#it’ll only then hit me a millisecond after i sent in an ask

[ilyuu-archive]

i feel bad for not sending u anything in return helo USHHSHSBSHHHH

this is so stupid and i hate how it made me smile IAJSISJSJ (i’m guessing you found out the one who sent that dan heng drabble was me?)

[calcifermovesthecastle]

SO SEEING AS HOW I SEEN THAT POST (the story one) I AM HERE TO ASK FOR A DOM GYRO X FEM READER dear god thank you for existing

Yes so sorry this took me so long I’ve been so stressed lately

Warnings: Pregnancy mentions, cursing. 

Word Count: 1500

18+

“Are you going to invite me in, or am I going to have to just stand here and watch you bathe without me?” Gyro grinned, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame. 

“Who ever said you needed to ask your wife, who you married, to share a bath in the bathtub that is in your house, that you bought?” You closed your eyes and stretched out. The tub was easily big enough for three people. 

“Nyo ho ho! I love you better when you’re pregnant.” Gyro grinned, stepping into the room. “You’re more willing to just do what I tell you to.” 

“Oh, fuck off, Gyro. Now you can’t join me.” You opened your eyes, glaring at him, a smile eventually breaking through your annoyed façade. He laughed and undressed- always a pleasant sight to see- and slid into the water, snaking his arms around you and pressing his hands against your tummy. 

“What do you think, doll? Girl or boy?” 

“I dunno. I hope it’s a girl.” You tilted your head back and grinned at him. He groaned, tossing his head back. 

“Noo! It’ll look just like you, act just like you, and have your garbage attitude, and I only want to deal with the you you.”  

“Oh hush. You love me and you know it.” You grinned again and pecked his cheek, and he leaned into it, tightening his arms around you. 

“Ah, you caught me. Red handed. No matter what.” 

You sat in a comfortable silence with him for a while, appreciating the way he massaged your tender muscles. After a while, he grabbed your shampoo, pouring a generous amount into his hands and massaging your scalp. You groaned, pleased with his ministrations, your brow relaxing as he pressed his fingers into your scalp. 

“Christ, that feels good.” 

“I will be expecting you to return the favor.” There was a smile in his voice, but his voice was soft nonetheless, telling you that he really didn’t mind either way. You couldn’t help but tease him.  

“There’s always some ulterior motive with you, isn’t there?” 

“My goods and services don’t come for free, Doll.” He pulled your head back into the water carefully, rinsing the soap out of your hair. You opened your eyes to look at him, and he grinned at you. His grill wasn’t in tonight, and seeing his teeth bare was always strange, but enticing. 

“If you lean down and give me a kiss on the lips I might be inclined to return the favor. 

“Oh ho ho, is that so?” His green eyes glinted, and he leaned down until his mouth just barely ghosted over yours. “How are you expecting to do that?” 

“If you kiss me like I just asked you to, maybe I’d show you.” 

 You nipped at his bottom lip. “You know how impatient I am right now.” 

He grinned once more before pressing his lips firmly into yours, quickly taking control of the situation. you groaned softly into his mouth, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into yours, one hand gripping at your hair and pushing you deeper into the kiss. You reached a hand up to cup his cheek, mouth working against his until you came away breathless. 

“Jesus, you’re always so intoxicating,” His lips caught yours again, hungrier this time, and when he pulled away again, you were left pleasantly fuzzy. 

“Gyro, would you be a dear and sit on the edge of the tub for me?” 

“Oh, you’re making me get out? Is that what you had in mind the whole time?” He tsked, but indulged you, sliding up until he was seated on the ledge, his back against the tile. You grinned at him, resting your head on his inner thigh. He stared at you, annoyed for a minute, before sighing, rubbing his face with his hand. “Christ, I can’t stay mad at you when you’re looking at me like that.” 

“I was waiting for you to say something like that.” You reached a hand up and grasped his cock, pumping it slowly in your hand. He hissed through his teeth. “I expect your words to be nice when my mouth is about to be nice to you.” 

“Fuck, dolcezza. Se è quello che avevi in ​​mente, le mie parole saranno le più gentili che tu abbia mai sentito.“ He watched you, biting his lip when your lips sealed around his tip and you swiped your tongue along his slit.

You took him fully in your mouth, then, closing your eyes and relaxing your throat so his whole length would be inside you. His breath hitched in his throat, and he began murmuring curse words in Italian when you started bobbing your head. 

“F-Fuck, you always treat me so well, Dolcezza. What did I ever do to deserve you? Jesus!” 

You placed your hands on his thighs, opening your eyes and meeting his. He looked down at you, the corner of his mouth twitching up in understanding. You were ready to give up control. 

“You let me know if it becomes too much, okay?” 

You tapped his thigh with your hand twice to let him know you understood, and he took a deep breath, gripping the hair at the back of your head before bucking his hips into your mouth at break neck speed. 

He marveled in the cute squeaks and little gags you made, The way your throat bulged every time he thrust in, the way your fingers dug into his thighs. Your eyes slipped closed for a millisecond, before you opened them and locked onto his gaze, just the way he liked. 

He slowed his pace when your eyes started to glaze over and your grip on his legs slackened, and pulled himself from your mouth with a wet pop. 

“Too much, Doll?” He rubbed your back while you coughed, saliva and precum dripping from your lips. You shook your head, your voice hoarse. 

“N-no, I’m okay.” You wiped the tears from your eyes with trembling hands. 

“Come here.” He beckoned you up to where he sat, and you obliged, leaning your head against his shoulder as you straddled him. It was a little difficult, with the way your stomach was swelling, but you managed. He stood, lifting you in his arms, and you held on for dear life. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, okay?” 

You nodded, your head still leaned against his shoulder. He lifted your hips just enough so that he could catch the head of his cock on your entrance, and slid in with little resistance with the help of your slick and the bath water. 

You let out a quiet moan when he bottomed out inside of you, burying your face in the crook of his neck when he started to move. 

“Fuck, Gyro,” Your voice was quiet, and he let out a breath, speeding up ever so slightly. 

“Doll,” He murmured, pressing his cheek into the top of your head. You lifted your head, and he caught your lips in a kiss once again. You moaned into his mouth when he angled his hips and hit a spot inside of you that sent electricity to the very edges of your being and made you clench around him. 

“Are you close already?” He laughed softly, kissing your forehead. You flushed, grinding your hips down against him. He sucked in a breath, speeding up until all you were able to do was cling to him and beg him for more, finally clenching around him once again and spilling your release. 

The way you milked his cock had him cumming as well, and he cursed softly as he spilled inside you. He pulled away from you ever so slightly, cock still twitching inside of you. You leaned back against the wall, shivering. 

Silently, he set you back down in the tub, draining the bath and turning the shower on. You hugged him from behind, your eyes closed, feeling pleasantly tired after you had come down from your high.

“Here, doll, let me clean you up.” He grabbed a washcloth, kneeling to wipe off the cum dripping down your thighs. you weaved your hands into his hair, your legs trembling. 

“You always know how to make me feel so good,” Your murmured softly. He grinned up at you, kissing your stomach and leaning his cheek against it, grinning when he felt the baby kick. 

“Well, it’s way past your bedtime.” He stood, washing himself off with his soap, turning the water off and wrapping the both of you up in towels. 

Once you were dried, and he had stood over you as you drank the hot tea he made, He pulled you against him in bed, pressing kisses into your hair. You nuzzled against him, relishing in his warmth and closeness as you drifted off to sleep. 

Yes, Gyro always knew how to make you feel appreciated. In whatever way you needed. And he was always true to his word. He was yours and yours alone, and you were gladly his. 

[voidcat]

– The Old Jukebox

Characters: Bokuto Koutarou/Reader

Genre & Word Count: fluff & 1.4k

Synposis: As that time of the year rolls up, your friend makes a fuss of it again. All you want is to walk home through your favorite park as the old jukebox in the corner catches your attention and takes you to a dream of dances with a certain someone.

A/N: Happy birthday Linette!! and Happy (belated) birthday Bokuto!! I love u two<33

ps. i didnt proof read, lets hope i didnt forget any verbs<3

The day begins off rather quietly, without much of a fuss.

It’s expected, really, nothing special about it. Just like any other day, it goes on as you live it. It shouldn’t be any different just because some certain event took place on the exact same date ages ago.

Ages, you think, and try pushing back the thought. It doesn’t feel that long, neither has it been that long, certainly not filled with so much excitement, and yet using the phrase “ages” for any amount of time feels light in your head. It adds up to the dramatic effect.

So you get up, water the plants, wash your face and with a deep breath you begin your day.

As tasks move on and hours pass by, with breaks and little chit chat, tea here and there too keep you up, time rolls up to an end. Tiny greetings your way throughout the day, small smiles sent your way as well as good wishes, you cannot wait to get back home and drown in the save havens of your couch.

Before you can get the chance to pack up, your friend stands by the side and asks you out for a night. “It’ll be fun!” she says. Your vary looks tell it all and she guarantees “Not many will be there. Come on! Just a night out with friends.” A sigh of defeat leave your lips and upon your nod, she leaves.

Despite your worries the pub seems cozy and clean. One step in and you can spot the familiar faces. Although you don’t want many people, you hope you’re not the last and you decide seeing a certain someone will hurt no one.

As drinks start coming, two or three others arrive at last and the night begins, for them.

Uncontainable laughter fils the tiny space and rings in your ears, cheap snacks lunged at and finished in a second, the never dying sound of glasses hitting against each other, clink, clink, clink they go.

Staring at your glass after a while, you raise your head up to meet with the familiar tips of uncontrollable hair. Shoulders slumping when you see it’s tamed tonight, a little part of you hopes it’s for today and not for any other night-out.

“Come on, have another drink!” Yells your friend and few others. You’ve lost count of the times their voice got mixed up with strangers. Maybe that’s what they’ve always been, strangers.

With a shake of your head, you decline. As the classic “killjoy” comment comes, you reply. “I like to walk home and I’d rather do that with my head clear of any fog.” This seems to make them back off a little and they go back to another round of drinks short after.

At least there are no tacky songs or birthday music playing loud from the worn out speakers. The cast aside jukebox strikes your attention and you make sure to check it out next time you’re dragged here.

With your gazed focused on it, the chatter tones down and old tunes start playing in your mind. You can’t help but picture yourself dancing, imagine yourself swinging with someone by your side. Hands laced together, fingers intervening as well as hearts, a full laughter fills the air. It feels liberating to smile so freely, with no worries, finally doing whatever your soul aches for and asks for.

With the second laughter, not as filled with delight as the previous one, you’re snapped out of your dream and your eyes find his sadly. He seems to be talking with someone else, another beautiful smile decorating his face with the hint of something else, something you can’t name contrasting this portrait of happy.

And so the night rolls and streams flow, people scatter away one by one as the drinks increase in numbers. And with the ones in your booth looking mostly knocked up, you all get up.

Calling cabs for many of them, you hug your friend one last time and face the direction to the park.

A “Hold up!” Coming from behind, almost running to you, you wait. “Mind if I tag along and walk you home?” He offers with a trademark grin of his.

“Sure.” You say and begins the walk back.

“Doesn’t this make the walk longer?” He asks as you enter the part.

“It’s not the length but the quality of time that matters at hours like this.” You offer and walk ahead. With the long lamps lighting up the place, as the leaves shudder against one another, it’s only your and his breathing that reaches your ears.

With each step, your posture softens, your muscles no longer tense, face no longer in a forced mask; is that how taking your first breath like, as you enter this world, you wonder. As the lights illuminate the stars and blink once or twice, a melody pauses through your head and you hear it short after.

Barely a hum, a voice you are certain is not yours, you look to your side and see him swinging his head slowly to the song. Each rhythm and each note, the lyrics gaining a new life…

As he turns and his faces morphs into one of surprise, he gives you a shy smile and you realize you’ve been staring this whole time.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.” You speak into the night sky a moment later.

“Really? Didn’t notice, not like I do it intentionally.” Somehow his words sound softer than usual, you’re at a loss of what to feel.

Another moment of silence, you’re not sure for how long; and he adds as an afterthought: “It’s not like- too bad, is it? Me being quiet, I mean.”

You turn to face him with a smile reserved for him, only for it to falter. He seems down, or rather afraid. Is it because of the answer? Or stepping out of his usual cycle of things once in a while?

“No!” You almost yell, he gives a confused look. “On the contrary, I like seeing this part of you. This- unseen side of you.” As if your words bring him comfort like a warm blanket draped over his shoulders, his posture relaxes.

As the walk continues, a poke to your ribs make itself apparent, and looking to the side, you see his arm offered to you. Hooking your arm, your smile gets brighter as does his.

Steps fall into the serene rhythm of the night as you pace. Soon after he begins humming another melody, coloring the sky above you as you go. Steps carry the songs as they carry his hand to yours. Fingers interlacing oh so naturally, as if you’ve done this million times before.

As the pacing blooms into a movement completely new, your figures move with the rhythm. It feels cliché, seems like a daydream and for a moment you suspect if it is one, only to lose focus and trip on your feet for a millisecond. The pain indicates this is very much a reality.

More like a moment in between passings, when you tilt your head to whatever it is that comes from your headphones, only for the move itself to be barely acknowledged by those around, those who are not you… Another moment of hushed whispers and chocked up flowers. Of tiny laughs and shy smiles, slight movements but big dances in your hearts as you hold onto the same tie that binds you to life.

As the tiles of the park reach an end in the distance, you pay no mind. Instead you let yourself get lost in the warm embrace around, swing around and skip, sway and beam. The lights glow just like fireflies as the bushes resemble dark deep waters.

And when you spin once, twice, thrice; you never stop, never stop smiling, breathing, feeling. Feeling everything around, the melody inside, the smell of the old jukebox nearby, the notes gently caressing your ears. When you turn to face Bokuto again, you’re convinced your smile cannot grow any wider. And his to match yours, you lean towards one another. As you kiss, the warmth shared between the two, it feels as natural as the dance and the walk, just like fish swimming and bees buzzing, dancing from one flower to another as they bloom together.

[silver-wield]

I wanna hear your thoughts on the scene where Cloud, Tifa and Barret just finished fighting that big machine when the were scaling the wall to go save Aerith. (Sorry I totally forgot the name of the boss) Where the platform they’re on totally gives way and they all start falling.

Just finished the fight, or pre and post fight? Imma do the latter anyway cause I love being validated when I saw something and had people tell me I was seeing things.

Ok, spoiler warning for ppl who haven’t played – do I still need to do this? Eh ok, (I tag FF7R spoilers as final fantasy 7 remake spoilers) and it’s gonna be reasonably long.

Also, this is one person’s interpretation of the scene, so if you disagree that’s cool and we’ll agree to disagree.

You’re also gonna have to excuse the janky quality on some of the screens, I’m grabbing them from Youtube and it’s frustrating af trying to get the exact moment I want.

Other analyses if anyone’s interested.

Shinra HQ vision scene (Cloti/plot analysis) 

Chapter 3 (Cloti reblog) 

Tifa character analysis 

Aerith Resolution (plot analysis/theory – I should probably update this since I’ve had other ideas since then) 

Train graveyard (not really an analysis, but I got some sweet screenshots of Cloti) 

Clotiscrew tunnel analysis 

Cloti reunion analysis 

The Promise Analysis 

Andrea’s approval (Cloti ask response) 

Leslie analysis (not mine, but a good read) 

Cloti action touching 

Aerti friendship analysis 

Cloti body language chapter 3 

Cloti healthy disagreement 

Now, strap in and enjoy the ride.

Recap time! So our trio have made it almost to the top of the collapsed plate in Sector 7 and they stop to take in the view. After that there's some banter and a boss fight and more action touching. I just wanna say before I start that a lot of this is at a distance, so it's not gonna be much of an analysis since there's so few close ups and all the body language is geared towards protective/rescue type movements, which is pretty obvious.

Gonna start with the pre battle image here of Cloud smiling after making a joke because certain people like to get it in their heads that he's being serious here because it’s a callback to the whole “merc/money” thing. The fact both Tifa and Barret chuckle and Cloud literally smiles – DO YOU SEE HIM SMILING HERE?! – has a pretty simple meaning that he's grown close to them. He's no longer that cold af mercenary who only goes on about money in a serious way. This is his version of camaraderie which suits his dry af sense of humour.

Ok, so our heroes are triumphant and pretty pleased about it. Just throwing this one in for context since what comes next is pretty fast paced.

While Barrett's crowing, Cloud's already noticed something's wrong. That's just how quick his reflexes are. Frowning, looking at the mech. He can tell something's about to go sideways.

