#just gotta cut down on other spendings which I could manage I think

[hotgirlmoment]

been working out so much lately and it makes me feel great :3

[somethinginthewayiam]

The girl behind the bar (Part 5.1)

pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x plus-size reader

warnings: banter, weather storm

words: 3k

Summary: You're on a date at a diner when none other that Jake Hangman Seresin of all people walks in there. And it seems like his greatest joy is to interrupt your date...

a/n: Part 5 as a whole was probably my favorite part to write, especially Part 5.2 which you can look forward to. Hope you like this one as well!

Link to my masterlist

You looked out of the window of the Diner, watching the rain pouring down outside. They said there was a storm coming, but you didn’t think it would hit tonight. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have agreed to go on this date.

Your gaze wandered back to the guy opposite you, still talking. He probably didn’t even notice that you weren’t paying attention to what he was saying. He seemed nice at the bar when he asked you out, but he turned out to be a wanna-be hedge fund manager, rambling on about his job not asking you a single question. It was like it was clear to him that only he had something interesting to say. The “interesting” part was debatable, though.

You wished you hadn’t agreed to this date at all, didn’t matter the weather. And now you’re sitting here, getting your ear talked off by this random dude, the storm was getting stronger and since he had picked you up at your apartment, you could either spend 40$ on a cab that you didn’t have or you had to sit this out and wait to be driven home. To think you had spent two hours in the bathroom getting ready, putting on make-up, curling your hair and squeezing yourself in a tight pair of jeans and a low-cut top. You sighed deeply and poked around in your food. This night couldn’t get any worse…

Well, yes it could. When you looked up, you spotted a familiar face at the register in the entrance area of the Diner. Just when you spotted him, he spotted you as well. Hangman’s face lit up when he noticed that you were on a date and that you looked miserable.

He finished placing his order and then he actually came over to you. “You gotta be kidding me”, you mumbled under your breath. That’s when your date finally stopped talking and looked at you irritated. “Is something wrong?”, he asked completely clueless what was coming down the aisle.

“Y/N? As I live and breathe”, Hangman exaggerated when he arrived at your table. “Jake”, you said unimpressed, fearing for the worst. “What are you doing here?”, you asked him through gritted teeth. “Had a late workout. Gotta keep this body in his prime shape”, he told you and rubbed over his flat stomach. That gesture had you looking him up and done. He was wearing a dark pair of chinos, a white t-shirt and a black jacket.

You didn’t even try to hide it when you rolled your eyes at him. “Picking up some food to take home”, he continued. “Great! Then go home. No one’s keeping you”, you told him and nodded towards the front.

Your date cleared his throat and only now Jake seemed to notice him. “Y/N, are you on a date?”, he asked with a cheeky grin, like he didn’t already know it. “Yes, and we would appreciate it if you would let us get back to it”, you told him and shot him angry glances, trying to make him go away.

“Don’t you want to introduce us first?”, Hangman suggested. “Not really”, you grunted and shot him another death-glare. “Don’t be rude”, he said and lightly slapped your shoulder with the back of his hand. “She can be so rude, sometimes”, he said to your date and he playfully frowned. He loved every second of this and you hated him for it.

“I think she’s lovely”, the guy said and looked at you. You were sure it was supposed to sound sweet and endearing, but to you it somehow sounded sleezy.

“Jake, this is Joe”, you introduced your date. “Actually, it’s Joseph”, he immediately corrected you and extended his hand to Jake. You ground your teeth for a moment. “Jospeh”, you emphasized, “this is Jake”, you continued. Jake grabbed Jospeh’s hand and shook it. “Lt. Jake Seresin, naval aviator”, he introduced himself with his full name and job title. “You can say my whole name, people like to know”, he said to you and when you turned your head to look at him, he shot you a cheeky wink. You knew that he was having a blast with this situation. And he knew that you knew.

“A naval aviator, really? That sounds incredible”, Joseph said and sounded like a little boy seeing a fire truck up close for the first time. “Because it is, Josep. It is”, Jake confirmed, making sure to say his full name just to get on your nerves.

“Do you maybe wanna sit while you wait for your take-out?”, Joseph offered and gestured at the bench you were sitting on. “Oh, he doesn’t have time”, you intervened, blocking the bench. “I would love to, Joseph”, Jake said overly enthusiastic and pushed you down the bench with his whole body. Reluctantly, you gave in and now were caged in between Jake and the wall, his leg pressing against yours, elbows touching.

“How often do you get to fly the jets?”, Joseph asked him. “Pretty much every day, pal. Flying maneuvers, going on missions. Which, of course, I can’t talk about”, he told your date and gave him a winning smile. “I can imagine. But can you tell me, are they all dangerous?”, Joseph kept asking. He was so laser-focused on Jake, you could think that he was on a date with him. Turned out, Joseph could ask questions instead of giving endless monologues.

“I only fly the most dangerous missions. They need the best for the job and I am the best there is”, Hangman answered him. “Good god”, you mumbled under your breath and Jake gave your leg a little nudge with his. You pushed him right back. All under the table, out of Joseph’s sight.

“Wow, that sounds so cool. I always wanted to be a pilot when I was a kid, but I got incredible motion sickness”, he explained and pouted like a kid that got his candy stolen. “Aw, that’s too bad”, Jake said in a fake sincere tone that sounded so much like mockery that a little laugh escaped your mouth which you quickly covered with your hand. Gladly, Joseph didn’t even notice as he looked down at his plate, shaking his head at the harsh cards’ life has delt him.

“I always liked the special names you guys give each other”, Joseph picked up the conversation again. “Call signs”, you and Jake said at the same time. He threw you a little side glance at the harmony of your answers.

“My call sign is Hangman”, Jake told him. “And that’s so fitting because who doesn’t want to hang this man?”, you said with a fake enthusiastic tone and big smile, patting Jake’s hand that was placed on the table automatically. He looked at you a bit surprised by the sudden physical contact and lightly smiled at the joke.

As soon as you realized what you did, you pulled back your hand like you had just touched a hot stove. You folded your hands in your lap as you weren’t sure you could trust them anymore.

Joseph seemed to be completely oblivious to the situation as he just kept asking Jake questions about his job and training. And Jake answered them willingly because he knew how the situation annoyed you.

While the men talked, you leaned your upper body against the big window, looking around the Diner, bored out of your mind. When your phone rang, it seemed like a welcome distraction. You grabbed it out of your purse that was placed behind you on the bench. You saw Penny’s caller ID on the screen.

At first, you wanted to apologize to the men for taking a call but then you realized that they weren’t paying any attention to you. So, you just picked up.

Penny asked you to get over to the bar as the storm was getting heavier and check on it as she couldn’t make it. At her words, you looked out the window and saw the palm trees bending heavily in the storm.

“I’m sorry, Joseph, but I need to go. A friend needs my help, it’s urgent”, you crashed into the men’s conversation, glad to have a solid reason to end the date.

“But we are having such a good time”, he said and looked honestly sad. “Well…”, you began and left the rest of the sentence hanging in the air. Hangman was suspiciously silent next to you, watching with glee as the situation unfolded.

“I see how it is”, Joseph’s face suddenly changed and he had a knowing smile on his. “Was that your fake friend calling with a fake emergency to get you out of this date?”, he asked in a mocking tone. “No, my boss really needs my help because of the storm”, you told him the truth. “Now it’s your boss? I thought your friend needed help?”, he asked, content thinking he caught you in a lie.

“Penny needs help at the bar?”, Jake asked with honest interest. “Yes, she’s out of town and is worried because of the storm”, you answered Jake first. “My boss is also my friend, we get along great and…why am I even explaining myself to you?”, you told Joseph and shook your head with a frown.

You put your phone back in your purse. Jake had already stood up to let you slide out the bench. “Hey, you can’t just leave me here like that. I paid for dinner”, Joseph called out and was about to stand up as well. “Let it go, buddy”, Jake said in a tone that let no room for discussion and put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down on the bench.

You walked up to the front of the Diner and grabbed your denim jacket off the rack. “How the hell am I getting a cab in this weather?”, you said to yourself, but Jake had heard you as he suddenly stood right behind you. “I’ll take you”, he said and startled you a bit. “Jesus, are you everywhere?”, you asked rhetorically and put your jacket on.

“You don’t have to drive me”, you declined his offer. “And who’s gonna take you? Joseph?”, he asked and at your date’s name his voice had a mocking tone. You cocked your head to the side, looking at him. “You still have to wait for your food”, you started another try.

“Number 69!”, was called out and a white paper bag with the Diner’s logo was placed on the counter. “That’s me”, he announced with a bright grin and turned around to pick up his food. “Of course it is”, you mumbled and rolled your eyes.

“I’ll park right next to the entrance. Think you can make it?”, he asked and nodded at the rain outside. “I think I’ll manage”, you shot him an annoyed glance. “Okay, then let’s go, sweetheart”, he said and held the door open for you. “Don’t call me sweetheart”, you told him when you walked past him and hurried over to the passenger side to his car. He unlocked the car with the remote and you quickly got in. Jake got in on the driver seat and put his food bag on the back seat.

He started the car and turned on the heat of the seats. You sighed, happy about the warmth that hugged you from behind and sank deeper into your seat.

“So, Joseph, huh?”, he asked as he drove off the parking lot. “Shut up”, you said and looked out the window. “Any chance for a second date?”, he kept asking and you could hear the mockery in his voice. “Only when hell freezes over. I would say when pigs fly, but you’re in the air regularly, so…”, you shrugged your shoulders and looked over at him. You expected to find him coming up with a counter punch or at least looking mad, but instead he surprised you with a deep belly laugh.

“Who’s going on a date on a Tuesday, anyway?”, he asked, squinting his eyes at the heavy rain, making it hard to see the road.

“I work on weekends”, you reminded him and looked back over to him. “Also, you brought a date to the bar on a Wednesday night”, you added. “I gotta spread ‘em out over the week. Hangman’s a wanted man”, he replied and you could hear the smug smile in his voice. “Yeah, probably for causing public nuisance”, you countered, chuckling at your own joke and turning to look out the window again.

The weather outside was dreadful. You didn’t know how he even managed to drive out here, but you were glad he did.

When you arrived at the bar, everything was dark. Since it wasn’t open that wasn’t that surprising.

“There, it’s still standing”, Jake said as he looked through the windshield, the wipers flying across the glass, not being able to manage the downpour.

“I have to go inside and take a look”, you told him and took off your seatbelt. You slipped out of your denim jacket and put it over your head. “You’re not seriously going out there?”, he asked with furrowed brows. “I promised Penny. You can go home. Thanks for the ride”, you simply said and opened the car door.

The loud sound of the rain and the howling wind filled the car. “And how are you gonna get home?”, he called out after you when you stepped out, but you just shut the door. He groaned and hit the steering wheel with his hand, before he shut off the engine, grabbed his food off the backseat and followed you.

“Please tell me you have a key?”, you suddenly heard him shouting behind you at the main entrance of the bar. “She’s got a key here somewhere”, you shouted back and turned over a few stones next to the door.

When you finally found it, you had trouble opening the lock with your slippery fingers, but you finally managed. You and Jake hurried inside, putting your wet Jackets on the coat rack.

“Jesus Christ”, you said and shook the water off your arms. The denim jacket didn’t do a lot to keep the rain off. You were completely drenched, your wet hair dripping onto your shoulders and down your back. Jake didn’t look that much better. The front of his white shirt was sticking to his torso which you tried very hard not to notice too much. Water was running out of his hair and down his neck. He put the bag of food onto the bar top that he had carried under his jacket.

You walked over to the light switches and flipped them on, but nothing happened. You did that a few times. “I think it’s not working”, Jake said. “Thanks, Lieutenant obvious”, you replied in a dry tone and walked behind the bar, using your phone flashlight. “Isn’t that usually Captain obvious?”, he asked and leaned on the bar. “You didn’t earn that promotion yet”, you countered and bent down, grabbing two dish towels, throwing one over to Jake. You put your phone down with the flashlight up on the counter and started squeezing the water out of your hair. “They’re freshly washed”, you told him when you caught him hesitating.

“We need to check the fuse box”, Jake said and rubbed over his head with the dish towel. “I think I know where it is”, you told him and dabbed your face with the cloth, wiping under your eyes as you were sure that your mascara was probably all over the place.

You grabbed your phone and led the way through the door across the bar that also led to the storage room. At the door, you turned the other way into a dark corner of the little hallway, discovering the very old looking fuse box. You tried opening the little metal door, but it was stuck. Jake reached past you and opened it with one swift pull. “The door was stuck”, you told him. He threw you a look that meant that he didn’t believe you.

