bill Hader bullshit, so here’s another round of Reddie fic recs, because I can’t stop reading and sometimes sifting through the insane amounts of fic is a nightmare. So if you feel my pain and need some (at least in my opinion) fun stories, then come along with me on a magical journey filled with men crying during sex, hypochondria, and your mom jokes.

As ever, feel free to reblog and check out my other rec lists for the following fandoms:

IT chapter 2 list part one - Reddie

Good Omens fic 

The Untamed list one and two - various pairings, mostly Wangxian

Various BL Series fic (fandoms: Love By Chance, TharnType, 2Moons series, My Engineer, Until We Meet Again, 2gether, History3: Trapped)

Or just head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

All my recs are completed, almost all of them are post-It chapter 2. * - denotes a favorite

1. I killed a clown. AMA! by liesmyth - ~10,000 words, teen - The history of Eddie and Myra’s marriage shown through their posts on reddit. The voices here are great, and it really feels like reading the reddit forums, down to the people sleuthing through their past posts and comments to try and figure out if what they’re saying is real or an elaborate troll.

 r/relationships

Posted by u/martymcfly6xo 7 months ago

 My (39F) husband (39M) likes horrible stand-up comedy. How can I stop him from bringing this up in front of our mutual friends?

For the last year or so my husband has been watching a lot of stand-up comedy on youtube. I want him to have something relaxing to do (he works a lot and gets really invested in his ‘hands-on’ hobbies in a way I’m not sure is good for him) but I was very puzzled by this discovery as he likes very crass acts and that is certainly not the kind of humor hubby usually enjoys...

2. all of the kids back home believing much more than you do by eatcheeseliveforever - ~11,000 words, explicit - This is a fix-it fic, which is becoming more and more rare in this fandom as we collectively started deciding that Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t need to be brought back to live, because he never died in the first place, dammit. It has some great pining by Richie. You can really feel his grief and desperation as he searches for a way to get Eddie back. The other Losers are great in this too, especially Mike with his whales.

"A boat, actually," murmured Mike.  "I'm on a whale-watching cruise."

Richie mouthed the words "whale watching cruise" to himself.  Empirically he knew such things existed, that they happened not far away from the coast where he lived, but it felt like several fucking galaxies away from where he was, surrounded by the ghosts of takeouts and blackouts past and the actual ghost-ghosts, who he couldn't step in or stub his toe on at three in the morning, but hurt so much worse.

"He said you've been googling resurrection rituals."

Richie scrounged through his pile of empties, hoping one wasn't.  "Bill talks too much."

"Richie."  A sigh, or a wave, or a really quiet whale.  "You're not going to find a resurrection ritual on Google."

"I've found hundreds," said Richie.  "Funny thing, though, they all seem to call for orgies.  Or virgin sacrifices.  Or sacrificing someone's virginity in an orgy.  I'm hoping Ben will volunteer as tribute."

3. * - you’ve got the answers to my confessions by QueerOnTilMorning - ~17,000 words, explicit - This is the good stuff right here. Richie accidentally sexts Eddie and Eddie is IN. TO. IT. This fic starts with excellent phone sex, there’s misunderstandings and confessions in the middle, and then it ends with super hot sex. There’s a brief part with karaoke that was a bit of a lull in the story, but doesn’t take away from how great the rest is.

     suck on ur tongue  

     show u how much I missd that mouth  

     when u start getting weak in the knees  

     thats when ill get on mine  

 He set the phone aside to unzip his pants, palming himself through his boxers, already half-hard.

 Then he froze.

 The text he had just replied to--it was what he'd expected Travis to say, but it wasn't how Travis would say it. That text began with a capital letter and contained punctuation. That text was from--

 "Oh, fuck, no," Richie whispered, and his phone rang.

 Incoming call: Eds

4. * -  L'Appel du Vide by Mackem - ~92,000 words, teen - I know, I know, almost 100k and no sex, but hear me out! The pining in this fic is so exquisitely beautiful and wrenching. Eddie’s POV is excellent and feels really spot on. The other Losers are well represented, especially Ben and Bev. In fact, the group dynamics here are almost as good as the relationship stuff. The later chapters bring in a subplot about the deadlights that I wasn’t that interested in, but it’s still done really, really well, and that’s only a side plot that doesn’t impact that exceptional story of Eddie and Richie figuring out how to stop being dummies.

Two messages, however, are from Stanley, sent to him privately. He opens them, and is met with a picture of Richie, apparently taken without him realising.

It shows him laughing, his eyes crinkled at the corners behind his glasses, and his smile bright and broad as a hand gestures wildly in the air. The other hand is in his hair, pushing it out of his eyes as he tilts his head back, displaying the line of his throat beneath his stubble.

The breath is punched from Eddie at the sight of it.

He stares at it for a long moment, surprised by the depth of his reaction. His stomach is swirling happily, a bubble of excitement growing at the pit, and he cannot help but feel a heated flush build at his cheeks.

It’s probably just because Richie looks like he’s enjoying himself. It’s good to see his friend having fun. That has to be it.

Then he reads Stan’s message.

Stan: He was talking about you. He does that a lot.

5. my love a beacon in the night - by zach_stone - ~4500 words, explicit - Richie is on the road doing shows through Christmas. His friends have a surprise for him. I know it’s almost Valentine’s Day, but it’s never the wrong time for a fluffy Christmas story imo.

 “Yep, just got to my hotel,” Richie says. “Now I’m getting ready for my big Christmas Eve plans.”