KABOOM! Platform starts collapsing, taking Tifa with it. Cloud's speed off the mark here is almost too quick to capture. He goes after her before she even realises she's falling. He wasn't even facing her when she slipped. She made a noise and he turned. That's how attentive he is towards her. Like, fucking hell, man, I'm blown away more and more with every in-depth look at their interactions.

We know Cloud's graceful af from watching him fight (not to mention that dance scene), but honestly, this looks next level even for him! I think this is the only time he goes this far with his body language. He's got his arms wide for balance, legs bent, I mean, he is literally using the tilting platform to increase his speed. This takes so much skill I'm super impressed! And he did this without even stopping to consider what he needed to do. He just did it.

Tifa's reaching for the ground, not Cloud, btw. I don't think she's noticed him yet – he's not quite in her field of vision – so she's attempting to save herself because she's not some damsel.

And if you think this screen was easy to get, you're wrong. I've literally never seen this bit of this scene before, it happens that quick! Cloud leaps without even being able to see if he's lined up with Tifa. This looks like an instinctive action from him. This isn't something he's been taught, this is all him wanting to protect Tifa and going above and beyond to do it.

To further reiterate the last screen, he's just leapt at her and hoped for the best. I mean, he could've knocked into her and sent her flying, but he got his arm around her, swung them both around and then shot a grappling hook all in one smooth action. This is definitely SOLDIER!Cloud in the driver's seat if anyone was wondering. There's no way our poor flawed real!Cloud could do this without second guessing himself. That's why he's got the false persona, so it'll give him confidence in situations like this to protect the woman he loves.

Cloud's totally focused in the moment and relying on Tifa to hang onto him now he's got her. For her part, I think she's a bit “wtaf where am I?” because everything happened so quickly. She's got her eyes squeezed shut, so she was clearly scared she was about to die.

Well, I was trying to grab a different shot that proved my point Tifa had her eyes closed and opened them when she heard the grappling gun fire, but this one's better. Yet another part of this fast paced scene that I didn't quite catch because it all goes by so quickly.

Cloud's got his arm around her waist, while she's clinging to his shoulder. To be fair, this isn't a very secure hold by either of them, but highlights the urgency of the moment. He's not been able to get her in a secure hold so he needs to get her to safety quickly.

Tifa's not even gripping him, which validates how quickly everything happened and how she's not caught up to what's going on. Not surprising, really. This all went by in milliseconds.

I honestly wasn't going to screen this either. It's the part where Barrett's line breaks, but I caught sight of Cloud and Tifa in the corner and thought why not? You'll see the hold still isn't that secure and Tifa's legs are all over the place. I will say it looks like she's got a tighter grip on his shoulder from this angle, so that's something. And...is Cloud’s hand splayed on her butt? I don’t wanna say yes, but the angle of his arm is suspicious.

And this is why Cloud's so damn good at what he does! Barrett's line snapped and he saw him falling from his peripheral vision! How on the ball is this guy?!?! Damn, with everything he does throughout Midgar and – we can assume -- beyond I honestly don't know how he can think he's not a hero. He is definitely a hero. Not a perfect one, but damn, he absolutely brings 110% to everything he does!

Omg Tifa's hold is worse than I thought! She's got her hand flat against his chest. I mean, at least grab hold of his shirt or something! She's barely holding onto him, so this is all him with his arm around her waist making sure she doesn't slip. I've gotta forgive her, I mean, it was quick action and I sure af wouldn't move anything in case I fell whatever the distance is between them and the ground lol

Even though Tifa's position is precarious af, Cloud's still relying on her to be his partner in this situation. He can't save Barrett, so she has to.

This is just a nice shot of how graceful they both are. Reminds me of when they're in the drum separately and Tifa and Aerith fall off the pipe – Tifa lands on her feet, Aerith lands on her face – and then Barrett and Cloud fall off a platform and Cloud lands on his feet and Barrett lands on his ass lol

It's telling that these two have similar balance and grace in a fight – probably why they combo so well.

And if I said the above screens were hard to get it's nothing on this one! This happened between one second and the next! I replayed it a million times to get that shot of Cloud going to put his hand on Tifa's back because I knew that's where he had one of them, but damn, if that wasn't boss level rewinding to get!

Okay, obviously the focus is saving Barrett here, and with that in mind the second Cloud's feet hit the ground he tosses the grappling gun to one side and goes to help Tifa haul him up. He puts one hand on her back and grabs her forearm with the other, lending her his strength and support.

And there's the proof in case anyone doubted my eye. That is Cloud's hand on Tifa's lower back. His other hand is gripping her forearm out of frame. I mean, does he need to have his hand there? Is that supportive in the context of the situation? Wouldn't it make more sense that he has his arm fully round her to stop her slipping? I know some of yall would be like “yes, that's better” from a ship pov, but from an action pov it does make more sense that he's got her in a firmer grip. It's almost like part of him doesn't want to make that closer contact because it's too intimate and he's trying to be professional. It's SOLDIER!Cloud basically. Mr “I keep my distance”. The guy who got them through that whole mess. Which does go to show that Cloud relies on that SOLDIER persona to save everyone's asses, but it also makes him more detatched. However, when there's no danger, he's more himself again.

I'd like to point out that if he'd actually had a better hold on Tifa, like I pointed out, she wouldn't have fallen over because Cloud would've been bracing her more. As it is she's on her ass and after checking Barrett's in one piece – quick look – Cloud's offering his hand to Tifa. We can't see his face in this moment, but we could guess there's an element of oops about him since it was kinda his fault she fell over.

Some quick banter and it's onto the Shinra building.

Conclusion:

Ofc this is an amazing action sequence! Everything happens so quickly that you definitely have to back and watch it again, pause it and examine everyone's faces and body language to really break down the sequence of events and motivations – besides rescue.

Cloud is definitely living up to the SOLDIER hype, even though he's never been one. I wonder how he got so skilled. Is this CC stuff? Or is he just going for broke and getting lucky? It says a lot that he'll just dive into whatever danger is around when Tifa's life is on the line. But, he also trusts her to come through in a pinch too. He just had to say her name and she got his meaning. That's some beautiful synchronisation from them. They're showing how much of a unit they are. Battle couples are one of my favourite tropes and that whole mind reader part of it is just perfection to me.

Even though this is a scene of SOLDIER!Cloud at his best, that side of him also knows he can trust Tifa to support him, and even while he's being all business there's part of him that still yearns to be close to Tifa and has to resist.

[butmomilovepeter]

first date

read on ao3?

imagine not posting for a year only to come back with this for no reason lmao hey guys 

~

The mission was over and done within the hour, and that should have been the first sign that something was wrong. There was an ache in Tony’s chest; a mix of anticipation and anxiety, but he chose to ignore it. That was the second sign. 

“Hey, Pete, come with me,” Tony said, motioning for Spiderman to follow. “I just want to do a quick sweep down that block.” He waved towards it absentmindedly. 

“On it!” 

He’s in a good mood today, and it makes Tony smirk. Peter’s a genuinely happy kid, but he’s also seventeen, and if Tony knows anything about seventeen year olds, it’s that their mood swings are unpredictable. So when Peter doesn’t give him any attitude, the ache in his chest dissipates, and a bit of relief replaces it. They made their way down through the street, fixing lampposts and flipping cars and helping pedestrians. (Why people still wanted to live in New York City he didn’t know. It was clearly one of the most susceptible cities for alien attacks.)

All the while, Peter was kind and quiet for the younger kid’s sake, and put on a more mature facade for the adults. It made Tony’s heart swell, though he would never admit it. 

“You’re chipper today, young Skywalker,” Tony joked. “What’s up?” 

“Chipper is a weird word,” Peter said, but there was a laugh in his words as well. “Does something have to be “up” for me to be in a good mood?” 

“Yes, because last week you snapped at me for asking if you wanted pizza for dinner.” 

“I was tired!” he argued. 

“You were being moody.” 

Peter thought about this for a moment. “Fair.” 

“So, really, what’s going on?” Tony was genuinely curious. “Is it about MJ?”

“What? No,” he said, and Tony could hear the embarrassment in his voice. “No, it’s not about MJ.” 

“I think you’re lying to me,” said Tony. “I can tell when you lie to me.” 

“That’s creepy, Mr.Stark.”

“Maybe,” he said. “C’mon, spit it out.” He nudged Peter in the shoulder. 

“I have a date tonight, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?” He whispered it as if she would hear him, which only made Tony laugh. “At seven. Right after this.”

“God, finally. I thought you’d never ask her out.” 

They rounded the corner, finding themselves alone and away from the crowds. The alleyway was clear. (That really should have been sign number three.)

“Whatever.” Peter crossed his arms. “I don’t know. I’m excited.” 

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Tony smiled. “What’s the plan? Dinner and a show? A little Lady and the Tramp action? Or maybe--”

“Stop talking.” 

“There’s the attitude--”

“No, stop talking.” Peter was rigid. He was sensing something, and the ache in Tony’s chest bombarded him. 

Tony blinks. He blinks, and it’s chaos. 

Chaos because he just closed his eyes for a millisecond, a millisecond, and then there was the shout. The firing of the weapon. The cry as Peter went down, and the thud as he ungracefully hit the ground. 

“Peter!”

He fired blindly at the source. Anger is a funny thing, in this case, because anger isn’t just anger at the moment. It’s protection, loyalty, and fear all wrapped up with anger slapped in front of it. Tony chases the alien-- a sickly grotesque vomit-green thing, with drooping skin and bones. No doubt sent by a Thanos wannabe, or even some other powerful entity, pushing the limits for the Avengers. Clearly, this was Tony’s limit, because he doesn’t even register how fast he flies at it, his ammunition being wasted and catastrophically used on the stringy green thing. It falls down dead a couple feet ahead of him. 

“Tony, what the hell was that?” Steve commands through their coms, his voice edged with worry and annoyance. 

Tony can’t even really hear him. “Peter.”

“What about the boy?” That’s Thor. 

“There was one more. It got Peter.” 

Tony clambered out of his suit, not caring about the dangers anymore. The others yelled in his ears, but he didn’t want to listen to them. He just wanted to get to Peter. 

Peter had somehow army-crawled his way to the brick wall. His face was pale. He had taken his mask off, and now all Tony could see was the sweaty and ghostly way his face gleamed off the newly-lit lampposts. 

From the front, there wasn’t anything wrong with him. From the front, he just just looked stressed, tired, and pained. 

Tony exited his suit swiftly, knowing the dangers and not caring. He wanted human hands to help the kid. (Well, human hand. The other one was lost to Thanos. But it was Tony. He wanted to be Tony, not Ironman, when he approached Peter.) 

He fell to his knees by his side, cupping his face with his good hand. “Look at me, Pete. Look at me. Where--?”

“My back,” Peter wheezed. 

“Let me look at it, alright?” 

Tony carefully leaned him into his shoulder so he could see the damage. He suppressed a gag first when he saw it. It’s the smell. Burning flesh. It’s not a normal wound. It’s like fire. It burned away the back of the spandex of Peter’s suit, his back now exposed. And his back...Tony could puke. Layers of skin were burnt--he couldn’t tell you what kind of burns he’d have. He didn’t know. He tried to touch it, but all Peter did was yelp into his shoulder and seize in on himself. 

“Mr. Stark-- Tony--” and Peter doesn’t call Tony that often, so he knew his pain tolerance was being breached. He wouldn’t be able to handle it for much longer. 

Tony pulled Peter back against the wall, watching as the poor kid winced and screwed his face up to deal with the pain. When he did open his eyes again, they were hazy and red, and they didn’t seem to really see anything at all. 

“It’s gonna be alright, yeah? We’ll get the team and we’ll get Strange down here, and he’ll fix you up, huh? So just--so just stay with me.” Tony cupped Peter’s face with both hands. “Stay with me.” 

Peter tried. He truly did, and Tony could tell. But still, his head lolled in Tony’s hands, and the grip he had been keeping on Tony’s sleeves weakend. “Can’t.” 

“Well, you’re going to have to,” Tony chided, shaking him in a way he hoped didn’t hurt. “You’ve got a lot of people counting on you.” 

He didn’t want to explain to Morgan why Peter wasn’t coming back. He didn’t want to have to tell May Parker that she had lost her whole world again, this time permanently. He didn’t want to add a Spiderman hologram to their Avengers memorial. He didn’t want to plan a funeral. He didn’t want to lose a child. He didn’t--he couldn’t. 

“God, MJ is gonna kill me,” Peter said, his words playful, but his tone thin. “And don’t even get me started on May and Ned.” 

“Kid?” Tony was scared. Very, very sacred. He pulled Peter into his arms, careful to avoid the growing wound on his back. “Don’t say stuff like that. You’ll give me more gray hairs.” 

Peter hugged Tony back weakly. “If you have to, tell them, okay? Morgan, too.” 

Tony knew what Peter meant, and somehow that made it worse. “Well, that’s just not happening, you know that, right?” 

“Tony, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you,” he said between gasps.  Peter was weak. He was strong, but he was very weak. He was nearly liquid in Tony’s arms. 

Tony swallowed. “Fine. If.” 

He could tell Peter was smiling, but when he finally went completely limp, Tony prayed that wasn’t the last time he’d see him do that.

~

“Don’t lie to me.” 

Tony’s voice is shallow. There’s something caught in his throat. His demeanor is tight, his face is strict. He feels like if he moves an inch he might explode. 

Strange, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically soft. His eyes have bags under them, and his shoulders droop forward. He looks mentally exhausted. 

“Tony—”

“Tell me the truth, Strange.” 

Strange’s eyes flicker towards the chart in his hands. “He’s been burned bad, Stark. He’s alive, but it’s painful.” 

“I can deal with painful,” Tony responds. 

Strange’s lips made a thin line. “Perhaps...but can he?”

This startles Tony, so much so that his demeanor cracks a bit, and his mouth drops open. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that this isn’t a normal kind of pain because this wasn’t a normal kind of weapon,” he responds, keeping his voice low. “This tech--there’s magic in it. My kind of magic.” 

“But the stones are gone,” Tony says, anger veering on his voice. 

“They are, but that doesn’t mean that magic like that isn’t still out there, Tony.” 

“So...what's your plan, then?” 

Strange didn’t respond for a second. He looks like he was weighing his options. “There’s a couple ways we could deal with it, and none of them are ideal.” 

Tony gulps. “Lay it on me.” 

“One, we could wait it out, but he’s either going to be in incredible amounts of pain or not conscious at all.” Strange starts leading him down the hallway to Peter’s room. Everything is white and clean and shiny, and Tony feels like a stark contrast to everything around him. “That’s...the simplest way.” 

“I take it the other way isn’t like that?” 

Strange shook his head. “It’ll be quicker, but it could also make it worse.”  Strange continues to stare at him, like he was trying to find the best route to follow the conversation. 

“Just spit it out, Strange, Jesus!” Tony completely crumbles. He’s worried. He wants to be able to go home with Peter by the end of the week, by the end of the day. 

“Tony, I’m being cautious because you can’t make this decision in your state,” Strange responds sharply. “You want him better, we all do, but if we rush into anything, we could do more harm than good.” 

“What’s option two?” 

“Stark--” 

“What’s option two?” he says more forcefully. 

Strange stares at him again, his face hard to read. “There are spells. I know some that may help.” 

“That sounds peachy,” Tony says, looking at the ground. “But there’s a price, right?”

“Yes.” Strange opens the door to the hospital room. “Even if it succeeds, it could cause new problems, ones that we might not be able to solve. Magic is a fickle thing, Stark. It’s almost its own entity. It doesn’t like to be controlled, it likes to be channeled. ” 

“Would it kill him?” 

“It might. Or it could paralyze him, void his mind of thought, make his burns move to a different place--there is a lot of risk.” 

Tony stares at Peter’s bed. The kid was on his stomach, his wounded back prominent against the white linen sheets and pale skin. His head was turned to the side. His whole face was smooth and lineless and white. It makes Tony’s stomach turn. 

“But if we don’t? If we don’t use magic?” 

Strange sighs. “The sedatives Banner and you made will keep him under, and I can  work on treatments now, but there are no guarantees. We don’t know when he’ll wake up.” He pauses, looking carefully between Tony and Peter. “... if  he’ll wake up.” 

Tony’s voice hitches in his throat. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think about that. He takes deep breaths and he tries to steady himself, because he cannot handle that. He holds his hands together; the smoothness of the right arm against the calloused and worked one of the left. His words are stuck in his throat. 

“It’s your choice. I’ll back you up either way,” said Strange. “I’m sorry, Tony.” 