“God, this thing is ancient”, you said as you directed the light of your phone at the line of fuses. There was a lot of make shift fuse controls. “There’s no way you can do anything here”, you said to him. “Excuse me, but I fly jets for a living”, Jake reminded you. “Well, Jake, you’re not supposed to fly the fuse box”, you countered. “We probably need to leave this for Jimmy. After all, that’s his work. We’re never gonna figure this out”, you huffed and for you the topic of fixing the fuses was off the table. “Just let me take a look and stop whining”, Jake said and moved in front of the fuse box. He took out his own phone and turned on the torch.

“I need to call Penny and let her know”, you said out loud but more to yourself. You dialed her number but the call didn’t get through. Damn weather.

“Ouch, fuck!”, Jake called out behind you after receiving a light electric shock. “Are you still alive?”, you asked while typing a message to Penny without turning around. “Yeah”, he grunted. “Yay”, you said dryly, finishing your message.

Just when you were about to hit send, an alert appeared on your phone. It was a weather warning for your area, telling people not to leave their houses for at least the next two to three hours. “Hey, did you get that, too?”, you asked and held up your phone. “Yes”, he sighed.

“Let’s go back to the front, there’s not much we can do here anyway”, you told him and without waiting for an answer you walked back to the main bar area. “Looks like we’re stuck here”, you said into the empty room, looking outside the big windows. Like a confirmation, a loud thunder rolled over the building, accompanied by lightning strikes.

Next chapter: Part 5.2

[joonie-beanie]

Side-Gig | [Peter B. Parker x Reader]

Pairing: Peter B. Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter gets worried about your apparent “side-gig” and goes snooping, only to discover your side-gig is writing Spiderman smut on commission.

Contents: Fluff, Smut, Consensual Sex, Pussy Eating, Banter, Friends to Lovers???

Author’s Note: I swore off posting fics on tumblr, but since this is just a one-shot, I figured why not. I think Peter B is charming, had to write a lil smth smth for him. And by that, I mean a 7.1k wordcount fic.

You and Peter Parker are friends. Not best friends, but pretty good friends. 

You like to say you’ve looked out for each other over the years. You don’t talk all the time, but it’s kind of an unspoken promise that when one of you needs someone to lean on, the other person will be there.

Which is why, when Peter and MJ separate, you make a point of inviting Peter over for meals. 

At first, he turns you down every time you ask, and you know it’s because he’s wallowing—depressed about his situation. And that’s understandable. You can’t exactly say you know what he’s feeling, but if you put yourself in his shoes, you’re sure you’d be a little bit fucked up about everything too.

Therefore, you give him a little space—wait for things to settle and for Peter to come around. 

Except, Peter takes it all way worse than you expect—going radio silent after your third invite in two months. Then, you really start to get worried (and also a little mad that he’s ghosting you).

So, you manage to scrounge up his new address using some internet-sleuthing skills, and show up at his door. When he opens it, he’s dressed in a greasy wife-beater, worn-out gray sweats, and white socks with a hole in the toe.

“Jesus Christ, Peter.”

You spend that evening scolding Peter and letting him cry it all out—handing him tissue after tissue as he blubbers about everything on his mind. When he’s finally done, he apologizes for ignoring your last call, and thanks you for looking out for him.

With a smile, you assure him you’ll always have his back, and that now he really has to come over for dinner, because he owes you.

Laughing, Peter agrees. And luckily, he sticks to his word.

Since then, you and Peter make a point of doing dinner twice a month—typically at your place, sometimes out at a restaurant, but never at Peter’s. Not until he deep cleans his messy apartment, and you know that won’t be happening anytime soon.

Tonight, you’re at a restaurant of your choice—a local Italian joint. Peter arrives late, per normal, and you wave him over when you see him walk in the front door. He immediately spots you and hurries over, his eyes darting to the plate of bruschetta you’d ordered for the table, that now only has two pieces left.

“Aw, that’s not fair,” he says, sliding into the booth across from you. He immediately reaches for one, shoving it into his mouth. You shrug, not sorry.

“That’s what you get for always being late. And if I waited for you, I’d be hangry by now. So really, you should be thanking me.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter says with a roll of his eyes, picking up the menu to see what it is he wants. 

“So, how have you been? I know we just saw each other two weeks ago, but—how’s work?”

You sigh at Peter’s question, resting your chin against your palm.

“Fine, I guess. Work is cutting hours since things are slow right now, so I’m gonna be pretty strapped for cash the next month or two.”

Peter blinks at your response, staring at you over the edge of the menu.

“Should we be here then? We could just get the check now and go down the street to the bodega—”

“No—no, it’s fine,” you reassure him, taking a sip from your glass. From the look of it, Peter can tell the glass is filled with rum and coke—your simple, yet timeless go-to. 

“This is kind of my last hurrah, y’know? Gotta get one last plate of carbonara in before I’m eating ramen and eggs for the next few months.”

“I dunno about that,” Peter responds. “Eggs are pretty expensive now—you might have to settle for canned tuna.”

You roll your eyes at him, yet can’t help the little giggle that escapes you.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know,” he says with a smile.

The waitress wanders back over, and you and Peter put in your orders. Peter also opts to get a drink (after all, if you’re drinking, why shouldn’t he), and a few minutes later, a cosmopolitan is placed onto the table in front of him.

You watch him with a wide smile as he picks up the girly drink and takes a long sip—his pinky sticking out and everything.

“You and your love of sweet drinks,” you say, swirling around the ice in your half-empty glass. Peter hums happily.

“Listen, this is way better than beer.”

Honestly, you can’t disagree.

“So,” he continues, picking up the previous topic. “Are you gonna be okay? Money-wise?”

It’s not like he has much help to offer. Being a masked vigilante doesn’t pay very well, after all, but still.

“Yeah,” you assure him. “I have a side-gig that brings in a little cash-flow, so that’ll help cushion the blow. But I think I should still be able to afford rent and some groceries. I’ll just have to budget better, y’know?”

Peter nods. “Oh, okay. Good—,” but then his brain repeats the phrase “side-gig”, and his words cut off.

“Wait, what kind of side-gig are we talking about here?”

Despite how long the two of you have known each other, Peter has never heard anything about any kind of “side-gig”. It’s a little concerning, honestly, since the two of you don’t really keep secrets from each other.

Although it’s not like you know he’s Spiderman.

“Yeah. It’s nothing illegal, I promise,” you tell him, your attitude remaining pleasant. Peter stares at you, waiting for you to say more, but your smile only grows wider.

“Not telling,” you say, laughing quietly to yourself when Peter huffs in annoyance and grabs his drink. “You’ll just have to trust me. I’d never do anything illegal—you know me.”

“I dunno,” he responds, a playful lilt in his tone. “In college I seem to remember you stealing soft drinks from the mess hall without paying—”

“Oh c’mon,” you shoot back, and Peter grins, knowing you hate when he brings that up. “We were already paying to go to classes! Why should I pay 3 dollars for a cup of watered down coke?!”

Peter laughs as you go on a mini tangent about how college is a ripoff—ordering both you and him two more drinks when your waitress stops in to check on your table.

After a short while, your food comes out, and the two of you catch up over the hot meal. Conversation flows like normal—touching on any other life updates, and also local news topics, and things of the like. 

At your insistence, Peter splits a tiramisu with you to close out the evening, and by the time the dessert is gone, Peter thinks he may explode.

“Ugh, why did I let you talk me into that?” Peter groans, curling over and holding his stomach as you fetch enough cash from his wallet to cover half the bill.

“Well, if you were smart like me, you would have kept half of your entree to take home with you for later, and then you would have had enough room left for dessert. Which, by the way, is too good to waste—so don’t puke it up.”

Your waitress swings by to grab the bill, and you assure her it’s all set—passing her the small stack of money taken from both your and Peter’s wallets. She thanks you with a smile, and then scurries away, leaving the two of you alone.

You reach over the table, patting Peter’s shoulder.

“You’ll be fine. Your stomachs gotten bigger, after all.”

“Hey—,” Peter frowns, lifting his head. You’re already grabbing your purse and takeout box—sliding out of the booth. He quickly follows after you.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No,” you respond, holding the door open for him as the two of you step out into the cool New York air. “You’re actually still surprisingly in-shape for someone whose diet consists of pizza and frozen meals. But, that being said, you can’t deny you’ve put on a few pounds.”

Peter places a hand on his stomach.

“Remind me again why you’re so mean to me?”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound getting lost in the crowd around you.

“You just make it too easy,” you admit, grinning up at him. Despite himself, Peter smiles back.

Being the gentleman that he is, Peter fully intends to escort you back to the doorstep of your apartment building, but—

His spidey senses tingle, and he can tell something is off. 

“Hey, um,” Peter grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Before your brain can even catch up, he’s yanking you into a quick hug, and then backpedaling towards the alleyway the two of you had just passed.

“Sorry, I just remembered there’s something I have to do. It was nice seeing you! Let’s touch base soon!”

He’s gone before you can even get a word out, disappearing around the corner. You stare after him for a moment, befuddled, and then continue on your way with a sigh. 

Same ‘ol Peter.

Exactly one hour later, Peter collapses in a pile of trash—his lungs heaving, and body aching. The fight itself hadn’t been that hard—just a few wannabe criminals with deadlier than normal weapons. 

No, the real challenge had been not barfing up his dinner while doing acrobatics across the city.

And maybe laying in a pile of trash to take a breather isn’t exactly helping his current predicament, but fuck—he doesn’t have the energy to move right now

Spreading out his limbs, Peter stares up at the smog-coated night sky, his mind wandering. He thinks about a lot of things—all the villains he’s fought in his time as Spiderman, the people who have come in and out of his life during it all, including you. You…who apparently has a “side-gig”.

…but like, what kind of side-gig?

Peter groans, knowing he won’t be able to let this go. 

You can’t just drop the knowledge that you have a secret side-gig on him and then not tell him what it is! 

And if you’re insistent on keeping it a secret, it must be something bad, right? RIGHT??

“Goddammit,” he grumbles, picking himself up. He swings off into the night, his mind reeling.

Peter lasts all of 3-days before he decides he can’t be left alone with his thoughts anymore—that he just needs to confirm what exactly your side-gig is, before his theories can get any wilder.

Because so far, his top guesses are that you’re either 1. Unknowingly acting as a middle man for some illegal trafficking operation, or 2. Providing “services” to New York sleazebags to get in their wallets.

And Peter knows it’s likely neither option—you’re too smart to get roped into something stupid. Plus, you had assured him it was nothing illegal.

But if he doesn’t figure it out, he thinks he may explode. 

So…he goes snooping. 

It’s not his brightest moment—using the spare key you had given him “in case of emergency” to sneak into your apartment one evening. (But to be fair, to him…this might just be an emergency).

He’d used his spidey senses to scope out your apartment before coming in, so he knows you're not home. Which is good, but…he doesn’t know when you’re gonna be back either, so he has to move fast.

Softly closing the front door behind him, Peter tip-toes across your apartment, deciding to start in your bedroom. He stands in the doorway for a moment, guilt bubbling up inside of him, but he decides to push forward anyway.

He’s just making sure you’re okay, he tells himself. You’re one of his closest friends, and you won’t tell him your secret—so it’s understandable he’d be worried.

Like the true Sherlock that he is, Peter starts with you dressers. He quickly checks each drawer—gently lifting up the stacks of clothes to make sure nothing is hidden beneath them. (The only time doesn’t is when he encounters the drawer with your bras and panties. He simply stares at them with flushed cheeks, rocking awkwardly on his heels, before he quietly closes the drawer. Surely nothing would be in there anyway, right?)

The small stack of papers on your nightstand ends up being recent receipts, and a manual on how to use the white noise machine you've apparently just purchased, considering it's sitting on the floor beside your nightstand, still in the box.

Getting on his hands and knees, Peter does a quick check under your bed, and freezes when he spots a covered box. He pulls it out without thinking, tugging off the fabric lined lid—

—and immediately slams it back down.

…veiny, pink, silicon—

Peter haphazardly pushes the box back under the bed, hurrying to his feet. He bustles into the kitchen with cherry-colored ears.

All-in-all, it takes Peter about half an hour to search your apartment, and unfortunately…he comes up empty handed. It seems like you have nothing to hide (except a box of sex toys under your bed, but Peter thinks that’s pretty understandable. You don't want dumb assholes like him accidentally finding it, even though Peter had—)

Sighing, Peter takes one last glance around your apartment.

“Ugh, I shouldn’t have done this,” he sighs to himself, taking a step towards the door. But—not watching where he’s going, he stubs his toe into the leg of your coffee table.

A curse leaves his lips, and your opened laptop—which had previously been dark—jolts to life. Kicking the table must have moved your wireless mouse, Peter realizes.

Having already decided to leave, Peter fully intends to continue on his way. That is…before he takes a glance at your computer screen and sees that you have it open to a Google doc titled: “Spiderman x Reader Commission #6”.

…then, he’s scrambling onto your couch and yanking your laptop towards him.

“Number six??” he hisses dramatically, his eyes scanning over the document so fast that he doesn’t actually end up reading anything. 