 Eddie snorts. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

 “Well according to my TV guide, they’re doing a rerun of The Mistletoe Promise, so I’m all fuckin’ set,” Richie says, grinning when Eddie laughs. On Eddie’s end of the line, he hears the sound of cars passing by, the muffled chatter of people, and says, “Are you outside?”

 “Huh? Oh, yeah,” Eddie says.

 Richie glances at the clock on the nightstand. It’s after ten; Eddie’s not one to be wandering around Times Square after dark. He frowns slightly. Eddie’s been unusually vague about his holiday plans, so Richie has no clue what he’s up to this evening. Not that it’s any of his business. Maybe he’s started seeing someone and is spending the holidays with them. Richie has a sudden image of Eddie, arm-in-arm with some generically pretty woman, taking in the lights and decorations around the city. It opens a pit in his stomach.

6. Coming Back and Coming Out: Richie Tozier's 2019 by Lunatical - ~2000 words, teen - I genuinely adore the mixed media fics that this fandom has spawned. This one is an excerpt from a magazine interview with Richie as he restarts his career.

Slouched on his couch in a cheesy Hawaiian shirt and torn-up jeans, Richie Tozier looks exactly like the manchild he is describing himself to be. Next to him, sitting up straight and dressed in a lovely suit that most people would consider appropriate for an interview, his husband rolls his eyes.

When we scheduled this interview, Tozier insisted we hold it at their house, citing a desire for the interview to be “as chill as possible”—in his own words, of course. He argued that seeing the two of them in their usual environment would help me get a better idea of the kind of relationship they have. After walking into their apartment and seeing the way they’ve decorated the place, I have to admit that I can understand why.

7. baby, there’s no other superstar by kaspbrakziers - ~7000 words, mature - Another mixed media fic that shows the progression of Richie and Eddie’s relationship and Richie’s career through tweets, texts, and interviews. Eddie not knowing how to turn off the capslock on his phone absolutely sent me.

Search history

Today Sunday, 13 November 2016

should i get a divorce? - Google Search

Unhappily Married: Should I get a divorce? - Yahoo Answers

10 Signs Your Marriage Is Over - Buzzfeed

how to divorce? - Google Search

How To File For Divorce (With Pictures) - wikiHow

how to divorce someone without them getting angry? – Google Search

can you divorce someone without telling them? - Google Search

8. Goes on Trips for the Scenery by InkandOwl - ~4500 words, teen - Eddie dies and then comes back to life and tries to get some perspective. I liked the conversations between Eddie and Richie and then way that Eddie starts to take care of himself. The end is really sweet.

If cosmic power and a literal alien space clown’s death wasn’t going to bring him back to life, Eddie was certain that the terrible pain of hearing Richie beg, his tears dropping onto Eddie’s face, probably would’ve done it. He feels sick just thinking about it. About what it all means. “Yeah, Rich, I will.” He could throw a jab at him, tell him something about eating like an adult for once, but he wants to be easy with him right now. Richie deserves it. “You’ll text, right?”

Richie looks down at the prepaid cricket phone in Eddie’s hand and laughs, “There’s no fucking way that thing gets texts.”

“It does.” Eddie grins, “You could call too.”

The fight drains from Richie, his shoulder slumping and he sighs, “Yeah, Eds, I’ll call.”

9. cause i'm about to blow that back out by thotgreeves - ~5000 words, explicit - Here, have some porn. Eddie wears lingerie and Richie loses his goddamn mind. Features submissive top Richie and his unending boner for Eddie.

Richie really should have learnt to never underestimate Eddie Kaspbrak by now. It had come close to killing Richie once, but Eddie might actually be trying to finish him off.

Because the other perk of always letting Eddie go ahead of him was that it gave Richie a prime view of Eddie's ass. Eddie knew about this part and was okay with it. He was wearing a high-waisted pair of slacks that Richie was pretty sure came from the women's section, slightly loose in the legs but nicely filled out by his ass. Richie had been very vocal in the past about how hot they got him, which signaled that Eddie definitely wanted to have sex tonight, and that was already enough to make Richie's dick twitch in excitement. He hadn't been prepared for the finishing blow.

Richie's eyes were fixed, pendulum-like, on how Eddie's slacks were hugging his butt perfectly with every step he took, tight enough to show off the outline of his underwear. Only the folds didn't sit where Richie had expected them to. Instead, Richie realized, his mouth going dry, that in the absence of boxers, there was only a V-shaped crease running from Eddie's hips to between his asscheeks, which could only mean-

Eddie was wearing a thong.

10. * - I’ll Be Homo For Christmas by Amuly - ~15,000 words, explicit - Bill and Audra get a divorce, so Bill moves into Richie’s house with him. Eddie, watching all of this from New York, where he’s still married to Myra, is super, super ok and fine with it in every way.

Except then Richie started posting.

Just stupid shit, mostly with Bill. It wasn’t even real. Eddie knew Bill wasn’t gay and him and Richie were just fucking around ‘for the ‘gram!’ But the more posts Eddie scrolled past on Richie’s Instagram—

 Bill in the kitchen swatting at Richie with a spatula.

 Richie and Bill at the pound, Richie rating dogs on adoptability, Richie begging Bill to adopt a dog with him.

 Richie in the morning with bedhead, smiling blearily into the camera as Bill…

Well. Eddie couldn’t even remember what stupid thing Bill was supposed to be doing in the background of that photo because his eyes couldn’t get past Richie’s bedhead and shirtless torso, chest hairs creeping up towards his collarbones and the little dip at the base of his throat.

Eddie hadn’t thought he was homophobic. But he must have some unresolved issues with it, because he got a stomachache every time he looked at that photo of Richie. Eddie popped a Tums and resolved to talk about it with his therapist.