“Yeah. I’m sorry too,” he says after a moment. 

Strange grips his shoulder as he walks out, leaving Tony alone with the prone Peter. He finds himself making his way to sit in the armchair next to the bed. 

His hand moves on it’s own towards his head. He pushes back Peter’s hair from his face, trying to stop his hands from shaking. 

“Don’t let it be if, kid,” Tony says. “I’m begging you.”

~

May answers on the second ring. “Please tell me you’re calling to make lunch plans.” 

“May…” 

“This isn’t a lunch plan phone call, is it?” 

“I wish I could say it was.” 

He paces up and down the linoleum hallway of the medical wing, his footsteps echoing off the walls. 

He hears May shudder a breath over the phone. “What’s wrong with him?” Of course she already has an idea. 

He goes into his scripted explanation, being careful to keep his tone hopeful and light. He knows she didn’t buy it, but he knows she’s grateful anyway. 

When he finishes, she doesn’t say anything. He just listens to her breath deeply, no doubt holding tears back. He doesn’t blame her. He kinda wants to cry too. 

“Um, Happy can, uh, pick you up if you want to come up here,” he says, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah, I would,” she responds, her voice thick. “Do you...do you think he needs anything?” 

“I don’t know if he’d even notice,” and he regrets saying it as soon as he does. 

May doesn’t seem to mind or care. “Tony?”

“Hmm?”

“What-what do you think? Do you think he’ll…” She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence. 

“...That’s the other thing, May. We have some options. But neither are ideal.” He somehow has made it back to Peter’s room, much to his dismay. He wanted to be far away from there. 

“Let me guess. Either way, it’s still up in the air.” 

Tony nods. “Either we wait it out, see what Dr.Banner and Dr.Strange can do...or we take a more mystical approach.” 

“Mystical?”

“The wound isn’t human, May. It’s, in the good doctor’s terms, magical.” He sat down at that same armchair. “And with him being a wizard and all, he says he might be able to do something about that.” 

May is quiet. He assumes she’s thinking it over. “What’s your take?” 

“Usually, I’d say we wait,” he says. “But...I trust Strange. And I feel like it’s worth a shot.” 

“Then do it. I spent the last five years grieving over him, Tony. I can’t do that again.” There’s rustling on her hand, probably her gathering Peter’s things. “So if you’re saying we’ve got a shot at this, take it.” 

Tony feels his heartbeat hammer in his chest with adrenaline. “I do. I have to believe we do.”

May’s voice was full of tears. “He had a date tonight. His first real date. Laid out his clothes and everything.” 

Tony doesn’t respond. He if did, he wouldn't be able to make clear words. 

At some point, May hangs up. Tony sends Happy to whisk her up to him. 

Tony watches Peter’s mechanical breathing. The wound itself he tries to look away from. The skin around it is red like hell. The burns are bone deep, but there’s something unsettling and wrong about them, like they clung to his very existence and not just his back. Maybe that’s what Strange was talking about. 

He walks in about fifteen minutes later. “Stark?” 

“Let’s do it,” he says, getting to his feet. “Bring on the magic, Dumbledore.” 

~

Lighter footsteps come running down the hallway. “Daddy!”

Morgan was dressed in her favorite overalls, which we rustled from playing and other such five-year-old activities. 

“Hey, squirt.” Tony scoops her up into his arms and twirls her around, glad for the moment of solace after such a harrowing day. “What’re you doing here?”

Pepper, and May follow in suit, each wearing a matching solemn expression. May looks like she’s been crying. 

Pepper lands a kiss on his cheek. “How is he?” 

“Strange is testing some things out. Seeing what might work. He hasn’t started anything yet,” says Tony, placing Morgan on his hip. “But the gang’s all here.” He nudges Morgan’s cheek with his own. 

“What’s wrong with Pete? Mommy won’t tell me,” Morgan says, gaining a few dry chuckles from the group. 

“Oh, you know Peter. He always lands himself in trouble,” Tony supplies, hoping she’ll accept his answer. 

But she’s his daughter, so of course she won’t. “What kind of trouble?” 

He doesn’t answer right away, because explaining to a five-year-old that her pseudo older brother got shot with a magical alien gun isn’t easy. 

Pepper takes May’s hand, leading her down the hallway. “Let’s go grab some coffee. You look like you could use it.”

That leaves Tony alone with his daughter. She tries to ask him again, but stops short when he gives her a quick look. He sits down on a bench outside Peter’s closed off room. “It’s a long story, kiddo.” 

“I like stories,” she replies. 

Tony gives her half a smile. “Not these kinds, baby.” 

“What’s wrong with him, Daddy?” She pushes on his knee while he kneels in front of her. 

“You remember when Mom and I went to that big fight? And everybody was there?” When she nods slowly, he continues. “I got pretty banged up, remember? So I had to get this?” He waved the metal hand around, flexing his fingers and pushing her hair back. 

“You got your cool arm,” she says, trailing her fingers down it. 

“Right,” Tony continues. “We had another fight today. And Peter got pretty banged up.”

“Will he get a cool arm, too?”

Tony kisses her forehead. “No, not that kind of banged up. It’s on his back, M.”

“Can I see him? He says I always make him feel better.”

Tony felt his eyes well up with tears. “Not yet, baby. You know Dr. Strange? He’s trying to fix Pete up. But it might take a long time.” 

“I don’t like waiting, Daddy.” 

“Yeah, me neither, babe. But we’re gonna have to if we want him to get better.” 

She stares down at her sneakers, like she doesn’t know the right thing to say. Tony doesn’t know either, so they stay silent for a few minutes. 

The girls return after a few more minutes. 

“I told Ned to make something up for that MJ girl’s sake,” May says quietly, one hand in her pocket and the other holding her coffee. “He’s out of his mind worried.” 

Secretly, Tony knows it’s kind of selfish of him to feel so hollow about losing Peter. It’s May who should be on the edge of a breakdown, not him, yet somehow she seems calm and collected. It took a whole year and a half before May and Tony spoke about anything, much less about Peter. She didn’t accept his invitations, and Tony didn’t blame her. She was angry at him for losing her nephew, her only living family. Tony blamed himself too. It wasn’t until Morgan’s second birthday that she brought him up, saying how when Peter was Morgan’s age, his favorite color was red, like Morgan’s was too. 

For her, it was always something. The Parker’s, then Ben, then Peter. 

Tony had lost people too, but he had Pepper and Morgan to help him through. 

He’s about to say something to her, an apology or a condolence, but Strange busts out from Peter’s room, huffing. “I think I’ve figured it out.”

~

Tony watches Strange make strange symbols and movements, but he doesn’t interrupt. His worry clouds his curiosity. The orange glow of Strange’s powers hurt his eyes, but he keeps them trained on Peter, who was still stone-like in his sleep. 

He made his wife and daughter wait in the hall, but he did ask May to join him. Should next to him, her jaw stiff upon seeing her nephew (her son ) lying so still. He grabs for her hand in a comforting way, which she gladly accepts. He knew why; she wanted to hold some tangible if she couldn’t hold Peter. She wanted to hold onto something real. 

Strange’s eyes are closed and concentrated, breathing deeply as he conjures some sort of spell. 

There’s a sudden blast of energy that ripples between them all, sending shivers down Tony’s spin and the brief scent of burning in his nose. Strange holds the energy (perhaps the spell? Magic still confuses Tony) in his hands, and then slowly dissolves it into Peter’s wound. 

For a brief, cold, solid moment, Peter does not breathe. He does not move. He flatlines, and Tony is already to fall to his knees if it wasn’t for the equally distraught May holding him up. 

And then, he gasps. 

Strange immediately does something else, another spell or other such magical words, and Peter’s back seems to heal itself. 

“Woah, what the hell--?” Peter says softly, shifting his arms underneath him to sit up a little. 

“Peter!” May cries, letting go of Tony’s hand in favor of helping Peter turn around. “Jesus, baby, are you okay?” 

Strange seems a bit put out, and he nearly falls back into the other armchair on the other side. Tony mouths him thank you before coming to Peter’s otherside, gaining him half a nod and a sigh from the other man. 

“May? What happened?” Peter asks, flexing his fingers and stretching his shoulder. “Mr.Stark?”

“What do you remember, kid?” Tony asks, removing the tubes away from Peter’s face. 

Peter raises his eyebrows. “We just finished the mission, and we were talking about my date, and then...oh God . Did I miss my date?” 

Tony and May both bark out ridiculous laughs, causing a helpless look from Peter. 

“I’m sorry, baby. Ned had to cover for you,” May replies, pushing his hair out of his eyes. 

“She’s not going to be happy. She’s been waiting for me to ask her for, like, a month.” 

“You can ask her again, Pete. I’m sure she’ll say yes,” Tony offers. 

“I hope so. I don’t know what Ned could have possibly come up with. He cracks under pressure,” Peter says, letting May and Tony coddle him. 

The door swung open. “Pete!” 

Morgan came running at them, ready to jump right on Peter if it wasn’t for Tony catching her mid-air and dropping her down softly. 

“Sorry. I could only keep her out there for so long,” Pepper says, a light smile on her lips. 

Morgan clammers to squeeze herself between Peter and her father. “You’re awake!” 

“Yeah, Morg, I am,” Peter says with a laugh. “No doubt because you’re here.” 

She grins wildly at him, asking a million questions about why he didn’t get a metal back, why “Mr.Strange” was being so quiet, why Peter didn’t have a shirt on, why everyone looked like they were crying, and just about anything that came to her head. 

Tony took mental snapshots. These were the moments to remember. These were the moments that made it worth it. 

[petersspidey]

Stress Relief Part 4

A/N: I think this will be the last part. I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading this as much as I've had fun writing it :) 

Warnings: SMut

Masterlist // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // 

Ever since you and Steve talked, you were hanging out a lot more. You were still having sex every chance you got, but you were also happy just being together. You spent nearly every night in each other's rooms, and had even gone out on a few dates.

Despite your newfound relationship, you hadn't told anyone about it yet. The only one who still knew was Natasha. The two of you were enjoying your secret. It was nice to keep it to yourselves. However, that didn't stop you from having sex in many fun places.

After the bar incident when Tony found your panties, you were trying to be a bit more careful so something like that didn't happen again. Except, you two had almost been caught a million times. For the size of the Avengers compound, you'd think you'd run into people less. But no, Bruce had almost caught the two of you in the elevator, Clint almost saw you in the gym, and Tony walked into the kitchen just as the two of you were about to get down to business.

Honestly, the time in the elevator was your fault. 2 of the elevator walls were glass, and of course when you hit the stop button you shouldn't have assumed that FRIDAY wouldn't have started it back up immediately.

You and Steve were heading back up to his room when you decided that the elevator would have been a bit more fun than his bed.

"You know… i've never done it in an elevator…" you said

Steve smirked at you, "I can't say I have either,"

It only took what seemed like a millisecond for Steve to hit the stop button and push you against the glass side of the elevator. Placing forceful and sloppy kisses on your lips.

He started ripping the buttons off of your shirt, as you began undoing his belt. Suddenly the elevator began moving again

"What's going on?" you asked

Steve pulled away from you for a second, watching through the glass as the elevator descended. You both started to try and fix yourself up, knowing that the elevator doors would open, not knowing who might be there. Steve fixed himself up quickly, while you struggled. Steve had his fists in your hair, and it was flying everywhere and he broke off nearly all the buttons on your shirt. Both your lips were red and swollen. You held your blouse closed with one hand, and tried to fix your hair with the other. Steve stood beside you with your hands in his pockets.

The elevator slowly came to a halt, and the doors opened. On the other side of the doors stood Bruce. He looked up from his tablet, and smiled "Hey guys, what happened with the elevator? FRIDAY sent me a notice saying someone hit the stop button,"

You and Steve exchanged looks, "Uh nothing it's fine," you muttered, as you pushed past Bruce and started speed walking down the hall.

Steve just shrugged, and walked off the elevator in the opposite direction you went.

"Weird," Bruce mumbled, before stepping onto the elevator.

It was only the next day that Clint almost caught you in the gym.

You and Steve had been working out together, but Steve being hot and sweaty turned you on to the extreme.

Steve had you pushed against the wall of the gym, holding you up in his arms. Your shorts were on the floor across the gym, and your panties were pushed to the side. Steve had his underwear and shorts around his ankles as he pushed himself inside of you.

Your moans echoed through the gym as Steve thrusted into you.

In between thrusts, you thought you heard something.

"Wait, stop for a second,"

Steve paused, holding you up against the wall with his dick still inside of you.

"Hello? Is anyone in here?"

Neither you or Steve responded.

"Oh my god," you whispered

Steve quickly pulled himself out of you, and let you down. He pulled his shorts up back around his waist.

You heard an arrow hit a board, around the corner in the other half of the gym.

"Fuck, where are my shorts?" you asked

You scanned the gym, and saw them across the room, close to where who must have been Clint was firing arrows. Steve rushed over and slid them back towards you. You slipped them on, and walked over toward Steve.

The two of you tried walking past where Clint was without him noticing. As you walked by, he turned around.

"Hey guys, was that you I heard in there?"

You both were red in the face, and out of breath.

"Uh yeah… we were just sparing," you lied.

"Aright, see you guys around," Steve nodded, and you followed him out.

You and Steve were laughing as you walked out of the gym.

"We gotta stop doing stuff like that," he said

"Ugh! I know but you're just so hot when you're working out. And it's just so fun having spontaneous sex wherever we are,"

You guys were careful for the next week, trying to make sure you were always in a private place to ensure you weren't caught.

But, a week after the Clint incident, half the team was out for the day, and you took that as an opportunity to get back out elsewhere in the compound.

When you walked into the kitchen, Steve was already in there, cooking you both lunch.

"Hey baby girl," he smiled at you

You walked over to his side of the counter and wrapped your arms around him.

"Is lunch almost done?" you asked,

"It'll still be a while, if you wanted to grab a seat," he said, planting a kiss on your forehead.

"Or….maybe I could do something else?" you smirked,

"Like what…" he said suggestively.

"Like maybe we could have a little bit of fun,"

You moved to stand in front of him, slowly unzipping his jeans and pulling them down with his underwear ever so slightly, revealing his huge cock.

You cupped his balls and planted a soft kiss on his lips. You kneeled down in front of Steve and grabbed the base of his huge cock. You ran your tongue lightly over the heck of his cock. He moaned, grabbing hold of your hair. You slowly started sucking down hard, looking up at Steve. Steve gripped the back of your head harder, rocking into your face as you sucked his hard cock. Steve threw this head back in ecstacy and moaned.

"You ok there Cap," You heard someone say.

Steve's eyes shot to the other side of the counter, "Hey Tony, yeah, i'm good," he choked out.

You giggled to yourself. Luckily the counter was higher than Steve's waistline and couldn't see what was going on below.

"Ok…. whatever you say Capsicle," you heard Tony grab something off the counter and walk out.

Steve sighed, and looked down at you, "Get up!" He said quietly,

You laughed, and stood up. Steve leaned down and pulled his pants back up.

Tony walked back into the room and saw you standing beside Steve.

"I forgot my - Hey, Y/N, were you in here before?"

You shook your head, "No, I just walked in," you lied.

Tony looked at you weird for a second, and then walked out.

A few days after the incident with Tony, you were all back down hanging out in the lounge after a dinner. You were all goofing around and laughing and of course, you thought you would be able to escape it, someone brought up your panties on the bar again.

"Guys! Come on, let it go! It was weeks ago and I am proud to say I haven't done it again," you said proudly.

"So whatever was the story with those panties, we never did get to hear it," Clint said,

"I think Steve might know something about it," Tony said, looking over to where Steve was sitting.

Steve froze for a second, "I have no idea what you're talking about," Steve lied.

"Oh please, you guys think you're being so careful. I think you're forgetting that I have eyes and ears all over this place," Tony said.

Everyone was looking between you and Steve, but you both remained silent.

"We're also not stupid. We do talk."

You shrugged, "I really don't know what you mean…"

Practically everyone else in the room rolled their eyes.

"The elevator? The gym? The kitchen? And apparently the bar…. We know about it all," Bruce said

Your face went red, "I-" you started

"Look, we don't care what the two of you do, just please stop doing it in places where we can see it. Do it behind closed doors," Tony begged.

Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "How… did you guys find out?"

"Oh please, the two of you walked out of the elevator looking way flushed, lips swollen. Steve, your zipper was undone and, Y/N, all the buttons from your blouse were on the floor of the elevator," Bruce said

"Well, i-" you started

Clint cut you off, "and really 'oh steve, oh steve,' doesn't really sound like sparring…" he said, trying to mimic what he heard in the gym.

