#i'll just be over here burning down my computer

[clair-de-lunar-tears]

not at all related to real life events

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

you can hear it in the silence

summary: you have had an insane crush on Clark since he moved to metropolis, but thank god he has no idea about the way he makes your heart skip a bear every time he smiles (honey, you've got a big storm comin') wc:  1k+  a/n:  Please feel free to send any requests my way!  warnings: general fluff, reader owns a bookstore, reader has no idea about clark's powers, as always the title is from a Taylor Swift song- sue me

“It’s not a big deal, Clark.” you insist, phone squished between your ear and your shoulder. 

“It’s a big deal to me.” he insists, an unusual heaviness to his voice. 

“It will take a while, but I'll manage, I mostly just called to complain.” You surveyed the boxes stacked up in front of the storefront, hands on your hips and a frown playing at the corner of your lips. When your grandmother had left you her quaint bookstore in downtown Metropolis, you had half a mind to sell it off to the first interested buyer. You’d gone as far as contacting a realtor, but cancelled the first showing at the last minute. 

Too much of your childhood was nestled in between the children’s books and the non fiction shelves, too many memories of your grandmother hosting story time and holding copies of the new releases you’ve been dying for to be able to part with it. 

You’d given everyone the day off, a few employees were headed to a festival in the park, someone was on a family vacation and overall, it was meant to be a slow day at the shop. And it was, until the delivery man left you with 30 hulking boxes of new release hard covers. Worse yet, it looked like it was going to rain. 

“I’m on my break, I’ll head over.” 

It was pointless, to argue, once Clark had an idea in his head, he was stubborn. But you were a bit of a slow learner. “By the time you get here your break is going to be awful. I’m sure that traffic is terrible because of the festival.” 

“You have such little faith in me!” you turned to find Clark a ways down the block, arms stretched out, his suit just a big too big on his frame. His hair was windswept, glasses slightly crooked perched on his nose. He jogged towards you, a goofy smile on his face. 

“How do you keep doing this?” If you didn’t know better, you would swear that Clark was psychic. He was somehow always exactly where you needed him to be. 

Clark slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you tight against his side for a moment. “Just gifted I guess.” He gave you another squeeze before releasing you and stepping back to assess the situation. “You sure you ordered enough?” 

You playfully shoved him, but he didn’t even wobble. Clark had been your rock ever since he moved into the city. You’d been close falling off a ladder, stretching to dust the top of a shelf when the ladder had begun to tilt. He’d tripped over a stack of books on the way, but he managed to prop the ladder back upright, you along with it. “We have that signing in a couple weeks, didn’t want to run out.” 

All he did was nod, shrugging off his suit jacket that somehow was just a bit too big for his frame and rolled up the sleeves of his white button down. “We’ll take care of it,” he said, voice sure. And with the way he managed to lift three of the boxes as if they were full of pillows, you were inclined to believe him. 

It had taken the two of you all of five minutes to get everything inside, not that Clark had allowed you to move more than the first box. “You make a way better doorman anyways.” He joked without malice. You were leaning up against the counter, your shoulder bumping into his arm. 

“Don’t say I never do anything for you, Clark.” 

“I never would.” Your gaze was fixed firmly on the floor, but you could feel the intensity in his gaze burning into the side of your head, regardless. You settle for leaning a bit of your weight against him, taking comfort in his arm wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you close. 

“Wait,” you turned, nearly crawling across the counter to wake up the computer sitting on the other side of the counter. “You’re going to be late!” 

“When have I ever been late?” you could hear the laughter in his voice, but you ignored it in favor of grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. You grabbed his shoulders, and mercifully he let you guide him to the door. You knew from past experience if he didn’t want to go, there was no way to move him. 

“Last week, I was stranded at the Thai place down the street!” 

He stopped dead in his tracks, leaning against the doorway and pushing the curls resting on his forehead away with the back of his hand. He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “For how long?” 

“That’s not the point, you presented the information as an objective truth!” you resisted the urge to stomp your foot, he was already looking pointedly at your crossed arms and making the face he does when he’s trying not to laugh in your face. 

“I asked a question, I think the trouble lies in your interpretation.” He was leaning down to meet your eyes, and you were thankful there was no way he could hear the way your heart was pounding. "And it was only five minutes."

You shoved him gently, ignoring the fact that he didn’t so much as wobble. “You’re going to be late, go!” You both paused, the moment heavy between you. All you could focus on was the rise and fall of his chest under your hands for a few moments. One of his hands rested over both of yours, squeezing briefly before stepping back and letting your hands drop. 

“Be careful on the ladder this time.” 

“Go!” 

He lingered for a few moments longer, giving you a final once over before nodding to himself and spinning on his heel. After a few steps, he turned around to face you, his head sticking up above the crowd of people on the sidewalk. “We still on for dinner?” 

“Late!” you laughed, waving him off. He raised his eyebrows, unphased by the people forced to part around him. “Yes! Now go!” 

You stood in the doorway, watching him duck and dodge the other pedestrians for longer than you would admit, thankful that he hadn’t turned and caught you. 

Unfortunately for you, even in a crowd of people with his back turned, he couldn’t help but be aware of you. You just didn’t know it yet.

[witherby]

Mother Hen Hal skit perhaps...? Since you said you are up for writing anything, can i recommend some silly mother hen Hal? :3/nf/silly

Y'know what hell yeah. Hal is Mom, and that's canon now.

Also, it doesn't really make sense for me to use the infant gif for Flittermouse when they inevitably get older. Does this one work for you guys? Let me know. I might fiddle around until I find something suitable.

The Littlest Wayne: Mother Hen

Masterlist is Here!

"Ah-ah! Put it down."

You freeze, one hand curled around the handle of the popsicle you were trying to sneak before dinner.

"I'm not a motion sensor, kid. I can still see you if you're standing still. Put. It. Down. If you want a snack then there's a fruit bowl on the counter."

You huff and put the popsicle back in the freezer, stomping over to the bowl to snatch an orange. "Fine."

"What was that?"

You grimace. "Yes, mama."

Hal narrows his eyes at you and holds out his hand. You approach him from where he's leaning against the doorway and hand the orange over, and he starts to peel it for you.

"Kids these days, gettin' sassier and sassier. Y'know when I was young my dad would pop me on the mouth for backtalk."

"Thank goodness you're not your dad," you say, taking it back and stepping into his shadow to let it pull you into the dark. "Thanks, mama."

"Uh huh," he sighs, but his expression is fond as he watches you disappear. He shakes his head and grabs a banana for himself. "Goofy kid. They should be grateful I found 'em in the act and not Alfred."

--

"Disarm that, please."

Jason glances up at Hal from where he's sitting on his bed, currently taking inventory of his ammo and checking the condition of his guns.

"Uh, 'scuse me?"

"You know your dad's rule. No guns in the house. If you wanna keep it upstairs, you've gotta disassemble it."

"Oh," Jason says, scoffing, "what, like I'm gonna suit up and shoot up the place? I'm an asshole, but I'm not that big an asshole."

"Everyone trusts you, Jaybird," Hal says, "but even the best-maintained guns can misfire. A warped firing pin here, too much gunpowder in a bullet there, a hair trigger —"

"You think I'm running around with shitty equipment like an amateur, Jordan?" Jason sneers and picks up one of his pistols, aiming it at Hal's head. It doesn't have any bullets in it, but fear factor is half of his job. "You think this could go off willy-nilly 'cause I dunno how to take care of my toys? Huh? Just because you're fucking Bruce doesn't mean you get to call any shots in this house —"

A green hammer materializes faster than Jason can blink and smacks the gun from his hand. He hisses flexes his fingers, glaring, only lean back when he suddenly finds Hal glaring down at him less than a foot away from the edge of the bed.

"I'm not playing this game with you, Jason Todd-Wayne," he says. The boy actually feels sweat pooling on the back of his neck. "I have to go pick your brother up from school, and when I come back these guns are either going to be in the cave, or disassembled in your bedroom."

"...yes, ma," Jason mumbles. Hal nods once, gives him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, and leaves the room.

--

Tim doesn't glance up when he hears footsteps descending the cave. He keeps scrolling through the security footage from the most recent bank heist on the batcomputer, trying and failing to figure out exactly what the hell Two-Face would want with that many uncut diamonds. Money tends to play very little factor in his scheme of the week, so why —

"Bed time."

"Crime never sleeps," Tim mumbles, rubbing his burning eyes and reaching for the can of Monster on the desk. Another hand swipes it away first, and he scowls. "I'll head up in, like, an hour." He squints when he thinks he sees a partial blueprint sticking out of Two-Face's pocket. "Like two hours."

"Nuh-uh. The one and only time I fell for that, you stayed awake for another fifty hours before we caught onto you. No more computer tonight."

"And I cracked that case fifty hours faster than I would've if I'd slept."

Hal scruffs Tim, hoisting him into the air by the back of his shirt and turning to go back up the staircase.

"Hal! Okay, I'm serious this time, twenty minutes so I can mark my place and —"

"Bed time," Hal hisses. "It is three in the morning and I have to get up at five. Do not test my patience right now."

"Yes, mom," Tim immediately says, eyes wide. He wants to scan that blueprint, but he wants to avoid getting on a sleep-deprived Hal's bad side even more. "Bed time."

Hal nods and carts him off to his room, tucking Tim in and giving him a pointed goodnight before leaving.

--

Dick knows better than to fight Hal when he puts his foot down for something. Bruce he can gradually wheedle into submission, especially if he calls him Dad and gives him big puppy eyes, but Hal is a demon and seemingly immune to all forms of sucking up.

So when he slips out of his window and into the garden, trying to sneak away to go back to Blüdhaven, he runs into Hal and immediately turns back around.

"Smart move. Get back in bed and I'll have Alfred make sure you didn't pop your stitches crawling down the wall like an idiot just now."

"Yes, mum. Sorry, mum."

--

"Damian Al-Ghul-Wayne!"

"Oh, fuck."

Nothing but ice-cold dread zips up and down that boy's spine. He darts out of his room and down the stairs, running from room to room until he finds Hal standing in the vestibule with blood at his feet and a nasty snake bite on his arm. The culprit is trapped in a constructed box several feet away.

"Is it venomous." Hal asks, tone flat.

"No, Mother," Damian says, standing at attention directly in front of him. He keeps his hands in his pockets to stop them from trembling.

"Is there more than one."

"No, Mother."

"Will you have it re-homed by tomorrow."

"Yes, Mother."

"Are you going to start asking for permission before bringing more animals home."

"..."

"Damian."

"Yes, Mother."

Hal steps forward with his good hand and gently cups Damian's cheek.

"Do you understand why I'm upset?" He asks, gentler. Damian nods. "Okay. All I'll say is that I'm glad it was me this happened to, and not any of your siblings. I think you really would've frightened Mouse if they got bit."

Damian's eyes widen briefly, not having considered such a consequence. He stiffens and avoids eye contact.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. Hal opens his arms and Damian goes in easily for the offered hug. "I'll get rid of Piper tonight."

"Good. I'm sorry you can't keep her, pal, but it's too dangerous to let it roam the grounds like that. Plus, this bite really smarts. If you're hell-bent on a snake, maybe you can get a small one in, like, a month for your birthday. Real small. Like a hog-nose. Or a corn snake."

"Fine," Damian mumbles, but the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. "I'll fetch the first aid kit for you."

"Thanks, 'ppreciate it."

--

"Oh, dearest husband of mine."

Bruce maintains a front of stoic calm, unmoving and unaffected by the saccharine pitch of Hal's voice. He continues stitching himself up in the batcave's med room and doesn't look up when a pair of green boots enters his periphery.

"Can you answer a question for me?"

"Yeah, shoot," Bruce says, proud that his voice didn't waver.

"What's the thermal rating on the latest iteration of your suit?"

Bruce glances at the jar of burn cream he hasn't cracked open yet to treat the massive wound on his side. A bead of sweat forms on his temple.

"It's —"

"Is it high enough to withstand a condensed, point-blank blast directly from the sun?"

He doesn't respond. Bruce finishes his stitch job and ties it off, then reaches over for the jar. Hal snatches it.

"Answer the question, Wayne."

Bruce swallows thickly. "No. It's not thermally rated high enough to withstand a condensed blast as powerful as the sun, obviously."

"Obvi — oh. Okay, it was obvious. I'm glad it was obvious. That's fantastic. I just have a follow-up question, then."

The jar creaks in Hal's grip. His free hand is clenched in a tight fist.

"If you knew your suit wasn't sturdy enough to take a blast like that, WHY THE FUCK DID YOU STEP IN FRONT OF IT!?"

Bruce clears his throat. "It was going to hit you, and you weren't watching your six."

"I AM ENCASED IN A MAGIC GLOWING SUIT MADE OF WILLPOWER, BRUCE. I WOULD HAVE BEEN FINE. YOU'RE RUNNING AROUND IN LEATHER AND KEVLAR."

Bruce slides off the table, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. A pair of green arms hook him under his armpits and heave him back onto it with a not-so-gentle thud, and he winces when it aggravates his injury. "Hal, stop shouting. I already have Tinnitus and this isn't helping."

"Oh, your poor ears," Hal coos, stepping between Bruce's legs. He sets the jar down and gingerly cups Bruce's ears, pouting. "I'll speak softly so I don't cause you further pain. Y'know, like the massive fucking burn in your side from GETTING BLASTED BY A SUN RAY."

"I'm not going to apologize!"

Hal snaps his mouth shut, glaring at Bruce. "What."

"I'm not going to apologize for protecting you." Bruce's hands cover Hal's. He brings them down to his lap, interlacing their fingers and squeezing tightly. "It's very statistically probable I'm going to do it again, as a matter of fact. And I'll keep doing it as long as I think you need to be protected."

He thumbs over the golden band on Hal's left hand, and the edge of the Green Lantern ring on his right.

"Because that's what I promised you when we got married. That as long as I have a body that moves, and lungs that breathe air, and a mind that can think, I will move and breathe and think in whatever way guarantees your health and happiness."

"Collecting battle scars like bottle pops doesn't make me happy, Bruce," Hal murmurs. "One day I'm gonna check my six and find you on the ground like I did today, and one day you're not gonna get back up again."

"That's the risk we take every time we suit up," Bruce sighs. "People in our line of work seldom make it to retirement age, love."

Hal lifts his hands to cup the back of Bruce's head and draw him into a kiss. There's a subtle tremble in his body that Bruce does his best to soothe with pliant lips and a skilled tongue.

"I'm going to help you with the burn," Hal mumbles against his lips, "then we're going upstairs for movie night, and I'm picking this time. And by then, maybe I'll have decided if you get to sleep in our bed or on the couch tonight."