11. A High-Five is a Hug You Can Hit by Amuly - ~26,000 words, explicit - This fic shows us times throughout their friendship when Eddie and Richie would invent reasons to touch each other without even knowing why. This author feels the same bone deep conviction about Richie crying during sex that I do, and I greatly appreciate that. Plus, all of their stories are fantastic, including this one.

“You know, one of the symptoms of hypothermia is feeling like you’re warm. So like, your body gets so cold that it gets hot, and then you start taking off your clothes-”

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Eddie?” Richie shot back at him without turning around.

“Why don’t you ask your sister how much she liked it last week!” Eddie hollered up at him. Richie just flipped him off without looking. That kinda… bugged Eddie. What the fuck did Richie think he was doing leading up the group with Bill? Why was he stuck back here with Stan? Eddie glanced over at Stan, who was trudging tiredly through the woods alongside him, breath puffing out in little clouds of smoke.

“Okay, Stan?”

Stan glanced over at him, confused. Then he shrugged. “Yeah, fine. Cold.”

“Well that’s better than feeling warm.” And now Eddie was back on track. “Because, if anyone starts feeling warm, they should tell the others immediately. That’s a sign of hypothermia. And we have to warm you up. But you have to do it gradually, you can’t just jump in like, a pot of boiling water-”

12. * - fall apart of stay intact by kaspbrak_kid - ~19,000 words, teen - A more melancholy take on the Christmas fic. This story takes Richie’s self-esteem issues and mental problems and amps them up in a way that feels entirely realistic. The gang comes together to celebrate Christmas, and everyone is walking on eggshells because last Christmas was a bad one for Richie. Also, Eddie moves into the house literally right next to Richie’s, and I find that detail endlessly charming.

“Five minutes ago. I called you, and you didn’t answer. Because you were outside, apparently, fucking...stargazing in December! With no hat on!”

“It’s about the Vitamin D!” Richie says. Now that he’s moved a little, he can really feel the cold—his ears are aching, and his face is numb. “Reflecting off the moon, or something. I have seasonal depression, you know!”

“You have seasonal stupidity,” Eddie mutters, audibly rubbing his hands together. “Just get inside.”

“Yours or mine?” Richie jokes.

Eddie doesn’t get the memo. “Mine, obviously. I’ll make you hot chocolate.”

“Oh,” Richie says, and sits up. “Um. Okay, be right there.”

“Oh, thank god,” Eddie says, and hightails it to his back door, cursing about the cold.

13. evidence of a happier future by lagaudiere - 23,000 words, mature - I am here, leading the Jealous!Eddie revolution. Why aren’t there more fics about this. Have you SEEN Eddie Kaspbrak, can you IMAGINE him jealous? Make this happen, fandom. Anyway, in this one, Richie has a boyfriend back in LA. Eddie has trouble dealing with that as he tries to figure himself out and pick up the pieces of his life post-Derry.

“It’s not gonna be like Mike’s announcement, don’t worry,” Richie says hastily. “And it’s not like, a huge thing, so don’t make it a huge thing. But you guys are like, my best friends, and I just wanted you to know that I’m, uh. Gay.”

He turns up his palms and raises his eyebrows in a gesture that suggests a magician presenting his audience with an empty hat after making the rabbit disappear, and Eddie says, “Are you joking?”

“What? Jesus, no, Eddie.” Richie’s face falls, and Eddie instantly feels guilty. “I’m trying to be sincere here.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says immediately, feeling all of their friends looking at him with reproach. “I was just — if you weren’t, I wouldn’t think you should… joke about it.”

“Well, I am,” Richie says. He sounds slightly put out — and who wouldn’t be, Eddie scolds himself, by that ridiculous response. “I have all the gay credientials. I have a boyfriend, partner, whatever people say. I don’t really tell people because of the whole, stage persona, thing. But yeah.”

“Richie!” Bev’s voice breaks through the awkwardness, and she reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. “Thank you for telling us. Really.”

And the others all join in, a chorus of voices telling Richie they love him and they’re proud of him, and Ben is saying, “I wanna see a picture of the guy!” and Eddie’s throat feels like it’s closing up.

14. The ‘Do Not Fucking Touch Me’ Tour by MellytheHun - ~23,000 words, explicit - It’s Richie’s comeback special, and he makes it a big one. This...isn’t really a comedy show, but the author lampshades that. It’s an excuse to have Richie talk about how much he loves each of his friends individually, and it’s extremely entertaining. Richie doesn’t know that Eddie is in the audience watching it all.

“Hey, uhm… Eddie… he couldn’t reschedule his thing? He - I mean... it… it was really that important?”

She feels awful for him immediately, but not wanting to spoil what would ultimately be a lovely surprise, she tells him, “I’m sorry, Rich. He said it was urgent. He was really sorry about it.”

Her phone buzzes with a text from Eddie right as Richie curses under his breath, missing the noise. She clutches her phone more tightly in her fist, knowing Eddie is wondering where his seat is going to be; she bought him a separate ticket, elsewhere in the theatre, so Richie wouldn’t catch him sitting among them, as he will absolutely, inevitably look over to the Losers for most of the show.

“Okay,” Richie surrenders sadly, “Uh - I guess he’ll see it eventually, right?”

Smiling forlornly at him, she pats his arm, and tells him, “don’t worry, Richie. Your genius will inevitably be forced upon us all.”

He smiles at her, gives her a kiss on the cheek, and when Bill jokingly asks why he didn’t get one, Richie flips him off, and reminds them to treat themselves to the bar in the lobby.