Both you and Steve were blushing.

"And guys, you think the counter is tall enough that I  couldn't see anything, but I saw everything," Tony added.

Steve hid his face in his hands.

"I just need to know one thing…" Bruce said

"Are the two of you just fooling around or are you actually together-together?" he finished

You smiled over at Steve.

"We are together-together." he said, smiling back at you.

Tony raised his glass, "Well cheers to Y/N and Steve, and here's to them never having sex in my kitchen or on my bar again!"

You all clinked glasses, and the rest of the team went back to making jokes about you and Steve.

[cauliflowercounty]

You’re Not Alone (Clyde Logan x Reader)

Warnings:  ANGST. Some sad feels and a few distressing themes.

Clyde is getting deployed and it’s hard to say goodbye.

-----

     “Do you really have to go, Clyde?” you ask, head resting on his chest with your hands around his waist, not wanting to let go.  Clyde bends down shakily and brings his hands to your head, running his fingers through your hair.  “Iraq is so far away.. a-and you’ll be there for so long.”

     “I’m afraid so, Darlin’.  I hate to go, but it’s m’duty,” he sighs, a few tears starting to well up.  He knew the goodbye would be hard before today and he promised himself he’d get through it easily, but Clyde can’t seem to manage to step away from you.  Grasping the fabric of his uniform in your palms, you look into his eyes and cup his face.

     “I’m sorry, Clyde. I shouldn’t keep you any longer.  You’ll miss your flight,” you sniffle, kissing him wholeheartedly.  Clyde reciprocates, kissing you with all he’s got.  His heart warms knowing someone like you is there for him, but it aches because he’s leaving you behind while he’s off in Iraq and there’s a chance he might not come back.  You drop your hands down reluctantly, wanting nothing more than to take his hands and run away somewhere far away where he’ll be safe and you’ll be together.

     “It’s okay, Darlin’...” Clyde says, picking up his duffle bag from the ground with a large sigh.  He’s already regretting leaving you, even though he hasn’t gone.  He straightens his shoulders, attempting to mount the courage to leave the trailer you share, but it fades away as you look at him.  He sees the sadness in the way you hold yourself and he hopes he’ll never have to see this ever again.  “I love you, y/n.”

    “I love you, too Clyde,” you smile weakly as he moves out the door You follow him to the door and you stop him as he steps onto the porch.  “You’ll write to me, right, Clyde?” you ask hopefully, trying to ease the pain in your chest.

     “Of course I will.  I’ll tell you what I’m up to and who I meet,” he assures you.

     “and I’ll keep you updated on Jimmy and Mellie and what sort of trouble they're getting into,” you smile to him.  

     “I... gotta go...”

     “Yeah...  Stay safe, Clyde?” you say and he nods to reassure you.

      “I will, y/n.  Don’t you think for a moment I won’t come home to you.  I’m gonna be around for a long time.  After I finish my tours of service, I’ll be here with you and we’ll be together for the rest of time,” he says, kissing your cheek one last time.  He steps away and gives you a wave as the taxi to Charelston pulls up.  As he’s halfway down the driveway to the road, he turns back an give you a wave and blows a kiss.  You wave back, hot tears starting to run down your cheeks.  Clyde turns his back to you and keeps walking, and you cross your arms and turn away, not wanting the memory of him going ingrained in your brain.  You walk back into the trailer and everything is quiet.  Too quiet.  The only sound that can be heard is the tick of the analog clock and the dripping of the faucet Clyde fixed only a few days ago.  

     The tears consume you and within a half a second you’re bawling.  You think of how he just left rather unceremoniously just walking down the old dirt road to the street.  You throw yourself at the door to the trailer again and rush out of it, not bothering to close it behind you.  You run down the road, hoping the taxi is still there because Clyde is messing with his bag or the taxi driver is hassling him about the fare.  As you get to the end of the path, there’s nothing there.  Looking from left to right and then left again, you see nothing but winding Boone County, West Virginia road and that’s enough to make your heart shatter. He’s gone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

     Staring at the photo of you and him he stowed in his bag the first day, he smiles, knowing he’s finally going home.  The uneven road jostles him and his army buddies in the transport they’re taking to the airport to go back home.  He smiles himself, the thought of you comforts him and you’re almost within his grasp.  Once he’s back, he’ll take you in his arms, kissing you over and over again.  He’ll dress up in his best clothes and take you out dancing or something.  Whatever you’d want and whatever will make you happy will be just fine with him.

     “How much longer until the airport?” David asks from beside Clyde, impatient.  The driver replies they’re almost there and it’ll be about 30 minutes.  Tipping his head back, Clyde tries to stretch out and relax for the remainder of the trip.  He closes his eyes.  There’s a loud bang and everything is falling.  There's an automatic pain that shoots up his left arm. People around him shout or gasp for a millisecond, but everything cuts out and it’s all white noise.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

     Blinking his eyes open, Clyde stirs in his place.  He looks up at a bland-looking ceiling made of drop-out ceiling tiles.  He tries to stir, but everything is stiff.  As he becomes more aware of the world around him, he feels something wrapped around his left arm and there’s some sort of weight on and near it on the bed.  He tries to move his fingers, but he can only articulate his right hand.  He knows something’s wrong and his eyes widen in fear and panic.  He looks down and sees you, curled up and hunched over next to him in a chair with your head resting on his left arm.  As he stirs more you lift your head up, waking up form your sleep.  You gasp and let out a short laugh of relief. You rush for him, grabbing onto his shoulders, running your fingers through his hair to cup his head in your palms and kiss him like there’s no tomorrow.

     “Darlin’,” he croaks weakly, but you shush him.

     “I was so worried, Clyde Logan!” you immediately bawl into his neck, not letting him say anything while trying to repress your anger.  You’re angry, but not at him. You’re angry at the world and what it is and what it’s done. “You scared me half to death!  When I got the call, I thought they were gonna tell me you died!  Then they told me you were in a hospital in Charleston and I...”  You freeze, realizing you're probably scaring and overwhelming him.  “Oh, Clyde...  I’m sorry.  I’m not angry with you or anything...  I just thought I lost you and that-”

     “It’s okay, Darlin’,” Clyde says, trying to sit up on the pillows behind his head.  “What happened?”

     “Well, from the call I got, they said there was a roadside mine... an anti-vehicle mine on the roadway.  They said that your transport hit it and...,” you choke, the words lodging in your throat.  “You got hurt and it sent you into a coma for a while and-”

     Clyde’s eyes trail down to his left arm and his eyes widen.  His arm’s wrapped up in some sort of bandage, but it’s not his whole arm.  His hand is missing and all that’s left is a stump.  Lifting his arm up, he eyes it, not saying anything. 

     “It took m’arm...,” he whispers to himself.  “It took m’arm,” he repeats again, this time he’s shouting.  His body starts to shake as tears well up into his eyes and his body becomes wracked with sobs.  He’s crying now.  Loud and ugly, not like in the movies.  Immediately, you wrap your arms around him to try to calm him.  Clyde shoves his face into your embrace and wraps his arms around you, quaking with despair.  At his wails, doctors come rushing in.  They try to bring you away from him so the doctor can talk to him, but he won’t let go of you.  His sobbing after a long while starts to go down.  His face is blotchy.  His eyes are puffy

     “Clyde?” you whisper to him.

     “I suppose this is it, y/n,” he sniffles, wiping the snot from his nose, his eyes returning to the bandages.

     “What do you mean ‘this is it?’” you wonder, running your hand up his left arm, gasping when he jerks away from your touch for the first time ever. You feel a pang of sadness rush through you. He’s never avoided your touch.

    “Us.  Our relationship,” he states, his voice gone quiet.

     “God, no, Clyde!” you yelp.  “Why would you ever think that?”

     “M’arm...  I’m not good enough for you now. More so than ever.   You took a chance on me when I had both and now I ain’t whole.  People’ll judge you for havin’ a guy like me in your life,” Clyde explains. He’s convinced himself that this is the end and you know he’s trying to control what he thinks is inevitable, but he’s wrong. He’s so, so wrong.  A tear trickles down your cheek as you shake your head.

     “Clyde Logan, I love you more than anything in the world.  Nothing is going to stop me from being with you.  I don’t care if you have all of your limbs or none of them.  I will always be here for you.  Do not doubt that for a second!” you cry.  “I’m staying right here.”

     “But things won’t be the same!  I can’t put you through that. Face it y/n, I’m damaged goods. You can’t want to be put through that!” he argues, but you cut him off as he starts to continue.

     “I don’t care about that!  All I want is to be with you.  I love you, and I’m glad to have you home.  I don’t care you’re missing a hand.  I won’t love you any less,” you cry, kissing his lips again, trying your hardest to prove to him what you’re saying is real.  

     “What are we gonna do?  Where am I gonna work?  How am I supposed to get dressed or do things around the house?” Clyde cries, starting to get worked up again. 

     “We’ll adapt.  We’ll figure it out and problem solve. I know we can.  We can make changes around the house.  It’ll take time, but we’re in this together Clyde.  You don’t have to do this all by yourself, I swear to you.”

     At your words, Clyde takes in a deep breath.  He looks down at his left arm, knowing he’ll miss having his hand, but he knows you’re right at the same time.   He can adapt and you’ll do it together.  Clyde takes a long exhale and leans in, kissing you on the lips and gives you a small smile and a nod in agreement.  Jimmy and Mellie burst through the doors rushing to Clyde’s bedside, the nurses shouting at them they can’t just barge in there. The doctor comes back into view and asks Clyde if he’s ready to move forward.  You look at Clyde, waiting for his answer and give him an encouraging look.

      “Yes.”

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Off Day: Twelve

Bucky pressed the ice pack Steve handed him against his eye and sighed. He wasn’t exactly sure of the series of events that lead him here. Sitting in the clubhouse with all his friends worrying and no one is sure where you’d gone.

Nat cuddled Salem and tried to comfort the desolate little creature and glared at Bucky, “You’re really fucking dumb, Barnes,” she snarled. 

“Nat,” he groaned, “I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me.”

The redhead practically hissed at him and walked away leaving Bucky to play it all back again in his head. It hurt. You being gone felt like missing a limb. Like part of his soul had been torn out. 

Somehow, he knew that where ever you’d gone it was worse for you. 

In his mind’s eye, he could see three days ago. 

You’d staggered into his arms and burst into helpless sobs. The kind that didn’t even make noise. Deadweight against his chest. He didn’t need to ask. You didn’t need to explain. He tucked you into his bed and held you while your heart had shattered. 

Your best friend was gone and nothing would ever feel right again. 

“I couldn’t watch them carry her out,” you murmur, wiping your nose on your sleeve.

“I know,” he soothed, rubbing the back of your neck. He didn’t try and feed you. He knew you wouldn’t eat. Or be able to sleep. He put something soothing on in the background. Disney, something you don’t need to pay attention to. And when you hide your face in his chest, he holds you closer. Tears keep falling and Bucky can’t help but take mental stock of where the sharp things are in his house. 

The next few days, as you struggle with your aunt to plan a funeral and help them keep body and soul together, watching you shove your pain aside to be a rock. An anchor. That hurts him worse than seeing you cry. You’ve detached yourself from the pain so far that you’re numb. Dissociated. There’s nothing there but painted on smiles and unobtrusive helpfulness. 

“Aunt Judy,” he hears you say, “don’t worry about me. You and Uncle Jack need to go. Get out of here for a while and rest. Take your trip. Kaity would want you to go. She always wanted to see San Francisco.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked chucking you under the chin.

“Hold down the fort,” you answer smiling, “Do what I promised Kaity I’d do.”

She’d kissed your cheeks and hugged you hard. You’d walked into the living room and flopped face-first on the couch, studiously avoiding looking at the room Kaity had occupied at the end. Avoided looking at Bucky who knew there were cracks in your careful veneer. 

The funeral had been a trial. 

It was well attended. Half the town turned out. Friends of Kaity’s. People who had no idea who you were when you stood up to give the Eulogy.

“My whole life, I had two constants,” you start, taking a deep breath, “My life was a mess and Kaity. God love her. Was going to try and fix it.” You smile, taking a second to wipe tears away. “Kaity was, without a doubt, one of the kindest, most selfless people you could ever find. But. If I tell you about all of that, Kaity is gonna haunt me forever. She made me promise not to tell you about all of that, and, for those of you who don’t know, if I can do one thing reliably, it’s keep a promise to Kaity.��� Jack snorts behind you and Judy smiles just a little. “I made a lot of promises to Kaity over the years. About a lot of things. But, before she passed, I got permission to break this one in exchange for giving a Eulogy that wouldn’t bore you all to death. Kaity informed me that as much as she loves you all, she doesn’t really want to play casket Tetris.” That brings surprised laughter from a few people and a few damp chuckles.  “Kaity gave me permission to finally tell the story of the mysterious brown stain on the ceiling in Aunt Judy’s kitchen.” More laughter, less shocked this time. Bucky knows this hurts. He can see you struggling to keep the promise you made.

“So,” you finish, smiling a little. “I told you that story to tell you this. Because this is the one thing Kaity wanted you all to walk away knowing. Love, much like Dr. Pepper, is meant to be shared. So let's take the love we have for her and spread it around. Love recklessly. Spread kindness like glitter. And for the love of God, just eat the garlic bread.”

Bucky wants to hug you. You’re trying so hard to hold it together. To keep your voice from cracking. To hold it together for the assembled mass of people that have now started to cry. 

That had been a day. The worst day. And Bucky still. Still couldn’t figure out how it had happened exactly.

He was aware that he had gone to the clubhouse. He’d been trying to set up a nice little dinner. He’d borrowed a backroom and set a table all pretty with candles and had his ma make something you might be able to eat. 

He was just doing some last little things, making it pretty and making sure the room was a good temperature. Not because he expected to get you naked but because you’d now lost enough weight just from the stress that you were always shivering. Sometimes, even with him wrapped around you. It was how you always were as a kid. He realized now that not eating when you were stressed had probably started as a way to exert control over your life and now it was just ingrained behavior. That bothered him.

When he heard the footsteps behind him, he’d thought for a moment it was you, that Nat had just sent you back.

He turned, ready to kiss you, hello and Char lounged in the doorway, arms folded, surveying the scene like she was hunting and had just spotted her prey. “Well. Isn’t this cute,” she hummed.

“And none of it’s for you,” Bucky said calmly.

“Aww, Buckaroo,” she sighed, “I really hoped we could put this aside for the baby.”

“Char, you’re not even pregnant. Or at least I hope you’re not after I watched you pound shot’s with one of Rumlow’s guys at the Time Out.”

She pouted, “Well, we could make a baby,” she purred, stepping closer.

“No thanks,” Bucky snorted, “I’ve got a girl, remember?”

Char rolled her eyes and stalked a little closer, making Bucky realize with a start that this was a back room and his back was to the wall. He tried to resituate himself but there was a table in the way and Char was faster than he gave her credit for. She pinned him uncomfortably between herself and the table, kissing him, hard, forcing her tongue artlessly into his mouth and leaving him struggling to get her off of him without hurting her but her grip was too strong for him to do anything without taking an action that would lead to it being her word against his.

“Bucky, I-”

The voice from the door way makes Char jump back, leaving Bucky with lipstick smeared on his face and looking confused and startled. You stand frozen on the threshold, a look on your face that makes his heart almost stop.

You don’t say a word, you just bolt through the nearest door. Desperate to get away from both of them before either of them see you cry.

“Oops,” Char had said, adjusting her lipstick in a compact mirror.

Bucky can’t even speak. He follows after you, watching from the doorway as your jeep pulls out of the drive. 

“What the fuck did you just do?” Nat said angrily, appearing next to him, holding the basket that Salem liked to travel in.

“I- I just-” He doesn’t get a chance to finish.

Char walks up out of the back and it takes Natasha all of a millisecond to piece together that somebody got caught kissing someone who wasn’t their girl.

To be honest, Bucky isn’t even mad Nat punched him. 

It was nice to know she apparently felt the need to look after you. That she considered you a friend enough to hit him for being an asshole.

_________

It had been 24 hours and no one but your Aunt and Uncle had heard from you. They were tight-lipped as to your whereabouts. Careful to only say you were safe. That it was okay and you were thinking clearly. 

Sam took a seat on Bucky’s other side with a sigh, “Well, I heard from a cop friend of mine,” he said.

“And?” Nat asked anxiously, stroking the little cat.

“The good news is, Y/N is very much alive. The bad news is she’s on a 72 hour psychiatric hold.”