"Yes, mom," Bruce mutters back, grinning. He hisses when Hal flicks his wound. "Sorry."

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

He comes in droves, hoards of himself, brokenhearted and wanting, wrecking cities for a chance to get one last glance at you. You're different, more than all of them expected. It's saddening for some, boner inducing for others. [Invincible Variants x reader]

 Tw: Suicide, drug use

[Part one] [3] [Ao3] [Chapter Index] [View Full Piece Here - It's mine!]

2 * RX Only [6.7k]

"While my queendom crumbles around me,

I'm fucking stuck here sucking this cock,

I'll kill myself right here on stage,

And it's gonna fucking rock!"

I Win - Go Hang Music

      Blood, guts, and sulfur, but no demons rising from the ground. Just a man in the night, backlit by the burning Sydney Opera House. Watching the blinking dot on his wrist cuff disappear. He holds his breath. Horrified. She was an illusion. A trick of a grief addled brain.

        The screen automatically zooms out, showing a pixelated view of the northern hemisphere of the planet. The dot reappears in North America. Numbers flash in the left corner of his blue tinted vision. When he first saw his alternates, he thought they'd have the same upgrades. Super computers laced into the fabric of their suits. Considering how stupid they were acting and how one of them asked where Mount Rushmore was- they likely didn't.

        He rises, scanning the numbers one last time, burning them to memory before minimizing them. Your coordinates and vitals, both monitored by the cuff. Perfectly healthy, alarmed, scared shitless probably, but healthy. Alive. 

        The breath he held lets go.

        Eyes scan over Sydney one last time. Before he left, he had to ensure his end of the deal was complete. Be absolutely sure Angstrom wouldn't be displeased and send him back to where he'd came from. Sure, he hadn't expected to see (Y/n) here, so soon, he wasn't really done with Sydney. He could level the place if he wanted. Angstrom would approve, but Angstrom's approval didn't matter. All that mattered was bringing you home.          Still, he searches for loose threads. Just in case.         The machinery in his suit quietly whirs. He sees no survivors. Not with the rubble and fire. But his goggles lock onto the outline of forms in neon green, hiding behind a slab of rubble where he couldn't see.          He's there in a blink. Stood at the one and only entrance of the little hovel the family had decided to hide in. Only one of them lives long enough to scream.          There, done. Now he could-         His lenses lock onto another hidden form. Then another and another. He sighs. Head turning to the floating ball beside him. Angstrom's drone making sure he was doing what he was supposed to. Five minutes, he told himself, five minutes to kill all these fucking people and be done with this place. It wasn't like he was going to lose track of (Y/n).         He rose, up, up, up. More and more forms catching in the lens. He pushed a hidden button on the side of his lenses. A tiny segmented timer started in the left corner of his view. Five minutes, on the clock.         ***         "You're fucking kidding me." First the apartment, now CVS Pharmacy.          You stood in the parking lot, breathing in acrid smoke. Looking at the building that was your personal emergency room for the last five years. That mohawked shapeshifting asshole must have rammed right through the place at some point. Bringing the red roof down on most of the building. 

        Physically, you were fine but there was something you desperately needed from under that crumbled roof. Especially since you were now suddenly living through the end of the world.         The automatic glass doors were crushed under concrete but a massive hole, probably where he flew through, was a perfectly fine entrance into the rubble. You stepped carefully over rebar and the body of a cashier. There was no more inside, just parts where the roof didn't cave in all the way, and you were standing in the biggest one. Shelves tipped, chip bags popped open on the carpet floor.          You find yourself meandering into the two upright fractions of aisles in front of you, the store so unrecognizable you felt lost. Caligula laid across your shoulders, over the crook of your neck like a scarf. Gray nose gently twitching at the smell of corpses. There were more in the aisle that was for foot cream. One man bisected by a chunk of roof. One lady who lay stiff, hands still clutching her chest where she'd likely had a heart attack.         You exit the remains of the aisle. Not sure why you’d gone down them in the first place, pharmacy wasn't down there. You were still reeling from the last half hour. Was that all it had been- had everything fallen apart in thirty minutes?           A clatter breaks your reverie, your head shooting towards it.          Crawling out from under a piece of roof was a white coated pharmacy tech. The old-timer full-timer, Wes, you used your powers on almost every time you came in. You didn’t wait for him to stand to use your powers on him.         “I need my usual.”         When he stands, he leans dramatically to one side. The muscles in his side are split, piggy pink insides poking out of his coat. He turns for the wreck that used to be behind the counter, where he’d pass hours by counting pills. Gait short, steps dragging and too slow.         “Ignore the pain.”         With that, he goes upright. Walking confidently over to a fallen shelf, bending, ignoring the slippage of his guts. He goes from paper bag to paper bag, prescription to prescription. None of them have your name on it. Going official would’ve meant asking Machine Head to pull strings and you weren’t in a hurry for more debt. Controlling the pharmacy techs was the only way.         Wes straightens. Walking on uneven ground. Stopping two feet away and holding out a paper bag to you. Prescription for Sandra O'Connell. Probably dead now.

        You frown at the bag. Contents soaked into the brown bottom. Dripping out in clear, thick rivulets. You hadn’t been specific enough. Again with semantics, the pain in your ass. “Find me some that’s intact. As many bottles as you can.”         ***        "No." He's going to vomit. "No." He's going to cry. "No!" He's going to split this planet down the fucking middle, again.         His grip on Isotope's throat tightened. "You're lying." Spit flies off his teeth, onto Isotope's cheeks.          Together, him, Isotope, and Machine Head, hover over the rubble of what was supposed to be your apartment. A dead woman lying on its very top, head like a maraschino cherry.          Machine Head kicked at the air, gargling, "Get us the fuck out of here Isotope!"         One look from Dregs pissed off ex-boyfriend and Isotope knew. If he so much as tried to leave, they'd both be dead. "I'm not." Isotope can barely speak, throat the only thing keeping him upright. Hovering twenty feet above the busted building. "She should be on the third floor."        "What third floor!?"         "The one you fucking knocked down!" Machine Head grappled his arm. Twisting his sleeve, trying to hurt him- him with his weak human hands.         His hand tightened on Machine Head’s neck. Something inside his fleshy human body cracked. The man groaned and shuddered but still fought. “That bitch is dead!”          His head pounded, like a hammer slamming behind his eyes. His fingers are a flex away from breaking both their necks when Isotope says, “I know where else she could be.” He involuntarily shuddered when his assailant's eyes fell on him. Wild as his wind whipped mohawk.         “Spill.” The freak’s grip lightened. Isotope slipped down an inch, latching to the man’s wrist for support like he wanted to be choked.          “She’s some sorta dope fiend. Boys see ‘er at the CVS all the time, picking up the same shit.” Isotope’s words came out in heaves as he caught as much breath as he could. “If she’s alive.” At that word, if, his grip tightens, “Hurk— she’s probably at the pharmacy.” His arm came up, red suit creasing at the shoulder, “Right down the corner. Can’t miss it.”         His grip clenches tight, shutting Isotope up. “If she’s not there, I’m gonna see how high your body bounces when I drop you  ten-thousand feet.” He flew, slower than he’d like, searching for the right building. He knew what a pharmacy was, of course, but this wasn’t his New York. His New York was worse off than this one. Last time he saw it plants were taking over the concrete remains of the city. So he’s slow, only speeding when Isotope coughs and points out another chunk of destruction that looked like everything else in a thirty-mile radius. 

        ***

        T-minus eleven minutes until he arrived. He only had to hold onto Mach twelve for that much longer. Think of (Y/n). Think of holding you. Bringing you home.          The sound barrier cracked, then there was someone beside him. “What the fuck are you doing in my sky?”         Ah. That one. The one that called dibs on the king’s land because at home he was more than a king, better. Clad in his— their— old super suit. Viltrum’s sigil on his shoulders. Shoulder pads thick.         "Answer me.”         How the hell were they the same person? This version of him was so whiny. More insolent than a child. Apparently, his style was gaudy too. Minutes after they first met he went on and on about his outfit. How he was only wearing ‘this old piece of shit’ because he didn’t want to get his emperors clothes filthy. And still— he’d come wearing shoulder pads and metals of valor that were jittering in the wind, just barely holding on. He’d scoffed at the idea of human blood on his fuzzy emperor's cape.          Much as he wanted to, taking on the other version of himself was ill-advised. Sure, they were different but also the same in many ways. He’d know something was up.          His lips peeled apart. Glued by stagnant spit and silence. It felt like reopening a wound. “I’m done. Returning to the rendezvous.” His voice came out robotic. A modulator attached on the inside of his suit's throat.          The people of his world knew of Invincible but it was better no one saw any part of his face, recognized any inflection of his voice. Whatever was left of it anyways.          The other him, Shoulder Pads (there was no way he was calling him Mark), rolled his eyes. “That place better be dirt cuz if I gotta go to that shithole and finish what you couldn’t I’ll—“         “I assure you, the job is done.” Just leave. Go back to torturing people and making weird comments about slaves. Leave me be.         Shoulder Pad’s eyes narrowed to slits behind his goggles. “Don’t lie to me.”         “I don’t lie.” And that was the truth. Partially.         Shoulder Pad’s lips twisted. “Then you won’t mind if I come with you? Be nice to get to know my next commander better.”         Under his mask, his eye twitches. He'd heard this before, one too many times. Shoulder Pads saw him and the others as lesser. Good assets for his empire, sure, but lesser. He didn't plan on joining anyone's empire anytime soon.

        Putting up a fight would be suspicious. Though his throat was already raw with how much he’d spoke, more than he had in months, he said, “You’re finished?”         Shoulder Pads scoffed. “Hours ago. Whole country's ash.” He laughed, though he wasn’t lying. Looking down didn’t provide much of a view. Too much smoke in the way, billowing up from the entire United Kingdom like the thousands of acres were nothing but an overused ashtray. “I’ve been getting bored destroying those things they call islands.”         He nodded. A ‘so be it’ kind of gesture. They flew on. Shoulder Pads filling the not-quite silence— ripping through the air at mock twelve was awfully loud— while he thought over ways to get rid of his companion. Too many what-ifs. 

        What if Shoulder Pads saw you as some human to be killed on the spot, squashed like some kind of bug? What if Shoulder Pads toyed with you, if he tore you limb from limb? Made him relive the same memory in a different universe. Shoulder Pads taking the role of daddy-not-so-dearest.          Worse— what if Shoulder Pads was here for the same thing? A second chance.         ***     One bottle, two bottle, three bottle, four— there was a cute rhyme to tack to the end of that but you didn’t have the energy. Neither did the pharmacy tech, falling stone cold dead soon as he passed you the last bag.      You tear open the first bag, medicine for a Nancy Giovanni. You pull out the dark bottle, rolling it in your hand, making absolute sure the dying tech didn’t fuck up.              Prescription for: PROMETHAZINE VC/CODEINE [SYRUP] - 4 fl oz.              EACH 5ml (TEASPOON) CONTAINS:             CODEINE PHOSHPASE USP ... 10 mg             PROMETHAZINE HYDROCHLORIDE USP … 6.25 mg             PHENYLEPHRINE HYDROCHLORIDE USP … 5 mg             ALCOHOL … 7%             [RX ONLY]         Oh yeah baby, that’s the ticket. Cough syrup. The actually medicated stuff. Totally illegal to buy over the counter. You didn’t know what in it did the trick. The pain killer, the throat soother, cough suppressant, or the drinking so much you got a buzz part— either way, Codeine and Promethazine were a match made in heaven specifically to fix your powers right the fuck up. 

       You twist the cap and end up dropping the rest of the bags. Sighing, you settle to sit, organize before getting down the business. Though the only place was wasn’t covered in debris was…         “Sorry Wes.” You say as you sit on the dead man's back. Something hard pushes into your ass. Shit, right, gun safety. You pull the six-shooter from the back of your sweats and set it by your feet. Not the top of the market stuff Machine Head's guards get, but a solid piece. Got enough of the latest tech to pop a supe's brains out their ass. Small but mighty. ID numbers sanded off, bought off the black market, given to you by your shithead boss. Sometimes things went south. Your mouth covered or earplugs put in. So you took the gun everywhere, just in case.

        You finish popping off the cap, take a breath of the rank air, and throw your head back, brown rim to your lips. There's a joke to be had there, but again, too tired for that shit.

        Caligula hops off your shoulders, annoyed. Tail twitching as he pads away to explore under rubble. Looking for mice like he always had in your apartment. You let him go. The cat was loyal as a dog, he'd be back.

        The syrup comes rolling down your tongue. Bitter, mucus-thick, gag worthy. Nothing you weren't used to. There've been too many times you were run dry and had to chug the slop mid-shootout to keep your head on your shoulders. So you don't breathe and drink, drink, drink until the bottle is a quarter empty.

        You lean forward, elbows on knees. Holding your head as things right themselves. Your throat numbed, blood drying in your nose, head not throbbing, only a light pulse. 

        It was a funny thing really, finding your personal anti-kryptonite. Three years back you were sick as a dog. Of course, you were on duty. When weren't you? You talked a backstabbing rat up to the roof of his apartment building, holding onto him up all the stairs, weak in your sickness. Right before you told him to jump, a coughing fit cut you short. He escaped your hold, pulled a gun on you, almost blasted your brains on the door to the stairwell. Lucky thing Isotope was there, zapping you out of the way. Pushing the dick off himself, and zapping you to this very building. Suggested you fix the problem, whatever it took, because he wouldn't bail you out again.

        He sucked balls but at least wasn't a whole dick. 

        You got a prescription. Drank the allotted amount. The cold cleared. Powers coming back like a tsunami. So strong they demanded to be used. So you drank more than the prescribed amount. Killed the rest of the rats nest of police informants on your own. Almost got killed again. Machine Head was angry you'd gone alone, when not assigned. But you didn't care. You'd found a power-up. Except, because there's always an exception- the boost only lasted as long as you could stay conscious. You’d overdosed more than a few times. 

       You recap the bottle. Consolidating the bottles in the front pocket of your hoodie. Tempted to down the whole thing, scared shitless from earlier, but it was a stupid idea while not being in immediate danger. Unless Wes decided to get up and chew you out for sitting on his dead body- you were safe.

        But not stupid. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your contacts, trying to call contingency one through twenty-seven. Most didn't answer. Dead or unable to come to phone right now, so please leave a message! Some did, orders were given. Help, in case it was needed, was coming. Things like this had a strange way of being nowhere near over once things get quiet.

        Boots come down. Your head lolls over your shoulder. Danger is standing twenty feet back. Holding Machine Head and Isotope by the throats. Isotope pale and passed out. Machine Head weakly clawing at the ground, held down, forced to stay on his knees.

        He stares at you, the not-Mark with the dark, deep-set eyes, sat on your human throne. "That's... hm. Did you do that?"