He has to pause and go back to try again, but the second Peter reads the sentence “Spiderman’s cock strains painfully against the tight confines of his suit, his fingers twitching against your waist as he drags you in closer”, his brain effectively blue screens.

In a panic, he clicks into a different tab that’s open—landing on your email inbox, where a thread sits open. A transaction between you and an apparent “customer”. Someone who had contacted you in regards to your open “commissions”. 

Hi there! 

I saw you’re accepting commissions, and I really enjoyed reading the other Spiderman fics you wrote! Would you be open to writing one for me? Preferably a Reader x Spiderman, and a smut/fluff genre. Based on the rate sheet, I think I can afford it, but I’d appreciate it if we could talk more and discuss the final price based on the idea I have.

Thanks!

Holy shit, Peter realizes. Your side-gig is writing Spiderman porn on commission.

He sinks back into the couch, his mind whirling. 

How long has this been going on?? Do you…are you attracted to Spiderman?? As long as Peter has known you, you’ve never really fangirled over Spiderman. If Spiderman had popped up in the news, the two of you would talk about him, but…that was it.

And now you’re writing Spiderman smut for cash? Holy hell.

Peter supposes he should be relieved that what you’re doing truly isn’t illegal. That you’re just making money in a mostly innocent way, from the safety of your home. Meaning, Peter can call it quits, and leave.

…but instead, he leans forward, clicks back onto the Google doc tab, and starts reading more.

The document is still a work-in-progress, but Peter scrolls back up to the top, wanting to see how you’ve managed to set up this scenario.

As it turns out, a villain had injected Spiderman with some sort of aphrodisiac, and the reader is a bystander, bravely offering Spiderman her services to get him out of this pickle.

While embarrassing to admit, Peter gets sucked into the story—impressed by your ability to write, and your portrayal of him—err, Spiderman. In fact, he gets so distracted by the story and the multitude of thoughts running through his head that his spidey senses don’t kick in until danger is right on his doorstep.

Or, in reality, you are on your doorstep—your key shoving into the lock on the door. 

Peter’s heart nearly rockets out of his chest, his eyes darting to the window across the room. It’s closed, and even if he used his web shooter to rocket over to it, he wouldn’t be able to safely open the window and escape outside in the two seconds it’s going to take you to finish unlocking your do—

Before he can even finish the thought, your front door shoves open, and you flick on the lights—your gaze immediately finding Peter, who is still firmly planted on your couch, looking like a deer in headlights. 

You stare at him in shock.

“Peter? What…? Why are you here?”

“I was…worried about you,” Peter responds, forcing himself to smile. And it’s not like it’s a lie.

“You said you were strapped for cash, and I…I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

You kick the door shut behind you, your purse and keys discarded on the small table beside your entryway. 

“I thought I told you to just trust me?”

You face him with a hand posed sternly on your hip. You appreciate his concern for you, but it’s a little upsetting that he hadn’t just been able to trust your word. 

“I know,” Peter responds with a sigh. He runs a hand through his graying hair, and your gaze flits to his ears, noticing how red they are. Why is he so flushed?

“And I’m sorry. I’m dumb, I should have. Trusted you, I mean. I’ll just—,” he pushes himself up, planning to excuse himself and run, but freezes half way to his feet. 

He’s half hard. Fuck.

If he gets up now, it’ll be a lot harder to hide that—especially since he’s wearing sweatpants.

Making a lil noise, Peter eases himself back down onto your couch. You cock an eyebrow.

“...you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry…back spasm.”

“Well, you don’t have to rush out. You’re welcome to stay for a while if you don’t have anywhere to be.”

You flash him a smile and turn towards the kitchen. Peter watches you as you open your fridge and bend down—fetching two bottles of water from the bottom shelf. His eyes glue to your ass the second you lean over, and Peter punches himself in the knee—forcing his gaze up towards the ceiling.

He’s going fucking insane. He’s not used to being this…feral feeling. Arousal is usually one of the emotions that evades him nowadays, but here he is—done in by fucking Spiderman fanfiction. 

Who knew he’d get turned on reading about himself fucking some nameless woman? And who knew that arousal would make him thirst after you?

(Honestly, if he thinks about it, it’s not that surprising. The two of you have been friends for years, and he feels comfortable around you. Not to mention, you’ve always been attractive, even if you do like to push his buttons—)

“Here,” you say, snapping him out of his internal panic. You plop down onto the couch next to him, handing him one of the two bottles of water. 

Peter reaches out to take it, and you notice the sweat beading on his brow. Why the hell is he—?

At that moment, you spot your laptop on the coffee table—open, and still showing the commission document you’d left open earlier on. Your first instinct is to reach over and slam your laptop shut before Peter can see—

…wait.

Peter reaches forward to take the water bottle from your grasp, but when he grips it, you don’t budge.

Confused, he looks up—only to find you intensely staring at him.

“Did you read it…?”

Peter’s face heats up, his eyes darting to the side to avoid looking at you.

Busted…

You pulse races, embarrassment blooming in your chest.

HE DID, you realize. HE READ IT. Your fucking Spiderman smut!

“Ah, shit…,” you mumble, letting go of his water bottle and crumpling in on yourself. You curl onto your side, hiding your face in the couch cushion. 

Feeling horrible that he has embarrassed you—having discovered something you’d tried to keep private—Peter hurries to try and smooth over the situation.

“Okay, yes, I did read it,” he starts by saying. “But…it was…really good! You’re a good writer, and I can see why people are commissioning you! You’ll surely make some cash with the skill you have.”

If he was smart, he’d have stopped there, but no—Peter keeps going.

“A-And hey! I’d be willing to help too. Y’know, help give you some inspiration for your stories—”

His voice dies in his throat, realizing what it is he has just offered. And obviously, you realize it too—your head immediately lifting, staring at him with curious surprise.

“Did you just…offer…to fuck? To help me with my stories?”

The insinuation is so insane that you can’t help laughing. Peter coughs, straightening his shoulders out.

“I think I’d be very good inspiration for Spiderman.”

“Really?”

There’s disbelief in your voice. Peter narrows his eyes.

“You don’t think so?”

You hum, uncapping your water bottle and taking a swig. Peter mirrors you, his throat feeling dry.

“Spiderman is…suave and heroic, and you’re…dorky. Smart, but dorky.”

Peter frowns. “I can be…suave.”

You cock an eyebrow, a playful grin breaking out on your face. Your heart is racing a million miles an hour, because never did you think you’d be sitting here with Peter, the possibility of sex between the two of you suddenly laid out on the table. You’d never deny he’s an attractive male, and maybe because it’s him, and because you’ve missed the feel of another human being, you end up saying—

“Yeah? Show me then.”

You lean back, waiting to see if Peter will make a move. 

Unfortunately, the realization that you’re open to whatever is happening right now causes Peter’s brain to stall, and he takes a second too long to act—just long enough to allow doubt to worm its way into your head.

You’re putting him on the spot. And he’s still probably dealing with some complicated feelings from the split—you shouldn’t have poked him.

Without saying anything, you decide to try and create some space. You push off of the couch, padding towards your bedroom. You’ll make an excuse about needing to fold your clothes, or something stupid—and hopefully Peter will take what you’ve said as a joke, and will move on. Yeah, that sounds like a solid plan—

Pausing in the doorway of your room, you force yourself to smile, and turn to face Peter—only to find that he’d snuck up on you—your gaze meeting his chest the second you turn around.

“Pe—,” you’re only able to get the first syllable of his name out, your chin tilting back as you look up at him. The feeling of his palm cupping your cheek is what makes your voice die out, his chestnut eyes boring into you. 

You can see the hesitation on his face. A certain lack of confidence that you’re sure stems from his past relationship issues. But beneath that, you can see desire. A craving for intimacy he hasn’t shared in a long time.

You decide to be the one to close the gap—pressing onto your toes, your palm resting flat on his pec as you lean upward—connecting your lips with his. You can feel his heart racing beneath your fingertips, and you silently convince yourself that if Peter backs out, you’ll be fine with it. 

Luckily, he doesn’t. His brain finally kicks into gear, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist as he kisses you back. 

You make a pleasantly surprised little sound, your arms lifting to wrap around his neck—effectively deepening the kiss. A wrinkle appears between Peter’s eyebrows, his grip on your waist tightening. Your chest presses flat against his torso, and he rubs his thumb against your cheek, obsessed with the plushness of your lips and the feel of you against him.

It’s been way too long since he’s been intimate like this…that’s apparent by the blood absolutely rockets into his dick.

Although, to be fair, he’d already been half-hard before this.

“You think our local hero gets hard this quick?” you mumble against his lips with a grin, giggling when Peter makes a noise of annoyance and nips at you.

“You’d be surprised,” he responds. He slots his thigh between your knees, backing you into the doorframe. His clothed cock grinds against your stomach, trapped between your bodies, and his muscles tense.

“Adrenaline can go straight to the dick sometimes…”

(Peter has lost track of how many times, after an intense fight—especially earlier in his career—he’d swung home and immediately jerked off).

“That’s fair, I suppose.”

Your fingertips coast up the nape of his neck, tangling in the messy hair at the base of his skull. You yank him downward ever so slightly, your lips connecting with the skin of his neck. He immediately shivers, the first of many embarrassing sounds ripping from his chest as you lick and suck at his flesh.

“Think Spiderman whimpers?”

You’re teasing him. As to be expected, given the dynamic of your relationship. But Peter doesn’t intend on taking it quietly.

“Maybe,” he admits, “If you make him feel good enough. But if you wanna know what I think—”

Peter surprises you by ducking down—his arms looping around your thighs as he lifts you off the floor. Your squeal, arms and legs instinctively wrapping around him since you don’t want to fall, but Peter carries you easily enough—striding into your room and depositing you onto your bed.

He doesn’t waste any time—quickly caging you down. His knee reclaims its spot between your thighs, rubbing incessantly at the dampening fabric covering your privates, and his lips find your neck—a shiver raking up your spine as his stubble scratches against your skin.  

“Peter,” you gasp when his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips ghost over your heated skin, brushing past your waist, and finding the clasp of your bra. You have to arch to give him room to work, and Peter sucks a hickey of approval into your neck. He debates telling you “good girl”, but the thought leaves him the second your bra pops open.

He needs your tits in his mouth.

“—I think Spiderman has a thing for boobs,” Peter says, finally finishing his earlier statement. This exclamation is followed with the immediate removal of your shirt and bra—Peter forcibly tugging them over your head and discarding them on the floor beside your bed. 

The sight of Peter groping you and lowering his mouth to your chest is enough to have your heart skipping a beat, and you can’t help the mewl that leaves you when Peter sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

Peter groans when your fingers fist in his hair, practically keeping his mouth trapped where it is, which he hardly minds considering he intends to lick and suck at your tits until you’re panting. 

And, that’s exactly what he does.

He lavishes your chest with his mouth—relishing in the way your hips jump at each little nip of his teeth or roll of your nipple between his fingers. It’s embarrassing, honestly, how wet it gets you—your panties feeling quite wet as you continue grinding your pussy against Peter’s thigh.

You try and think of some smart response in regard to Peter’s opinion that Spiderman is a tit man, not an ass man, but words seem to be avoiding you. You can’t think of anything coherently when Peter is touching you like this. Especially when his face finally leaves your chest, his lips peppering kisses down the length of your torso.

You lift your head to look at him, propping up on one of your arms. Peter reaches your navel, but doesn’t stop, heading towards—

“Peter,” you pant, your face flushing hotly as you realize the path he’s carving. 

Peter hums, his eyes flitting up and meeting your gaze just as he hooks his thumbs beneath the band of your pants. 

“Another thing about Spiderman…,” he begins, kissing the skin of your tummy as he inches your waistband down your hips. You watch him with blown-wide eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly—excitement and nervousness mingling inside of you.

You lift your ass off the mattress to help him shuck you of your bottoms, and Peter smiles, tossing your pants on the floor beside your other clothes.

Never in your life did you imagine the sight of Peter sinking to his knees, his hands gripping your hips and dragging you closer to him—his gaze falling between your legs. Your panties are soaked, and the sight causes more blood to rush into his dick. He’s so hard that it honestly hurts—just a little bit—but Peter still doesn’t touch himself, because—

“...Spiderman loves eating pussy.”

“He’s a people-pleaser,” you quip breathlessly, your thighs quivering in Peter’s hold when he presses a kiss to your skin, right beside your panty line. He quietly chuckles.

“Maybe.”

Peter thumbs at your clit through your panties, relishing in the whine he rips from your throat. You hips buck in his hold, craving more, and when Peter sees the desperate look on your face, he decides to not tease you.

Peeling your panties to the side, Peter finally connects his mouth with your pussy—his tongue licking a wet, broad strip between your folds.

Oh, shit, you think to yourself, the muscles in your abdomen convulsing as you watch one of your closest friends eat you out. The whole situation is making you feel light headed, so you can’t help it when you collapse back onto the mattress, your fingers fisting in the sheets as Peter groans into your cunt.