Bucky turned quickly and his head throbbed, “What?” he barked.

Sam sighed, “A precautionary measure,” he said, “I guess she got home, tore her studio apart and was just generally enough of a mess that they had them come take her to the hospital BEFORE she tried to go play in traffic or something.”

“This is all my fault,” he groaned. 

Steve squeezed the back of his neck, “It’ll be okay, Buck. Once her head clears and they let her loose just go explain. You didn’t do anything.”

“I know but-”

“If I ever get a hold of that blonde tramp, I’m gonna kill her,” Nat growled.

“There are no kitties in jail, Nat,” Sam hummed, gesturing to the black cat she was holding like a baby in the crook of one arm.

_______________

“Baby?” Bucky said softly, stopping at the door of the shop. You were on a ladder behind the desk, shelving a book. You half turn and jump down carefully.

You look pale and tired. You look like you need a week on the beach and several good meals. You look sick. Bucky supposes you are and crosses the floor quietly.

“I know you’re probably still pissed at me but-”

You shake your head, “Who hit you in the face?” You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering and he closes the shop door to block the draft, “Nat,” he answers.

“Why’d you do it, Bucky?” you ask softly. 

“I didn’t-” he started, reaching for you, stopping when you back up. “I- I would never do that,” he murmured, “But when I was in the back, trying to set up dinner, Char came back and. Well, darlin’ she set me up.”

You look up at him, still shivering and bite your lip.

“She wanted you  to find us like that,” he murmured, “She wanted to hurt you, knowing that would hurt me.”

You nod and take a tentative step forward.

“I was so afraid when you wouldn’t answer your phone, doll,” he murmured, careful to keep his voice quiet. Careful to remember that you hadn’t been in your right mind when you saw them. That your reaction was all emotion. You’d just buried your best friend. Everything was raw and too real. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, “You were safe. You went someplace safe when you needed it. And you gave Nat a reason to stay out of jail leaving Salem with her. Otherwise, Char’d be dead right now.”

He held out his arms again and wrapped you up slowly when you walk into them, hiding your face against his chest. 

“I’m sorry I ran away. I should have known better,” you murmur, “She assaulted you and then I just ran off. And Nat punched you in the face.”

Bucky rests his cheek against your hair and hugs you tighter, “Shh, don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he scolds gently. “You weren’t thinking clearly, sweetheart. No one was. I’m just glad you’re home. And safe. It makes it a lot easier for me to take care of you.”

You look up at him and he kisses your nose, “Baby girl, when’s the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday some time,” you murmur.

He tuts softly, “It’s no good, Y/N,” he says, “Baby girl, let’s get you food okay? You need to put something in your belly. How about you close up early and I take you home? I’ll cook dinner and you can get a kitty cuddle.”

“I’d like that. I missed my kitty.”

He smiles a little, “Then let's get you home, huh? if you talk real nice I’ll even run you a bath.”

“With bubbles?” you ask, nuzzling his chest, cuddling closer, seeking comfort.

“With bubbles, princess,” he chuckles, basking in the feeling. It soothed the fear that had gnawed at him. That his one chance had ended. That you wouldn’t believe him. He couldn’t help it, he thought a quiet thank you to Kaity, wherever she was. Thanking her for keeping you safe, even now. If her parents hadn’t come by the house when they did, Char’s little stunt might have been the last straw. And that, Bucky reflected, was an unbearable thought.

Tags: @lancsnerd @thorfanficwriter @blameitonthecauseway @etherealwaifgoddess @stevieang @wellfucksorrymum

[littlenoona]

First Bite.

Summary: Y/N is a ‘Made One’. A Made One is someone who is genetically enhanced to produce blood cells at an increased rate when blood is lost, meaning they basically can’t bleed out. Made One’s are produced by vampires. Humans would approach vampires and strike a deal - They would allow one of, or all of, their children to become a Made One in exchange for wealth, fame, anything they would want but this also means that their children would be easily targetable by vampires and bear a mark on their back, resembling a scar that would intertwine with their spine. More times than not parents wouldn’t tell their children what they were, or that vampires existed and it would often cause trauma. Y/N has been working for BTS as an editor and translator - the members told her what she was and how she came to be - after the initial shock of knowing, Y/N embraced it.

Warnings: Smut, Slight noona kink(?), Blood, Fangs, Vampires.

Pairing: Jungkook x Female!Reader(because I’m a fucking sucker for the man).

Word Count: 1,476. 

Masterlist.

Pulling the covers up over your head, you sighed deeply. You didn’t really know how to feel anymore. You felt betrayed by your parents and confused. You grew up in a good home and there was never anything you didn’t get whenever you asked for it. Now you knew why. 

You heard a slight knock on your bedroom door and you instantly groaned in response. 

You heard the door open slightly. 

“Noona?” Jungkook whispered hesitantly. 

You mumbled under the duvet, “Don’t call me that. You’re over 200 years older than me.” 

Jungkook sighed, “I like calling you noona.” - He entered the room and closed the door behind him. You heard his footsteps coming closer and felt the mattress bend under his weight as he sat down next to you, “How are you feeling?” He asked silently. 

“I don’t know anymore. I guess better? Still angry.” You grumbled, “Where are the others? It’s strangely quiet in this house.” 

You were all away from home and sharing a house, your bedroom being the only one located down stairs and the other members being up stairs, you always knew when they had left the house, even if they didn’t tell you, though it was rare. 

“Hunting. It’s been a while since we fed.” He responded before clearing his throat, being blunt with you, but knowing that you still weren’t entirely used to the idea of vampires. 

You pulled the duvet off you and your eyes met his near black ones, “Why aren’t you out with them?” 

He simply shrugged, “I wanted to make sure you were okay. I can feed later.” 

Instinctively you reached your hand out and put it on top of his with a smile, his act of kindness making your chest feel warm, forgetting for a second what would happen when skin to skin contact was made between a Made One and a vampire. 

A small shock was sent through your body as soon as your skin touched his, his eyes widening and his breath hitching, you pulled your hand away instantly, “Sorry, Jungkookah! I forgot.” you whispered, your eyes avoiding his. 

“It’s-” He cleared his throat again, “It’s okay.” He pulled his hand away and put it on his leg. 

You sat up on the bed against the headboard and dragged your fingers through your hair. Your oversized t-shirt falling down your shoulder and exposing it along with your neck. 

Jungkook’s eyes noticed your exposed skin, your heartbeat pounding in his ears and the scent of you filling his head with hunger. It had been so long since he had tasted human blood, even longer since he’d tasted the sweetness of a Made One. Such a rare thing to come across now, his thoughts started racing. 

You noticed his stare. Your heartbeat increased as you knew exactly what was going through his head. 

Hearing the increase of your hearts pace his eyes found yours and his features softened. “Sorry, noona. It’s been so long.” He sighed and clenched his jaw. He stood up and started walking towards your bedroom door.

“Jungkookah..” You whispered, removing the duvet from your body and standing up on your knees on the mattress, exposing your bare legs. Your t-shirt was the only thing covering you other than your panties under it. 

He stopped at the door and turned around, his eyes immediately looked down your body and back up to your face. 

“Please stay..” You whispered. 

“I can’t.” He said with a stern voice, his jaw clenching again, his eyes struggling to maintain contact with yours. 

His body didn’t want to leave, his head didn’t want to leave, but the better part of him knew that he had to, if he wanted to stay in control. He stood by the door for what seemed like forever, his stare turning more and more primal.

You sat down on your heels and looked down into your lap, wishing he wouldn’t leave. Looking back up at him, prepared to argue why he shouldn’t, your mouth fell open. 

His eyes had changed - a dark blood red was swirling around in his iris, his mouth slightly ajar and his fangs exposed, his breathing was heavy and you could tell his body was tense. 

Your core clenched and you became wet, an involuntary response you hadn’t expected. 

His eyes darted down between your legs and you could see his nostrils flare. He knew.

He let go of the handle of the door and in a matter of milliseconds he was standing in front of you, his hand holding on to the side of your neck, his eyes piercing yours. 

The shocks protruding from his touch on your neck had your body on fire. You closed your eyes and sighed, the feeling of his touch making your core ache. 

You felt him lean down next to your ear, his large figure overshadowing yours.

“Can I, noona?” His voice husky and strained, “Can I bite you?” 

“Yes.” You whimpered. 

You felt his arm wrap around your waist, pick you up, turning you around and sitting himself down on the mattress with you straddled on him. Your hands found place on his chest, steadying yourself, your heart beating faster than if you were running a marathon, expecting the first bite you’d ever received.

“Don’t worry, beautiful. It’ll feel good.” He whispered in your ear before dragging his lips slowly down your neck and over your pulse. 

His arm around your waist tightened slightly as his other hand moved your hair from your neck and he held on to it. 

You could feel his mouth open and his burning hot breath hit your neck, your hands clenching on to his shirt. Feeling a slight sting of the sharp edges of his fangs lined up with your neck you braced yourself. 

Sinking them into your skin you whimpered at the pain, his grip on you tightening, becoming almost painful, a growl leaving him as your blood hit his tongue. 

You could feel your entire body become electrified, your core growing wetter and it felt as if you were being pleasured all over.

Jungkook’s arm around your waist pulled you closer to him, making you grind across his hardened member and you couldn’t stop the loud moan that left your lips. You instantly held your hand across your mouth, embarrassed. 

You could feel a slight chuckle leave Jungkook before he let go of your hair and moved your hand from your mouth, clearly not wanting you to keep quiet, his fingers intertwined with yours. 

Your core was throbbing and you felt the familiar pressure building in your lower stomach. 

“Fuck..” You cursed under your breath, “Jungkookah..”

Your hand found it’s way to the back of his head, your fingers tangling in his soft hair, your other hand moving from his and holding on to his shoulder, your fingernails digging into his skin.

Your legs clenched around his waist, a moan leaving you and you knew you couldn’t hold back much longer. The pleasure in your core becoming too much for you to handle. 

His free hand found its way to your bare thigh and squeezed it, again his arm around your waist pulled you across his hardened member, the stimulation sending shocks through your body. 

Whimpering, your breathing became ragged. 

“I-” You choked, but you couldn’t finish your sentence before your orgasm took over. You screwed your eyes shut. Jungkook held you close as your body started shaking and your legs squeezed around him, the waves of pleasure not seeming to have an end. Your core throbbed and the muscles in your stomach tensing and releasing in a series of surges - Whimpers and moans leaving your lips.

You felt Jungkook move away and his fangs pulling out of your skin making you wince, he left a small lick on your neck, closing the wounds. 

His hand moved from your thigh and came up to cup your cheek, your body still shaking and pants leaving you, your body extremely exhausted. 

“You okay?” He whispered.

You nodded, trying to regain control of your body. 

He lifted your head so he could look at you, your eyes meeting his - They had returned to their normal near black colour, a slight smile on his lips.

You moved your head to hide it in the crook of his neck, his arms wrapping around you and letting you lean on him. He leaned back slowly so he was lying down with you on top of him on the bed, and you felt like you could fall asleep then and there. 

He placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head and you couldn’t help but let out a small giggle. Your post high making you extremely happy. 

“So that’s what it feels like.” You smiled, hearing him let out a small laugh in response. 

Please do not repost. If you wish to repost, please contact me directly requesting permission, with details of where, and on what account(name). I will put the details of approved reposts below.

[aqvarius]

don’t let me go - hyogo kaga

don’t let me go - hyogo kaga

–

“I can’t do this anymore.”

My voice trembles but I keep my expression steadfast as I stare at Kaga. The sky outside is unfairly pretty, vibrant orange and purple with cotton candy clouds drifting by carelessly.

“What the fuck are you on about?” He asks, meeting my gaze with an irritated one of his own.

I pelt the crumpled sheet of paper at him, but he catches it neatly with one hand and zero effort. It infuriates me.

He unfolds the sheet and curses when he sees the contents. It’s a copy of the memo he sent to Mizuki, that SHIBA consultant. It explains everything I’ve been worrying about: why he hasn’t called me to see him, why the smell of some other woman’s perfume hovers in the fabric of his suit, why he’s been unable to stop a smirk from rising to his face when he checks his phone.

Kaga is never like this with any other woman.  It would be one thing if he was just investigating her for a case, but my chest tightens agonisingly when I remember those words etched into my brain.

I could use someone like you. Lord knows you’d be better than my current dog.

I press my tongue to the back of my throat to stop tears from prickling my eyes. She’s more capable of being his partner than I ever will be and the past few weeks of stewing has just cemented this. I look like a fool pining over this man who will never love me the way I do him while I hear Shinonome and Kurosawa laughing over how taken Kaga is with this new woman and see Goto and Soma’s pitying smiles.  

“I got the message,” I spit out tiredly, throwing up my hands in an act of resignation. “Your pawn, your dog, your woman, whatever. I’m done with it all.”

As I turn to leave, Kaga’s glare turns from irritation to something darker. He reaches out and grabs me, one hand clenched around my chin, the other around my upper arm. My heart pounds and aches as he pulls my body close to his in a vicelike grip. He’s held me like this so many times, as both an intimidation tactic and an act of intimacy. He stares me down, looming over me, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with a quiet fury. Instead of meeting his stare as usual, I cast my gaze down to the floor, but Kaga forces my head up with that Iron Claw of his.

My throat burns when his eyes finally capture mine. Looking at him knocks the breath out of me painfully, as though I’ve been hit by a van. I can’t bear to think of him holding another woman like this and the image of it makes those tears I’ve been holding back finally pool in my eyes. The setting sun burning an orange streak of light onto Kaga’s face is so beautiful that the acrid taste of despair floods the back of my throat.

“Let go,” I say weakly. When it comes down to it, Kaga is undoubtedly a one-woman man, and I’ve finally accepted that that woman isn’t me anymore. It should be easy enough for him to set me free.

But instead his grip only tightens as he glowers at me. I hate that part of me craves that bruising hold of his; Kaga has trained me too well to crave his touch and the realisation that it must be harder for me to leave him than for him to let me go fills me with bitter self-loathing.

“Let me go,” I repeat, this time with more conviction, jerking my face out of his hand. I narrow my eyes at him, but I know I must look pathetic, glaring up at the scariest man in the force with teary eyes and a quivering lower lip.

“Who said you could leave?” he bites out, voice low and dangerous.

Before I can reply, he lowers his head to mine and kisses me roughly, heatedly, holding me close to him as if the world is ending. He kisses me hard, over and over again, even as my tears spill from my eyes and wet his cheeks. He slides his hand along my jawline to hold my face again when he turns his head to find new ways for our lips to fit together, but this time his hand is so tender that it provokes the gathering of a fresh new wave of tears in my eyes. How unfair of him to suddenly be so kind at a moment like this. It only crushes my shattered heart more when I taste our kisses, bitter from his cigarettes and salty from my tears. My nose is beginning to become stuffed from crying and I shove at his chest to get some air, but he only pulls away when I’m panting and sniffling against his lips. The angled planes of his face are wet with my tear tracks and when he’s looking at me with that pained look in his eyes, it almost seems like Kaga has been crying with me.

“Who said you could leave?” he asks me again, wrath and urgency angrily colouring his tone.

I resist the urge to wipe those tears from his face. They don’t suit him. “You have her. You don’t need me anymore. Just do us both a favour and drop me like the worthless dog I am.”

That dark scowl returns as he backs me against the wall, but his large hand cupping my jaw is still unfairly gentle as it protects the back of my head from slamming against the wall. I can feel his pulse thundering as he pushes a firm, muscled leg between my own shaky ones.

Instead of replying to my words verbally, he captures my lips with his again, kissing me deeply as if to engrave his body onto mine. It’s a lesson and a punishment all in one, intense and desperate. Every time his mouth captures mine and then pulls back, even for a millisecond, I feel my heart tear as if it’ll be our last. What a dilemma, to be unable to be with this man and yet unable to be without him. Rays of sun-warmed light hit my cheek when he tugs at my lips with his, and the room is quiet except for the sounds of our kissing and the gentle wind whispering through the open door of Kaga’s balcony.

As if unable to bear our pained kisses any longer, Kaga drops his head to the junction between my neck and shoulder and sucks on the skin there, nipping with his teeth until I yelp and finally push him away.

Fury and frustration radiating from every inch of his body, he grabs me again and pulls me tight against him.

“I said I’m never letting you go.”

“I didn’t want you to let me go!” His frustration infects me as I cry at him, beating my fists against his chest. I thought I had resigned myself to leaving quietly and gracefully but being encircled by a master interrogator has drawn all my bubbling anger back to the surface. “I didn’t ask you to go after her.”