        There goes saving the syrup. Out comes the partly drunk bottle, off goes the cap, to your lips the bottle goes.

        ***

        What the hell are they doing?

        Two dots on his wrist cuff, side by side. Darting through the projected 3D model of Earth. Heading west fast, over the Northern Atlantic. Making a b-line for another dot. The only one of the three who is where he's supposed to be. 

        "Got'chu now!" A shadow overcasts behind him.

        He presses a button, zooming into the map, not bothering to turn. Had he missed a message from Angstrom? No, not possible. He was the most reliable of all of them, no way Angstrom would cut him out. Certainly, he wasn't stupid enough to think he could.

        A mace whistled through the air, coming to split his skull. His arm slices out in an arc behind him. Barley trying. The sound of his would-be assailant so keening and pathetic he couldn't even take satisfaction in the kill. He pulls his arm free, the body falls. 

        He watches the remains splat onto the last intact chunk of sidewalk left in Seattle. The city was destroyed. The last of the gnats swatted down. He might as well investigate. Double check that he wasn't being double crossed.

        ***

        "Wow, oh wow, you like that." He laughed as the last of the syrup disappeared behind your lips. The bottle is thrown to the debris, to be forgotten. His voice is cloying and saccharine, and way too familiar, "Was that good?"

        Bitterness coats your tongue. Chemical smell stinging in your nose. Head swimming but feather light. "No." You say. The syrup leaden in your stomach. Throat numb but soon to burn with vomit. You didn't have much time to dispose of this freak. "But-"

        "Dregs! Jesus Christ, Dregs get him the fuck off me!" Machine Head kicked at the ground. Mohawk, you'd dubbed him, because no fucking way were you calling a shapeshifter the name it wanted you to call it. Name aside, he wasn’t about to let Machine Head go, or even let him touch the ground. His dignity just a few short inches away as he gagged and kicked. 

        "You seriously work for this guy?" Mohawk says. "So weak." His thumb barely flexes and all the air is cut from your boss's throat, the kicks becoming frantic. 

        You know the shapeshifter is trying to get to you but it gets deep, deep under your skin. You're on your feet, swaying. "Tell me who you really are."

        He laughs but the words are pulled out of him anyway. "Mark Grayson."

        Your teeth grind. He's not lying. Maybe not a shapeshifter. Maybe a hidden supe. Someone projecting hallucinations onto you, to make you go batshit and somehow kill yourself.

        "Tell me if you're real."

        "As you are, baby."

        "Dregs!" Machine Head screeches the second his thumb relaxes. "Dregs, if you don't get him off me, I'm docking your pay!"

        Mohawk's lip twitches, hand flexing. Shit. "Don't kill him." His hand relaxes. Though his eyes aren't as glazed as you'd like. He's still resistant but you've got the upper hand as long as your stomach holds. 

        "Yes! Yes, now get him to let go!"

        The command makes your stomach roil. Probably just the excessive drugs but still, you don't like the motherfucker. He can wait. "Why are you doing this?"

        "Made a deal. Break enough shit and I get a prize." Under control, people are emotionless, no use of unnecessary words or turn of phrase. But there he was, talking like a seventh grader.

        "Which is?"

        "You," you roll out of the way before they touch down. Feet first and much harder than necessary, sending dangerous bullets of rock spraying every which way. You're fine. Clothes dusty whereas Wes's corpse is more cut up than before. Sorry, guy.

        If one had been too much, enough to think he was a hallucination, then three was enough to make you consider committing yourself to a ward.         

        You'd seen one of the newcomers back in Sydney. The other beside him, eyeing you up and down like an antique at auction, was new. You'd forgotten about the cuff on your ankle. You were no techie, but logic and superheroes meant it was a tracker, hell, maybe hand (ankle?) cuffs if activated by something.

        "Oh what the fuck!" The mohawked one spoke for you, "I called New York. Find somewhere else to flatten."

        "Is this what you were in a such a hurry to finish for?" The newcomer with his stupid shoulder pads kicked a wall to pieces, looking to his companion. 

        The full-masked one stood still as a statue, quiet as a phantom. 

        "Course not," Shoulder Pads answered himself, "You came for that," his finger pointed accusingly toward the mohawked one, "isn't that right? He bruised your ego when you first met pretty bad, huh?"

        An insult from a version of himself who thought mohawks were peak fashion meant nothing. Sure, he'd called his mask creepy, but he didn't hold enough of a grudge to want to kill the guy over it. He did, however, not like how close he was to (Y/n). Twenty feet was nothing when one moved as fast as they did.

        "Who are you?"

        "Mark Grayson." The two newcomers answered together. One similar to the voice you knew, if a little nasaler. The other like that Guardian's dickhead, Robot.

       You dip down, swiping your gun off the ground. Careful not to move too quickly and let the bottles fall out of your pocket. "Why are there three of you?"

        "There's actually eighteen," Mohawk answers. "Dickheads all of 'em."

        "To expand my empire." Shoulder Pads says, more responsive to your control.

        "To destroy so much, it ruins the life of this dimension's Mark Grayson." The Phantom answers, voice and actually helpful honesty, sending a shiver down your back. 

        "Dregs-!"

        "Shut the fuck up." Your attention on Machine Head is nothing but murderous. As the situation unfolds, you find yourself realizing, for one, Machine Head is most definitely going to die. Villains of the week are stupid, sure, but they also take no prisoners. You’d say Machine Head had less than five minutes' life left on him. 

        For two, the world was pretty much fucked. Which means- weakness, instability and power up for grabs for Mister Liu to reclaim as his. You could be by his side, his left hand as he already had a right. No more debt, no more humiliation at Machine Head's hands. Because there was no way you were going straight, not after everything. But, you could climb the ladder in the dust of the world and climb it high- as you were right now.

        High enough to push Mister Liu off the ledge. High enough to never have to take orders from anyone ever again. Be your own boss. Maybe Machine Head had less than five minutes. 

        Even better, you could relocate out of the city (which you'd have to do anyway, I mean, look at this place). Somewhere you'd see Mark so little the lingering pain in your heart would maybe start to heal. The thought of killing him had crossed your mind. You placed heavy piles of blame on him for how your life turned out. Still, you ached and yearned for a teenage romance that'd never rekindle. You couldn't kill him, yet, not without crawling into Mister Liu's skin and wearing his shoes awhile. Surely you'd grow into them, give the order for someone to kill your ex without batting an eye- one day. 

        Your Mark wasn't on the official kill list yet, but these cheap imitations? These dimensional clones or whatever the fuck? Oh yeah baby, they've gotta die.

        ***

      He didn't bother telling his tails to leave. They were all lesser, but still, him. They were good at what they did, destroying things. 

        "Can you believe that guy tried to trap me in the- what was it- the shadow realm?" The blue and yellow clad gnat yammered beside him. The variant, slightly different from the others without his lenses, blasted up from the Guardian's HQ when he'd flown by. Asking all sorts of questions that were left unanswered and more importantly, unacknowledged. Maybe if he was ignored long enough, he'd go away. "Do'ya wanna know how I got out after I killed 'im?"

        No response.

        He went on anyway. "So like, after I ripped his heart out his chest the whole shadow realm started falling apart. I was like 'oh shit, I'm gonna die' so I gabbed the guys body and was like 'lemme out'. Shakin' him n' stuff. I dunno what happened, if there was a lil life left in him or what but I think I kickstarted something in him, cuz after eight or nine shakes I was back! Man, I almost forgot how crazy I killed those Guardian guys!"

        The other gnat, blue and black and imperceptibly different from this dimension's Mark Grayson, flew up to his other side. "You gonna show me that map or what?"

        He did not answer, for they had arrived. Three dots now five, six counting himself. All around the unimportant gray mass of some Earth dwellers' hovel. He stayed above because he was literally above touching down on Earth’s soil. His mother had been from this mud ball but she'd been elevated above the rest of this dirt-loving species by his father when he brought her back to Viltrum, swollen with pregnancy. 

        The others truly were lesser than he, for they shot down. Too impatient, too stupid to know what it is to observe from afar. They did all have enhanced hearing, did they not?

        ***

        Shoulder Pads shook his head, throwing the control off his brain like a wet dog. "The hell was that?" His head stopped, hair swept across his masked forehead. "How dare you- you-" His head kicked back a degree like he'd been sucker punched. It took him a minute, with the dirt and the outfit and the daring to wave around a gun. He recognised you now. Felt the pain searing hot in his chest. "Leave," he commanded, "All of you but," he turned back to, "you, stay."

        Nobody moved to obey. 

        "I said-"

        They came down from the sky like falling angels. 

         "The hell's this?" You watched him land. Watched him roll his shoulders. Mark, your Mark. Exactly the same. But what the fuck was he doing with this lot? "Where's Angstrom?" 

        "Not here, duh." The other newcomer says, bouncing on his heels. "Are we gonna turn on each other and fight to the death now? I really hope we turn on each other and fight to the death now." His eyes, lighter brown than you remember, slide from Mark to Mark to Wes to you. "A prize fight! Even better."

        You didn't like that word- prize. How he looked at you. Not as a person but as a street dog to collar. 

        Machine Head's toes displaced rubble. His captor's mohawk stood on end, as if electrified, "Get the fuck out of here." He says, "New York's mine. 'S not the meeting place for when we're done anyway."

        The stuck-up one, Shoulder Pads, moved toward you. Ankles breaking rubble as he went, too graceful to do something awkward like stepping over an obstacle. Why do that when you could just break it? 

        "Leave us now." He doesn't seem bothered by the fact that you raised the six-shooter, aimed straight for his throat. "And I'll consider letting the rest of you serve under me."

        He was there in a flash. Arm outstretched in front of his boy king other self, stopping him in his tracks- the phantom. Shoulder Pads stopped, ten feet shy from your person. You don't know what to say because as soon as you really get going, a fight is going to break. You won't survive. You've seen what Mark can do on the news. You don't doubt they can punch holes in you before you say stop. They're not far away like Mohawk had been. They're instant murder close. You have to be careful.

        "Don't get in my way." Shoulder Pads sneered to no reply.

        The lensless newbie jutted his thumb toward you, "Gonna go out on a limb 'n guess she's also your guy's dead girlfriend?"

        The word girlfriend hits you like a sack of rocks. When hit, hit back. You breathe in.

        "Dregs!" His voice is nails on a chalkboard, screeching, loud, and desperate. "God damn it! Help me!" Your hold on Machine Head had waned. He was back to whining. 

        Your hold on his captor had waned as well, telling by his eyes. But he didn't break Machine Head's neck. Instead, he watched, curious, a smile tugged the edge of his lip. 

        Tension rolled off Phantom and Emperor Shoulder Pads in waves. Lenseless’s knuckles popped, expecting violence with glee. The white clad warrior watched on from above. And your stupid ex-boyfriend just watched you, sneer on his lip like you were the problem. Like he wasn't covered in blood the fucking hypocrite. "I don't kill," my ass. He acted like he was better than you. 

        "I'll promote you! Right above Isotope." Who was passed out and couldn't be bothered by the betrayal. "We can run this city together. I can get you as much lean as you want! Fuck- I'll put you through rehab if you want!" 

        A bubble rolled up your throat. Not much longer now before you puke out power. You swallow down the burp. Anger a beat in your throat. "I'm not an addict."

        "Sure!" Machine Head laughed, "Sure! Whatever you say, just help me!" Isotope's eyes peeled open. He groaned, barely there.  Machine Head noticed, reaching out to shake the man's knee. "Get me out of here!"

        Your Mark clicked his tongue. "I can't say I'm surprised you haven't changed."

        "Isotope! Hey! Wake up!"

        "I used to think you'd be better than," Mark gestures to your boss, to your clothes, to the dilation of your eyes, embarrassingly aware of your high, "this." He sighed, "But I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same or however that shitty song goes. So much potential wasted. (Y/n), Seriously, this is pathetic."

        "Dregs, get Isotope up! Get us all out of here!"

        Mark smirked, "Name suits you."

        Your earlier machinations crumbled. Fuck waiting, maturing. People were going to die here, in this destroyed pharmacy, so why not start with him? 

        "Hey Mark?" 

        "Yeah?" It's a shame the others don't reply to the name. Too smart, too aware that if they were locked in conversation and attention, they'd be dead. 

        "Kill yourself."

        One hand to the chin, the other to the shoulder for support, like the first time you tried this trick on his doppelganger. The snap is quick. So powerful it twists his whole body backward, spine ripping out his back. He drops, blood dribbling out his mouth. 

        A weight lifts off your shoulders. You thought this would be harder. It's sad, sure, first love dead, very Romeo and Juliet, but you're still alive. You wish you could've made him see more, get a more torturous revenge. Or in a perfect world, one you didn't admit but dreamed of anyway, got him to see your side of things. 

        But you're so happy to see nothing behind his eyes. Dead while you're alive. The laugh forces out of you in a bark. It brings tears to your eyes, doubles you over. 

        The mood shifts. Tension sizzles away between the Marks. There were expectations, different for each, but this? Certainly was not one. 

        "Did you just-?" Lensless was at the corpse's side in a blink, poking at his twisted neck. "Oh, he's super mega dead." 

        "If he was weak willed enough to listen to the whims of a human he should've already been." Emperor Shoulder Pads says. "Better we weed out the weak before going back to my empire."

        "Shit, I was gonna kill Seventeen," Mohawk said. "Beat me to it, babe."

      "Seventeen?" You question between laughs.

        "Uh, yeah? Mark Seventeen. Demsion three-four-five, like neighbors with this one."

        "So he's not mine?"        

        "Yours? Baby, I'm yours- but that guy? Not from here."

        Oh? OH! He wasn't yours. Another variant, just awfully close in appearance. Something like relief pools in your stomach, or it's just the promethazine-codeine solution getting ready to come spewing out. 

        The Phantom keeps his hands at his sides, though they want to go to his head, press into his temples until the pain stopped. You weren’t like this. You weren’t supposed to be like this. Nothing like him. Maybe Shoulder Pads was right. Maybe Seventeen was weak willed, loved you so much he'd do anything you said. You couldn't be a killer. It just wasn't possible- wasn't right.

        "Isotope," he was starting to really regain consciousness, head lolling in Mohawk's hand, "Isotope, let's go!"

        He was going to leave you. Words of promise meant nothing obviously, you weren't born yesterday but the insult of it was the last fucking straw. 

        Right as power started to glow weakly from his palms, you say, "Look at me, Isotope."

        He does, slackjawed, droll rolling down his lip. Hands still glowing.

        Here's the thing about word and meaning induced mind control. Sometimes actions, gestures, are good as words, and as long as you've got your claws in their brain, as long as they're looking at you and understand- a gesture is enough to control.