He eats you like a man starved, his face quickly becoming covered with your arousal. His nose bumps against your clit as his tongue sinks between your walls, and you full out whimper—your hips needily grinding against his mouth.

Peter’s palm presses down on your pelvis, forcing your hips to the mattress. He doesn’t want you squirming—just wants you desperate and pliant. To see you cumming on his tongue.

His name falls from your lips again, more debauched than he’s ever heard, and Peter curses.

“Shit.”

His tone is guttural, and sexy, and—

He presses a finger inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Pete—,” his name deterorates into a moan, your brain function declining as Peter begins fucking his finger inside of you. At the same time, he focuses his mouth on your clit, his tongue urgently flicking against the bundle of nerves. 

You unconsciously wriggle at the assault of stimulation, but Peter’s hand on your stomach keeps you in place.

Why is he so strong? You think to yourself, moan ripping from your chest as Peter slips in a second finger. It doesn’t take him long to locate that spongy little sweet spot inside of you. The one that causes your thighs to shake as he practically abuses it—rubbing the pads of his fingers against it repeatedly until you’re nearly sobbing.

The coil in your belly winds tight, heat searing your veins. You can feel your clit throbbing against Peter’s tongue, and the walls of your pussy tightening up around him.

“Peter,” you cry, your entire body trembling. You’re so fucking close.

“Cum,” he rasps. He needs to see you orgasm—needs to feel you unraveling on his mouth and fingers. 

Hearing the gravel of his voice is the final nail in your coffin—the tension in your muscles releasing as your orgasm washes over you. Just as he wanted, you cum all over him, your cunt gushing arousal around his fingers as his tongue continues lapping at your clit, dragging out the waves of your pleasure until you’re panting and pawing at his head, trying to push him away.

After a moment, he relents—sitting back to look at you.

You’re covered in a sheen of sweat, your chest heaving, and an arm draped over your eyes. Your tits are peppered with an array of hickies, and Peter feels his chest (and cock) swell with pride. He’s clearly done a number on you. And yet…

You feel the mattress dip, and then the room is spinning around you. When things finally settle, you find yourself laying on top of Peter.

He has one arm wrapped around your waist, his palm resting on your ass. The other brushes a few stray strands of hair out of your face when you lean back to look at him.

“Spiderman also loves being ridden,” he says with a grin. You place your hands on his chest, feeling it rumble with laughter as he watches you struggle to sit up.

“You think I have the energy to ride you after you just did that? And why do you keep saying Spiderman enjoys these things like they’re facts—you don’t know.”

“Just a feeling,” he responds, licking his lips. His hands find your hips, and he grinds you downwards. Your sensitive pussy rubs against his aching length, still trapped behind his sweatpants, and it’s hard to miss the way Peter harshly swallows at the feeling.

You sigh, scooting backwards.

“Fine.”

You shove his sweats and boxers down his thighs, careful to not snag them on his dick. And damn, he really must be aching—a sticky string of precum dripping from the head of his cock, and pooling on his abdomen. 

He opens his mouth, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything. Your fingers wrap around his cock, smearing his arousal across his length, and whatever Peter had been planning to say crumbles into a needy garble of non-words.

You can’t help but smile at the sound.

“Surprised you didn’t cream your pants already,” you tell him, but your tone is hardly teasing. No, seeing him beneath you like this—the muscles in his torso clenching with every stroke of your hand—it’s actually quite endearing.

“I’ll cum in your hand if you keep doing that,” he pants, glancing into your eyes. You spot nothing but lust there, any previous reservations gone.

“Is that so bad?” you ask, thumbing at the head of his cock. Peter’s grip on your waist tightens, and you hear him take a shaky breath.

“Yes.”

He wants to be inside you, that much is clear. And while it’d be so easy to draw it out and make him beg…you don’t feel like being mean to him. Not tonight, after he’d just given you the best oral of your life.

“Fine,” you relinquish. You scoot forward, planting one hand on his chest, and gripping the base of his cock with the other. Peter’s breath catches when you rub the head of his cock between your folds, a heady groan following a beat later as you begin sinking down onto him.

By the time his cock is fully inside of you, your thighs are shaking. Whether from the lack of energy due to your previous orgasm, the remarkable size of Peter inside of you, or both—you’re not totally sure.

“There’s no rush,” Peter reassures you, but the needy warble of his voice betrays his words.

“My legs might give out at some point,” you respond with a breathless laugh, and Peter echos you, giving your waist a squeeze.

“That’s fine. I’ll help.”

With your palms planted firmly on his chest, you begin to ride him. 

And god, you feel so fucking good.

“Fuck,” Peter bites out, watching the space between your bodies, where his cock disappears inside of you with every roll of your hips. It’s been ages since a cunt has squeezed his dick like this, and honestly, he can see himself very easily getting addicted to the feel of you.

The bounce of your tits as you ride him, the cute little sounds you make when his cock rubs against the sensitive spots inside you—he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Peter,” you whine, your pace flattering. Having his cock inside of you is incomparable to the feeling of his fingers, and very quickly, you can feel another orgasm building, but…the closer you get, the more your strength falters.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he responds, praises falling from his lips. “You’re doing so good. You feel so good.”

His words cause your walls to clench around him, and he groans—his hands sliding down to your hips as he helps rock you down onto his cock. The sloppy sound of sex fills your bedroom, and you watch Peter with half-lidded eyes, soaking up the desperation showing on his face. 

His hair is slicked back with sweat, brows pinched together in concentration as he forces you to continue riding him. At least, until he starts craving more.

With his orgasm quickly approaching—despite the immense pleasure he gains seeing you bouncing on top of him—Peter’s hunger gets the best of him.

He grabs your wrists, moves your arms so they’re wrapped around his shoulders, and then secures his arms around your back. Before you can even digest the slight change in position, Peter is fucking you.

An incoherent string of noise slips past your lips, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as his cock pistons inside of you. With his arms trapping you against his chest, you’re helpless but to take it—your orgasm rushing to the surface at the desperate yet brutal pace that Peter sets.

“Peter,” you sob into his neck.

“It’s okay,” he responds without missing a beat, his voice breathless. “I’m right there. Cum for me again, sweetheart.”

As if you could stop.

Holding onto him for dear life, you cum for the second time that night—your walls clamping down on his cock so tightly that Peter’s rhythm falters. A curse rips from his throat, and his hands find the plush of your ass—stuffing your body down onto his dick as he cums along with you—pumping you full of his seed.

The needy tension of the room melts away, and you and Peter can only lay there—a pile of sweaty yet sated flesh. It takes you both a minute to catch your breaths, and you make a quiet noise of disappointment when Peter’s cock slips out of you. 

You can feel his cum running out of your pussy.

“Your balls aren’t dried up yet?”

Peter’s chest rumbles beneath you.

“I’m in my 30’s, not my 60’s.”

You glance up at him when you feel Peter’s fingers clearing the hair away from your face, and he smiles at you. Your heart jumps.

He must know how handsome he is, right? Even with that crooked nose of his.

“Don’t you ever get tired of taking cracks at me?” he wonders, using his grip on your ass to slide you farther up his chest. You giggle, cupping his cheeks as you find yourself suddenly face to face with him. 

“Mmmm, no?”

He rolls his eyes, yet his smile widens. You lean down to kiss him, and he reciprocates easily enough.

“Feeling good?” you ask him, carding your fingers through his hair. He nods.

“Very. I…really missed that.”

“Same,” you agree, sitting back. You need to get to the bathroom before any cum gets on your nice sheets. You crawl off of Peter, swinging your legs over the side of your mattress. He rolls onto his side, watching you with furrowed brows as he tucks his dick back into his pants.

“Same? You haven’t—?”

“Not in a while,” you admit, pulling a fresh shirt and a pair of panties from your dresser drawers. You’re about to make a joke that the only action you’ve gotten recently is from the toys stashed under your bed, but when you turn to look at the spot where they’re hidden, you find that…the box has moved. It’s not where you had left it.

“Did you…find my sex toys? Before I came home?”

Peter’s face goes carefully blank, but the red flush of his ears betrays him. 

You shoot him a glare, leaving your room with a huff.

“Dude doesn’t trust me…how fucking rude…”

“Hey now—!” 

Peter’s feet pound against the floor as he chases after you, and he catches you around the waist just before you make it into your bathroom. His lips press against the crown of your head.

“Again, I’m sorry for snooping. I’m dumb.”

You sigh, wriggling around to face him.

“You are,” you agree, lightly patting his chest. “Dumb, and insistent that Spider man loves tits, eating pussy, and getting ridden. Still holding those beliefs?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Peter grins. “And I have other beliefs about his preferences as well.”

“Of course you do,” you laugh. You kiss his cheek, and then step out of his hold—heading into the bathroom. 

“I’m going to shower,” you tell him. “There’s some leftovers in the fridge if you want any.”

Peter nods, and the last thing you see is him heading for your fridge when you close the bathroom door.

30 minutes later, you exit your steaming bathroom in your fresh oversized t-shirt and panties, fully expecting to find Peter lounging around your apartment, eating all your food. But…to your utter disappointment, you don’t spot him anywhere.

You sigh, shoulders sagging. Had it been too much to assume he would have wanted to stay the night?

Shuffling into your kitchen, you spot an empty plate on your table. One that you know had previously been piled high with leftover chicken and potatoes.

“He eats my food and runs off…of course,” you mumble, picking up the plate to put it in the sink. However, before your annoyance can truly get the better of you, a piece of paper that had been stuck to the bottom of the plate floats to the ground.

You bend over to pick it up.

Hey!

Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to stay so long, so I left my apartment earlier without locking the door. I’m running back home to lock it, but I should be back at your place by 9!

Don’t get mad at me. I’d never run off without a word :p

-PB

PS. I have a working theory that Spiderman also has more stamina than you’d expect, even for a guy who’s been doing hero work for 20+ years, so…round two when I get back?

You can’t help but laugh.

What an idiot. 

But…you like him.

[jakeluppin]

Tagged by @renninflight thank you!! This took forever for me to finalize and post whoosps!

Rules: always post the rules. answer the questions the person who tagged you has written and write eleven new ones. tag 11 new people and link them to your post. let them know you’ve tagged them

Everything gonna be gonna the cut since this is longgg

What's your favorite band/musician? (And tell me why! And if you've seen them live!)

Favorite band is uhhh hard to answer. I think I'd say Hippo Campus but then that almost feels wrong to say? Mainly because I haven't liked them as long as I have liked other bands. So maybe them? But otherwise I gotta go with some combination of Something Corporate/Jack's Mannequin/Andrew in the Wilderness because it's too hard to pick a single Andrew McMahon band. I guess if I absolutely had to probably Jack's Mannequin? They just mean a whole lot me.

What's something you're proud of?

Pretty proud of the fact that somehow managed to get a master’s degree.

What's something you like about yourself?

Um, do my tattoos count? Otherwise I think I’m pretty funny.

What's something you would like to do, if money weren't an obstacle?

Get a PhD. I want to So Bad but money……

What's something you do when you're anxious or stressed to calm down and relax?

Normally just like watch a comfort TV show. Oh and pet the cat

Do you have a favorite author? (If so, who?)

Probably Kurt Vonnegut? But I don’t think I’d say that I have one

Do you have a favorite poet? (If so, who?)

Not really since I’m not super into poetry. Maybe Saul Williams, but I haven’t read any of his stuff in years but I definitely used to love it.

Do you have a favorite artist? (You can probably guess the rest of this question!)

Van Gogh. He just really is That Bitch to me

What's a movie or TV show that had a big impact on you? (Could be something you watched growing up, a movie you saw recently that made you emotional, something you've seen a lot, something you quote with friends and family, etc)

Shadowhunters. Partially the show, partially just being a part of the fandom. I wrote so many good fics, I made great friends. Both of which, along with the show itself, helped me realize I was trans. So yeah. Pretty big impact there.

What's something you wish you could forget? (Could be something personal, or it could just be a gross or weird fact)

Probably not what you were going for, but I wish I could forget Veronica Mars so that I could watch it again for the first time.

What's something you'd like to change about the world?

There are a lot of macro level answers (world peace, climate change) but I want to pick something on a more micro level. I would want all library budgets to increase 50 times what they are now. Actually sorry gotta change this. I want the polar bear dogs from The Legend of Korra to be real and that I could have one as a pet.

All right so my questions to ask:

What’s your favorite animated movie or TV show?

What’s your favorite instrumental song?

What’s a song you could listen to for hours on end?

Do you have any tattoos? If yes, what? If no, do you want any?

What’s the first fandom you really interacted with?

What’s the best way to enjoy chocolate?

What’s one skill you don’t currently posses that you wish you did?

If you could spend the day with any celebrity, who would it be?

What’s your favorite kind of sandwich?

If you had to change your name to something, what would it be?