Once he’s backstage, Beverly takes her phone out, and emails Eddie his ticket, explains that she’s already convinced Richie he’s not coming, and to make sure he doesn’t show up too early, or Richie will notice.

15. The List by cissues - ~7000 words, teen - Eddie finds a list he wrote as a teenager. Richie tries his best to fulfill them all. This is very sweet.

‘ All the things I want. Everything I’m not allowed to have. A perfect summer. ”

The words hit gentler than he thought they would, but they still hit and he finds himself blinking away at a wetness at the corner of his eye. He wipes at it and sniffles and Richie peers sidelong at him to make sure he’s okay. He is, he’s fine, and Richie never dotes on him when things are, generally, okay. Only when he needs it, which is one of the many things he loves about what they have now.

“This is… this is like a fucking  bucket list  for the most repressed child in the world.” Richie says, breathless.

Eddie rolls his eyes to hide the sting. “You’re looking at him,” he says, bitter. Richie frowns at him but turns back to the paper. Another thing Eddie loves, Richie never takes his trauma-induced bait. His knee-jerk reactions developed over years of what he’s now comfortable enough to call abuse.

16. Richie Tozier Answers the Web's Most Searched Questions by DeadpanMage - ~2000 words, teen - This is a short one, but the transcript of this popular YT video format with Richie felt spot on in terms of characterization and Richie’s voice.

[Back to the text screen: “So WIRED asked Richie Tozier some of the internet’s burning questions.” Cut back to Richie, now holding a poster board with several Google autocomplete searches half covered.]

Richie: I’ve undergone something of a rebranding in the past year, so I wonder how many of these questions are going to be super irrelevant-slash-embarrassing. Probably all of them. Let’s get started! [He tears the covering off of the first question.] Alright, that’s not bad. “How to pronounce Richie Tozier?” Well, we’re only on question one and I’ve already said it like a hundred times so there you go. And that’s “Richie Tozier” spelled J-O-H-N M-U-L-A-N-E-Y, so if you’ve got any complaints be sure to send them that way. Next question!

You can check out a larger list of stories I’ve enjoyed in my AO3 bookmarks. And finally, if you’re interested, here are the two fics I’ve written:

1. Waiting For a Sign - ~6000 words, explicit - Eddie meets Richie again and comes to the startling realization that he totally wants to hit that.

Maybe if Richie wasn’t famous, Eddie could have found a way to let it go. A couple furtive jerk off sessions in the shower after he got back to New York and the image of Richie’s big hands and wide smile and improbably flattering stubble would fade from his mind.

But Richie was famous, and the internet never forgot.

Eddie lasted three days before giving in and typing ‘Richie Tozier’ into the YouTube search bar. Just seeing Richie in the thumbnails was enough to make Eddie’s heart thud, what the fuck. He had to scroll past a bunch of news videos about Richie's supposed mental breakdown, but after that he landed on some old stand-up.

Before he clicked on the first video, he got up and made sure that the door of his study was locked. Then he turned off the lights and put on a pair of earbuds.

Fake It ‘Til You Make It - ~21,000 words, explicit - It’s that totally relatable situation where the man you’re secretly in love with is a celebrity who just came out and now needs a fake boyfriend to keep himself in the spotlight. Eddie offers to help out of the goodness of his heart and not because he’s insanely fucking jealous.

Eddie froze, breath catching in his throat.

Richie looked...really good.

Bev’s influence was obvious. His hair, which had been unkempt and shaggy, a perfect match for his stoner permakid schtick, was cut much shorter and neater. His formerly unruly stubble somehow now emphasized the sharp cut of his jaw instead of obscuring it.

He wore new glasses, Eddie noticed. Slim silver metal frames instead of his giant, clunky plastic ones. The fitted black sweater and dark blue jeans were simple, but made his shoulders look impossibly broad and his legs miles long.

Fuck everything and Beverly Marsh in particular.

LINK TO MY FIRST SET OF REDDIE RECS 30+ FICS

[nat-roman0ff]

i think we’re okay

i think we’re okay

---

a city-wide power outage leaves you and shawn stranded at home trying to stay cool, and leads to an uncomfortable conversation about your future together.

wc: 2,945

warnings: f-bombs, sweat, & the word moist

---

When you wake up, it’s like, unbearably hot.

 You can feel the cotton of Shawn’s shirt that you wore to bed clinging to your clammy skin. The sheets below you are damp with sweat. You’re overwhelmed by a heaviness in the air. Shawn’s snoozing form is next to you, cheek pressed into the pillow, mouth slightly agape and blissfully unaware of just how fucking hot it is in your shared bedroom. 

“Shawn!” You groan, pushing on your boyfriend’s shoulder, “I think the aircon shit the bed last night. It’s like a billion degrees in here.” 

 Shawn lets out a struggled moan and buries his full face until the pillow, “I’ll check it in a minute.” 

 You (quite literally) peel off the sheet that covered you. Shawn had pushed his all off and it bunched in between the two of your, creating a barrier. You smack his boxer clad bum with your palm, “do it now please!” 

 He turns his head to face you, “so demanding,” he grumbles, pulling himself out of bed. You notice a thin layer of sweat across his back. He makes a face and shakes his sticky arms out, “we’re fucked if it’s out.” 

 You grab a hairtie from the nightstand and pull your hair up into a sloppy bun at the top of your head. It was an instant relief to have it off the back of your sticky neck. A single swipe of your hand wipes away some sweat and your damp baby hairs stick to your skin.

 Shawn re-enters the room within just a few seconds, “bad news, babe.” 