        You lower the gun. As if it'd do anything against Shoulder Pads. One hand slipping off its metal grip, coming to the side of your head right above your ear. Rule number one of gun safety: Never put a gun to your head. So your bare hand comes up to do the job. Pinky and ring curling into your palm. Pointer and middle pressed to your scalp, thumb hanging down like the trigger. 

        Isotope's hand goes to the holster on his belt. Freeing the pistol, pressing it to the green side of his head, clicking off the safety. Waiting for the last order.

        "Dregs! Don't you fucking dare!" Machine Head trashes but his kicks do nothing to Mohawk's balance.

        The Mark’s watch, hypnotized like snakes to a charmer. 

        Your thumb twitches, miming the pull of a trigger.

        The bullet goes from one side of Isotope's skull to the other. Stopped by the side of Mohawk's knee, who doesn't even flinch at the lead cracking uselessly against his suit. Pale pink brains splatter his boots and shin guards. Chunks stick to Machine Head's dented metal face. Gravity slowly rolled them down, leaving trails of blood and cerebral spinal fluid in their wake.

        The dead weight is so unexpected in his hand, Mohawk is slow to drop the body. Killing another version of him was fair game. They were threatening your planet after all. But an ally? Very un-hero like.

        "You murderous yuppie cunt!" Machine Head's hand flies to his own holster. 

        "Don't talk to me like that, boss." He goes still, gun in hand. Your hand goes to the center of your forehead and so does his. Another twitch of the thumb sends a bullet and shrapnel backward. 

        Machine Head slumps, gun dropping, body twitching. Not dead yet.

        "Access the control panel." You say.

        His hand shakes violently as it comes to the side of his head. Pressing a button that makes the front half of his busted forehead come forward. Revealing the computer gore inside his head. 

        "Remove the leftmost microchip." You'd seen him getting maintenance too many times not to know that the chip contained his very consciousness. He'd yelled at so many paid-off Best Buy employees not to touch it. Threatened their families over it, but here he was, pressing its back so it'd come popping out. Soon as it does, his whole body goes slack.

        Killing what you thought was Mark yielded mixed feelings. But Machine Head and his lackey? That was pure cocaine right there baby. You felt like you could climb Everest. Like you really could overtake Mister Liu. 

        "Holy shit." Lensless let his jaw hang. "Powers, babe!? 'S awesome! Do it again!" His fingerless glove pointed to Shoulder Pads, "That guy! That guy next! Oh, wait, try it on me!" He doubted it'd work. He was way stronger than that pussy bitch Seventeen.

        Mohawk pulled Machine Head's slack body high above his head, inspecting. He was dead alright. So dead his bladder released and stained his gray slacks dark. He let the body drop. "You're pret-tee different here, huh babe?"

        Another bubble rises up your throat. 

        "What-" Shoulder Pads started, "What the fuck is wrong with this one?" He was expecting something else. Docile. Sitting at his feet like a good pup. At his beck and call. Especially not powered or alien or experimented or whatever the fuck you were. Clearly, you weren't normal.

        Phantom had nothing to say, as usual. Too busy fighting back the tears burning the back of his eyes. What has this world done to you? What had made you so callous? What had made you a killer? Whatever it was needed to burn. This monster in you, it could be culled; he could have the you he knew back. He could have it later, but for now, he fought grief.

        In the sky, the white clad warrior lets contentment simmer in his chest. Different, sure, but good different. Nothing like that human he brought to Viltrum to breed. A kicking, screaming crybaby who had no idea how lucky she was. Part of the shreds of resistance left, left alive by him of all people. Nothing like the doting creature his mother was to his father. Relationships like the ones on Earth weren't a thing on Viltrum. His parents were considered strange, but a strange he liked- though he wouldn’t admit it to a living soul.  

        So disappointing and ungrateful, a waste of time, of resources, he was sour about when he had to kill you. But not here, not this you.       

        Shadows whipped through the sky hundreds of feet below him. Some came hopping and bounding through the broken street. The few defenders left, not dead due to their own cowardice. 

        Contingency Six, Twelve, Nineteen, Twenty-two, and Twenty-eight surrounded you in a defensive circle, showing up at just the right time. Machine Head promised security but he wasn't omnipotent, despite his upgrades. You didn't trust him far as you could throw him either. So you had heroes, fellow crooks, and dregs of society on speed dail. Hypnotized at some point in the past with the same little speech.

        "See this number right here? Remember it. When you see me calling, you answer, no matter what. I don't care if you're mid-fuck, you'll do as I say. After I snap my fingers, you'll forget we ever had this conversation but a part of you will. And you will never have your phone on silent."

        You'd have to reset them anytime you called them in to save your ass from one thing or another. It was always worth the time if it meant you got to live and the other guy died.

        Thank God for hindsight. Wait, no, not hindsight, was it foresight? Ah, whatever, you'll remember the right word later when you're not high on power and codeine. 

        Flesh drones wait for orders. The Mark's wait for someone to make a move. You don't speak, not yet, letting your eyes scan over them all. Thinking of killing them too, how good it'd feel to kill your (kind of) ex-boyfriend over and over. Thinking of the ones not here, the ones you'd seen, the ones you hadn't. You could find them, kill them after. Maybe then you'd be ready for the real thing. No more mixed feelings. 

        Blood slowly rolls down your nostril. Darkly covering the dried streak from minutes ago. Your stomach rages. Throat constricting as it readies to puke. It hurts so bad, but you can't help but grin. Thinking aloud, "This is going to be the best day of my fucking life."

        Orders shoot out your lip. He should prepare for battle, but he couldn't help but be still, staring at you and the malice radiating off you. Lensless tugs on the hem of his mask, swallowing thickly, "Can you hold up a sec with the battle plans? I've got a crazy boner."

[lucidfairies]

money [a.a]

pairing: ceo!abby x secretary!reader

synopsis: when you finally land the job of your dreams, you had no idea what your boss would be like. and damn, no idea you conjured could've done her justice.

warnings: top!abby, bottom!reader, age gap (reader is in her 20s, abby is in her early 40s), cunnilingus (r/a receiving), strap (r!receiving), praise + degradation, mommy kink, dirty talk, manhandling, pet names (sweetheart, sweet girl, angel, baby, whore, slut)

word count: 3.3k

it wasn't everyday that you landed a job with one of the most well known law firms in washington. for now you were just a secretary, someone to sit outside of an office and take calls, but your hope was to work your way up to one of their lawyers.

you had little prior experience with being a secretary, but it was just enough to get you this gig. the building was large, and the office you were to assist was on one of the highest floors, naturally where the head of the firm was.

you knew her, abby anderson. incredibly talented lawyer who even won over a supreme court case. though you hadn't met her in person, you were exhilarated to meet her. she was who you dreamed to be, especially by her age.

it wasn't until your third day, when abby was finally in the office, when you got a glimpse of what working here would actually look like. abby showed up in a well pressed black suit, armani logo drilling into your eyes like a laser, making you feel all that underdressed.

"do I know you?" she asked when you knocked gently on her office door and went in. she truly didn't mean to be rude - her son had been sick for three days and she was feeling it now - but you didn't know that. you automatically assumed she was an asshole, and that threw you off.

you cleared your throat, meeting her eyes and immediately shifting them again. she was intimidating, almost scary. "I'm y/n. I'm your new assistant." she looked you up and down, gaze still burning your skin, and the corner of her mouth turned up to a smirk.

"great. I take my coffee black, nothing in it. there will be a card on your desk that you can charge it to every morning. get yourself something. I expect you to leave before I do, as I stay late. by any chance, do you babysit?" your eyes found hers as you finally looked up.

"I mean, I can. I used to when-" she cut you off, uninterested in anything except the yes. you noted that for later.

"I might need you to pick up my son from school every couple weeks. not often, and certainly not until I've run a background check on you." she wasn't hardly looking at you now, eyes flipping between her papers and computer. "did I miss anything?"

"no ma'am," you said, standing up and instinctively wiping off your skirt, though there was nothing there. suddenly you were back at your desk, waiting for calls and bookings to come in while trying to make sense of that interaction.

the next day you arrived late, but in your defense, the line at the coffee place was long and traffic was even longer, and now you weren't even sure that the coffee was hot. abby was there when you gently knocked on her door, allowing your entry with a low 'come in.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, there was really bad traffic and the line-"

"it's okay, sweet girl." your stomach flipped. yesterday, when your eyes knew nothing but the floor, you hadn't exactly taken in her appearance, but today. today.

today she was in a black turtleneck, sleeves right around the muscle in her arms that just made her look so, so good. her black slacks were tight at her hips with a belt, and they were hugging her legs so tight that you were sure the seam would rip.

her hair was pulled into a nice bun and she wore no makeup, not that she ever needed to. she had freckles, beautiful eyes. rings. she had rings, that she could put inside of you any day.

"I'll be on time tomorrow, miss." your gaze dropped again as you turned to leave her office. this was surely going to be nothing but torture for the following months.

two weeks later was the first time she asked you to stay late. you originally had plans, but the way your name dripped off of her tongue like honey made you immediately cancel them. she had asked you politely to pick up her son, and you even acquired her number from the ordeal.

dealing with kids was not your specialty, but abby's son was a delight. he talked all about his mom, some about his dad and it made you wonder if abby was single or not. she never wore a ring to your knowledge, not even on a necklace, and from your speculation she almost looked like a lesbian. maybe you were just dreaming about the end.

if you had taken your apartment and multiplied it by ten, it still wouldn't be half the size of abby's house. she truly did have money, if the armani suits and porsche didn't say that already.

an hour into your babysitting, which almost just felt like hanging out with a kid in a mansion, abby got home. she walked in, greeting you with the first real smile you had ever seen on her face. your brain malfunctioned when you gently placed her hand on your arm and pressed an innocent kiss onto your cheek.

you were blushing profusely, pupils blown, almost dizzy, all she did was kiss your cheek, a very normal way of greeting someone and you were fucked. abby didn't fail to see you run your fingers over the spot and look at them before quickly turning back towards the two of them.

abby lived for it. lived for the you drooled over everything she did, lived for the way that she was sure her fingers would look so, so good in your mouth... and she tried not to think about it. how could she, when her son was standing right next to her, trying to tell her about his day, and you. you just looked so innocent.

you were engulfed in her smell, the perfect balance of pine and amber and erotica. she smelled like five hundred dollar cologne right off the shelf of valentino. you wanted to smell like that, wanted to smell like that, wanted to wear her clothes and have everyone think that you were together.

"thanks for coming, sweetheart. I'll see you on monday." you looked at her with your brows knit, knowing you had work the following day, friday. "take the day off. you did something for me, and I'm repaying you. use my card and get something."

the amount of money she had to just throw around was so attractive to you. she was an independent woman who brought in millions every year and was letting some secretary she had known for three weeks let buy anything on a day off.

monday had arrived, and you had purchased nothing with abby's card, naturally. you weren't one to spend someone's money just because they had a lot of it, or because they told you to. she would've had to buy it for you to accept it, at that.

it was nearing eleven when abby called you into her office by your first name, instead of one of the many nicknames she always seems to use. "sit." she demanded as you stepped in, and you did so.

"is something wrong, ms. anderson?" she wasn't mad, but she was irritated. she told you to do something, told you to put yourself first and you didn't.

"I told you to treat yourself on friday," her gaze left her laptop and met your eyes. "why didn't you?" you blanked for a moment.

"I just.. I didn't feel right spending money that wasn't mine." she gave you a disapproving look, before getting up and coming around her desk to stand in front of you. in a matter of moments, one of her large hands was grabbing your jaw and forcing your head up to look at her.

she bent down slightly, lips grazing over yours, and you were sure she could feel how much your face heated up. "next time I tell you to do something, you're going to do it. understand, sweet girl?"

"I don't-" your pupils were blown and you were so desperate for her to press her lips just a bit closer, fill the gap and just let you have it.

"say 'yes abby'."

"y-yes abby." she let go of your face and went back to her desk, pretending to pay you little attention, but she was acutely aware of the way you pushed your thighs together and squirmed.

"you're dismissed. I expect to see a charge by the morning." you got up and hurried out, going straight to the bathroom. your face was burning up, and you could vaguely see an imprint from her hand.

you were meaninglessly circling the mall, trying to decide what to spend this newfound money on. obviously you wouldn't get something big and glamorous, no matter how much she seemingly wanted you to.

every time you walked, you seemed to pass victoria's secret. It seemed like it was calling you to buy something, and after that interaction with abby earlier, you decided that maybe you should treat yourself and went in.

you looked around for a while before finding a cute blue set, with embroidered, lacy flowers. it was nothing special, just transparent and high waisted, but it was speaking to you. suddenly you knew what you were wearing to work the next day.

- - -

you felt completely scandalous wearing a short little skirt over the lingerie in the morning, with a button down, where the first few buttons were unbuttoned. it was different from your usual dress pants and blouse, but it definitely did what you needed it to do.

work was as usual for the majority of the morning, and you were suddenly doubting why you wore what you did. there was no point, you were seriously delusional and seriously needed help. what kind of freak where's lingerie and completely inappropriate work clothes to work after one minor interaction with their boss?

that was until you got a simple email from ms. anderson herself, reading nothing but;

my office. now, please.

you cleared your throat, brushed out your hair slightly and adjusted your shirt before nonchalantly entering her office. you sat, observing the way she remained quiet for a moment before clearing her desk and turning her attention towards you.

“did you think I wouldn't realize?” she asked, cooly, with her eyebrows raised slightly. “I mean, props to you, you did as you were told. but I checked the card. I'm not the only one who can see the transactions on that card either, sweetheart.”

you were immediately red. who else could see them? “I didn't r-really think-”

“no, you didn't. I bet the men in my finances would love to see you dancing around in whatever you bought, wouldn't they, baby?” she was standing before you could think, hands resting on the handles of your chair. “why don't you show me, huh? I know you're wearing it.”

“I'm not- we can't do that here.” you looked around, though you knew no one would ever bother her and her office had no cameras. “we're at work, abigail.” there was a fast switch in her eyes, the way they went from cocky to wide, almost needy.

“fuck,” her head dropped into the crook of your neck before she ran her nose along your jaw. “say it again. please, baby.” her tone, the gentle pleading made any rational thoughts disappear from your mind. your hand wrapped around the collar of her button down and pulled her in gently.