What’s a show you first watched at least ten years ago that you still love today?

Okay so tagging @jakegyllinhaal @wisdomsdauqhter @joanthangroff @adraughtofamortentia @kattahj @thecolorofthegame @illegitimatetenenbaum @whitesunlars @ellcrain @cuppateadeer @puppystiles

[spgothkidsheadcanons]

Do you think you could write a goth reader being really close with Mike (platonically)? Maybe with some Michael romance(if not it's okay !!) btw I absolutely love your writing and am always reading your work thru the day <3

Hey friend! I have never written for Mike before, but I can picture how he would look in my headcanons! I hope I managed to get what you were asking for! I definitely have to write Mike into more stories cause he’s my favorite Vamp!

I did make it to where you were dating and living with Michael, so I hope you enjoy that!

Edit: I JUST REALIZED I READ THE ASK WRONG OMG IM SO SORRY IM GONNA WRITE A NEW ONE

~~~~~~

The sun was high in the sky by the time you and Michael had finally awoken from your slumber. Both of you had stayed up late, just spending time with the other, the time getting away from you. Normally, you’d be freaking out, upset about oversleeping. But the moment you opened your eyes and saw Michael’s peaceful face, you pushed all your cares away and enjoyed the sweet cuddling time you had with the man. It wasn’t exactly rare to have this kind of affection, but your boyfriend was a very handsy person, and it was lovely to not feel your bottom being squeezed every few seconds while you tried being nice.

Softly placing your arm around his shoulders, you pulled up closer to you, smiling as he began his morning grumbles. Humming softly, you began stroking soft circles on his back, smiling when he buried his face into your chest, his arms tighting around you. Closing your eyes, you sighed, deciding that since it was so late in the day, you didn’t mind staying a litte longer. That was, until your phone began blasting, the shrill screams from the device cutting into the silence of the room. Michael looked up at you, his eyes half lidded and falsely aggravated. You gave him a sheepish smile, kissing his forehead before reaching to grab your phone. The man laid his head on your chest once again, resuming his position. Looking at your phone screen, you smiled, swiping to answer the call.

“Hello!” you greeted warmly, fighting back a yawn. Your boyfriend’s head popped up, eyebrows furrowed questioningly. Running your fingers through his curls, you ignored his look, instead focusing on the person on the other side of the phone. “Oh shit, I completely forgot we made plans. Let me ask Michael really quick!” you chirped, pulling the phone from your ear and pressing the mute button. “Mike wants to know if we wanted to hang out today.” you asked, shooting a sweet smile at the man who had himself wrapped around you. Michael responded by rolling his eyes, letting out an overdramatized sigh. “I guess…” he muttered, reaching a hand up to brush some hair from your face. You kissed his forehead, unmuting the phone and bringing it back to your ear. “Come over in like, 2 hours. We gotta get out of bed first.” you laughed. Hanging up the phone after saying your goodbyes, you made the first move to stand up, manuevering your way out of your boyfriend’s arm. Michael stayed in the bed, a pout on his lips as he watched you walk around the room.

*+=2012 TimeSkip Woooooo=+*

Mike Makowski was the bane of Michael’s existence. He’s known him for years, his childhood years causing him to laugh cruelly as he remembered when they kidnapped the vamp wannabe to send him to Scottsdale. Although, while they’ve known each other for a while, you grew up from the sandbox with the man who used to claim he was a vampire. Thinking that leaving South Park would get rid of him, the curly haired goth was misfortunate enough to get with you. Which was great, because he loved you and would do anything for you. But was awful, because he fucking hated Mike Makowski, and with you, of course came Mike.

Michael sat on the couch in the living room, his legs crossed while he flicked through the Netflix titles on the TV. Coming to sit beside him, you tucked yourself into his side, his arm coming down to wrap around your shoulders. The tall man clicked on a random show to play in the background, the annoying theme music starting up as he turned the volume down low. “So, what exactly are we doing today?” he asked, resting his head against yours. Pulling your phone out of your hoodie pocket, you opened your messages with Mike. “I think just a lazy day. I haven’t planned on doing much else.” you chirped, setting your phone down on the arm of the couch. Michael made a noise, his disdain evident. You could only laugh, rolling your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder.

Just as you did, there came a knock at your door. Almost flying out of your seat, you rushed over, not even looking out the peephole as you swung the door wide open. Arms wrapped tightly around your figure as you were almost thrown backwards, and your arms were quick to reciprocate. Mike pulled you into an almost too tight hug, one which you welcomed warmly with a giddy laugh. Michael watched from the couch, his expression annoyed. Standing from his spot on the couch, he stalked over to the pair. Mike finally pulled away, holding you at arm’s length to examine you.

“It’s been sooooo long!” he exclaimed, looking you up and down. “I know! Since moving out here, it’s like you don’t want anything to do with me anymore!” you teased, causing the man to chuckle. He had definitely grown up since the last time you saw him. He still had his slender frame, but he was slightly muscular. His long hair had been chopped off, and instead of only having a patch of green hair that he’s had for years, he had colored all of his hair to green. It was then that Mike noticed Michael standing to the side, and his expression almost feel. “Michael.” he said, nodding in the taller man’s direction, a smile on his face. “Mike.” your boyfriend spat, his enthusiasm, or lack thereof, evident in his tone. Mike chuckled awkwardly, stopping when he noticed Michael’s face not change. Rolling your eyes, you shot your boyfriend a dirty look, grabbing Mike’s arm and walking to the living room.

“Well, now that you’re here, you get a glorious tour of our living space.” you said, cutting the tension in the room. The limette looked to you, a smile gracing his features. “Yes, please! It looks so cozy!” he replied, and you began to lead him through your house, showing off the different rooms. Michael propped himself on the couch, his arms crossing over his chest. He listened as you and Mike walked through the halls, you opening random doors and the male making comments about everything he saw.

Walking with Mike behind you, you passed a door that had a “Do Not Disturb” sign on it. “That’s Michael’s home studio. That’s his stuff, and I don’t want to mess anything up, so we’re not gonna look in it.” you chirped, continuing back to the living room, having finished your small tour. “Well, you both did great for yourself. I’m very happy that you’re happy.” Mike replied, cautiously walking past the door, as if even breathing near it would cause your boyfriend to rip his neck out. “I am happy. And Michael is a really big help. He’s always eager to fix things or change something up. Isn’t that right, babe?” you asked the tall man, whose eyes stayed glued on the tv. He gave a curt nod, not wanting to talk to Mike anymore than he had to. Rolling your eyes, you climbed over the back of the couch, propping your legs over his. “Come and sit, Mike. Michael’s just a butthead, but you already knew that.” you offered, laughing when Michael shot you a nasty look. Kissing his cheek, you placed a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze as an apology for your quip. Mike sat on the other couch in the living room, far from arm’s length of your boyfriend.

-/-/ Oh wah Oh (Timeskip brought to you by me)\-\-

The sun had been down for a little over an hour before Mike had decided to leave. Between the time of him being there and him leaving, you forced Michael to play games with you two, made dinner and had a long conversation catching up with each other. Standing at your door, Michael behind you, you sent Mike off with another tight hug and a goodbye, begging him to come over again soon. Shutting your front door, you began waltzing around the room, cleaning up from the day’s activities. Your lover helped, and soon the living room looked exactly as it did before Mike came over. Heading upstairs to your bedroom, you both got dressed as you talked at Michael about the visit, his only replies being hums and noises of confirmation.

Finishing putting your pajamas back on, you noticed Michael had already laid down in the bed, his arms resting comfortably over his stomach. Feeling playful, you walked to his side and straddled his waist, grabbing his hands and directing them to your hips. The curly haired man smiled up at you, his eyes sleepy and thumbs beginning to rub circles on your skin. “You did so good today, butthead.” you smirked down at him, giggling to yourself as he rolled his eyes. “I don’t like him.” he shrugged, looking back into your eyes. “I know. But still, thank you for not saying anything to him. He’s my best friend.” you replied, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead, cheeks and eventually his lips. “And good boys get rewards.” you giggled sinfully, eyes locked with his. He returned your look, the sleepiness in his eyes fading at your insinuation. You giggled as you were flipped over, his lips beginning to attack every inch of your skin.

[ragsy]

47-60, and 66-70 for Beloved Dogmark, Beloved Dillion and Agent Hill because I think she’s hot

AUGH LIGHTNING ROUND. okay. rapid fire.

47. favorite type of cheese?

Mark: lactose intolerant :( Dillion: doesn't know what cheese is. WAIT, unless his people traditionally milked whales?? and made cheese from whale milk??? those are the only mammals that he would conceivably encounter. oh no. now i have thoughts. Hill: pepper jack. but like. the painfully hot kind

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

Mark: don't call him a fruit, he'll cry. but also-- peach. fragile and easily bruised, but has a hard center if you dig for it. Dillion: some sort of near-extinct heirloom apple variety that was only grown on some rich guy's lawn for a single generation before he went bankrupt and the variety disappeared Hill: beefsteak tomato. spiteful and acidic, but robust and tender.

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

Mark: oh fuck what a horrible night to have a curse. what a complete dogshit ass night for a curse. god what a fucking night, my dude. for a curse i mean. fuck this. Dillion: MY BOY, THIS PEACE IS WHAT ALL TRUE WARRIORS STRIVE FOR-- Hill: act first. apologize later.

The rest under the cut 👇👇

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

Mark: probably one of those things where he had just gotten out of a potentially very dangerous situation (a mugging, a car crash, a fire, etc) and, once he realized he was safe and everything was fine, all he could do was laugh. and laugh. and he doesn't laugh a lot. so people get very concerned. Dillion: over a meal with his party members. someone's just said something clever. he can't remember the last time he shared a moment like this with someone who cares for him just as much as he does for them. Hill: she just told someone to fuck around and find out. they just found out. she didn't even have to lift a finger.

51. current stresses?

Mark: has no job. has no money. has an anxiety disorder. is a dogman. doesn't know where he's sleeping tonight. Dillion: on a self-destructing planet with the distinct possibility that he can't save everyone Hill: has a malignant curse that is slowly turning her body into a mass of tentacles with minds of their own. also probably under investigation by the IRS

52. favorite font?

i'm gonna be real with you here, i don't think any of these three people have one. i don't even know if dillion knows what a font is

53. what is the current state of your hands?

Mark: nicked and scraped, dirt under his nails/claws. currently shoved in his pockets. Dillion: as manicured as he can manage, given his circumstances. currently gripping the hilt of his sword. Hill: scarred, knuckly, bruised. she keeps her nails as short as they'll go. currently only one of them-- lost the other one to the aforementioned curse.

54. what did you learn from your first job?

Mark: you are a peon whose only purpose is to keep your head down and do what you're told. Dillion: you are the specialest boy in the whole kingdom because you paid us a lot of money for this job title Hill: if you see someone shoplifting no you didn't

55. favorite fairy tale?

Mark: beauty and the beast Dillion: the little mermaid (or, rather, the undersea perspective version of it) Hill: little red riding hood

56. favorite tradition?

Mark: going camping in june for his birthday (which is actually in december) Dillion: traditional dishes from home. you KNOW cooking in a culture that spends 100% of its time submerged in water has gotta be some wild delicious shit Hill: new year's. it's the only holiday she ever really gets off, anyway

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

Mark: escaping a toxic relationship, surviving on his own, accepting himself for what he is Dillion: overly high self esteem, survivor's guilt (kinda still working on this one but he's made a lot of progress), speaking openly about his feelings to another person Hill: mostly extremely large monsters trying to eat her. there's been a lot of those

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

Mark: pretty good at making a campfire, has some sort of 6th sense for knowing if there's poison ivy nearby, has a bite force of 330 PSI and can run at about 30mph on all fours (idk if he's actually proud of those last two but he deserves to be) Dillion: big arm muscles. big abdominal muscles. big leg muscles. big heart. which is also a muscle. Hill: can keep a cool head in a dangerous situation, really good at arm wrestling, is a pretty good shot (was better when she had two hands, but she's still pretty good), encyclopedic knowledge of american sitcoms from between 1980 and 2005

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

Mark: "uh. uh-oh. oh no." Dillion: [clipping the microphone] "ONWARD, MY FRIEND!" Hill: "Alright, shitheads. Get on with it."

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

Mark: slice of life romance (but with monsters) Dillion: i mean he was literally isekai'd, so, Hill: some sort of dark, mature, traditional cel-animated seinen

66. favorite flower(s)?

Mark: he doesn't think he has one, but it's totally magnolia blossom Dillion: anemones. but not the animal, the actual flower anemone Hill: sunflower

67. good luck charms?

Mark: his wristwatch. he's not sentimental with a lot of his belongings, but he will never, ever part with that watch. Dillion: the halberd cozy that Midas made for him Hill: the front door key to her house, from before her home town was destroyed by a monster attack

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

Mark: he has NO spice tolerance. so literally anything remotely spicy Dillion: candles, before he learned that you're not supposed to eat them (even though they are on the table) (they don't have tables OR candles underwater) Hill: she's not one to waste a drink, but she tried an IPA at a bar once that was so gross she took one sip, stood up, and drove to the next state over.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