 You raise an eyebrow. 

 “It’s not just the aircon,” he starts, rocking on his heels, “the whole power is out. Checked the hallway outside too and only the emergency lights are on. It must be the whole building.” 

 You clamor from the bed to the large window that faces the CN Tower and the city. 

 Everything was dark. 

 You rush back to the bed and grab your phone off the night stand. A quick check on the news reveals that the entire city is without power. 

 “A blackout?” Shawn scoffs, “Is that even possible in this day and age?” 

 You shrug, “it would appear so.”

 He flops back onto the bed, “what percentage is your phone at?” He asks, scrolling.

 “Ninty-seven percent, you?” 

 Shawn drops his phone to the bed, “eight, we’re fucked.” 

 You roll your eyes, “I’m sure it’ll be back on soon, relax.” 

 There’s a pool of sweat at the small of your back and you shift uncomfortably against the dampened sheets. 

 “We’re going to fucking die,” Shawn states wiping his forehead. 

 You roll off the bed, walking to the balcony door in your bedroom, “Shawn it can’t be that bad. Let’s open the door and get some fresh air in here.” 

 He smirks, “go for it, Princess.” 

 You’re met with immediate Hell fire, “oh my God. Satan called, he wants his weather back.” 

 You scramble to shut the door, silently cursing Shawn for never getting curtains or blinds for the condo. The blaring sunlight burns your skin even through the glass.It wasn’t just bad enough that the power was out, the city of Toronto was now going through record high temperatures that had never been seen before. That, on top of high humidity made the outdoors quite literally intolerable. 

 “What do we do now?” You ask, your skin wildly uncomfortable. 

 Shawn smirks, “I think I’ve got an idea.” 

 He lunges at you, picking you up from behind and tossing you onto the bed. Before you have a chance to protest, he’s got you pinned under him, both hands holding your wrists above your head and locking you in place. Shawn immediately attacks your neck, kissing and nipping at your burning skin. 

 It’s all fine and good, until you feel a certain...wetness. And not the good kind. 

 “Shawn!” He stops dead in his tracks.

 “What?!” He questions, freeing your hands. 

 You wipe the bead of sweat that’s fallen from his temples onto your chest, “you’re sweating on me.”

 He rolls off and back to his side of the bed. You swipe a finger up his bicep, his skin slick, “shit, you’re so wet.” 

 Shawn scrunches his face, “aren’t I the one that’s supposed to be saying that?” 

 You slap his arm. 

 He lets out a breathy laugh and looks toward the ceiling. This week was supposed to be just the two of you. Amazingly, Shawn had managed a week off between legs on his North American tour and came home to spend some time with you. He’d been home four days, and you both had barely left the bedroom long enough to eat a meal a day.

 It wasn’t necessarily a new relationship. You’d been dating for well over a year, and been friends even longer. Shawn liked to keep your relationship private, though. He didn’t talk about you in interviews or share photos of the two of you online. He kept you all to himself. Most days it was fine, and you stayed within the bubble of his condo, or going out in groups so fans wouldn’t get suspicious. But it was starting to get tiring. Not that you wanted to scream it from the rooftops, by any means, that amount of attention was not something you were equipt for. You were just sick and tired of feeling like Shawn’s dirty little secret. 

 “Where do you think the coolest place is in here?” He asks. 

 You purse your lips in thought, “the bathroom floor maybe?” 

 Shawn sits up, fluffing his hair, “grab a pillow, we’re moving to the bathroom.” 

 While the bathroom floor is quite cool, it’s also very hard. It puts strain on your lower back, but the cool relief against your skin is much welcomed. Shawn plays with your hand, letting his fingers lace between yours as he brings it to his lips to press a kiss into the back of your fingers. 

 “Although this really fucking sucks, I’m glad to be home with you.” He mumbles against your skin. 

 You kiss his shoulder, “me too, but I  think I need less clothes.”

 You stand and Shawn watches, locking his fingers and placing them behind his head to enjoy the view. You carefully lift up the oversized shirt until it’s just below your breasts, then turn away from him to lift it over your head. 

 “Fuckin’ tease,” he mutters, poking your ankle with his foot. 

 You give him a cheeky flash before going back to the bedroom to throw on a bralette. The pajama shorts you’re wearing come off too, leaving you in just the lacy cloth and a mismatched pair of underwear. 

 Shawn’s moved to a different part of the floor when you return, bringing your pillow with him, “found another cold spot,” he pats the tile beside him, “I also much prefer this outfit,” he stares with wide eyes. 

 “Pervert,” you retort, making sure to put a little extra bend in when you sit back down on the ground. 

 You don’t lay down just yet, letting your back stretch for a moment. Shawn reaches up and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “I miss you.” 

 “I’m right here, dummy.” 

 He rolls his eyes, “you know what I mean.” 

 You know where this is going. 

 “Can’t you take some time off of school? Just the first semester. Finish out this tour with me,” he pulls you down to kiss him, “please.” 

 It takes all you can to say it, “no, Shawn.” 

 His hand drops, “fine. But one day I’ll get you to agree to it.” 

 A chill rolls up your spine when your skin makes contact with the fresh coolness, “dream on.” 

 Shawn presses his lips into your shoulder and leaves them there for a second before playfully nipping at your skin. The same argument always came up; travel with me, tour with me, come to this grand beautiful place with me. But it was the same response every time. It was hard, really, being away from him but you knew going into this relationship that you needed to still keep your sense of self, your goals, your dreams, and not just become the live in girlfriend of uber pop star Shawn Mendes. 