“abigail,” you whispered, “I want this,” with that, her hands were everywhere, all at once. she was pulling you up, wrapping her large hands around your hips as she pulled you in for a harsh kiss. she was forcing you onto her desk, keeping her lips to yours as your bodies molded to each other.

she left your lips, finding a perfect spot on your neck and sucking. you gasped when you felt her hand undoing the buttons of your shirt and pulling it out of your skirt. you were grabbing her by her waist trying to pull her closer as she continued to mark up your neck and grab your tits.

when she finally pulled away from your neck, her eyes became wide looking at your lingerie clad tits. you slid your shirt the rest of the way off and tossed it, looking up at her as you began to unbutton hers. she didn't let you get very far before she was gently pushing you back until your back was against the cool wood of the desk.

she unclipped your bra and pulled it off, tongue immediately meeting your nipple. she bit it and you yelped, grabbing her shoulders. her large hand was messing with your other, tugging gently and kneading. "I love your tits so fucking much, baby.” she mumbled into your skin while she kissed down your stomach.

she left more hickies on your ribs, but you desperately needed her in one place. she was pulling your skirt down in seconds, pressing her tongue against you like it was nothing and watching you arch and moan. she was eating you out through your underwear for a minute, before you grabbed her hair and pulled her head up.

"take them off." she smirked, and her head tilted slightly to the side.

"who said you're in charge, sweet angel?" the nickname was new, but you fucking loved that she always called you sweet. you were something sweet to her, and that made your brain lag every time.

"abby please," you bucked into her, chasing friction. that's when you felt it; the large bulge in her slacks that you hadn't noticed earlier.

"feel that, baby? that's all for you." she pulled down your underwear slowly, tossing it in the pile of clothes. she spread your lips, watching slick connect and drip down your thighs. your face burned and you covered it, embarrassed. "uncover your face or I'll stop." you did as told.

she pulled a ponytail off her wrist and pulled her hair into a bun before pressing her tongue into your clit and licking a fat stripe. your head hit the desk with a thud, reveling at the feeling. she worked your clit, sucking it into her mouth and painting patterns with her tongue while she pressed a finger into entrance.

she used her free hand to hold you down by your stomach, since your squirming was messing her up. you whined when she added a second finger, not used to her thick fingers. "if you can't take my fingers, how am I supposed to fuck you with my strap?" you moaned at her words, loving the dirtiness of it.

she returned to your clit and you got loud when she curled her fingers up into the best spot, whimpering and groaning. she remembered the time when you pressed your fingers to your cheek in her house, and brought her unused hand to your mouth, tapping your chin lightly. "open your mouth and suck," she instructed, noticing your confused look.

you took two of her fingers in your mouth and sucked them, which shut you up. your stomach coiled, a warm feeling rushing between your legs before you could even mumble a word. it felt like you just kept coming, until she finally pulled away from your cunt.

"are you gonna give me another one, angel?" she was unclipped her belt while you caught your breath. "wanna fuck you all day." she pulled her pants and boxers down just barely enough to get her strap out. "flip over, ass up." you turned over, fucked out muscles aching.

she ran the tip of her strap between your folds, letting your wetness lube it up, then lined up with your hole. she pushed just the tip in, groaning at the way you took it so well and swallowed her in. "what if I just fucked you like this, huh?" you whined.

"please.. need more," you pushed your hips back slightly, trying to push her in further. she pulled out, simply pushing the tip back in.

"desperate fucking whore," she thrust in on the last word, bottoming out immediately. you whimpered, the strap stretching you far more than her fingers. "aw, baby, does that hurt?" she pulled out far and fucked into you again.

she started fucking you, deep and hard, until you were moaning and grabbing onto the desk, trying to stabilize yourself. one of her hands left your hips and grabbed your hair, wrapping it around her fist and tugging. "fuck.. abby- abs.. mommy,”

your eyes widened at the name, which came out unintentionally. she stopped momentarily before groaning and picking her pace back up rapidly. "call me that again." the tip of her strap kissed your cervix and bumped against your g-spot every time. her arm wrapped around your waist, flicking your clit.

"mommy.. m'gonna cum." you slurred, cock drunk and fucked out. she kept her pace, hardly changing anything except for the fact that she was louder now, finding the perfect angle to get the harness to hit her clit.

"just wait a second, my love,” you held it for as long as you could, but it became too much, and she was hitting just right. your mind went absolutely blank as your vision went white, a wave crashing over you as you came.

you could hear abby moaning, but you were still going, and unable to think of anything. “fuck baby, you make such a mess.” you relaxed your tense body and look over your shoulder at abby's soaked harness, pants, and desk.

“m’sorry.” she slowly pulled her strap out and unclipped it front her hips, letting you lay for another minute before she grabbed your hips and helped you flip over and sit up. “wanna make you cum, mommy.” you looked at her with doe eyes, watching her eyes darken.

“I already came, sweetheart. don't worry about me.” you brought your hand down to cup her cunt and she took in a sharp breath. you ground your palm against her clit and she groaned, shifting her stance from foot to foot.

you slid off the desk with wobbly legs and kneeled in front of her, pupils blown. “please mommy,” you ran your nails over her abs and under her boxer strap lightly, making her muscles tense.

“such a slut, aren't you? want mommy to fuck your face?” you nodded, pulling her boxers down to her ankles. her blonde bush matched her hair, and you noticed her happy trail that you hadn't earlier. “stick out your tongue, baby, be a good girl.”

you stuck your tongue out flat, not even getting a chance to lick before she was pressing her cunt to your mouth. she fucked herself on your face, gripping your hair tight and grinding fast. you gently pushed her against the desk, lifting one of her legs to your shoulder and leaving the other one down.

she must have loved the new angle, because she was moaning and grunting more than you had ever heard her. her clit was twitching and puffy, wet from your spit and her slick. she let out an involuntary whimper, and it was like music to your ears. “gonna c-cum on your f-fucking face, angel.”

her legs shook as she came, ans you spent the following moments licking all of it up. you pulled away and stood up, still shaky. she pulled her boxers and slacks up, moving towards the pile of clothes and handing you what was yours. “do you wanna get dinner tonight?” she stopped what she was doing to button up your shirt and zip your skirt.

“yeah, that's great.” she smiled, kissing you softly.

“you can go home if you want to clean up. I can take my own calls for a few minutes.” it was your turn to smile, grateful to get out of your uncomfortable, wet clothes.

“I'll see you tonight?” you asked, looking over your shoulder once you got to the door.

“pick you up at seven.”

a/n: part two? 🤭

tag list: @shewantstoknow @baumbii @zombholic

[luvseraphh]

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐙𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

▹ synopsis: in which you have to go to physical therapy following an accident that left you paralyzed from the waist down, and you're placed with the hottest physical therapist alive...

▹ content warnings: fem!reader, fluff, drabble

▹ pairing: kiri x reader

▹ side note: I HAD THIS IDEA LAST NIGHT AND IT'S SO CUTE!! I mostly saw kiri in the little poll I did so here's kiri with this idea!

you sat in your physical therapists office, waiting patiently for the actual therapist had lead you to the room. you couldn't wait to get physical therapy started. you were sick of the looks of pity and people telling you they'd pray for you. you were sick of people treating you less than, like you were a toddler or a sick dog. besides, as soon as you got better, you could get back to living a life you loved.

you softly gnawed on the inside of your cheek until you heard a knock and the door opened quickly after. it revealed a handsome young man, about your age, with spiky read hair and muscles all over his body. he sat down in front of the desk with a kind smile after closing the door behind him. what struck you most was his demeanor. there wasn't any pity in his gaze or any hero-complex, just a genuinely kind person who you could tell would treat anyone this way.

"hi, how are you doing?" he asked as he waited for the computer to log him in, leaning his elbow on the desk as he looked over at you.

"I'm good," you reply with a polite smile, your cheeks beginning to heat up at the attractive man in front of you, "how about you?" you instinctually add, not wanting to be rude.

"I'm doing great! got to hang out with my friends over the weekend and that's always great," he replied eagerly, seeming genuinely interested in talking with you beyond the appointment.

over the rest of the designated time, his body was extremely close to yours as he guided you through exercises. you could often feel the warmth of his breath on the back of your neck or the heat of his hands burning through your clothing.

"alright, well I'll see you again soon! feel free to reschedule with the receptionist up front, and here's your list of exercises," he said with a soft smile, handing you stapled together papers.

as you wheel down the hallway to leave the office you noticed a series of numbers scribbled down sloppily on the papers that rested in your lap. you could only assume it was his personal number and you felt your cheeks heat up. this might've been the best day of your life.

Taglist - @justmylvr @lwcedribbons @im0nsaturn @dvartefox @failurewater @f0reverfaded @t0asty1 @iv-vee @mp3nai @straows @grenadehearts @hecate-frenchfries @imagine-all-the-imagines

ⓒ luvseraph 5/9/25

[yandere--stuck]

Thinking about Yandere!Ratchet from Safety Hazard being on Synthetic Energon and being much more forward with his human. He’s definitely gonna be embarrassed by the way he was with them when he’s off of it lmao

“You're such a tease, you know that?” Ratchet hissed.

You blinked, not quite believing your ears. You turned about, furrowing your brows as you shot a look up to Ratchet at his station by the main computer screens. The green of his optics shone on you like spotlights, glowing brightly as he glowered down at you.

“Excuse me?” You asked, incredulous.

“You think I don't know what you're trying to do,” he sneered. “Showing up here, showing off your flesh, teasing me…”

“Ratchet, I'm not dressing any differently from what I usually wear!”

The medic growled, frustrated. “Then, it's not the clothes. It's just you. Something wrong with you that makes you beg for my attention.”

He took a sudden step toward you, the floor of the base shaking for a moment. You backed up, a sudden, cold wave of fear washing over you.

“Ratchet, stop,” You said, voice wary. “You're not making sense and you're scaring me.”

A smirk carved its way onto Ratchet’s face as he continued his slow advance on you.

“What doesn't make sense is what you do to me,” Ratchet purred, “I should be disgusted by the sight of your skin, but instead, I have the urge to reach out and-”

Large, stubby digits reached out to grab at you. You tried to sprint past his servo, but he was far too fast, scooping your small form into his servo and holding you tight in his grip. An involuntary shout escaped you, and your stomach dropped as Ratchet lifted you into the air. You were face-to-face with the Medic as he laughed, watching as you attempted to squirm and kick yourself free.

“Gotcha,” He grinned, green eyes shining with something that looked like hunger.

“Ratchet, p- please,” You gasped out, barely able to breathe. “It's the Synth-En! This isn't you.”

He didn't dignify your words with a response. He only continued to grin and hold you with his gaze.

Blood pounded in your ears to the beat of your rabbiting heart. As much as you tried to calm yourself and slow your breathing, you couldn't bring yourself under control. Terror shot through your nerves, your entire body taut like the string of a bow, bracing for Ratchet to crush you under his thumb.

But, he didn't. For too long a moment, he simply looked at you. Drank in the expression of fear on your face, how he had you right where he wanted you, like an organic prey animal in a trap. And, hey, that's basically what you were, right?

And then, the thumb of the servo holding you moved. An involuntary gasp bubbled up from your throat, sounding as desperate and breathless as a final breath. But, not to crush you. It brushed against your cheek, so decisive and purposeful. So gentle and just as potentially deadly.

You met his eyes.

“... You're my human. You know that, right?” He asked.

Your brows furrowed. What the Hell was he talking about? You opened your mouth to argue- but, as if reading your mind, Ratchet tightened his hold on you, silencing you.

“Don't lie to me, or I'll squeeze.”

Your breathing was shallow as you trembled in Ratchet's hold. His stubby digits curled tighter around you. You felt the pressure squeezing against your organs. The air was forced out of you, left coughing and unable to inhale. He simply watched as you spasmed and fought to be able to breathe.

And then he relaxed his hold. You quickly inhaled and exhaled, desperate to get air back into your burning lungs. Your body weak, all you could do was allow yourself to be held up by Ratchet as you recovered in his grip, panting like a dog.

“Now, what do we say?” Ratchet teased.

“I'm yours,” You relented. “I'm yours.”

“Now that's a good human.” Ratchet praised, expression just a touch softer. “And I trust the others won't be hearing about this when they get back. Right?"

[psychesalcove]

you have a mythological beauty, you have the eye of someone i have seen.

♡ percy jackson x fem.reader

sypnosis: (college au) as college students, your days were filled to the brim with classes and work to be done. percy, and you still manage to find time for each other, even if it is just a bath.

tw: bathing together but not sexually, not really any plot I just wrote as I went, mentions of getting burned (from a candle), being naked but again not in a sexual way, percys down bad for reader but who's surprised, not proofread.

a/n: guys whosss back!! again, i apologize for not writing for so long, schools just been kicking my butt, as it always does. i really should be writing a research paper rn, but my wanting to write got way to big to ignore, so here we are!! i missed writing for this blog so much, sorry again for going m.i.a 😓

"hey, you." You muttered lightly as you walked into the living room. your online classes for the day—which meant finally being able to come out of your office you had been cooped up in all day. percy looked no less tired than you; he had a half filled out google doc open on his computer, but it looked like he hadn't made another attempt to write for a while.

his head moved at the sound of your voice, getting broken out of whatever trance he was in. "hey yourself," he hummed, hands moving from the keyboard to your arms where he started rubbing up and down. "how was your day?"

you sighed slightly, relishing in the feeling of percys hands on your arms. "same shit as always. our class got a new project, but she hasn't given out our groups yet."

percy winced, his arms coming to a stop so you could rest your hands on his. "im sorry, pretty. hopefully, you'll get a good group," he said, hand leaving its place on your arm to close his laptop. "i don't think thats gonna get done anytime soon," he stated, more to himself than to you.

you tilted your head slightly at that, but percy already responded to the question brewing in your head. "it's not due for another three-ish weeks. I'll get it done before then, promise," he laughed as you smiled at him.

"well," you started. "since it seems both of us are done with work for today, how do you feel about a bath?" you asked, watching percys face light up at the suggestion. you smiled at him again. "you can go start it and i'll make tea for us—i got camomile the other day at the store," you pulled away from percy and headed to the kitchen as you heard his footsteps fade into your bedroom.

—

no sooner had the water started boling on the kettle did you hear the sound of water running from the bathroom. taking a bath together had become something both of you enjoyed doing; it allowed for your minds to process all that had happened throughout the day while enjoying eachothers company at the same time.

you quickly grabbed the two mugs from the counter that now held hot camomile tea and started your walk to the bathroom.

—

percy was sitting on the toilet seat when you walked in, lighter in hand. you raised an eyebrow at him. "what are you doing?" you giggled, setting down the mugs on the counter.

"im trying to light the candle without buring my skin off, thank you very much," he said as he rolled his eyes playfully at you, gesturing aimlessly with the lighter, trying to prove his point.

"here," you hummed, grabbing the candle and lighter from him. percy could usually light candles for the first couple times, but if the wick gets to short for his liking, he ended up burning himself.