Mark: the fastest way to hook up with someone is to go to some sort of queer meetup and yawn just enough for someone to notice his sharp teeth Dillion: he can swim with full plate armor on. don't worry about it Hill: vampires and draculas are two separate, convergently evolved species

70. left or right handed?

Mark: lefty Dillion: righty Hill: was a lefty, but that arm's the bad one. she trained herself well enough to be a righty though

[morgenlich]

♿ : Has your muse had any injuries in the past?

headcanon asks!

gonna answer this about only gil (if someone wants another character pls feel free 2 pester me lmao)

so yeah he's got plenty of scars accumulated over the years of course. vast majority of them he can't remember the origin stories of and doesn't care enough to be bothered by this fact even though imo in order for nations to have like actual permanent scars, it's not gonna be just any random ol' injury, it's gotta be like. Symbolic and/or Relevant To The Narrative. i do need to sit down and think out which ones he does remember at some point, but that's not why you sent this ask lmao

so, the most recent Big Injury that imo gil received was during w/w1. gets shot in the spine, dies, comes back and suddenly he can't move anything below the waist. literally a nightmare scenario for him, and this is like. early 1917. there's a fair amount of war left and he has to sit the rest of it out and leave his baby brother unprotected because the paralysis does last at least a couple of years. (he spends this time mostly in some little house no one knows the whereabouts of on the baltic coast w human servants putting up with him being an absolute menace about this his several overlapping existential crises and angst and such. when the paralysis fades, he's still got the chronic pain to deal with, and can sometimes trigger short-term paralysis/excrutiating rather than normal pain by like. moving wrong, being hit in the back, etc. between wars and during w/w2 he mostly managed the mental AND physical pain with pervitin and alcohol (in combo w each other, of course) before (again, in my timeline) he defects and gets suddenly cut off of both :) after the war he gets his sugar daddy ivan to get him actual pain meds and since reunification he probably still is on them? though not necessarily legally lmao. and ofc he wants no one to know about the fact that he's on them (nearly everyone does).

this does also lead to imo some interesting pruaus interactions because tbh how could it not. gil is definitely also the type of guy to be like lol no i'm not disabled what on earth would make you say that. as though he doesn't still have the chronic pain etc. going on

[wyrdify]

This is my brain right now. I am burnt out. Beyond it, really. Both my husband and I are. Ramble below cut because I'm just... I need to vent.

My husband works 50 hour weeks with a boss who does not show up most days, yells at him a lot over the phone, isn't clear about what he wants, and is overall abusive. The person who brought my husband into the company takes credit for the work he dumps onto my husband and doesn't come in half the time. Never mind the other issues he deals with on a daily basis. He comes home exhausted every day, and his weekends don't leave him much time to recoup that energy (especially since at least one of our friends likes to ask for help every weekend). To say my husband is looking for other work is an understatement. Y'all know my job. It's part-time, pays minimum wage, corporate thinking it was a good idea to use gifts instead of raises or bonuses, has shit communication with management, is stressful as fuck, et cetera. It sucks. It's sucked for years. I hate it. It makes me cry and rage nearly every time I have to sign into work. Getting out is difficult because it's convenient for me to work from home and not spend money on gas. Plus, my car currently needs a bearing fixed, and it means I can't drive on the highway. I did apply for a part-time job as a library assistant, but I have very little faith in it going anywhere. Working on getting my master's degree in library science is complicated because my past loans are in default, so my husband and I are gonna work on that this weekend when we have time. This is on top of trying to deal with my mental health shit: needing to change systems (which means changing providers, going on wait lists, etc), trying to ensure I have little to no breaks in my actual care, chasing down diagnoses for myself, maybe trying out new therapy... yeah. I will admit to dragging my feet because it honestly sucks that I have to do this, but someone's gotta. I'm just so tired, y'all. It took me months to beat TotK when it normally wouldn't have. I am so tired all the time. I had to work on my birthday, and I could barely enjoy that actual day. The day after was better since I got to get stuff pierced, and I got to go see Barbie, but I still feel... I dunno. Maybe it's depression talking along with the fact that I don't ever handle my birthday well (what is an appropriate amount of attention to receive vs is it even okay to mention it vs is it okay to want attention). I cannot stand my own brain. Anyway, before I keep dissociating, that's just an update. Husband and I are burnt out. I just wanted to vent. I may delete it later. idk my bff jill

[rayne-storm]

A Desperate Proposal

AUgust 13 - Fake Dating

Fandom: FE3H

Summary: Sylleth / Sylvain x Byleth

Byleth really will do anything to help her students, though they feel more and more like "colleagues" every day, even pretend to be in an engagement with one.

Sylvain's parents insist on meeting the girl he's finally managed to snag. Surely, after all this time, he's found someone, right?

Sylvain begs his professor to fill in, just for a dinner, maybe spend the evening at his parents' place, just so they'll leave him alone! He isn't expecting to actually catch feelings for his attractive friend and mentor…

*****

"Ya gotta help me, teach! My parents just won't stop with this nonsense!"

Sylvain was into his dramatics early, it seemed. She tilted her head, encouraging him to explain.

"They're insisting I bring a girl home to meet them this weekend. They won't take that I don't have anyone. They're threatening to cut me off and disown me!"

Well, that did indeed warrant some dramatic wailing. She had heard the horror stories of noble families, especially from her Ashen Wolves. And other noble students. And the non-noble ones, thinking more about it.

"What do you need of me?" She had a sinking feeling.

"Just pretend to be my fiancee for like, 2 days maximum. If they think I have that, they should leave me alone for a while. Enough time to maybe actually settle down," he added with a sigh.

Byleth nodded, then, much to Sylvain's delight.

"You mean it? Oh you're the best! Meet me back here after you pack! I promise I'll make it up to you somehow!"

With that, he ran off to… somewhere, and she was left with a rather intense sinking feeling.

****

When she returned to her room, still the same small dorm she'd lived in as a professor, she couldn't hold back the anxiety that had managed to build since the moment Sylvain had opened his mouth earlier. She sat on the bed and took steadying breaths, clutching the ring she wore as a necklace now, the only tangible gift her father had left her, beyond the clothes she wore.

What would be expected of her? How did a fiancee act?? Would she need to be chatty and catty and the other things that all the women in her life were? And even then they were all so different! Would she want to be demure and sweet like Mercedes, or fiery and bright like Dorothea? Clingy? Standoffish? What did Sylvain - and more importantly, his parents - want in a girl? She had a crest (and far more than that, but she certainly wasn't about to say it), which was something she knew was important to them. Enough so to disown their oldest child. Did she really even want to impress people like that? Sylvain certainly seemed to have a great bit of disdain for those types of decisions…

She thought briefly about just asking the man what he needed her to be. But that seemed just as daunting. She'd never had an easy time with speaking, articulating anything that she wanted or needed, even since she had become a professor. Her needs were simply secondary to those around her, and she was happy with that. She liked to care for others, to protect. Now, to be in a spotlight… it unnerved her even further.

But she would never know if she didn't ask.

She would ask.

Absolutely.

Any minute.

……..

Perhaps she'd just ask when she saw him next naturally. They would have to travel, certainly. And she knew just enough about the world to be able to pack things that should be adequate. A gown, perhaps two? They were gifted to her by Mercedes and Manuela, who insisted she needed clothing appropriate for formal functions after she'd worn her usual armor to a recent celebratory ball. She'd tried these dresses on, they fit fine, so they would do (even if she hated how exposed she felt in them). Along went a pair of sandals she could wear with them. Then knives. A few more knives. Some very small knives. Bandages, just in case.

All in all, she filled her entire small bag. Surely that would be enough. Almost too much? No, no, she had to believe in herself. This would work.

She walked back to the hall where Sylvain had said, and waited, trying to ignore the pounding in her chest.

She could do this.

***

Sylvain wasn't very surprised to see that the professor was already packed when he returned. He was surprised she'd managed to fill an entire suitcase. Though judging by the weight of it in her grasp, it had to be more metal than cloth.

Oh well. It was fine. She was a warrior Goddess or something, right? He trusted she knew what she was doing. She was the most capable woman he knew, after all

"Are you ready?" He asked, smiling brightly as she looked up.

She nodded, and his smile grew. Classic teach.

He led her out to the monastery gates, where a nice carriage was waiting. She glanced it over with surprise.

"What? Didn't think I was gonna make you walk, did you?"

She looked down bashful.

Ah.

"Nah, nobles get uptight about that sort of thing. Come on, put your bag here," he said, opening a storage space at the top.

She hesitantly did so. Seemingly afraid to scuff anything up. It was cute.

He put his own bags beside her, amused at the sight. The last time he'd traveled with a lady, he'd had to hold his things as hers took up the whole space. Just one more thing to love about the professor.

But he couldn't keep calling her that, especially in front of his family.

But…

He realized with a start he didn't have a name for her. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Her father had been Jeralt Eisner. So her surname was Eisner. But he couldn't just call her "Miss Eisner," or "Professor Eisner," right? No that was absurd.

She noticed his concern, setting a hand on his knee and tilting her head in question.

"Sorry, uh, not to sound weird but… what's your name, professor?"

She looked a little shocked herself, but it quickly became a small smile.

"Byleth."

"It's pretty," he said reflexively, and he swore he didn't imagine a tinge of red on her cheeks.

"Thank you. It will be… unusual to be called that. But I will do my best."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" she considered a moment - always so thoughtful in her words - and responded, "you and the others all simply call me 'professor.' Or something close to it. Jeralt and the mercenaries just called me 'kid.' I… I can't remember the last time someone actually used my name…"

Oh. That was… sad, honestly. Names were important. And hers was so nice.

"Well, get used to it," he began with a grin, "cause that's all I'm calling you for the next two and a half days!"

She smiled back, giggling even. It was rare to see such emotion from her (such positive emotion, anyway) so blatantly on her face.

He couldn't help falling in love, just a little more. Maybe he'd ask her on an actual date after this...

***

The rest of the journey was blessedly uneventful. They stopped once to eat and give the horses a break (and Byleth thanked the driver so sincerely, the man looked taken aback), and Byleth spent most of that time looking around the small tavern, picking at her food, and listening to others.

Sylvain thought it was a nice change of pace from the girls that chatted every moment of the day.

They got to the estate before dark, and Sylvain insisted on carrying Byleth's case. It was, 100%, more weaponry than anything else, and he marveled at how she could hold it with such ease. It was easy to forget how incredibly strong she was.

He managed to get the things inside, allowing a servant to make the rest of the trip to their rooms. He didn't envy the guy.

"Mother, Father, this is Byleth Eisner," he introduced when they came go greet their guests.

"Oh it's so wonderful to meet you! I was beginning to fear our dear boy would never find someone! And he and his crest aren't getting any younger!"

His mother's laugh was catty as ever, and he forced himself to keep his smile.

He did note that the professor- Byleth, her name was Byleth- had a flash of anger, nearly hostility, cross her features before she schooled them back to her usual stoic look. He doubted anyone but himself noticed it, but it was nice to see his feelings weren't singular.

She plastered on a frankly pleasant smile and bowed, and his parents' bewilderment only widened his grin.

"She's a wonderful girl," he said brightly, "a fighter and scholar, you know. All befitting the Crest of Flames…"

That schooled them right back into awe and delight, and scarcely believing their incompetent youngest boy could do so well for himself. When they began to talk about potential children, however, Byleth began to look uncomfortable, and he took her arm, pulling her close.

She looked a little surprised, but didn't fight it.

"We've had a long journey. I imagine you'll want us to look presentable for dinner…?"

His mother tutted and conceded and his father went back to his chair and his cigars and his books, his usual pre-dinner ritual.

Sylvain let out a relieved sigh as they made it to his wing of the house.

"Sorry about them. They're just…" he floundered a bit.

"The same parents who disowned Miklan," she offered softly, squeezing his hand.

He nodded with a sigh, wiping his face.

"The same. Luckily we only have to be here two nights. If you'd rather not spend dinner with them, I can make us up an excuse, or-"

She shook her head adamantly, face one of determination. She would see this battle through, as she had all others, from the front line.

He chuckled softly. "All right. Well, I'll meet you down there when you're ready. There should be a maid in your room to help with anything you need."

She nodded again, and marched into her temporary quarters.

Damn, he loved her. Maybe... this could be something more.

***

Luckily for Byleth, the girl assigned to help her was kind and talkative. She didn't bat an eye when Byleth dropped her clothes and tugged on a dress, merely came over to help lace it up.

She was also very pleasant when she insisted on doing up Byleth's hair. Which was good, as the professor had no idea what she was doing in that department. She could tie it up, or maybe do a simple braid, but that was the extent of things.