 That wasn’t the Shawn you knew and loved. Yes, you were always proud of his accomplishments and everything he’d done but that wasn’t the reason you were with him. You loved him for the moments like now: normal, at home. You were the last piece of his life that he’d been able to keep private and you adored that. Some days he begged, fucking pleaded with you to post a cute selfie with you, or a candid he’d caught on your morning coffee run. Just so someone besides you and close family and friends knew. But like traveling, the answer was always the same:

 No.

 “We should take a vacation,” Shawn mutters into your skin, “somewhere where the water is so clear you can see the bottom of the ocean. Somewhere where it’s just you and me for a bit. No distractions.” 

 “Oh yeah?” You lull your head over to face him, poking his nose, “and between which world tour or event do you suggest we take that trip?”

 You guess you didn’t mean it to sound as harshly as it did, but Shawn sits up and scoffs, “you know, I’m really sick of you making me feel like I have to choose between you and my career. It’s not like any of this was a secret when you got together.” 

 “No, I’m the only secret here,” you quip, and you suppose its the heat that’s making you careless and brave.

 Shawn just shakes his head and stands, leaving you alone on the bathroom floor. You hear the bedroom door slam shut and the squeak of your shared king sized mattress. Drama queen.

 You give him a solid ten minutes before you decide to get up off the floor and go to the bedroom. You knock once and let yourself in. Shawn’s laying on the bed, his hands folded across his stomach, staring at the ceiling. 

 “Hey,” you poke his side, “I’m sorry for being such a bitch.”

 He doesn’t look at you, “can’t apologize for what you are.” 

 Ouch. 

 You cuddle up next to him and he doesn’t dare move, but you can feel the muscles in his stomach constrict when you touch him, so that means he’s not completely pissed at you.

 “I’m just scared, I think,” you start, Shawn still not flinching, “scared of people judging me because I’m a nothing nobody and you’re you. Scared that I’m going to get ripped apart by thousands of strangers who don’t know me or us. Scared that the media is going to make up stories about me and you. Scared to lose you -” 

 “That’s not going to happen,” Shawn cuts you off. 

 He finally looks at you, and his eyes are wet and he keeps swallowing something down. 

 “Which part?” You ask.

 “All of it,” he chokes, reaching his arm around you to pull your body closer to his, “I love you so much sometimes I feel like I can’t take it anymore. Some days I wake up and feel like I’d drop everything just to be with you all the time and that’s the most terrifying thing I think that could ever happen to me. I never thought there’d be a day where I loved something more than what I do.” 

 “Shawn,” you sigh, “I’m not asking you to give up your career. That’s ridiculous. I just don’t want to only ever be known as that girl dating Shawn Mendes.” 

 His head drops to your chest and you thread your fingers through his hair. It’s wet from sweat but you don’t really care at this point. 

 “You should check Instagram,” he groans, “either you’re going to love me or hate me.” 

 You freeze, “Shawn-” 

 He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look up. Your heart pounds in your chest as you push him off of you to grab your phone, “Shawn what the fuck did you do?” 

 You open your phone and pull up Instagram. It’s the first post to pop up on your feed. It’s already gotten seven hundred thousand likes. 

 It’s a picture of the two of you from earlier this summer. You were at a picnic at his parents house. His mom had caught the two of you in an intimate moment and snapped the photo. You were on his lap, his arms wrapped around you. His face was held in your hands as you went in for a kiss, the smile on his face big and wide.

 “You had no right -” 

 “Read the caption,” he cuts you off, then stands and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

 Your fingers shake as you scroll through:

 Life is funny sometimes. And not in a way where like you watch your best friend get hit in the balls or something. It’s funny in a way that takes your life, and all the things you thought were the most special and the most important and introduces you to someone who makes those things seem so small and insignificant without their love. This is my girlfriend, by the way. We just celebrated our first year anniversary two months ago. She wasn’t with me because I was in Europe on tour and she was home, working her ass off in University. It’s been her request that we keep ourselves quiet from the world, and I’m pretty sure she’s going to kick my ass when she sees this in about five minutes but I don’t care. 

 Babe, I love you, and I never want you to be my secret. I want the world to know that I love you, and I know if the world got to know you a little more, they’d love you too. They’ll see all of your best qualities (and even love your worst, just like I do). They’ll see all the beautiful, fantastic things that I see in you. And if anyone has anything other than that to say? Fuck them. Because at the end of the day, you’re what’s most important to me right now, in these moments. And I wouldn’t trade them or you for anything else in the world. 

 Your hand covers your mouth and you choke back a little cry. Shawn isn’t one for many words, despite being a songwriter, he can just never seen to get it all out in a cohesive manner. You keep refreshing the page as the likes add up, and the comments section explodes with congratulations messages. You don’t dare to look beyond into the depths of them. You can only imagine the disgusting things that are being said.

 Slowly, you felt the anger towards Shawn start to disintegrate. Yes, you were pissed he didn’t ask permission, and it was definitely going to be a discussion you had, that’s for sure. But it was the words written underneath that photo that you were focused on. 

 You made your way out of the bedroom to find Shawn sitting on the living room floor, “I didn’t want to get sweat prints on the couch,” he makes a face and wipes around his hairline, “I’m...moist.” 

 You groan, “first of all, don’t ever fucking say that word in my prescince ever again,” you take a step closer, “second of all, I love you.” 

 Shawn smiles wide and reaches his arms out to make grabby hands for you. You accept, despite the obnoxious heat and sit on his lap.

 “I love you too. You’re melting on me,” he chuckles while his lips ghost your below your ear. 