"i used the lavender bubble bath, i hope that's okay," he said, grabbing the now lit up candle from you so he could put it on the edge of the tub. you smiled at him, signaling that the lavender sent was fine.

percy stepped into the tub, and it was then that you noticed he had already taken his clothes off. he looked at you expectedly. "you gonna come in?" he prompted, raising his arm out of the water—showing off the bubbles that were already all over him.

"my gods, be patient perce," you joked, already removing your sweatpants and top. "you were in here for longer than me, and be grateful i made you tea," you said as he simply laughed in response. you quickly found yourself in the warmth of the water, now sitting facing percy.

"hi," he giggled, showing you his teeth.

"hi." you replied. the bathroom was casted in a warm glow from the vanilla candle lit, and the light sounds of water rippling only added to the blanket of solace that the bathroom was encased in.

"what are you doing over there still?" he asked, moving his arms under the water so that they now rested on your hips. "i wanna be closer to you," he said in a semi-whiny voice, hands slightly tightening their hold on you.

you giggled and pointed at his face. "i'll cuddle you—if you get the fake mustache off," you said, refering to the bubbles that were on his face; you didn't think he even realized it was there. before he could respond, you moved your hand to softly wipe away the suds of his face, his smile greeting you as you removed your hand.

you sighed and smiled back, moving your body so that you were now in between his legs, your back on his chest and head resting just below his chin. "happy now?" you giggled, feeling his hands come to rest on your stomach.

"very," he sighed, his nose coming down to rest on your head. "i didn't ask earlier," he mumbled into your head before realizing you probably couldn't make out what he was saying. "do you think we could go to that new flower shop this weekend?"

you hummed. "the one on the same street as that good pizza place?" you asked, your hands going to his arms to rub them soothingly; repeating the motion he was doing to you earlier.

"yeah, that one." he mused. "i wanna get mom and you flowers, there were pretty hibiscus flowers i saw," he countined, his thumbs moving in slow circles on your stomach.

you giggled again and moved your head to press a light kiss to his upper arm. "you just got both of us flowers, perce."

you felt him shrug his shoulders behind you. "maybe, but the two prettiest girls always need new flowers," he said so simply, as if he didn't just say the most precious thing you've ever heard.

"oh, and i put your favorite towels in the dryer so i'll go and get them before you get out,"

if your heart didn't explode from the previous statement, than this one most definitely did. you fully turned your body so you were facing him, and then you gently pressed your lips to his.

you pulled back, putting a hand to his chest as he tried to chase your lips. "percy jackson, the man you are," you stated. he simply grinned at you, looking into your eyes with nothing but love and devotion to you.

[bokkiesluv]

How Far I'll Go

pairing: bangchan x afab!reader word count: 1.0k contains: just fluff!

You were curled up on the couch, feet tucked beneath you, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone as rain tapped softly against the windows. The whole apartment smelled like coffee and clean laundry, the kind of quiet Sunday scent that wrapped around your chest like a blanket.

Chan was in the kitchen, humming something, probably a melody he’d been working on all week, even though he claimed he was “taking a break.” He always said that, right before sitting down at his computer for another four-hour mixing session.

Then you saw it.

Your finger hovered over the screen. The thumbnail glowed like a beacon: Moana 2 – Official Trailer.

You gasped audibly, almost dropping your phone.

“Chan?” you called, not looking away from the video.

“Hm?” he answered from the kitchen, the gentle sound of mugs clinking.

“Oh my god. You need to come here. Right now.”

You heard the faint shuffle of socks on wood floors before he appeared in the doorway, a mug in each hand. “What's wrong? Did someone just die?”

You didn’t respond, just turned your phone toward him and hit play.

The trailer began, music echoing through the room, and even though it was barely ninety seconds long, by the time it ended you were practically vibrating in place. You turned to Chan with wide eyes, grinning like a child on Christmas morning.

“We have to go see this together. I’m serious, Chan. You, me, front row center, giant popcorn and everything.”

Chan smiled softly, clearly amused by your excitement, but then hesitated. “Yeah, of course… But, um. I should probably tell you something first.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What.”

He gave you a sheepish little shrug, sitting beside you on the couch. “I… might’ve never actually seen the first Moana.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” He took a sip from your mug like he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell.

“You’ve never seen Moana?!” you half-shouted, dramatically placing your hand over your heart.

“I’ve heard the songs?” he offered weakly, grinning as you dramatically collapsed against the armrest like the betrayal had physically wounded you.

“That’s it. We’re fixing this immediately.”

Chan laughed, setting the mugs down and pulling you upright. “What, right now?”

“Yes, right now,” you said firmly, already scrolling through Disney+. “I can’t let the love of my life walk around not knowing the emotional journey that is this masterpiece.”

His brows lifted playfully. “Love of your life, huh?”

“Don’t deflect.” You jabbed a finger at him. “You’re gonna cry when the grandma scene hits. I guarantee it.”

He held up both hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I submit myself to the emotional trauma.”

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────

Within fifteen minutes, the living room had been transformed. You dragged all the pillows off the bed, Chan lit a few soft candles, the soft light of it glowing dimly. He made another batch of popcorn after you accidentally burned the first one, and he even snuck in a small bowl of your favorite candy without you noticing.

You flopped down on the couch, waiting for him with a triumphant smirk.

Chan returned from the kitchen, two mugs in hand, he instantly spotted the Hei Hei-themed blanket draped over your shoulders like a cape.

“Where did you even get that?” he asked, blinking at the chicken’s stupid little embroidered face.

“Jeongin won it at a claw machine for me like two years ago,” you said with a grin. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “Sit. You have an entire childhood to catch up on.”

He plopped down beside you, spreading the blanket over both your laps as you cuddled into his side. His arm slid naturally around your shoulders, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm as the opening scene played.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────

Twenty minutes in, Chan was already far more invested than he’d anticipated.

You glanced up at him when baby Moana waddled toward the ocean, her tiny feet splashing through the shallows. His eyes were wide, his lips parted in a quiet little smile.

“Oh no,” you whispered. “He’s falling for it.”

He snorted. “This animation is insane. Look at the water. It’s like-sentient.”

“It is, babe. Pay attention.”

He kept whispering questions every few minutes. “Is that the grandma?” “Wait, he turns into a hawk?!” “Why does the ocean hate him so much?”

You answered all of them with varying levels of exasperation and fondness.

And then the scene came.

Grandma Tala’s final moments. The glowing manta ray. Moana’s quiet grief under the stars.

You didn’t say anything this time. You just turned your head slowly to look up at him.

Chan’s eyes were glossy. He was blinking hard, his jaw tight.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, grinning. “You’re crying.”

“I’m not crying,” he said, clearly lying. “There’s something in my eye.”

You reached up and gently brushed a tear away with your thumb. “Yeah. Feelings.”

He chuckled softly and leaned his cheek into your palm, eyes still on the screen.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────

By the end of the film, the credits rolled to a soft Hawaiian melody, and Chan sat there in silence. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

“Well?” you asked gently.

He exhaled, then looked down at you with the most sincere expression. “That movie… was a masterpiece.”

“Told you.”

He leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Thank you for making me watch it.”

You smiled, cheeks warm. “So you’re down for Moana 2, then?”

“Absolutely. I’m buying us tickets the second they go on sale.”

You nuzzled closer to him, already half-asleep in the comfort of his arms. “We’re dressing up. I’m getting a flower crown.”

He chuckled, tucking you in closer, his voice low and warm. “I’m wearing a grass skirt.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

And just as your eyelids started to flutter closed, you felt Chan’s chest rumble softly as he began to hum You’re Welcome under his breath, singing just slightly off-key on purpose.

"What can I say except you’re weeeeelcome~”

You groaned. “Chan.”

His laughter echoed softly around the room, echoing off fairy lights and sleepy smiles. You drifted off to sleep in his arms, safe in the warmth of movie night magic, and the boy who always made everything feel like home.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────

a/n: I saw this request and I couldn't help myself, it's so cute I just had to write something! I hope you enjoy!! @stray-maniac

[blackberries45]

Until You Tell Me

Beetlejuice x reader (no pn used)

Fluffy short one shot

As always, grammar and spelling ain't my thing

Notes: I honestly had a slightly heavier theme here but changed it. You can insert anything that is currently bumming you out. I’m sending you a big hug!!

Warnings: just general unrest and needing comfort

*****

The alarm went off as usual. Stretching, you sat up and swung your legs over the side of your bed. Ugh. The thoughts from the night before flooded back. You could feel the crust on your cheeks from the tears. Your throat burned as well. Although a sunny morning was starting to take light outside, it felt like a cloud had just formed above you. Uh oh. Here they come again.

You held yourself tightly as you rocked back and forth crying. You didn't know how you even had more tears left. A solid minute went by and the headache that had been dulled by sleep was now back in full force.

As you lifted your hand to wipe your face during a moment of rest, you saw him flicker in the corner through your desk. Beej did that little flicker thing when he wanted you to call for him.

"What do you want? I'm not in the mood" you held yourself again as you stared in the corner. It took half a second before he was standing right in front of you. Normally you'd scream from his sudden full body apparition. Today you didn't have it in you.

Realizing he wasn't going to get a reaction he slowly sauntered back over to the corner he had been flickering in. Turning to lean back against your corner desk, he crossed his black boots in front of himself as he leaned against the top. "Now what would a delicate little flower like yourself have to cry so hard and so loud over that a dead guy can hear ya and have to come runnin'?"

"No one asked you to come running." You turned your head slowly towards him and glared.

"Yikes! Spill your guts babe or I'll spill mine" he tilted his head down so he could look at you through his lashes and raised an eyebrow.

You turned away from him. "I just want...I'm just... I'm unhappy. And I can't shake it. And everyone tells me it's going to get better and I wake up and nothing has changed. I feel the same way I did the day before. I’m so sick and tired of crying but it seems to be all I'm capable of doing right now.”

“But what is it?” his voice had slightly smoothed out. It's what you guessed he sounded more like when he was still breathing. It happened now and then when he was being genuine.

You couldn’t look at him now though, no matter how soft he was trying to be. You simply shook your head slowly side to side.

In a flash you felt the bed move. Before you could think about where he was, a pair of hands were pulling you backwards and wrapping around you, just under your chest. The "eek" you squeaked out only encouraged a throaty chuckle from him.

"Now here's what's gonna happen babe. We are going to lay here until you open up and tell me how to help you get over whatever this is”

"Beej, I don't have time for this! I..."

"No, you don't have time to keep torturing yourself. You breathers only have so long. You can be in hell when you're dead if you'd like. I'll take you"

With a snap of his long fingers, your computer screen came to life with his favorite movie.

"Oh no!" You whined and bumped your head back against his chest "This movie scares me!"

"Better for me then" he squeezed you back against him again. "Just let me know if you need to be distracted during a scary part" a not so subtle thump hit the small of your back. Before you could wiggle away, he calmed you down again. "Now now, let's not get feisty babe. I'm just playing with you. But you gotta say who's the ghost with the most so I can stay. "

You rolled your eyes but did as he asked, saying his name three times while fixing your pillow. You decided you had to give him a small bit of attitude now that you were feeling a little better. "I swear to God if anything crawls on me you'll regret being this close to me" you put your arms across his, nestling in again with your back against his chest.

"Noted" you felt his smile as he kissed the back of your head.

“Thank you” without almost any sound left your lips. Beetlejuice just gently squeezed you again in response.

[houseofanticipation]

Ana is watching porn on David's computer when he comes home. She knows she's not supposed to, but she couldn't stop herself; she got so needy, waiting for him to get off work, she just needed something to tide her over. But when she hears the key turning in the lock, she closes her tabs and powers off the computer with the speed and efficiency of someone who very often succumbs forbidden needs.

He's not alone. As she assumes the position, Ana can hear someone else in the kitchen. She thinks she recognizes the voice, but she can't quite place it until the two of them walk into the living room. That's Keith; she met him at the holiday party.

"Ana?" Keith sounds more than a little surprised. He's never seen her naked, and probably didn't expect to when David invited him over today.

Ana makes no response. She's on her hands and knees in the middle of the living room, eyes kept dutifully down.

"That's not Ana today," says David matter-of-factly. "It's just furniture. Here." She doesn't need to see to know that he's passed Keith a glass bottle of beer from the fridge. "Do you like it? Not the most practical coffee table, I'll admit, but...I don't know, I think it brings the room together, don't you?"

"She's...I mean, it's beautiful," Keith stammers. Ana is consistently surprised by how little it takes for men to accept her non-personhood. David has explained that it's because to them, she's already barely more than an object. He just gives them permission to treat her like what they already know she is.

That just makes her wetter.

"I think so," says David. "Please, sit. Anyway, you were going to tell me about New Orleans this year." A circle of cold, wet glass presses between Ana's shoulder blades, and after that she's too focused on holding still to pay attention to Keith's account of his recent vacation. If she shifts even a little bit, the beer bottle will tip and then she'll be in big trouble.

"Hold on," says David, stopping Keith in the middle of a description of an old cemetery he and his wife toured. She can hear David moving, and a moment later she nearly tips the bottle with an involuntary shudder when his finger glides up her inner thigh. "My coffee table is leaking."

Keith sounds uncertain. "Is that...I mean, I would think that was normal. For this kind of. Um. Coffee table."

"Not like this," says David, "not this fast. We've only been here about half an hour, and it's already halfway down the thigh. Give me a sec." He pulls his hand away, and she can hear his footsteps walking off into another room. Then, a minute later, he's crashing back in at speed. "It's the strangest thing," he says, voice thunderous, "I've been out all day and yet the side of my computer is still hot." He picks up the beer bottle, and for a second Ana is relieved, but then his foot swipes her arms out from under her, making her fall hard on her face. She manages to turn her head reflexively, so her nose doesn't take the full force of the floor rushing up to meet her, but landing on her cheek isn't much better, and the rug burns as it scrapes against her skin. Before she can think his foot is on her face, pressing her into the ground. "Someone has been watching porn again. Even after being given explicit orders to stay desperate for its daddy. Give me a hand here."

Ana can't help but smile, even with David's foot on her face, even as tears well up in her eyes, even as David directs Keith to jam his beer bottle into her cunt ("no, not like that—thick end first"). She's sorry for misbehaving, she really is. But it's hard not to act out when she knows how delicious the punishment is going to be.

[into-f0lkl0re]

Paige bueckers x reader

warnings: nsfw and my horrendous spelling and grammar inaccuracies (my ap lang teacher would be so disappointed)

not spell checked (i typed this whole thing on my phone( yes i have a computer) )

i hope yall like it

~I don’t got a single problem with provocative~

she had on a mini black skirt with ripped shear tights and doc martins

a yellow lacy tube top with stars in orange and red thread embroidered through out the top little tattoos littered her arms. an outline of a moon on her shoulder. A bow on her upper left arm, a bouquet of flowers above her elbow on her right. tiny stars coated both of her forearms. she was perfect.