Finally drawing back slightly, he casts me another filthy glare as he yanks a small notebook out of his suit pocket and thrusts it at me impatiently. It’s already open to a page and my eyes, trained to read his scrawling hand, focus on some encircled words.

Mikoto Mizuki. CIA? MI6? EAC?

Oh.

My head spins as I recognise the acronyms of multiple spy agencies, as if a dense fog of cloud has suddenly vacated my mind but left behind a vast, swirling sky in its wake. Kaga knows I understand what this means, and I also suddenly realise that this is meant to be a confidential, maybe even independent, investigation.

I feel like such a fool, both for distrusting Kaga and for acting the way that I did without even confronting him properly. Returning him his notebook, I look down at the floor mutely and wait for my admonishment, but he pulls me into yet another embrace, resting his head atop mine. This time, I wrap my arms around his back.

“You’re so disloyal,” he mutters into my hair, but he sounds relieved somehow. “Dogs should know better than to distrust their masters.”

“Masters shouldn’t give their dogs reason to distrust them,” I say meekly.

He should be angry at me for doubting him, or at least for not talking to him about my worries. Instead, his previous ire has faded away and he looks down warily at me, like I’m a captured animal that’s about to scamper off back into the wild. And when he kisses me again, my heart swells at the gentleness of his lips pressing softly against mine and his arms holding me, soft yet firm, against him.

Outside, our cherry tomato plant, with freshly damp soil, blows peacefully in the soft breeze.

–

okay so i don’t know that kaga would be yandere cause he defo doesn’t have the dere side down lol

but he’d definitely be PISSED

i feel like there are gaps in here and i should add more but eh 

to the other anon who asked for a similar fic, i’m planning on writing this scene from kaga’s pov :D 

also idk how to title fics sorry

[ahoyscoop]

Prompt: Peter fractures his arm after a bad fall and tries not to alert Mr. Stark, which ends up not working, because Tony has a panic attack at the sight of him.

Peter’s always careful of his swinging. He has to beーflying a hundreds of feet over New York isn’t exactly the safest thing he could be doing. On top of that, there’s Aunt May who’s already lost everyone, so. He kind of owes it to her to not die.

So he’s not exactly sure what went wrong after he realizes he’s free falling and everything is going way, way too fast.

Karen immediately jumps into action without Peter even saying anything. Thankfully, she’s quick with her, “Peter, I’m activating the Impact-Absorber, okay? It’s going to be alright. Hang on.”

Peter wants to ask her a million questions about what just happened, but he feels like he’s not really hanging on tight at all. Falling feels like time slows down, but Peter knows he’ll hit the ground soon enough. He waits for impact, but it takes too long. Too, too long. New York looks pretty as he drifts.

--

“Peter? Peter, you’re okay. It’s me, Karen. You fell after your web fluid weakened and your grip slipped. You are six miles from Stark Tower. Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark?”

Peter comes to, feeling like Karen’s talking in another language. She’s saying too many sentences at once.

“Karen, Karen.” He can feel his right arm moving around, waving, telling her to slow down, but his other arm feels off. Wrong. Twisted, almost. “Karen, can you- can you slow down? I-just. I-I’m not getting what you’re saying.”

“I apologize, Peter. It’s Karen here. You’re injured.”

Okay. Shorter sentences. Cool. Understandable. “How bad?” He’s used to receiving the shorter end of the stick, and he doesn’t exactly feel much pain, so. Shock’s the best drug, huh.

“You have a fractured arm after the landing. The Impact Absorber of your suit took most of the damage, but you landed awkwardly. Are you in pain?”

Peter slowly inches off the ground. “Yeah, it’s starting to kick in,” he admits.

“Contacting Mr. Stark.”

“What? No, no! Cancel, Karen! No! Mr. Stark does not need to know about this!”

“Peter, I’m instructed to alert Boss when you’re in pain.”

“Karen.”

Peter can hear her sighing in his head but nevertheless, she cancels the command. He breathes a sigh of relief. The last thing Mr. Stark needs is Spider-Man on the bench.

--

Peter’s not usually this late. Tony slumps against the coach in the lab, his eyes closed. He’s actually looking forward to today’s session with Peter in particular since all his other projects have him drained. The kid has young eyes and can usually figure out a solution pretty quick. It helps that Peter doesn’t quit commentating while he works, which is always a nice distraction from the demons that constantly plague Tony.

His headaches have gotten increasingly worse lately and his attention span has decreased. He has to take breaks more frequently or black spots start dancing in his eyes.

“Hey, Fri, can you call Peter?”

She dials the call but it goes to voicemail. Knowing Tony, she calls again, only to receive no response. Tony asks for a couple texts to be sent out.

He waits.

--

The route to Stark Tower has never seemed longer. With every step, Peter feels a stab of pain shoot through his entire body, but he can’t risk taking a cab. First of all, he has his suit on, and he can’t change out of it because his arm’s bruising dark purple, and he can’t even move it anymore. He tucks his hand close to his stomach to avoid jostling it. So the route takes twice as long, despite Peter sneaking into the back of pickup trucks and taking the alleyways when needed. He decides that his best bet is to keep his arm tucked near his side, and by the time he gets to the Compound, his healing should take its course.

He doesn’t check his phone, because it’s in his left pocket. He doesn’t even notice it vibrating, because the pain is so disorienting. But he’ll be okay. It’ll heal soon enough.

--

Tony’s hands begin to shake thirty minutes after Peter should have arrived at the Compound. He’s anxious but he doesn’t want to invade the kid’s privacy all the time. Like, yeah, he’s overprotective, but he doesn’t want to make Peter nervous about it.

He’ll get here. He’ll get here. Soon. Soon enough.

--

Peter arrives in all his glory, an hour late, pain etched all over his face. Tony opens the door a millisecond after the bell rings, because he had resigned to waiting there to calm some of his nerves.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” he says, but the words are barely making it out of his mouth. He’s making a conscious effort to speak clearly. “Sorry for being late. I- I fell, and I didn’t wanna worry you about it, and I had planned for things to go as normal today, but my arm just. It started hurting, like, a lot? And I don’t think the healing’s working properly? And I figured that you’d be kind of mad if you figured out how bad it was later, so-so, um, yeah, I’m just telling you now.”

All his words seem to come out in one breath, and Tony doesn’t know how he makes any sense of it, but somehow, his mind connects the fragments and his eyes are adjusting and they focus on-

A very dark purple, disturbing, slightly-in-the-wrong-place left arm that Peter’s clutching close to his stomach. His skin is ghostly colored and Tony knows that if Peter’s admitted to being in pain, then the pain must be on an entirely different spectrum.

He launches into commands, his brain, once again, a step ahead of his body. FRIDAY is responding left and right and there’s calls being placed and he can hear? See? Bruce, maybe? He can feel his hands trying to clutch onto something, anything, anything, because Peter’s hurt, but it’s not Toomes, or collapsing buildings, or anything. Peter’s fine. A little worse for wear, but overall okay.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

Wait a second.

I’m falling?

Suddenly Tony feels arms around his shoulders, and he thinks he might be blind. Temporary blindness, they said. When he plummeted from the sky at a thousand miles an hour, and New York was falling around him, but he doesn’t remember seeing any of it. He doesn’t think he was able to. It was darkness, but Tony didn’t feel like he couldn’t see. So it might have been entirely bright. Either way, he’s taken back to that moment in the brief pummeling he feels.

Tony, Tony. Tony. It’s Rhodey. You’re okay. Just fine. Open your eyes, Tones. You can see, I’ve got you. Open ‘em.

It takes more than a few seconds to manifest, but he’s still falling through time. Only when he opens his eyes, Rhodey’s in front of him, and he’s looking very carefully at Tony, and holding him with even more care, as if Tony’s the most fragile person in the world.

In Rhodey’s world, he is.

He’s lowered onto the couch, but he can feel himself moving, restraining against Rhodey’s tight grip. He’s also….forgetting something. In the midst of that...panic attack, he realizes that he forgot Peter.

“Tony. Tony, don’t fight back. Relax, I’ve got you. Don’t fight it. You’re safe, in New York, everyone’s totally fine.”

He wants to believe it, but they said the same thing to him when Maria and Howard died. They said everything was fine, but they weren’t there for him anymore, and it was the worst lie he was told.

He doesn’t stop fighting Rhodey, because he can’t stop thinking about the news article from that day.

It feels like his brain’s walking through slush to effectively form a word, but he tries. “P...P..Rhodes- I, I-, please, Peter.”

He tries remembering what it was about Peter that made him anxious, but it’s too much now. He feels the panic rise again, and this time, he has enough sense to warn Rhodey.

“Rhodes, Fall. Falling. Catch me. Please.”

And then he feels Rhodey catching him again, because he does that best. The world goes a little haywire for him after that, but this time, unlike New York, he remembers.

The blindness comes in the form of white light.

--

Peter remembers entering Stark Tower to a frantic Tony, his hair a mess and eyes red, hands shaking. Peter had started to explain but things went haywire in seconds. Something triggered Tony, and before he could even try to listen for Tony’s response to his long explanation, Tony was making calls and ordering people for various tasks, but his words were slurring and Friday had heard enough of Tony in a panic state to understand him, apparently, because the next thing Peter knew, he was being whisked away to the medbay on a stretcher and Tony was falling. He doesn’t remember where the stretcher came from or how it got there so quick, or how it felt when they rolled him on his back and his arm was jostled violently, but it was so quick that it seemed to have never happened. He saw Bruce, who was in his white coat, and then there was Rhodey who was helping Tony who had collapsed, and Peter remembers that he had reached for Tony, because he was shocked to see his own arm outstretched like that, very dark and spotty and bloody,  and he didn’t know when it got that bad. Bruce had pushed him back onto the stretcher and told him everything was going to be fine, but Peter had felt confused and guilty because he had caused some part of this. He thinks he might have thrashed around and been a difficult patient, because there was a hint of green on Bruce’s neck, though it quickly went away and was softened with his smile. They tied him to a bed pretty quickly, so it must have been bad.

All in all, the whole ordeal makes Peter’s head hurt, so he tries to inch out of the bed in the medbay to find someone who can get him some pain meds. His arm’s in a sling and it still throbs, but he knows there’s definitely something wrong if his healing powers didn’t come into play.

He knows he can probably call someone by pressing a button, but there’s not much wrong with his legs, so he should be able to get up-

Bad idea, Peter thinks, as soon as his socks touch the floor. The sudden change in orientation causes a dizzy spell that he can’t just walk off, so he resorts to listening to his ailing body for once, and just-- Sits. Right on the floor.

They’ll find him soon enough.

--

Tony awakes to a high ceiling, and it takes him a few seconds to orient himself. Stark Tower. Ceiling. The Den. A figure pops into his view, and it takes a bleary second for him to breathe out, “Rhodey.”

“Hey, man. You gave us a real scare back there. Feeling okay?”

Tony tests his limbs and tries moving his hands, and everything seems relatively okay. “I think so, yeah.” When did talking get so hard? “Tired, though.”

“Makes sense. You had a panic attack, by the looks of it. Freaked out the kid, too, but he didn’t have to see most of it. He’s good now, though, don’t worry-” Rhodey says quickly, noting Tony’s sudden change in demeanor. “Here, lie back. Everything’s pretty okay.”

--

“He may have enhanced healing, but it’s not going to function properly if he doesn’t care for himself. I’m guessing he hasn’t had a proper sleep in about four days, Tony. Or a full meal. I actually found him on the floor. He may even be hallucinating at this point.”

Peter awakes to these sentences being spoken by none other than Bruce, who seems to be in a serious conversation with a frazzled-looking Tony. Has it really been that long since he properly slept? Or ate? He feels surprisingly okay, but then again, drugs really are something else.

Peter remembers that he definitely did get moved- his last memories certainly involve laying on the floor to rest his eyes. God, he’s a menace to deal with. No wonder everyone’s so concerned.

His heart rate must accelerate or something upon waking, because Bruce and Tony are by his side in an instant.

“Hey kid,” Tony says, but he’s not really smiling or anything, so Peter doesn’t know what tone to go for.

Peter goes with, “Hi, Mr. Stark,” and then he doesn’t know what else to say. His fingers find his way to Tony’s, and they wrap around and Peter feels okay again.

“You sure know how to make an entrance, Peter,” Bruce says, and he’s smiling all warm at Peter. He presses down on a couple areas and they must be bruised, because they make Peter wince.

Tony looks down at him sympathetically, tightening his grip around Peter’s (also bruised) hand. “I’m going to make you a suit entirely out of bubble wrap.”

“That’s not cool. I can’t swing around New York looking like a marshmallow.”

“It’s better than having you bedridden, Peter. You could have gotten even more hurt than you already are!” Tony’s voice seems to rise without him meaning to. “Sorry, I just- I can’t look at you like this. I don’t like it.” He pauses. “I can’t, I-I don’t want that on my conscious. Not again. Not you, Pete.” He breaks eye contact with Peter.

There’s no words he can say to make this better, but Peter also can’t move, seeing as Bruce has to restrain him to change his bandages so that Peter doesn’t unintentionally break the railings in the middle of the pain.

So, to say the least, it’s awkward when he says, “Sorry, Mr. Stark, I-uh-I really am. Honestly. I can’t really, uh, move, but like, would you mind a hug?”

The corners of Tony’s lips turn upwards just the slightest, and he lets Peter pull him closer with the hand he’s already holding, and they somehow make it work.

Peter can smell Tony’s shampoo and Tony’s holding him real tight, and it just. Feels really good. It seems to help Tony ease off the stress he’s under, too, because he closes his eyes against Peter’s neck and Peter can feel his eyelashes.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark, I’m sorry. I hope you’re okay,” he whispers.

“It’s okay, bud. I’m okay, I just, I-I get worried about you.”

The hug lasts for a long time, and Peter’s world mends itself slowly, piece by piece.

[deepdisireslonging]

Family Found Part 22: A Turn of Events

In Australia, the Shield fights for their right to branch out, and Finn makes Kevin pay for his interference earlier in the week. On Monday, Y/N worries about the attendance of Stephanie McMahon and if her new role is already at an end.

Warnings/Promises: wrestling violence

Word Count: 3585

Note: I looked over “Long Time No See” and had to laugh. There were only four plot points to hit in that chapter. This one has nine, but a bunch of detail points. And it was barely over 1000 words. I am so sorry, babes. This has gotten so exciting and complicated and I hope it is keeping you entertained. Please let me know if it is. The tag list is open, and so are my requests. Enjoy!

Part 1: Welcome to the Team 

Part 21: Your Catastrophe

Super Show-Down – October 6, 2018 – Melbourne, Australia

Australia’s pay-per-view was defined by its vengeance matches. From AJ Style’s bitter match against Samoa Joe, to the Undertaker versus Triple H for the ‘last time’, the fights were for more than the usual glory. There was more at stake. Honor. Legacy. And revenge.

The Shield’s match fell into this third category.

While the aesthetics of their styles didn’t match, the rage-set faces as the Shield entered were the same. Jinder Mahal towered over his teammates, Konnor and Viktor of the Ascension. They lined up across the ring to stand a mere half-meter away from Roman, Dean, and Seth. The referee desperately kept himself between them, impatiently waiting for the bell.

Jinder stayed in the ring. Since he was due to fight Seth on Monday, Roman and Dean kept their brother out of the ring and Roman stepped up. The following bout was similar to their previous collisions, but Roman had more to achieve this time. The more he did to Jinder tonight, the less his brother had to deal within a few days. Jinder eventually escaped this and tagged in Konnor.

Then it was Dean’s turn to step up. He met the man muscle for muscle and growl for growl. He got trapped in their corner where the Ascention took turns tagging in each other and attacking Dean until he was a huddled mass in the corner. Viktor pulled him to his feet and was going to do more, but Dean shoved him to the center of the ring and took the upper hand. It was a terrible mirroring of actions as then the whole Shield took turns stomping and breaking Viktor down.

The exchanges and tag continued, bringing the match to the inevitable. Seth had to face Jinder with more than that night on the line. They gave the crowd a preview of their match a few days away, minus the no disqualification stipulation. A stipulation Seth was more than ready for, but nearly cost him the match. Jinder laughed. He was more than happy to be a punching bag in Australia if Seth was going to exhaust himself.

In the end, it didn’t come down to them. Dean tagged himself in and Jinder tagged in Konnor. The Lunatic Fringe jumped from their corner onto his opponent’s entrance into the ring and quickly brought the match to a close.