Makeup was similarly foreign, though the girls at the monastery occasionally had her model lip paints. Those days were, she thought, fun. Now, however, this was business. Battle, even. And she was the best at battle. Right?

For additional courage, she put her father's ring on her finger, letting the warmth of the metal soothe her. Besides, it wouldn't do to be a ring-less fiancee.

She was so, so grateful the sandals were flat, as she didn't think she could face the grand, curving stairs in a heel any greater than the small ones on her boots. Especially not with how her hand gripped the railing. She found herself terrified of disappointing Sylvain, and second-guessing every aspect of herself. What if she was too quiet? Too stoic? What if, now bared to the world as she felt, she was hideous? What if?

The doubts died a fiery death, however, when he saw her, and his expression shifted into one she'd seen all too often at the monastery, though had only recently come to understand: the man's face was twitter-pated, as her father would say. Lovestruck, even. It changed into something gentler as she felt her face heat up. He took her hand, kissing her knuckles delicately.

"You look amazing," he murmured, breath tickling her ear.

She blushed darker and tilted her head sheepishly.

"I mean it," he insisted, and looped his arm around hers.

"Now, shall we? Who knows? Maybe that ring'll move to my finger after we get back." He grinned and boldly kissed her cheek.

As she blushed and fussed and whined, she found she didn't hate the thought.

[scarlettriot]

Stood Up

You (Y/N) get stood up from a date and Kaminari decides to do something about it.

Pairing: Kaminari/F!Reader

Contains: Fluff, Flirty Denki, Established BakuSquad Friendship

Warnings: 18+ Below the cut, Minors DNI! Swearing, Electro-Stim, Overstimulation, use of pet names (cuddle bug & cutie), oral (F receiving), consensual recording

A/N: Well, here we are with the third in my Stood Up series. There is also Bakugo & Kirishima if you're interested. This one took me way too long and it's also my first time writing Kaminari at length. I hope you all like it :)

Word Count Starting Below: 2,461

You slipped your foot into the silver heels you had picked out. Something a little fancier since this was a first date after all and you wanted to make a lasting impression. Not only that but this was your first first date in a while. Being a Pro Hero made life busy and dating difficult.

Practically the entire day leading up to this very moment revolved around you either getting ready or babbling with excitement to your closest friends.

An alert chimed on your phone with a text from your date, a smile sliding onto your face expecting to read some message about how they were on their way and that they'd see you soon, but that wasn't what you were met with.

Instead, it was a screenshot of your Instagram page, multiple of them actually, all of you and the ridiculous photos you took with your friends but mostly with one Denki Kaminari. The most recent of which was from a tea shop he met you at just earlier that day so you could show him the shoes for your date.

The message below was simple and more than enough to leave a sour taste in your mouth, this isn't what I want to see when I'm supposed to be taking you out tonight. What, one date a day isn't enough? Why are you even dating? Does your blonde boyfriend know?

You giggled at what they were implying, quick to explain how these were all your friends, they had been since high school! They are people you spent what little free time you had with. Especially Denki, your best friend since you were 15!

That joy you felt started dissipating within the next few messages. You hadn't even had a first date and they were already jealous, and that was something you didn't have room for in your life. So, you slipped the heels off your feet and put them directly back in the box to return when you had the time. Tight black jeans and fitted top were exchanged with a hoodie and sweats although your makeup and hair stayed done, you didn't have the energy to undo your hard work.

Instead, you slid back into your computer chair, your headset snuggly back on your ears and before you notified everyone you were back online, you took a moment listening to the chatter of your friends.

"Shitty Hair! Fuckin' pay attention!"

"Yeah, man! We're getting slaughtered over here!"

"Less yelling at Kiri! More shooty shooty!"

"All of you are hopeless..."

Eijiro chuckled out an apology that was accompanied by a lighter giggle also coming from his mic. "Think this is gonna be my last round for a bit, guys."

"You're so fuckin' whipped." Bakugo scoffed, before screaming profanities.

"Is it whipped if I'm the one who's wanting to get her into bed though?"

You clicked your mic back on then. "Hey, remember last week when Kats forgot his push to talk so we all heard him getting head and we party whipped because someone couldn't focus?"

"You better shut the hell up right fucking now!"

Everyone else roared with laughter. "Yeah! At least I have the decency to mute myself!"

"Hey, wait a sec, why are you online, Y/N!" Denki noted, "You should have already left!"

You screenshot your messages to the group chat because it was far easier than just explaining the ordeal.

"Cute shoes." Eijiro and Kyoka commented at the same time.

There was a lull as their game ended and the messages were read.

"Ya don't need 'em if they're gonna have their head so far up their ass like this."

"I agree." Hanta chimed in. "They're not worth your time."

"Still, sorry they turned out to be a shit." You could hear the frown on Kyoka's face, "I know how excited you were."

"Right, you doin' okay, Y/N? I can stick around and we can all shoot some things!"

"Thanks, Kiri but I'll be just fine! Go spend time with your girl!"

One by one, everyone signed off. You pulled up Spotify and Stardew Valley, something of a comfort for you to get lost in for the rest of the night.

Less than an hour later, you noticed your phone lighting up with your best friend's familiar smiling face. "What's up, Denki?"

"Open your door! I have my hands full and don't wanna put everything down to get my key!"

You sprang from your desk and rushed to your door. Sure enough, on the other side was Denki with bags in both hands and his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. You grabbed it and a bag before he had a chance to drop anything like the klutz he was. "What's with all this?"

"I feel bad."

"Why? You didn't stand me up?"

He fiddled with the edge of a paper bag. "Yeah, but, we both read those messages and no one said anything but they didn't just call our group out, they called us out.

"Denks, it doesn't matter to me-"

"But, it does to me! You were so excited about this and I got in the way, unknowingly but, still! So, I gotta make it up to you now!"

He pulled out take-out boxes from your favorite restaurant. Two bottles of your favorite wine. Your top three favorite movies and video games, and a board game you both had been meaning to try. "I mean, if they think I'm your boyfriend I kinda gotta live up to the hype, right?"

You really wanted to insist that none of this was necessary. That just because some person that neither of you really knew that well, assumed something about your relationship that didn't mean he had to blame himself for it.

But, you had to admit, this was really sweet. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to you that he knew everything you liked but it was nice. Instead of sitting across from a stranger, making awkward small talk, and trying to learn about one another, you were barefoot in your kitchen, laughing with your best friend while he plated dinner and you poured the wine.

Formalities were out the window. Both you and Denki were eating dinner in your living room, laughing and drinking just as you'd done a million times before. You snapped a photo of the delicious food on paper plates, toasting good times with your cheap wine, ready to post them to your Instagram.

"Gonna make them more jealous..."

"I think they made it pretty clear they don't want to see me so why should I care?"

He shrugged. "I just thought they might, you know, come to their senses that they obviously lost."

"I don't really care either way." You wandered back into your kitchen, putting away the leftovers, "They can forget I exist or they can stalk my page like a creep. If someones' gonna try and tell me I can't be friends with my friends or just not listen to me, then I don't want them in my life. No matter how good-looking they are."

Denki watched you from the sofa, a bit of a lopsided grin on his face that had butterflies taking flight in your stomach. "What?" Laughing to hide the bit of a crush you always had on the man. It was unavoidable you told yourself. His personality was infectious and had 15 year old you head over heels.

He pushed back bright blonde hair back off his forehead and just shook his head. "Nothin'. Uh, what's next? Video game, board game, or movie?"

You peaked on the counter at the options. "Well, we probably should have checked this but the board game needs at least four people to play... guess we'll have to save that for our next game night. Is a movie okay?"

Of course, it was.

You brought over the DVD with a refill of wine and he pulled a blanket down off the back of your sofa.

It really didn't take long, just fifteen minutes or so, and you were curled up into Denki's side. You'd make grabby hands for your wine glass and he'd pass it over with that damn grin again.

And not long after that, he'd pulled out his phone, angling it to take a picture of the two of you. "What are you doing?" You could see him on his own Instagram, tagging you, with the caption, Check out my cute cuddle bug.

"I thought you didn't want to make them more jealous."

"I decided I don't care either. You're mine tonight, their loss. And since you're mine tonight, I get bragging rights." He snapped another quick picture of you rolling your eyes at him, and then he kept snapping them.

"Denki! Why!"

"Because you're cute, cuddle bug! I like having all the pictures of you that I can!"

Even as you tackled him back down on the sofa, pinning him below you, he still managed a photo. "Bet if I post this one, they'll really get the wrong idea."

You could have moved. You were the one on top of him and you had his arms above his head. You had the power here and yet you just lingered above him.

"Y/N? Not that I'm one to complain about having a beautiful person such as yourself pinning me down, like, it's kinda hot, but..." Looking down into half-lidded golden eyes, you wondered why you had to become best friends with such a damn flirt! "Are you gonna take advantage of this situation we're in or are we just gonna keep dancing around this for another decade or so?"

You couldn't have heard him right? No... no this was your brain playing tricks on you because he certainly hadn't had that much wine tonight. You sat upright on his lap. "Another decade then, Y/N?"

"You- ha- you should stop that, Denki."

He leaned up, moving his arms around you, "Gimme a good reason to and I will."

You didn't have one. And not just because you've been in love with him for ten years but also because he was your best friend. The only reason to not go through with it was the possibility of losing your friendship if something bad were to happen but, you really didn't think anything would.

Denki might have been a serial flirt but he was surprisingly loyal in all the relationships he'd been in, not that there had been all that many serious ones.

"I'm not hearing anything." He teased, his face getting closer to yours. You could count each and every one of the faint freckles that littered the balls of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. "But, I promise, if you tell me no, I'll stop, won't push this any further."

This whole thing seemed like a frickin' whirlwind, happening faster than your brain could really process the situation but you didn't want it to stop either. You wanted to take it further, didn't want to say no.

Which was why you coiled your arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. There was that small little buzz of electricity that tickled your lips when he'd kiss your nose or cheeks that was now playing on his lips, on his tongue when you welcomed him in.

He leaned back again, pulling you with him until you were both a pile of needy hands and breathy pleas. Everywhere his hands roamed you felt that faint trail of shock against your skin, making the little hairs on your body stand on end.

Clothes were shed, tossed haphazardly around your living room, both of you pausing to laugh when Denki managed to land your hoodie over a lamp. His attention was drawn back to you quickly though, still perched on top of him but now he had your chest on full display since you'd forgone a bra when your date canceled.

Electrifying tongue twirled around your nipples, sensitive normally, now it felt like you knew what it was like when he fried his damn brain. He was eager, relentless even, pulling and sucking, another hand giving your other breast a similar treatment. He had you so focused that you let out a broken moan when slender fingers found their way into your panties.

"Fuckin' hell, Denki."

The bastard winked up at you, nipple still between his lips and before you could retort, he sent another small jolt through you.

You were blatantly grinding down on his hand, reaching behind you, you found him completely solid, barely being contained in the tight black boxers he wore. You had enough sense to tug them down and wrap your hand around him making his teeth sink into your soft flesh, whining when you stroked him.

"Y/N..." He whimpered, his hand momentarily distracted from his ministrations gave you enough time to shift in his lap to scoot forward putting his cock in front of you. In one swift motion, you had his length between your slick. "Oh fuck, cutie!" Golden eyes were squeezed shut while you moved along him, feeling that pleasant curve he had, you could only imagine what it was gonna be like to have him inside you.

"You're being a little tease, ma-makes me wanna do all sorts of things to y-you."

He was kissing your neck, your chest, shoulders, and arms, anywhere on you that he could reach. His hips bucking up into you, just trying to hit that perfect angle.

Strength and agility were something most overlooked when it came to Denki Kaminari but when the man wanted something bad enough, he found a way to get it.

He had your ass rising up in the air with a harsh thrust of his hips and a small squeak from you, giving him exactly enough time to scoot down on the sofa so you were sat atop his face. If you complained, he didn't hear you. Denki already had your thighs around his head and his tongue devouring you completely.

Little shockwaves rocked you while you cried out his name, hands fisting blonde locks just trying to stay upright.

One orgasm from you apparently wasn't enough, neither was two but on the third, Denki finally relented, allowing your heartrate to come back down and your gasping breaths to come in more steadily.

You slid back down his body, his erection now smack against your ass. His hair was recked, face completely flush but he had the biggest grin on his face that you'd ever seen.

Denki kissed both your cheeks, "You are so amazing, cutie!" Kissed your lips, "You taste better than anything I've ever had!" And one more on the tip of your nose. "Doin' okay?"

You nodded, starting to really gather yourself again, and by this point, you really just wanted one thing.