~See the bodies, how they burn, it’s just the way it is~

A couple of minutes ago paige was trying to come up with some sort of excuse to tell her teammates why she had to leave this random club but then she spotted her. dancing with who paige assumed were her friends. one hand held a clear plastic cup with translucent light green liquid with a salted rim. paige felt her cheeks heat up. was it always this hot in here? paige forgot why she wanted to leave in the first place.

~ Smoky, dark, crowded room, I need nothing Under pink light in June. I was so cool, but then, all of a sudden You saw me look at you~

The room was filled with intoxicated college students trying to have a night off from the stress of their lives. today had been the last day of finals. school was officially out for the summer. everyone presumably celebrating.

“you’re staring” a voice whispered in paige’s ear

paige jumped almost spilling her drink

nika laughed patting paige’s back

“you’ve been staring at that poor girl for almost 8 minutes”

“is it that obvious?”

“yes extremely” a new voice replies

paige looks down and sees kk laughing with ice

“keep looking at her with that face and your eyes are gonna get stuck like that”

“fuck off”

“oh shit, paige she’s looking at you”

Nika elbows paige’s side.

paige turns and makes eye contact with the golden girl herself

~I burn for you and you don’t even know my name. If you’d asked me to i’d give up everything~

Paige felt her chest contract as the girl leaves the dance floor walking past paige and making her way to the bar while briefly making eye contact again and smiling. once the girl was at the bar she looked back at paige and laughed.

“stop standing there gaping like a god damn fish and go over there dumb ass” ice pushed paige towards the bar

~To be close to you pull the trigger on the gun i have you when we met~

“i’m paige” she almost shouts because of the deafening volume of the music

“i know who you are. Im pretty sure everyone at uconn knows who you are” y/n laughs

“can i buy you a drink?”

“ you don’t even know my name and you’re trying to buy me a drink? you move fast”

“ well what’s your name?”

“y/n and i like dirty shirley’s”

~I wanna be close to you. break my heart and start a fire, you got me overnight just let me be close to you~

“so what’s your major?”

“art history”

“oh what do you wanna do with that”

“i have no fucking clue”

paige laughs leaning her head against the bar holding her chest

“ok what about you? what’s your major?”

“uhm-human development and family sciences”

“ wow that sounds important. what do you want to do with that?”

paige lets out another laugh than sighs

“uh hopefully nothing i really wanna go pro”

“hey uh listen do you wanna maybe get out of here?”

“you read my mind”

~And now your mouth is moving, cinematic timing You pull me in and touch my neck, and now I'm dying~

barely making it through the threshold of paige’s apartment before her lips are on y/ns. tugging on her small tube top for dear life. paige blindly moves them towards her bedroom. they hit a couple walls on the way to their final destination. paige pushes her down on the bed before climbing over y/ns body and reconnecting their lips groaning into her mouth.

~You should be mine for life, I'll be signing

Every dotted line

Chemical override, ultraviolet

You could be mine tonight~

clothes long forgotten. two bodies grasping at each other letting out high pitched sighs and moans. paige’s hands are everywhere. groping her chest, paige slowly makes her way down y/ns body leaving a trail of love bites. taking her sweet time teasing, nipping and kissing at y/ns thighs.

“paige” y/n exhales

“say my name again” paige says again before sucking on her clit

“oh-god paige-please don’t stop”

“don’t worry ma i’m not stopping anytime soon.”

~ and i burn for you and you don’t even know my name

if you asked me to id give up everything to be close to you

break my heart and start a fire, you got me overnight

just let me be~

this was not a request i just thought this would be fun because i have been listening to secret of us on repeat for the past 48 hours

i’m working on an actual request a kk arnold x reader fic which i’m excited for. that should be out soon. i also wanna do a kate martin fic inspired by risk. send requests my way and ideas🙏

big forehead kisses 💕

-faye

[rubyychriss]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

⠀⠀𝅄ㅤ.ᐟ GLASSES SLIP, HEART SKIPS. ᥩ ᪲◞ ◟)𑁬⠀⠀⠀♡ she cheers from the bleachers, he solves equations in the back row – love isn't on the syllabus, but they’re both failing to ignore it.

⠀ ׅ⠀⠀ ꒰ˆ◞⸝⸝◟ˆ ꒱੭ ㅤnerdyㅤ◞ shy!matt ㅤ ⊹ㅤ

nineteen. computer science major. shy smile. oversized hoodie sleeves. sweetheart. pushes glasses up too often. reads comics between classes. get flustered easily. builds robots, hides poems. timid. stammers through compliments. keeps all her stickers. listens like it matters. & falls for her, quietly, every day. awkward. makes her laugh without trying. thoughtful texter. & crushes hard, quietly, completely.

⠀ ׅ⠀⠀ ꒰ˆ◞⸝⸝◟ˆ ꒱੭ ㅤcheerleader ㅤ◞ reader ㅤ ⊹ㅤ

nineteen. cheerleading captain. fashion designing major. butterfly n' flower clips. candy gloss. pink speaker in her tote. star stickers on cheeks. loud laugh, louder heart. sweetheart. smells like vanilla + cherries. playlists for every mood. luvs to doodles hearts, cat lovers. jelly cats always babbling, romantic by heart. & gives hugs like warm sunlight.

ㅤ ⊹ㅤㅤ ◞ matt said no, but here he is, in her party —trembling and giving in quietly in the hallway while the party rages on outside.

ㅤ ⊹ㅤㅤ ◞ he’s supposed to be tutoring you in chemistry—shirt unbuttoned, cock twitching—and you’re not learning a thing except how pretty he sounds when he whimpers.

ㅤ ⊹ㅤㅤ ◞ she knew he was timid—thats why she wasn't letting him go without her hands getting all over him.

𝜗℘ RUBYCHRISS ㆍ 2025 do not copy or re-post my work on other platforms.

AUTHOR NOTE: hellooo! i genuinely don't know if anyone has already done this trope/au idk! please let me know if there is, I'll credit them <3 btw if you wanna be on the taglist, just comment anything down!

゙ׅㅤ⠀ㅤ⍺𝗎 ㅤ:ㅤslow burn, she fell first he fell harder, tension between friends, strangers to lovers, contain smut later on, timid but sweetheart matt ⠀ ..ㅤ ⠀ഒㅤ

this au was originally made by @snoopychris so credit goes to them, thank you for so much <3

[multiwreckedmess]

Helloooo. Badboy!Yunho ??👀

yesssssss what about himmmm? you raaaaang? i'm always down for Badboy!yunho but he has many FLAVORS 👀

actually oh my god idea. badboy!yunho x nerd!reader no sex just build up but AHHHHHHHHHHHHhhahhahahaaha thoughts THOUGHTS no warnings ain't nothing here.

badboy!yunho is kind of the worst group project partner. He watches you tapping away at your laptop muttering under your breath with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face. It's not the grin that's infuriating, at least one of you is having a good time, it's the fact that he's only brought his cellphone with him to his make up meeting.

You see, you'd normally just do the project alone, holed up in your dorm, but at least a portion of the final grade is based on four mandatory group meetings throughout the semester. Unfortunately Yunho had been "sick" (read: hungover) for the meeting the past Sunday and you had agreed to meet up again for extra credit.

"Have any plans tonight?"

"I suppose you're going to ask if you can leave to go pre-game with your frat bros." You don't even bother to look up from the google doc, not yet even opened by him.

"That's what you think of me?"

"Am I wrong?"

The chair creeks as he leans away from you without answering. Phone laying neglected on the table, he isn't even pretending to work. Not that he did much on the phone besides scroll on Instagram with his volume up.

"I'm sorry but I don't see the point of us meeting if you aren't going to at least contribute something. I can't imagine that your phone is your only device available," you finally scoff, patience waning thin. The space feels more like an interrogation chamber than a study nook. Frankly the oppositional stance he'd taken across from you did not help with the tension, his eyes always tracing you.

"Is my charming smile not enough of a benefit?" He flashes a winning grin at you.

"No."

"What if we fucked? Would that be considered contributing?"

"My sex life is fine, thanks." Embarrassment burns in your cheeks as you try to hold the guise of studying. The cursor blinking hopefully on the long forgotten running bibliography tab.

Yunho sees his opening. Your head ducking deeper into the laptop screen without any sounds of typing is a dead giveaway. Getting up he circles the table to stand just over your shoulder, leaning in as though he was genuinely interested in the work you were doing. "That's not what I asked."

You lamely toggle the open windows on your screen, pretending not to hear him. Despite his hushed volume, his face was close enough to yours to feel the warmth of his skin radiating.

"I wanted to know, by your definition, if we fucked if that would count as participation in the project. We're going to fuck anyway, I just want to know if I'll get credit."

Goosebumps bloom down your shoulders all the way to buzz at your fingertips. Sitting in a stunned silent, almost out of body experience, you watch as Yunho rubs your forearm gently.

"Are you cold?" He asks a little too loudly before leaning over to loosely hold you in a back hug. "Or are you just excited at the thought?"

Maybe you are a little cold. His body heat feels nice to have so close to you. He's like a big electric blanket velcro'd to you and you can't help but start to enjoy the way your shoulders fit nicely between his. "No. Yunho, I need you to focus. I need to focus."

He promptly withdraws to your side, perched over the computer still but in his own bubble. Dragging a chair to your side he watches as you type, tabbing between windows and fleshing out the outline. Slowly his head weighs his arm down and he ends up nearly laying across the table, looking up at you instead of the screen. "If I focus, will you go out with me tonight?"

"Sure." You answer curtly. Then his question hits you in the back of the head like a stack of bricks. "No, wait, what?"

His eyes a brighten. "No take backsies, you said-"

"Are you joking?" Anger and embarrassment bubbles inside of you.

"I'm yours for now but you're mine tonight."

[plussizefantasia]

Trust Issues

Bucky x BlackCat!reader

Chapter 2/6 of the BlackCat!reader story that I had a request for!

<Prev / Next>

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Language, Bucky and Reader being kinda mean to each other.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The first words Barnes has uttered in nearly two hours. “There's only one fucking bed.” It didn’t occur to you to ask the front desk woman if there would be two beds, after all, you and Bucky were supposed to be playing a couple this weekend and couples didn’t need two beds. “Well buck up, Buckaroo, looks like we're sharing for the weekend."

“I’m not sharing a bed with you, you kick in your sleep and snore like a buzzsaw.”

“You’re a filthy liar Barnes, I do not snore.”

“No comment on the kicking?” He raises an eyebrow at you. You just roll your eyes and push further into the room. 

“Well, I’m not sleeping on the ground. So you can either be a chivalrous manbaby and curl up in that tiny-ass armchair or be a grown-ass man and split the bed with me. Your choice.”

Bucky grumbles under his breath, in a language that you don’t speak but hearing it admittedly sends a shiver running down your spine. You don’t really have time to stay and talk him out of his funk. The two of you are only here for the three nights and the last night was the gala so any and all recon needs to be done before then. 

Of course, the team of low-ranking agents who just want to do their fucking part to save the world or some bs like that have already put together a file of information for you. You’ve been burned before though and like to take care of yourself more often than not.

So you inwardly thank Tony Stark for the nice digs and head to the bathroom to get changed into your suit. 

You want to scope out the event space tonight as well as the governor's office the only problem was that the two buildings were practically on opposite sides of the city and you’ll have to take pretty much the whole night in order to get what you need. 

That means despite the fact that you are ridiculously tired from being in the car all day you’ll have to dawn your fur-lined catsuit right away and book it to the State Capital building before the last of the over-caffeinated halfway to burnt-out political interns leave for the night and your usual slip-in-behind-someone-who-isn’t-paying-attention entrance will fall off the table.

You pretend that you don’t see Bucky’s eyes bulge when you walk out of the bathroom in your full get-up, but you feel flattered nevertheless. There’s something to be said about the way donning your suit makes you feel, when you have the mask on and the suit zipped all the way up you feel invincible, powerful, badass, and let’s not kid anyone, sexy as hell.

The way Bucky can’t keep his eyes off you as you move about the room gathering the things you’ll need for your night of recon makes you think that he’s on the same page as you about that last one. But that’s all it is, you remind yourself. You’ve got good assets and when they’re tightly wrapped in a nice little bow they look alright, Barnes doesn’t like you he’s a man… he likes tits and ass. They all do. 

“I’m heading downtown, need to scope out entrances and exits and see if there’s anything in the governor's office that could help us bring him down.”

“I’ll come with.” Bucky moves to grab the bulletproof leather jacket that Steve had gotten him for Christmas this past year.

“Thanks but no thanks Barnes, I’m perfectly capable of doing recon on my own. Besides, you’re not exactly what I would call… stealthy.”

“I’m stealthy as fuck kitty.”

“Don’t call me kitty, and whatever you need to tell yourself, old man. I'll be back. Treat yourself to room service or something, I heard brooding makes you hungry.”

“I don’t brood.”

“And I don’t snore. See, we can both lie.”

Your night is uneventful. The only thing catching your eye is how suspiciously squeaky clean the governor's computer is. You don’t find much that can help you in your mission. The ballroom is a bust too although you do manage to come up with several escape routes should things go sideways the night of the gala. You end up rolling back into the hotel room at around three-thirty in the morning. Not expecting Bucky to still be awake you try your best to make as little noise as possible so that you don’t wake him.

It ends up not being necessary as he is already awake, lounging in the armchair nursing a glass of whisky, and staring at the door you've just come through.

“Don’t tell me you waited up for me? That’s so sweet Barnes.”

“I didn’t want to be the one to tell Fury that his favorite pet got in some trouble.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Barnes, I am not Fury’s pet any more than you're Steve’s.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” He scoffs and takes another sip of his drink.

“Well, you’re off the hook I guess I’m back safe and sound so you can finally go about getting some much-needed beauty sleep.”

“You really can’t take anything seriously, can you? I’ve been waiting here for hours because you left without letting me in on your little plan.” Bucky stands up and places his glass on the side table next to him. You have no idea where the hell this anger he has is coming from but you’ll be damned if you let him talk to you like this. “We’re supposed to be doing this mission together and the first moments you’re left to your own devices you run off and risk yourself unnecessarily.” He's getting heated and it's rubbing off on you.

“What the hell is your problem James?  I didn’t ask you to wait for me! You’ve been a bit of an ass all day and I’m really fucking tired of it. I’m here to do my fucking job, are you?” Hindsight is a bitch though and you realize after you say the words to him that poking the bear is probably not your best option at the moment, nevertheless, you’re a glutton for punishment so you dig in even more. “I mean first you get all moody in the car because of some shit you brought up in the first place, then you stay up waiting for me like you’re my dad or some shit making sure I get home safe. I know that you don’t like me, I get it and if I’m completely honest I don’t really like you either. No matter what you think or want though, we have a mission to complete and I’ll be damned if I let some metal-armed brute fuck up my perfect completion record.” You don’t really remember taking breaths but obviously, you have or you’d be passed out after that long ass speech. 