***

When Finn Balor’s music hit, Kevin Owens began to doubt himself. Maybe he should have let Mojo Rawley win, or at least do more against Finn himself. Then he could have challenged a weakened version of either instead of heading into what was sure to be a torturous affair. The title wasn’t even on the line. It was a payback match.

He wasn’t far off. Finn was determined to make Kevin pay for interfering. He wasn’t mad on behalf of Mojo’s chance; he was more pissed off of receiving an easy win due to Kevin’s meddling. With a roar, he made the first attack. Kevin could barely turn around in the ring without getting hit or sling bladed or drop kicked. And if he did catch Finn, a uranage quickly had him rolling for the ropes.

On the floor, Kevin caught his breath. Then he caught Finn’s boot before it could collide with his face. Out of muscle memory, he swept Finn’s legs out from under him and sent him crashing onto the apron, and then to the floor. He stared down in shock. Then grabbed Finn around the neck and tossed him into the ring. He couldn’t pause. Wouldn’t stop moving. If keeping Finn off his feet was his only plan, Kevin was going to do that with everything he had.

Two. Two and a half. Two and three-quarters. Kevin’s actions were wearing down the Universal champion. For a second, he considered what it would mean if he won the match.

A mistake.

Fin took the split of Kevin’s focus and won back the upper hand. A few minutes later, Kevin was pinned for the count and then glaring at him from the floor. Finn just held his title high and grinned.

***

***

Monday Night Raw – October 8, 2018 – Rosemont, IL

At the beginning of the show, Dean bumped into you struggling to tape your hands. You had found a punching bag that the roster sometimes used to get pumped up. At the moment, you wanted to use it to evade the fear crouching up.

“Need some help?” he asked. Without really waiting for an answer, he took your hand and the tape and started to wrap it properly. Occasionally he glanced up at your face. You were looking to one side of his actions. “What’s on your mind?”

“So many things,” you whispered.

Dean dropped your hand and tapped your shoulder for the other one. “Spill. You can’t hit anything yet, so you might as well tell me.”

“Stephanie’s here tonight,” you let slip. He grunted, not surprised. “When she called last week, I thought she was going to fire me. Now I’m afraid she’s going to do it in person. And maybe in front of the whole WWE Universe.”

Dropping your other hand, Dean moved to stand behind the punching bag. “Keep going.”

You weakly punched the bag. “I know I said I didn’t want this job,” you paused to hit the bag again, “but now that I’m in it… I like it.” While you let your thoughts flow out, you alternated left and right punches, punctuated with the occasional kick. “Making the matches. Wondering how the titles are going to change hands. The uncertainty doesn’t frighten me as much as I thought it would. I like the ‘what if.’” You stopped and leaned against the wall. “Is that weird? To change my mind like that?”

“Nope. Come on, keep working on your combinations.”

With a sigh that barely hid a smirk, you turned back to the bag. “But now Stephanie is here and she’s going to take that away. Or at least I think she is.”

Dean nodded. “That’s how she works. Make’s you think the worst, then drops something totally different on you. I may not like her methods, but she’s not stupid. She knows who’s actually running Raw.”

Panting, you stopped. “I hope you’re right.” With a smile, you looked down at your hands. “Thanks for taping me up.”

“Anytime, Ladybug. Anytime.”

***

Kevin had taken over the ring. He was smugly looking over the crowd, mic at his side, planning his next words carefully. The crowd stopped booing him just enough to hear what he had to say.

“I almost beat Finn Balor in Australia. You can’t deny it. Finn can’t deny it. Those last counts I had over him were milliseconds away from finished. If the ref had done his job and counted at the right speed, I would probably be number one contender for the Universal right now.” The crowd restarted their disagreement. He talked over them. “But, I’m going to overlook that. Finn Balor has shown himself to be a… fair wrestler. Even if he gives way to demonic possession to ensure a win, he knows talent when he sees it.”

The stage was taken over by black and silver light. Finn walked out and cocked his head at Kevin. “You’re right, I know talent when I see it. But what I don’t see, is why you’re out here, Kevin. We’ve had our match. And I beat you.”

“Just barely. By milliseconds.”

“But I still beat you,” Finn smirked.

Kevin sputtered. “I get it. You’re still tired from our match. I’m no spring daisy either, but we are not done. Think about it, Finn. TLC is just a few weeks away. You want to give the WWE Universe what it wants. You want to impress them, make them happy. I may not agree why you even bother, but I think we could put on the match that could have happened two years ago if you had been able to stay after Summer Slam.”

Finn licked his lips, intrigued. “You think we still would have collided at TLC… in 2016?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kevin knew he had him.

“And you think you could have beaten the Demon back then and won the Universal Champion. You’ve used this argument before, Kevin. But,” he rubbed at his chin, “I have to admit you’ve framed it in a new way. I kinda want to see it. The only problem is… I originally planned to have that rematch with Mojo tonight.”

He would have said more, but Mojo rushed out within a few seconds of his music playing. “No. No. Kevin, stay out of this. You’ve had your chance. Lost it. Now move over. It’s my game now. Finn, we had a bargain.” He moved forward and grabbed Finn by the lapels of his jacket.

Out of breath from running from the back of the arena, you rushed out onto the stage to separate them. “Wait, wait, wait.” The two men backed away; Finn frowned at your taped hand on his chest. You quickly removed it and thought quick. “How about this: tonight, Mojo you face Kevin Owens in a number one contender’s match. If you win, you face Finn for that rematch next week. If you lose, you have to wait until TLC to try for the title. And it’ll be a true TLC match with tables, ladders, and chairs. Mr. Owens, that works for you too. A title shot next week, or at TLC like you were asking. The only downside to this is either way, Finn, you would be defending your title just a few days apart.”

Finn chuckled. “I’m a fightin’ champion. It’s part of the business.”

“Okay then.” You let out the breath you’d been holding. “So, it’s settled? Let me call a ref.”

***

A commercial break later, Mojo and Kevin were duking it out. Either way, they were going to win an opportunity. At first, you were afraid that it would be short because all Mojo had to do to get what he wanted was win. And Kevin had to lose to go to TLC. But as the match progressed, you figured out that Mojo could be patient for one more week if it meant a pay-per-view match. It was something he had not had in a while.

It was a strange, calculated match. Had you had more time to think, maybe the person who won tonight should have gone to TLC. It was too late for that. As a result, Kevin had plenty of time to recover when Mojo pushed his limits already strained by Saturday. Mojo could plan how he was going to hit Kevin next and hit him hard.

Mojo ran out of patience. He wanted the title now, so he upped his attack. Kevin did try to make it out of the pins a few times, but the last one came after a Hyperdrive. He could barely breathe, much less kick out.

Finn nodded backstage while watching Mojo’s hand be raised. He’d be ready for him next week.

***

In compliance with Natalya’s championship tournament schedule, the third match for the fatal four-way spot was between Bayley and Alicia Fox. They were cordial to each other, even bumping each other’s fists before really getting into the match.

Bayley had been toughened by the last several months. She used that to quickly rush Alicia into the ropes. But she had not lost herself, so she backed off before the ref made it too far into the count.

Hesitantly, Alicia detangled herself and stepped back towards the center of the ring. She met Bayley in a lock of strength, overpowering her.

It was back and forth for most of the match. One would gain the upper hand, then would lose control. Alicia’s northern light suplexes matched flip for flip with Bayley to bellies. In the end, Bayley had worked so much damage into Alicia’s ribcage, that Alicia was unable to hold a suplex form and tipped over. The hugger swooped in and won the pin, and her chance for the Raw Women’s Title.

Backstage, Natalya watched the end of the match with Rhonda. Neither seemed worried, though Rhonda took note of how Bayley had changed even since she had arrived to WWE.

***

You walked with hesitant steps towards Stephanie McMahon as she talked with a cluster of techies. “Ms. McMahon?”

With a grin, she waved the group away and turned to you. “You don’t have to be so formal, Y/N.”

“Ms. Stephanie?”

“Less than that.”

“Stephanie.” It felt weird to call your boss by her first name. But you had a mission to get to. “I’m going to cut to it; I think we should bring up the last match for the women’s fatal four-way to tonight.”

Her eyebrows shot up, but her head tilted in consideration. “Why do you say that?”

“As it stands, we have the Universal and the Intercontinental titles being defended at TLC. In a few minutes, there’s going to be a match for the tag team titles, which will probably lead to Curtis Axel and Bo Dallas accepting the challenge at TLC. That leaves just the Raw Women’s Championship. Why not make TLC a full championship set?” You dug your fingernails into your palm as she thought about it.

She nodded but frowned. “I thought the four-way was going to be a ladder match. Is that going to change too?”

“No, I think it should still be a ladder match. If Natalya agrees to let it go for a bit, I think the title hanging above the ring will make it intense and main-event worthy. The universe won’t be robbed, and it will be kind of like practice to whoever wins.” you added. “It is TLC, after all.”

Stephanie nodded again, smiling this time. “You are absolutely right, Y/N.” She patted your shoulder. “Good work.”

When she left, you breathed a sigh of relief.

***

Dean was more than ready for his and Roman’s match. If they won tonight, they’d be the number one contenders for the Raw Tag Team Titles. He paced furiously as he waited for Titus and Apollo Creed to make up their minds who was going to fight first. Who was going to face him. He laughed with Roman as they resorted to a quick rock-paper-scissors decision. Apollo it was. And Dean was ready. He bounced over, immediately reaching up to test Apollo’s grip. Then he swung in for everything he could to get Apollo on his knees and keep him there to wear him down. While he was dragging him to tag with Roman, Apollo escaped and ran to tag in Titus.

No matter. Roman eagerly accepted the tag. He repeatedly took the leader down to the mat, noting how Dana wasn’t there to take notes. None of his business; there was a match to win.

The Shield brothers had it in the bag. Their opponents were getting sluggish in their kick-outs. And tagging each other only seemed to hype them up.

Then Viktor and Konnor came out. They didn’t get in the ring. They stayed outside and distracted the guys while Titus, the legal man, sucked in enough oxygen to pull Dean into the center of the ring behind Roman’s back and pin him. Then he rolled out as fast as he could to escape the livid Ambrose. Apollo met him on the outside, not happy how they had won. Titus promised to discuss it later. They left without looking at the Ascension. Instead, keeping their focus on Dean and Roman in the ring as they took their retribution from their former opponents from Sunday.

***

The final match for the women’s fatal four-way did not end fair either.

You weren’t sure what Natalya had thought was going to happen when she scheduled Alexa Bliss and Sasha Banks to fight. Both women were known for giving their all for opportunities. This was no exception. Several times the ref had to physically pull one woman off the other to prevent a disqualification. There was nothing either woman was willing to do to ensure her spot.

Everything came to a head when Mickie got involved. While Alexa was complaining to the ref about an imaginary injury, Mickie climbed up onto the apron. Sasha mocked her saying, “oh, are you two back together again? How sweet.”

“At least I’ve got someone.”

Sasha rushed towards her and was promptly folded over the ropes. She fell back, then fought to stumble to her feet. Knowing Alexa, she would be ready with an attack. Sasha’s focus on where Alexa had been was too low. The ref moved out of the way as Alexa jumped and took Sasha out with a twisted Bliss. Mickie joined her, and they worked together to push Sasha out of the ring. They thought it was over.

Mickie fell forward. Alexa turned just in time to see the Raw Women’s Title rushing towards her face before it made contact. She dropped and curled into a ball next to her partner.

Natalya stood over them. “The pieces have been set,” she said. She walked to the corner of the ring and climbed the ropes. With the bodies of Alexa and Mickie still on the ground behind her, she lifted her title high.

***

For being the main event, the match was short between Jinder and Seth. Just ten minutes into what was supposed to be determining who went to TLC for the Intercontinental, you thought the show was going to end on time for once.

Jinder had over pushed himself on Sunday night. He had been so focused on maiming Seth earlier, he hadn’t taken into account how much that would take out of himself. Then he remembered it was a no disqualification match. Mentally he made a note to thank Baron. He rolled out and grabbed a chair from under the ring. Practice for TLC, he thought.

Seth was not amused. While Jinder tried to reenter the ring with his newly-found weapon, he snatched it out of his hands and tossed it away. He didn’t need it to beat Jinder. He didn’t need a chair to get what he wanted. Instead, he used his quick thinking and movements around the ring. It took Jinder a lot of energy to catch up with him, and he was rarely rewarded with keeping Seth down.

At one point the chair had come back into play. Jinder had it raised and Seth nearly ran into it but ducked at the last second. With a series of blows, he made Jinder drop his weapon. In a few more he had him staggering and in prime position for a blackout. Seth didn’t mind using the chair then since Jinder had fought so hard to include it in the match.

One, two, three. Seth was going to TLC’s ladder match against Elias, Dolph Ziggler, and Drew McIntrye.

***

Stephanie called you to the office. When you arrived, Corbin was standing to one side with a smirk on his face and his arms crossed across his chest. Her words made your heart drop to your shoes.

“What I have to say, is hard.” She gave you a sympathetic look, then turned her attention to Baron. “I never thought I could have been so wrong.”

Baron shook his head. “Wait, what?”

It was Stephanie’s turn to cross her arms. “I chose you because I thought you could live up to the ideals of how my husband and I have run this place. And I thought that since you had been in the business, that would give you the advantage over Kurt’s pick.” She talked over her shoulder at you. “No offense, Y/N. And nothing personal, just manager rivalry.”

“None taken,” you managed.

He sputtered and growled, “what did I do? I did everything I could to give your wrestlers their best chances.”

“Bull.”

You both fought not to gasp in this serious turn of events.

“Last week you did nothing but stir up more trouble for your peers, Y/N and the roster alike. Then this week,” she tsked, “while I was here to make some final decisions, you did nothing while chaos almost broke out at the beginning of the show. Y/N was the one who stopped it. Y/N was the one who made the match between Mojo and Kevin, and it turned out great. Y/N was the one who thought ahead and rearranged the matches so that another title could be defended at TLC. And where were you? In the office texting me hundreds of messages about how much you had done for WWE and the show. I didn’t see a smidgen of evidence of anything you said.”

You found your voice. “So… what are your saying?”

“I’m saying that Baron will not be managing with you next week, or at TLC. And there will be serious consequences if he interferes in your work like he did last week. It’s not final,” she hastily added, silencing Baron, “I want to see what you can do totally on your own knowing that you are being observed. Which was your grievance with last time, I think.”

You fell back to stabilize yourself on a wall. “Yes, ma’am.”

Stephanie fought a grin. “Just Stephanie. I wish you the best of luck, Y/N.” She glared at Baron one more time, then left the room before you could thank her.

 {If you guys could give me a little feedback: do you want more or less descriptions of matches? I’ve tried to keep it minimal for the most part due to writing time, but even then I feel like they tend to drag. Would you prefer just to know the match and the outcome, or do you like the details? I’d still include such things as interferences. Please let me know with comments/reblogs/private messages. Thank you so much!}

  Part 23: Sunday is Set

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[dollofdeath]

Long Dream [3/7]

Series: Joker Game

Characters: Hatano/Jitsui

Rating: PG (for Hatano’s language lol)

Summary: Hatano wasn’t one to read shoujo manga, but there was something familiar about this mangaka named Kunio.

Words: 3798

Notes: Modern AU/Reincarnation AU; Spin off to Déjà Vu (KamiMiyo); Implied child abuse; I-It’s certainly been a while, huh ;; Life’s been really tiring and hectic, but I’m not gonna abandon this fic!! I’m slowly going at it, but it will be done! ( •̀ᄇ• ́)ﻭ✧ 

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | You can read this on AO3! Thank you guys for reading, and I hope you enjoy it~! ^o^)/

Ch. 3 - Hatano II: Have You Forgotten Something Important?

Some nights, Hatano dreamed of blurry figures and murky surroundings, of faded images and fleeting impressions; the sounds were too garbled together to distinguish a single voice, and even he didn't feel like he was truly in his body.

Other nights were slightly better. Of course, he still couldn't quite get a full grasp on his dreams, but he could at least tell human from table and hear the voices more clearly. Still, it felt like he was watching the scene through frosted glass.

Tonight was one such night, where the memory played more smoothly than others (though it wasn't like it mattered, since it escaped his mind like sand streaming through his fingers once he woke up).

Soreness ran throughout his body, but it was the good kind of sore one got after a workout. As he sat now, the fatigue was just enough to overcome any nerves he'd been feeling. To his right, he could hear the other trainees chattering about, but not enough to make out their words. In other dreams, he remembered that alone would create that damn anxiousness, but tonight, it was more comforting if anything.