 You play with the damp hair at the nape of his neck, “we’re going to talk about you posting that without my consent later, but I’m too hot to argue about anything else. I don’t like being mad at you.” 

 Shawn kisses your neck, “I don’t like being mad at you either,” he replies, squeezing his arms tighter around you, “this is all new for me, I’ve got to learn to talk to you about stuff that bothers me instead of just getting snippy like that. It’s not fair.” 

 “And I should be more understanding about your career,” you twist his curls mindlessly as you speak, his lips peppering your skin “it’s not a normal job you can choose to take time off of. There’s contracts and expectations. I know that it’s going to have to come first most of the time and I’m fine with that.” 

 Shawn stops to hold your face, his giant palm covering your cheek, “I love you.” 

 You roll your eyes, “you’ve already said that.” 

 “Well I’m saying it again,” he laughs before planting a kiss on your lips. 

 There’s a loud beep that snaps the two of you out of it. You can see the time on the stove blinking, and hear the soft whoosh of the aircon turning back on. You’re met with the instant relief of cool air from the duct above you.

 “Oh my god, yes,” you moan leaning slightly back to take in all the feeling of the cold air. 

 Shawn scoffs, “damn I can barely get you to sound like that half the time.” 

 You stand and hum, “better get to working on it then.” 

 His hand is still held in yours and you step away to get him to follow but he tugs back on you gently, “Hey,” he starts, his voice serious, “are we okay?” 

 You smile and kiss the back of his hand, “I think we’re okay.” 

---

hi hi! i’m loving posting these oneshots/blurbs for you guys. thank you SO much for all the love on a lession in shakesbeer. over 600 notes R U JOKING??? amazing. i love everyone and this community so so much. i hope y’all liked this one just the same! 

[roguevaramiy]

More Than A Gift - Ohmtoonz Drabble

Gift for @fluffy-papaya

Ah this is the first fic/drabble I’ve finished since literally like 2014 so I hope it’s good enough?? It’s a bit longer than I originally intended actually. This AU is kinda set where the boys are neighbors and such but still gave each other their YT names as nicknames just so there’s no confusion on that.

Word Count - 1,855

~

“This is fucking stupid, Delirious.” “No it is not, now shut up and wrap the present!”

Luke groaned, earning a maniacal giggle at his torment in return from his best friend, whose nickname fits a little too well. Gazing down at the object in his hands, doubt wriggled into his head again.

“Do you really think he’ll like this dumb thing? I feel like he’s gonna fuckin’ laugh at me,” he voiced to the man beside him, squeezing the soft item slightly. The item in question being an incredibly soft dog plush he’d bought on a whim.

“Of course he’ll like it! If not, then he’s gonna have to deal with my fists of fury bitch!” The words were accentuated with vigorous punches to the air by the scrawny man.

“Uh-huh, sure thing, string bean,” he teased back, snickering at the scowl his words brought to Jonathan’s face.

“L-like you have room to t-talk!” Luke just raised an eyebrow at his friend’s spluttering, both of them knowing it made no sense. It was no secret the southerner was far from lacking in the muscle department, fully capable of taking care of himself physically. The same couldn’t be very well said for his skinny companion, who huffed at him in annoyance before throwing a roll of green and blue wrapping paper at him. “Just give it to him and leave me alone.”

The blue-eyed brunet stomped off with a pout, flopping onto the beat up couch nearby, phone in hand. Fond laughter erupted from the bearded man at the childish display, turning his attention back to the present in his grasp.

It really shouldn’t be so nerve wracking, but he couldn’t help the internal crisis from swirling through his thoughts, freezing all courage he could’ve ever mustered immediately. As much as he was usually the composed one, the man the gift was meant for just seemed to have the undying effect of turning his mental motor functions into useless goo.

He smiled fondly as he predicted what good reactions could possibly be received from the present. Surely the sweet brunet would gush about how Luke absolutely did not need to get him a present, how it was such a kind gesture no matter what the colorful paper contained.

But then again…

The fuzzy stuffed animal could also garner a less than pleasant situation as well. Perhaps his long time crush would think the gift is ridiculous and laugh at him for it; think it’s stupid and hand it back. Not to even mention the fact of him possibly confessing to his neighbor in the process.

No, no. Ryan isn’t like that, even if he laughs at it, surely he would still appreciate it, right? But what if he pushes me away for my feelings?

Luke’s train of thought was cut short by a knock at the door, causing Jon to bolt straight up in his seat. “Oohh, that must be him. Leave wrapping the present to me, Cartoonz, and go open the door!” He didn’t have much time to react, nor protest, as a blur of blue snatched the paper and plush from his fingertips and bolted upstairs. Blinking away his confusion, the southerner strode to the front door, neglecting to acknowledge the sweat forming on his skin as a rare plume of anxiety wormed its way throughout his stomach.

Cool it Luke, it’s just your neighbor. Your super cute neighbor who’s leaving to visit family for Christmas in a few hours and this is your last chance to actually say something about how you feel in person for the next 2 weeks.

Fuck.

Pushing his inner monologue aside, he swung the door open to be met by the sight of lively blue-green eyes shining happily back at him.

“Hi, ‘Toonzy!” Just the utterance of the nickname the other gave him sent Luke practically reeling, barely keeping his composure as he replied with his own little nickname for his neighbor.

“Hey, Ohm.” He stepped aside, allowing Ryan to enter through the door and bound into the living room; a dark green scarf with omegas decorating the ends trailing behind him. Brown eyes watched carefully as the warm clothing-clad man perched on the edge of the couch with ease, completely comfortable with making himself at home in the other’s house as though it was second nature. There was nothing particularly special about the scene before him, but Luke couldn’t help feeling a warm glow in his chest at the sight of his handsome crush lounging happily on the old furniture; glasses slipping down the pale bridge of his nose in a way that the southernern couldn’t help but find adorable.