It doesn’t get you the reaction you want though, instead, Bucky just clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and lets out some long-suffering sigh like you’re the bane of his existence or some shit. You let him throw his grown-man tantrum and don’t move to stop him from huffing and puffing around the room until he goes to lie down on the floor.

“What are you doing?” you ask, every syllable dripping with exasperation.

“Sleeping, what does it look like?”

“Yeah, I can see that your trying to sleep like a caveman on the cold hard ground what I don’t understand is why, given the big ass bed right here.” You carelessly lift one hand and gesture towards the California King bed with admittedly really comfy-looking sheets spread across it. 

“I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you Kitty, I thought I had told you that.” He practically snarls.

“I thought you were kidding. What? Afraid you’ll get cooties or something?” 

“I’m not sharing a bed with you Y/N. Drop it.”

“Fine. You know what? Fucking be like that.” You grab a pillow off the bed and throw it down at him. Before grabbing one for yourself and taking up position on the floor a few feet away from him.

“What are you doing?” 

“Funny, I thought I just asked you that.” You reply laying down on the ground with your back towards him.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor Y/N it’ll mess up your back.” `“Well then I guess you have a choice to make. Either you get over yourself and we both get to share the nice bed, I’ll even put up a pillow wall to protect your dignity if you’re that worried about it.  Or we both sleep on the floor and I wake up tomorrow morning as grumpy as you because my back hurts.” You let the silence reign for a few seconds after you're done, still facing away from him and waiting for him to make the decision.

“God you’re so annoying you know that?” Bucky groans out as he moves to sit up and make his way towards the bed.

“I’ve been told it’s one of my best qualities.” You stick your tongue out at him and follow him to the bed. You follow through with your promise of a pillow wall placing three pillows length-wise between the two of you. Afterward, you turn around and turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. 

You wait for a few minutes thoughts racing endlessly in your mind. “Bucky?” You call out.

“What?” he mumbles back.

“Will you tell me a bedtime story?” You ask.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?

“Go the fuck to sleep.” You do.

_________________________________________________

The next morning you wake up to an empty bed, but an intact pillow wall so deem the night a success. Rolling over to check the bedside clock you see that it’s about seven and groan at the fact that Bucky’s absence apparently woke you up an hour before you had planned.

Bucky’s absence doesn’t last long, however, as minutes later he comes strolling into the room. He’s wearing a simple grey tee shirt and some black sweatpants but the entire front of his shirt is soaked making the grey a darker shade than it was originally. Similarly, his hair is dripping wet and you honestly can’t tell if he’s taken a shower yet or if he's just soaked with sweat. What confuses you more is that you don’t know which you’d prefer.

“Morning Sarge.” You call out from your place in bed. Bucky jumps a little like he forgot that you’d be in the room. 

“Morning.” He mumbled before making a swift turn and essentially hiding away in the ensuite bathroom. When you hear the shower turn on you know he's still in a mood from last night. You swear to whatever god there might be that this man is going to be the death of you. 

“I’m calling room service for breakfast do you want anything?” You shout at the bathroom door.

“Eggs and toast.” He calls back. You roll your eyes at his basic order but relent anyway and pick up the phone to call for the food. 

His shower finishes right about the same time that the food arrives. When he walks out of the bathroom in just a towel wrapped around his waist and a smaller one in his hand ruffling his hair to dry it you about choke on the food you hadn’t even started eating yet.

“Your foods over there.” You point to the little sitting area on the opposite side of the room from you. You're sitting crisscross across the ottoman at the foot of the bed. A plate of stuffed French toast with a side of sliced peaches perched on your lap.

“I figure that we should probably talk about the plan for the rest of the weekend, to avoid any more… angst between us.” You speak between bites of your breakfast.

“I thought we already had a plan but apparently that doesn’t mean much to you does it.” He turns his body to face you and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’m not starting the morning off like this, James. You can either talk to me like an adult or you can sulk in the corner it’s your choice.” 

“I don’t sulk.”

“For a guy who doesn’t sulk or brood you sure spend a lot of time doing both.”

“I just- I don’t know why you always have to be putting yourself at risk.” You aren’t prepared for the tone shift of the conversation.

“I’m an adult Bucky, I can make those kinds of choices for myself.”

“I know you can, I just don’t see why you feel the need to.”

“What do you mean?” You can physically feel yourself start to get defensive. 

“I mean that for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always gone the extra mile, covered every base that needs to be covered and even some that don’t. You push yourself to the point of exhaustion and you don’t seem to care. You do the job of ten people when you don’t need to and it makes me tired just watching you.”

“I-”

“I wasn’t finished. Take last night for example. You went out and re-did recon that our team already did for us because you didn’t trust that they had done enough and what did you find? Nothing. Nothing that you didn’t already know from reading the mission file.”

“When did this become a fucking therapy session? I don’t recall giving you my insurance information Dr. Barnes and I’m not sure I can pay your hourly rate.” You try to deflect. He's right, you didn’t find anything new and you’d been a little pissed at yourself because of it, but you don’t need that shoved back into your face.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Push away your real feelings with jokes, Peter and Tony do the same thing and it drives me up the wall.” He stares at you.

“I don’t know what you want from me Bucky. I don’t know who you want me to be, you call me a kiss-ass when I try too hard, but you’ve been pretty clear on the fact that you don’t think I can be redeemed. You seem to care about me and yet give me shit about anything and everything that I do. I don’t know what to think or feel around you and it throws me off.”

“I do care about you.” 

You don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything. You and Bucky sit in silence for what could’ve been seconds minutes or hours. Neither one of you is willing to be the one who breaks the spell that has settled over the room. Both of you are saved by the bell when Bucky’s phone rings on the desk in front of him.

“It’s Steve, I’ll be right back.” He gets up and moves to take the call out in the hallway. You still don’t say anything. But you do flop onto your stomach across the bed the moment the door closes behind him. 

You grab the nearest pillow to your outstretched hand and bring it to your face, screaming into it and letting out as many muffled curse words as you can before you run out of air. When you’re done throwing your mini tantrum you stand up, run a hand through your hair, and take in the deepest breath you’ve ever taken in. 

It seems that Bucky’s call with Steve is going to go longer than you thought so you might as well get ready for the day. You put on the flowing wide-leg pants and halter tank that you packed, it gives just the right amount of classy that goes along with your cover in case you needed to interact with anyone, while still being easy to move in and pretty damn comfortable to boot.

You return to your perch at the foot of the bed, this time with the mission files in your hands. Despite how many times you’ve poured over them you still want to make sure that you’re ready for the gala tomorrow night. The best use of your time right now is trying to figure out the best way to get close to the Governor at the party.

Since his computer had been a bust the best way to get him was going to be a verbal confession to some of his backroom dealings. Maybe with more time, you’d be able to pull together a bit more of a sting operation and pull out all the stops trying to catch him but you were on a time crunch. The gala is tomorrow and then after that the governor starts his reelection campaign.

Bucky walks back into the room and throws his phone on the bed next to you, “Steve said the analysts back home got word that there’s a new player to be aware of tomorrow. The Governor's son is gonna be there, he's been flouncing across Europe for the better part of the last five years and we’re not exactly sure why he’s back but we know it’s important. Think you can handle it?”

“Did you actually just use the word ‘flounce’ in a sentence.”

“Can you handle it or not.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist Barnes, I got this.”

“I don’t doubt it, Kitty, in the meantime though maybe we should do some asking around to see what we can get on the kid.”

“Honestly, James I’m a little hurt that you think I’m that far behind you. Besides, I know exactly where to look to get the answers I’ll need.”

“And where is that exactly?” Bucky looks at you and raises an eyebrow. 

“His Instagram.” Snapchat, Twitter, and any and all other social media you can get your hands on. You know rich kids better than any other group of people in the world, they’re incredibly naive most of the time and some of the easiest targets because they’re sharing their entire lives with the world. If there's something to know about this guy, you’ll find it on his socials. 

You and Bucky spend the rest of the day and well into the night, doing your research. At some point, you’d been given access to the full guest list which allowed you to add some names to your internet stalking session. By two in the morning, you can confidently say that you know this guy and several of the other guests who would be attending better than they knew themselves. 

“Alright doll, it’s time for sleep.” Bucky grabs your laptop and closes the lid before taking it off your lap completely and plugging it in for you.

“What? I was just getting in the groove! I found another rabbit hole.”

“I don't know what that means but I know that it’s late and we have to be on our best game tomorrow so sleep it is.”

“You can sleep, but I need to keep working,” Bucky calls your name.

“This is the type of stuff I’m talking about, working yourself to death. Trust in the work you did today, trust that you’ve got everything you need. I do.”

You will never admit to the way that your heart thumps when you realize just how much faith Bucky has in you. 

“I’ve made that mistake before, trusting myself and trusting others, it never goes well for me.”

“Well then, work yourself to death and be sloppy and tired tomorrow if you want, but do it over there with just a desk lamp because I’m going to bed.”

“Fine. I will.” Stubbornly, you pick up the notebooks and files that surround you and move them all to the too-small desk in the corner of the room. You flick the lamp light on and groan at the dimness of the bulb. Bucky’s words bounce around your skull, you wouldn’t be sloppy. You were never sloppy. Sloppy meant getting hurt or worse. You couldn’t be sloppy.

Fuck. You couldn’t be sloppy, especially with Bucky’s life on the line too. 

You growl low in your throat as you flick the lamp off and begin getting ready for bed, pretending not to hear the triumphant snort that comes from the lump on the bed.

“Scoot over, you fucking starfish, leave some room for me.” You shove at Bucky’s back, nothing happens of course but he takes pity on you and scooches over anyway. “Do I need to construct another pillow wall Your Highness or do you think you’ll be okay for one more night?”

“I think I’ll survive. But know that if you kick me in the middle of the night I reserve the right to shove your ass onto the floor.” 

“Noted.”

[paladin--strait]

congrats on 100 followers!!!!!!!!

can i request prompt no. 1 with quinn hughes?

my bedroom is cold despite my sweating body. i'm covered in a blanket, which is exactly what my mom told me not to do if i had a fever when i would get sick as a child.

theres vicks vapo rub on my upper lip right beneath my nose and there's some on my chest too. i hope it'll open up my sinuses but i think i've used it so much these past few days that my nose is now immune to the strong smell of it.

i have a random tv show running on the television and soft ambient music playing in the background. thankfully, i can get my work done from home so i won't be losing any money. this packet of paperwork is taking hours and hours and it feels like it's never going to end.

i groan and throw my head back when i realize i have one more page left. but i gasp in shock when i hear my bedroom door creak open. i look behind me and i see quinn looking at me with a sad smile. "hey baby. i called your name a couple times but i guess you didn't hear me. how are you feeling?" he takes a couple steps forwards and sits beside me on the bed.

"quinn! i'm sick. you shouldn't get near me!" i say, the congestion making my voice sound all funny and nasally. "you have to play tomorrow. what are you doing here anyway?"

"baby, i don't care how sick you are. i'm gonna be here to check on you and take care of you." he tells me with soft and reassuring smile before he puts the back of his hand up to my forehead. "oh my god, you're burning up! you need to get out from under the covers." he grabs at my blanket, slowly pulling it away.

i grab at it quickly. "no! i'm cold!" i put the blanket back on and wrap myself in it. "please don't take my blanket..." i look at him with a soft look, my cheeks flushed red from my fever.

"fine. but please just promise me that you'll go without it later? i have to leave to go to practice later today. i wanna see it off of you when i come back home tonight." he says sternly. i know he means well, but i'm just so cold.

"okay...you sound like my mom right now. she used to tell me the same thing." i say, unwrapping just enough to reach over and shut off my computer after saving my work so far.

"so she's told you the same thing and you still didn't listen?" he says, looking at me with those eyes that make me agree that he's right every time he looks at me with them. "and you're working? i thought you called out? you need to stop and get some rest, my love." he stands, walking over the the other side of the bed and grabbing my laptop before he puts it on my dresser on the opposite side of the bedroom.

i groan out, my shoulders slumping. "but i can't just not do my work, i told them i would!"

"honey, you know i love you, but you look like death right now. i'm sure they'll understand if you don't get it all done." he says, putting his hands on his hips. "when you feel better, i try and help you finish it up. you tell me what to write and i'll type away. hold on, let me go get this medicine for you." he walks out of the bedroom and presumably to the kitchen.

i sit up in bed more when i see him walk in with one of those little measuring cups full of blue liquid and glass of water. "take this, it'll make you feel better."

i whimper and turn my head away from him. i know what that medicine tastes like and i think i'm gonna throw up if it even gets near me. "baby, i love you but don't make me shove this down your throat." i roll my eyes and look back at him. i know he would actually do it, so i hold out my hand to grab the little cup before i pour it into my mouth and swallow it quickly, trying to get rid of the disgusting taste as fast as possible with the cold water.

i cough when i pull the glass of water away from my lips. "there you go...see? that wasn't so bad!" quinn smiles at me as he speaks.

"you're not the one who had to drink it." i fire back, looking at him with slotted eyes.

he gives me a suprised look at my words, grabbing the cup from my hand and taking it into the kitchen to wash it out. i hear the beep of the microwave before he come back into the bedroom. he has a red and white bowl in his hands, the bottom covered with a blue potholder. "you need to eat. it'll help settle your stomach. you told me your stomach was hurting this morning when i called, so i figured you hadn't been eating properly. it's chicken noodle from chick-fil-a, the one you love so much? please eat it."

i smile at him and thank him for the food when he sets it on my lap. i grab the plastic spoon, filling it with soup and bringing it up to my mouth, eating it slowly. "thank you, quinny. can you get me some crackers?"

"babe, i don't think that's the best idea. it won't be good for your throat." he explains, sitting beside me.

"i want to put it in the soup and let the crackers get soggy. that's how i like it..." i say, looking at him softly. quinn hums in understanding and runs to the kitchen to get the crackers, coming back and breaking them up into my soup. "thank you!" i say happily, the congestion still evident in my voice.

quinn sits beside me while i eat, putting on our tv show that we started watching together. he turns off the ambient music and turns the fan on, putting it on the lowest setting. after i finish eating, i snuggle up to quinn, "i'm sorry if i get you sick..." he shakes his head and gives me a kiss on the forehead.

"it's alright honey, i don't care." he smiles and holds me closer to him. "just as long as my baby is okay."