His solitude, however, was broken with a clink of a bourbon bottle. Looking up, Hatano saw that familiar black hair and polite smile he'd grown used to seeing, yet the rest of the features were too blurred to make out. Jitsui's lips moved, yet no sound came out just as usual.

"You're -- the others?"

Despite not making complete sense of the words, Hatano shrugged as if he knew the script by heart.

"Don't feel like kicking their asses any further; just wouldn't be fair to them."

Indeed, he recalled the training session they had earlier that day. While he managed to pass all of their training sessions, physical combat was his domain. Most of the others had long learned not to underestimate him just because of his stature, but there was always a rush of pride he got whenever he managed to take everyone down with ease.

Jitsui's shoulders shook slightly, as if chuckling as he uncapped the bottle.

"-- didn't strike me --"

Hatano snorted.

"Wouldn't say that exactly. Everyone else just needs to step their game up."

"Even me?"

Such words coming from Jitsui combined with that smile of his, especially when he couldn't hear his voice, normally would've sent chills down his spine -- a threat of sorts, a promise that he wouldn't see tomorrow. But somehow, Hatano found himself matching Jitsui's smile, a fluttery feeling growing in his stomach that set off warning bells in his head. But he ignored them, just as he did whenever his heart and mind clashed.

"You're not half bad.”

This time, Jitsui really laughed and Hatano wished he could hear it for himself.

"What a --"

"Don't let it get your head now, 'kay?" Despite his words, Hatano found his smile growing.

"Of course --" Jitsui held out a glass of bourbon towards him, having filled the two glasses during their conversation. "-- a drink?"

"...You celebrating something?" Hatano asked.

It was Jitsui's turn to shrug.

"You -- today." Jitsui smiled, genuine and warm, causing the fluttering in his stomach to explode. "Think of it as a reward of sorts."

"It's no big deal," Hatano said, but took the glass nonetheless after a moment's hesitation. "But thanks."

Taking a sip, Hatano looked away from Jitsui just to calm the tremors that threatened to overtake his body. He hadn't meant to get attached, not even considering that fact that he wasn't supposed to get attached to anyone in the first place. And knowing what their job entailed for them, he refused to get any closer. But for now -- just for now -- sitting next to Jitsui was good enough for him.

As much as he denied it, anxiety was a feeling Hatano was all too familiar with. Like that anxiety you get before placing your order at McDonald's and you end up saying "Big Mac, have can I, hi?" instead of "Hi, can I have a Big Mac?" or when you accidentally rope yourself into something you didn't want to do because you couldn't say "no."

Or like when you're waiting for a reply from someone and no matter how much you tell yourself not to think about it, it's all you can think about and you keep switching back and forth between tabs every 0.00005 milliseconds.

It couldn't have been longer than five minutes since he messaged Kunio but it felt like he'd been waiting for Jitsui to come back from the war for the past seventy-seven years. Without thinking, he began petting Yoru; anything to keep his hands busy, so he wouldn't end up tap, tap, tapping his fingers against his laptop or staring at the screen as if to will a message to pop up. It managed to do the trick, since he no longer felt the need to throw himself down the fire escape outside his room.

But of course it was then that he got a new message.

Yoru hissed and Hatano looked down, not realizing he'd grabbed onto a fistful of Yoru's fur.

"Shit, sorry," he said, letting go immediately. Perhaps to delay checking the message, he rubbed the area he'd grabbed. In the meantime, his eyes drifted back towards the screen where the notification stared right at him. Try as he might to keep himself calm, nothing could stop his heart from pounding against his chest.

He'd have to read it sooner or later, he figured. So with shaky hands, he moved his cursor over his DMs and opened up his chat with Kunio.

Sorry, I'm afraid there are no plans for that. I can offer you an autograph instead!

Hatano blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And then he slapped his hands against his face.

"God dammit." His nails dug into his forehead, where he felt another headache coming on. "I'm so fucking stupid..."

Rubbing his head against his side, Yoru meowed, which helped soothe Hatano a bit. Even then, he kept his eyes shut because he didn't want to keep reading the message over and over again. Soon, the pain from his nails was almost enough to mitigate that of his headache.

"I mean, it was dumb to think this guy was Jitsui." He paused, now massaging his nose bridge. "If it were really him, he'd recognize me... wouldn't he?"

Yoru's head tilted as he let out a meow.

"’Kay... but then what if he doesn't remember --"

Another meow.

"But --"

A bip this time. Hatano huffed, slowly letting go of his head.

"A'ight... you have a point."

He took a deep breath, gripping onto the sides of his laptop. If it was really Jitsui on the other end, it was possible he was acting in order to keep up appearances. It most likely wasn't his private account so if others saw his messages, it'd be strange to act too familiar. And besides, he could track down the address if he received something from Kunio. It may not lead him to Jitsui directly, but it would be a start.

Sure. Hatano typed. That's cool.

Hitting enter, he bit his lip. Maybe that was too casual? He shouldn't be acting overly familiar either as well, now that he thought about it. A simple “That's all right” would've worked better probably. If only there were an edit function, or a delete function, or a delete-his-existence function, or --

May I have your name? was the next message.

His breathing hitched. “It's me, you dumb fuck!” was what he wanted to write, but Hatano knew that wouldn't get him very far. Instead, he sent, Ryousuke. Ryousuke Hatano.

Okay, maybe that was too blunt. It wouldn't have hurt to have been a bit more tactful with his words rather than just throwing his name out there like some kinda Edge Lord.

And may I have your address?

He wasn't as caught off guard by this message, but his mouth went dry. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, trying to come up with the best way to phrase it. It was just an address, but he didn't want to accidentally say something weird or anything.

Of course . He typed with shaky fingers. My ad

"Hatano!"

Hatano's fingers froze, his head snapping towards the hallway. A quick glance towards the clock told him it was about time his dad got home and shit , he didn't do any of the errands he was supposed to do. Of course it all came rushing back to him now of all times.

"Yeah?" He called back out, trying to keep his voice as even as possible.

He waited, but this wait was filled with with a pit of dread growing in his stomach. Seconds ticked by and he heaved a sigh, knowing that passive-aggressive silence his dad gave him whenever he wasn't happy. He looked between the chat and the hallway, debating whether or not he should finish up his message first. Still, he didn't want to keep his dad waiting any longer.

"Watch this." He told Yoru, setting his laptop to the side. Mentally, physically, and emotionally bracing himself for dealing with his dad, Hatano got up. He'd get what he needed to do done and return quickly. After all, this wasn't a matter he couldn't just leave hanging.

The itchiness in Hatano's head had been bothering him for the past three days, the same one where he felt like he was forgetting something but couldn't place what . Amari always told him not to think too hard about it -- that it'll come back to him eventually. But Amari didn't know how it felt like having literal gaping holes in his memories, and how much he'd give to just remember something trivial. Even now as he sat in his lecture, the annoying feeling didn't subside and it was even more irritating combined with the dull pounding in his forehead. The professor droning on and on and on in a monotone voice didn't help either.

Rather than taking notes, he doodled on the pages of his notebook to help take his mind off the feeling. A doodle of Birdzaki sat on the bottom of the page, followed by Yoru sprawled out over the page, and eventually he started drawing a figure on the side. Hatano had only managed to outline the body before pausing, his brows furrowing. There was someone he wanted to draw, but he wasn't quite sure how to go about it. The person's hair was short and black, but he couldn't quite recall the style. And the eyes -- what shape were they? What color were they? He dropped his pen in frustration as faded images of his dreams came to mind, a searing feeling growing on his left wrist.

His phone buzzed then, and wanting something to distract him, Hatano checked his messages.

He couldn't help but snort, earning him some looks from his classmates. Giving them a half-hearted bow of the head, he sent a "HOLY SHIT" to Amari and opened up a new message to Kaminaga.

Figuring Kaminaga was still unconscious or something, he set his phone down. He rested his chin on the palm of his hand and picked up his pen again, ready to continue doodling because it wasn't like the lecture was getting any more interesting. But as the pen tip touched the paper, he found himself unable to draw. The faceless figure seemed to be looking back at him as he looked down at it with a disgruntled expression. His mind drifted off to the characters of Jitsui's name written on his wrist, but his phone buzzed again, cutting his thoughts short.

When it took Kaminaga more than a minute to respond, Hatano had expected a very annoyed message. Instead, what he got was that Oddly Distant Kaminaga.

Hatano's finger hovered the keyboard, unsure of what to say. After some consideration, he sent his reply.

Briefly, Hatano looked over to the figure he'd been drawing. That burning feeling in his wrist refused to die down, the itch in his head couldn't scratch only intensified, and his slight headache was becoming more than slight. There was something he was forgetting...

And then it hit him.

He bit his lip to prevent another outburst, "Shit!" on the tip of his tongue. Closing his chat with Kaminaga, he opened up the Twitter app. His foot tapped against the floor as he waited for it and he practically slammed his DMs once it loaded. There on top of his conversations was the one with Kunio; the last message had been sent by Kunio three days ago.

Any other person would've opened it up with little hesitation, but Hatano couldn't bring himself to do it. It'd been three days. Three whole days he’d left the message unanswered, having crashed right after doing all his chores then. He'd probably look like a dumbass if he responded now, or just piss Kunio off for replying so late. He wouldn't even be surprised if he'd been bothering him when he first contacted him.

Hatano very nearly exited the app. True, he didn't know if it was truly Jitsui on the other end -- and chances were it wasn't Jitsui. He'd maybe get that autograph and the novelty of it would wear off in a couple of days and his life would continue as normal, whatever "normal" was. It'd be an incident he looked back on a few years from now and die from embarrassment at the mere thought of it, thinking that he'd actually believed some mangaka he liked was the same guy who was... important to him once.

But nonetheless, Hatano opened up the chat with Kunio because chances were that it was Jitsui. After all, if Kaminaga had seen Miyoshi after years of believing he wasn't around, Jitsui might've been there the whole time. Besides, Hatano would only hate himself even more if he didn't take the chance; he couldn't deny that he often wondered about their past and what could've been.

Hey. He typed, hating how long it took him to write a simple greeting. Sorry for the late response. Here’s my address

After typing in his address and checking over his message about fifty times, he sent it and quickly locked his phone, not wanting to stress himself out any further by staring a hole into his screen. Still, there was little else he could do to distract himself. The girl to his left gave him a weird look for bouncing his leg so much, so all he could really do was twirl his pen around in his fingers. Thankfully (or maybe not so thankfully), his phone buzzed with a Twitter notification. With only a moment's hesitation, he opened it.

No worries! It'll be there in two to three business days. Hopefully it's not too long a wait, but think of it as a reward of sorts (bunny emoji)

Hatano squinted at the message, reading it over and over and over again. There was something familiar about the words, but he that wasn't where his concern laid. That was it? He waited a couple more seconds, expecting something along the lines of "lol jk" but nothing came. That was it.

He probably looked like a fool right now, what with the grin growing on his face, but he didn’t care about what other people thought. All the tension that'd built up in his body for the past couple of days dissipated and his head felt a lot more lighter. This was one step closer to Jitsui, one step closer to figuring everything out ( if it was Jitsui, the rational side of himself reminded him).

Knowing he definitely couldn't afford to forget this time around, he took out of of his many post it notes and wrote a reminder to himself. But that still wasn't enough, he thought; it looked just like all the other reminders he forgot about. So, he took out one of his highlighters (courtesy of Amari because "all good students have highlighters!") and circled it three times. Then he drew arrows pointing towards it. And just for good measure, he wrote "DON'T FORGET THIS U FUCKING DUMBASS" at the top.

Tacking it onto his phone, Hatano let out a relieved sigh. Two to three business days. He could survive until then.

Usually Hatano couldn't give two shits about the mail, since it was all junk and he didn't get anything anyways, but the mailbox was his new favorite spot in the upcoming days. Every time he came home, he made sure to check it and it was a plus because he didn't have to hear his dad throw a hissy fit over not getting the mail. But even if he knew he shouldn't expect something immediately, that didn't stop the feeling of disappointment that rose up every time he found nothing for him.

When Hatano went to check the mail on the third day, he'd nearly went into cardiac arrest. The mailbox was empty, and checking his phone, he knew it was past the time the mailman came around. There was nothing for him dumped in the Wrong Mailbox Pile either, much to his dismay. Thinking that the mailman might've been late today, he stuck around the lobby for a bit. Yet, thirty minutes had passed and there was no sign of the mailman. Trying to reassure himself that nothing was wrong, he decided to head on home.

Following his typical routine, he closed the door behind him and kicked his shoes off. But as he opened his mouth to announce his return, he spotted some envelopes on the table. With the words dying on his tongue, he scrambled towards the letters and picked them up.

A bill, another bill, some kinda ad, this one wasn't even for them -- one by one, his hope died with each letter that wasn't addressed to him.

"Welcome home."

Hatano nearly dropped the mail in surprise, looking over to see his dad enter the living room. His face held a sour expression as he walked towards the kitchen, his suit attire disheveled. The tone of his voice was the opposite of welcoming though, more of a reprimand for not minding his manners.

"I'm home," Hatano said curtly, trying to keep himself together.

"You expecting something?" Had someone else been listening on, it would seem like a father trying to be more involved with his son's life, but Hatano didn't miss the annoyance that seeped through his tone.

"Nothing," Hatano said, as he put the pile back down because nothing was exactly what he found. "Just wondering, 'cause I checked the mail when I got home but the mailbox was empty."

His dad grunted, picking an ice bag from the freezer.

"Yeah, picked it up when I got home," he said as he held the ice bag to his head.

Hatano let out a hum, just to let his dad know he heard him. Unfortunately, it seemed like his dad wasn't finished yet.

"You didn't do what I asked you to do."

Hatano furrowed his brows, trying to rack through his memory for anything his dad may have told him -- which was pretty broad in and of itself in the first place. Regardless, he couldn't really come up with anything.

"I didn't...?" Hatano asked, carefully as if treading on thin ice. He didn't want to piss his dad off any further.

His dad exhaled sharply. Hatano hated the way he backed up instinctively.

"I told you to clean the house yesterday."

The order sounded vaguely familiar. And if he was remembering correctly, "yesterday" was more like "last night" just before going to bed.

"Well, sorry then," Hatano said, trying to placate his dad if nothing else. "I'll get to it."

"You better," his dad said. "I don't ask much from y'know? I work my ass off to support you, the least you can do are some chores."

He'd heard that whole spiel time and time again, enough times that he just accepted it for what it was and didn't bother arguing anymore. Sighing, he nodded his head.

"I know, I know. Just --"

The doorbell rang and Hatano started towards the door.

"I'll get that --"

"No," his dad said. "I'll get it, you do what I told you to do."

"You sure?"

" Now. "

Despite how much he wanted to protest, Hatano went off to his room without another word. Even if he'd gotten used to this, that didn't stop him from feeling drained every time it happened. Still, he listened to his dad, because he didn't want to deal with the consequences of not listening to him. For the moment, he busied himself with finding a medical mask, or else he'd sneeze up a storm the rest of the day. Now if only he could find where he kept them.

As he rummaged through his room, something bumped against him. Glancing over, Hatano saw Yoru looking up at him, his ears swiveled.

"Not now."

Yoru meowed, his tail slowly swaying back and forth.

"Not now , Yoru."

His meowing growing inconsistent, Yoru pawed at his ankles.

"I said not now!"

A heavy stillness settled in as he and Yoru stared at each other. Yoru was the first to break the tension with a slow blink, to which Hatano took a deep breath and let it out. It wasn't the first time he'd snapped, but he hated it, especially since Yoru didn't deserve being on the receiving end of his frustrations. The fur ball was the only thing keeping him sane in this house, if he had to be honest. Kneeling, Hatano rubbed the underside of Yoru's chin.

"Sorry 'bout that."

In response, Yoru nuzzled his chin against his palm; a small smile grew on Hatano's  face as Yoru purred. The moment of relief, however, was cut short when he heard something slam shut outside.

"...Is everything all right?" Hatano called out to his dad, after a moment's hesitation.

"Yeah." A pause. "Just some shithead."

Not bothering to respond back, Hatano continued petting Yoru in the meantime. It was odd since they didn't receive much visitors -- none at all, really. Not even his friends risked it, not after his dad exploded on them for coming over. Neither he nor his dad order anything, so it couldn't be a delivery man. A tiny hope he had, as foolish as it was, was that it might've been Jitsui at the door. But even he knew the likelihood of that was near to none. Whatever, he decided, it was of no concern to him.

For now, he just needed to focus on getting by, even if just barely. But still, no matter how much he denied it, there was a still a small part of him that was hoping, wishing, for some kinda sign.