“So, Ryan, since you’re planning on leaving tonight I figured I’d go ahead and give you your Christmas present early, so you don’t have to wait y’know.” He didn’t waste time getting to the point as he plopped onto the couch next as well, the blunt transfer into conversation nothing new to the other.

“Oh, you didn’t have to get me anythi-!”

“Ah, ah, ah! Stop that shit, it’s too late, I already got the damn thing and you’re getting it anyway,” the bearded man interrupted him loudly with a raised hand. Ohm let his mouth stay open for a moment before closing it with hesitation, rolling his eyes with a laugh.

“Whatever, ‘Toonzy, as long as you didn’t get me something inappropriate!”

“Aw shit, you mean you didn’t want a pink thong for Christmas? I guess I’ll just have to give it to Delirious then.” The joke left Ryan practically in tears laughing, a hand coming up to swat the other man’s bicep playfully. Cartoonz let a chuckle out in return, elated at the having made such a sweet sound come from his crush. He took that moment of amusement to worry about why Jonathan hadn’t returned yet. There was no need for him to get off the couch however, as though by some psychic magic, his best friend came stumbling down the stairs on cue with his hands behind his back.

“Hey, Ohm- ah fuck!” The shout was swiftly followed by a crash as the gangly man tumbled to the carpeted flooring face first, hands too preoccupied to catch himself.

The bundled up figure on the couch fell into another round of giggles at the situation while Luke made his way over to the mess of a man on the floor. “Ah hah, there’s the bastard. I’ll be takin’ this!” Not bothering to help Delirious to his feet, the southerner reached down to swipe the object from his friend’s hands, earning a, “What the fuck, Cartoonz?!” in return.

“You can get up yourself, you big baby,” he shot back, finding his way back to his spot next to his neighbor. He glanced down at the gift in his hands, rolling his eyes at the slightly sloppy craftmanship of the wrapping, but nevertheless grateful for it being presentable enough. “Anyway, uh, here’s your present. Merry early Christmas?” Luke tried to laugh it off as he timidly handed the item over to the other on the couch.

The bearded man raised an eyebrow in suspicious as a snicker left Jonathan, who had gotten off the floor and was now retreating back upstairs hastily. The quick action made a sliver of fear sit in his stomach as Ryan thanked him and started at peeling away the bright paper.

Luke winced slightly as a soft gasp escaped the other brunet, but he was washed with relief as hazel eyes sparkled up at him joyfully. “This is such a cute gift, Luke! You even remembered my favorite breed!” Ohm beamed at him, lifting the stuffed Jack Russell from the remaining wrapping. A small, “Oh,” left the other though as something fell from his hands onto the floor.

The gift giver knit his eyebrows together in confusion, there wasn’t supposed to be anything else with the plush. Suddenly leaving wrapping the present to Delirious seemed like a bad idea way too late.

Ryan leaned down to picked up the white piece of paper that had fallen to the floor, colorful eyes scanning over it quickly, leaving Cartoonz to panic internally. He watched as the other man’s eyes widened slightly, a pink hue tinting his pale cheeks.

“L-Luke? Do you mean it?” The question was delivered in such a soft tone, it took a moment for the southerner to process it.

“What?” He blurted out, reaching over and taking the paper from his crush’s hands and reading it himself. Written in red inked, slightly messy handwriting was a simple message:

‘Merry Christmas, Ryan. I’ve liked you for awhile so, will you be my present this year? ♥’

...

Real fucking classy, Jon.

The quick thought flitted through his brain before he too was beginning to fluster heavily, jaw hanging open slightly as he tried to think of what to say. He mustered the courage to look back up Ryan, seeing a still pink face staring back, eyes almost holding a hopeful look to them?

Hopeful, could his crush possibly be hoping it was true?

“‘Toonzy? You seem confused, did you not write that?” The words came out hesitant and slightly hurt sounding, causing the bearded man’s heart to clench slightly.

“No, er, I mean. Ah, fuck,” he stumbled over his words awkwardly, reaching up to scratch his cheek as he sighed heavily. “I’m not the one who wrote it, no. It was Delirious being a sneaky little fucker, but… It is true.” He finished the sentence without looking at the other, instead choosing to stare down at the paper in his hands, defeated.

It was silent for a moment before an excited giggle broke through the air. “Well I guess now would be a good time to tell you I’m not leaving then.” Luke’s head snapped up quickly, mouth opening in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, the whole family get-together got cancelled ‘cause a lot of people got sick. So since I’m staying in town, could I maybe interest you in a date…?” Ohm trailed off in his question, being the one to look off in embarrassment instead, a small nervous smile playing at his lips. Luke just sat dumbfounded for a moment, taking a hot minute to process the information he just received before breaking out into a huge grin.

“No shit I’ll take you up on a date, I didn’t just confess by accident for nothing,” he joked with newfound ease, gaining some of his usual confidence back.

The positive reaction was immediate, the southerner being thrown backwards onto the couch by the force of Ryan’s body colliding with his own in a warm hug. A giggle of happiness was let out of the man now on top of him, and chapped but lovingly sweet lips melded to his perfectly like the action was a long awaited arrival to home; pure elation practically glowing from both figures on the old couch.

And despite the circumstances of how it happened, Luke couldn’t help but be grateful for his shithead of a best friend helping him get the greatest gift he ever could’ve asked for.

~