"I wanna... Denks... can I take care of you now?"

"Sure, cutie! How do you want me?" The wiggling eyebrows had you rolling your eyes and pushing him on his back again.

It took little effort for you to position yourself above his cock, and with how slick you were, his bright pink head slipped right inside. He held your hands while you scrunched up your face, sliding all the way down him until he was completely sheathed within.

The curve was immaculate. Hitting in just the right way that had you moaning with just a couple thrusts from him. Before long, you were eagerly bouncing on his cock. Riding him hard so he filled you up each and every time.

You barely registered him reaching for the coffee table, his phone now in his hands. "What're you doin'?" You practically slurred, slowing only slightly. He tapped the camera lens with a wicked grin. "Seriously?"

"We could make 'em really jealous now..."

Somewhere in your brain, you knew your date wouldn't give two shits, in fact, this probably would have only validated their thoughts about your's and Denki's relationship but with his cock stuffed so deeply into you, kissing your cervix in the most beautiful way, you really didn't give a damn.

You and Denki put on the best possible show you could think of. You were overstimulated, sore, and completely elated! He balanced the phone against the wine bottle so neither of you had to try to hold it.

This way he could play with your breasts or squeeze your thighs while you dug half-moons into his chest. Shocked with the playful zaps he sent right to your core.

Your makeup you'd didn't feel like taking off now ran down your cheeks with tears. Your hair was a mess thanks to him pulling at it.

Denki had you howling through another two orgasms, telling you how perfect you were, how nice you felt squeezing him so tightly, your nails felt so good against his skin.

It was only when you collapsed against his chest did he hoist your hips up so he could ram into you, pulling out just at the last second with a strangled cry of your name.

He wiggled himself free, grabbing a towel from your bathroom and cleaning you both up before stopping the recording.

"You're, hey you're gonna send that to me right?" You asked when he handed back your hoodie off the lamp.

He dropped a kiss on your lips, plopping down beside you on the sofa again and you noticed your email already up and the video uploading. "Obviously, we share all our videos and photos. Why would this be different?"

[summerlovingbaby]

Stone Cold

“ We’re almost there.” Kirishima spoke. “ Almost there, and then we could radio for help and get you warm.”

“ Uh-huh.” she whimpered quietly.

Kirishima had been dragging her for about 2 miles in what felt like 10 feet of snow, and was prepared to drag her 4 more if that meant getting her to safety.

They had a mission, and to say it went south was a understatement. They were ambused, and there was someone with a quirk who could make it snow, and Y/N’s quirk was not suited for the cold. She took some pretty bad blows and had a cut running down the outside of his leg,and was unable to walk on her own.

Both their comms went dead, the sudden snowstorm putting them in a dead zone. Kirishima had come out realitively unscathed and had managed to fight off all the villians, and the ones who didn’t fled the area, leaving the two of them stranded in the middle of a blizzard.

“ You gotta stay awake.” Kirishima said, shaking her slightly causing her eyes to flutter open. 

“ Sorry.” she slurred. “ M’ really sorry. I’m just tired.” That was the first sentence she had managed to string together in about  a mile.

“ I know.” he said. All they had to do, was get to the cell tower, then radio their location and Y/N would be alright. “ I know.”

Y/N’s body got heavier with with every single step, and as much as he hated to admit it to himself, she was getting harder to carry. But he was a hero, and today he had to be her hero. He spent years training to be a hero, and if he couldn’t even save the woman that saved his life countless times, then who was he besides some worthless kid, who had a stupid quirk.

Y/N thought he was anything but worthless, she actually thought he was kind of cute, in the great Dane type of way. He was loyal and protective, which was something Y/N admired. He was kind and sweet and brought her chocolate chop muffins when she was sad. He had the kind of laugh that made other people want to smile too, He was a great hero in every way that he could be a hero, and strived to be the best person, even though he was the best person that Y/N ever got to know and would ever get to know.

“ Did I do a good job?” she whispered.

“ You did a great job.” he whispered, trying to get a better grasp on Y/N.

“ I wanna be a hero.” she added. “ I wanna be a real good one.”

Y/N had wanted to be a hero, as long as she knew what the word hero meant. And she spent every single second trying to make sure she was the best damn good hero.

Eijiro thought she was the best hero, and he couldn’t tell if he admired her or loved her. Probably some sweet combonation of both. He could spend hours looking at her, because she was that damn pretty. It was like she stepped out of the most perfect picture. Her eyes were always so honest and told him everything that he needed to know. That she was sweet great and wonderful. And Kirishima wanted his share of sweet great and wonderful.

“ You’re a good hero.” Eijiro replied. “ A real good one.”

“ You think?” she said, finding the urge to llift up her head. Then she suddeny dropped it, like she had the wind knocked out of her.  “ I don’t feel good.” she whispered.

“ I know.” he said. “ I know. I’m real proud of you.”

He could feel her body stop shivering from the cold, that wasn’t good, her knees began to buckle and she suddnely became very aware of how much she weighed, and how tired she was.

“ Baby, don’t do that, just stay strong for a little longer.”

He just called her baby? A little frueudon slip.

His hands felt numb as her knees buckled and she collapsed in the embankment of snow beneath her, she was very tired, really really tired. Her eyelids felt heavy and droopy, and she was warm, which to her was a nice change of pace, and to him, was quite possibly his worse nightmare.

“ M’ not cold anymore.” she whispered. “ Is that a good thing?”

“ Yeah... yeah... it’s a real good thing.” he lied. She was going to die. She was going to die right here and now, and he was never going to get the chance to take her out on a proper date.

She was now laying on her back on the snow, and her lips were covered with a subtle blue hue. Her finertips felt like icecubes despite the fact that she was wearing gloves, she looked so damn happy it was irritating to him, because that smile was so cold it was distant.

“ Can I tell you something?” she managed. It was getting hard for her to breathe in this frigid air, but she didn’t even feel it.

“ Yeah, yeah anything.” he begged, hoping if he could get her talking long enough she could stay awake until help arrived. They had to be close by now, even if they didn’t it make it to the tower, someone had to find them. The question was, was it going to be before Y/N froze to death.

“ I think you’re handsome.” she muttered. “ And I want you to ask me out to dinner or something.” 

“ Thanks. I think your pretty.” he said,his eyes welling up with tears. “ You’re the prettiest girl, you know that?” he asked and she struggled to nod. “ And when you get home, there gonna make you feel all better, and then I can take you out on a proper date.” he added.

“ I’m gonna die, aren’t I?” Y/N asked sweetly.

“ I hope not.” he replied. “ They’re gonna come any minute now, and get you all warmed up.”

She took a especially long blink and took a very long, deep breath.

“ Ei.”

“ Yeah.”

“ I’m really tired.” she muttered.

“ I know baby, you just gotta stay awake, a little while longer.” he whispered, he forced himself to look up, pretending to look for the airplane, but it really was so the last thing she saw, wasn’t him crying.

He was  supposed to be her hero, and she was gonna freeze to death due to his own icomptence and inablity to be a good hero. She was gonna die, in the cold, and the last thing that she was going to see was the man who failed to save her crying because he was pathetic.

“ I’m really sorry.” she whispered. “ Sorry for never asking you out, and I’m sorry for dying, I really didn’t mean to.”

“NO...NO... YOU DON’T GET TO DO THAT, YOU DON’T GET TO DIE ON ME.” he yelled.

Her eyes were fluttering shut and her smile started to drop, he could feel her body, which she was holding close to her chest starting to grow weak. She was glad that the last thing she was gonna see was the man that she knew she loved.

“ Please, don’t die on me.” he begged. 

He laid down next to her agaist his better judgement. His chest was starting to ache and his head felt heavy. Against his better juudgemnt he let himself close his eyes, he just wanted one last minute to be with her before he had to leave her, she deserved that. He at the least deserved it.

He woke up four days later, to the steady but annoying beeping of a heart monitor. The light was nearly blinding, and the air around him felt warm. Holy hell the hair around him was warm, he was warm.

He forced his eyes open and tried to sit up quickly, but that was harder than he thought, because even thinking of moving sent shooting pains through his chest and into his stomach, his vison was blurred.

Something was touching his hair, and he didn’t like it. He wanted Y/N, he wanted to know if she was alive. He wanted Y/N to touch his hair, and he needed to get up and go find her. The blood was pumping in his ears so quickly that he couldn’t hear the sound of her soothing voice.

But the something touching his hair, wasn’t so much a something but a someone, he could feel soothing fingertips carding through his hair. He could recongnize that soothing touch anywhere.

He forced himself to blink a few times tp clear his vison and forced himself to breathe so he could hear something but the beeping, he turned his head to the side, and there she was in all her not dead not frozen glory, looking down at him with a wide smile and a few stray tears streaming down her face.

“ Ei! Thank god you’re okay!”

“ So how about that date huh?” he managed to whipsper through a strained voice.

“ How about it?”

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[theangrycomet-art]

More Striaton Trio Headcannons:

because I like talking about these three (other post)

Cress and Chili look the most alike, though all three share the same nose and jawline.

Chili

5′9″- the tallest of the three not including his hair

least manageable hair- he literally styles his hair by hanging off of the bed and mousing it

no one’s really sure where his red iris’ came from, but he has his mother’s eyeshape

resting face is a default pansange :3 smile, leading people to believe he’s the most mischievous out of the three (they’re right but that’s besides the point)

most expressive out of the three

has three piercings, courtesy of Emmet and Ingo when he was 10, 2 in the lopes and one upper helix in his left ear

share’s eye shape with Cress

blocky (but still thin) eyebrows

short temper- but insulting his family is the quickest way to set him off

when he’s frustrated/angry he gets combative. Typically this results in a pokemon battle but he has thrown a fist or two, especially when he was younger.

despite this, he has a quick cool down and doesn’t usually hold grudges

really bad about about forgetting where things are and leaving things in weird places, leading to SEVERAL arguments with Cress

it’s not like he’s forgetful- he just kind of spaces out where/when he puts things down. than he’s gotta spend an hour finding the thing he just had

Hence why he can’t stand when his brother’s “borrow” his stuff, especially when he’s using it

can’t stand being bored- luckily he can usually go to Cilan or Cress to do something about it though

Cilan

5′8″

keeps his hair the shortest- can’t stand when it’s touching his shoulders/neck. his hair is longer than it looks though- it’s just gelled back for most of it

inherited his nana’s eyes

while he keeps his gentlemanly composure most of the time, he’s just as quick to toss it aside when excited

his mouth typically rests in a flat smile

a Supertaster with Hyperosmia, his sense of smell is insane for a human, even by the pokemon worlds standards

you will never find him in a perfume shop

he’s got a long fuse but once he’s well and truly pissed off you there isn’t much you do to escape his wrath

silver tongued in the sense he can tell you what you want or cut you down to ribbons.

Burgundy kind of hammered in just how powerful a tool his choice of words can be, so he wields them as carefully and precisely as a knife.

When angry, he’s not afraid to stab you with his words, which he does far better than one might expect. (as a result of studying to become pokemon connoisseur he’s learned to read people VERY well. he can pick up a lot about a person from a single interaction, both good and bad)

LOVES to learn new things, especially when it comes to his already established interests.

As a result, he loves to teach people about the things he knows, so when he’s asked about one of his passions he happily leaps on the opportunity to info dump.

He’s trying to give you all the information he can in the limited time he’s got because he knows that he would appreciate in-depth details.

Cress:

5′7″ 

ends up growing his hair out when he gets older

hetero-chromic, right gold, left blue. He cover’s the gold eye purely because it doesn’t fit the aesthetic he’s going for. It also allows him to sneak in smug smirks.

eye shape/color (blue) is from their mother. Again, no one’s sure where the gold came from.

most mellow/cool headed out of the three

outside of his family and friends, he’s generally indifferent to people and their opinions

arrogant, but he’s got the skills to back it up

his indifference when it comes to who you pick to battle is partially genuine, partially a tactic to catch trainers off guard

as a rule of thumb tho, he could care less about what people (outside his family and friends) think

when he’s pissed off he gets cold. He will act as though you don’t exist unless he absolutely has to interact with you, and then makes beartic’s seem warm and cuddly

dates around. A LOT. literally has list 6 pages long (alphabetized and dated) of the people he’s been with. Despite the high numbers, almost all of these relationships have ended amicably and/or in friendship.

OCD- every thing has it’s place and everything has a level of cleanliness to maintain. This leads to arguments with Chili who just leaves stuff anywhere and everywhere, and then wonder’s why he can’t find anything

If one of them gets interested in a new hobby, it’s not uncommon for the other two to end up picking some of it up. Between helping their brother practice or just giving them a listening ear, it’d be harder not too.

This is part of how the three became some of the top fencers in the Unova region- but that’s a different post.

This has happened with

Cooking

Pokemon Battling

Trains

Bottle Caps

Fencing

Fishing

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Could you also add Gage to the last fo4 male companions in bed post please? 👉👈

Yes, of course! Here he is! 😁

And I'll also add him to the FO4 M!Companions part of this prompt as well, so y'all can find him easily on the masterlist :)

Also, here are the other 2 parts:

Part 1 with the M!FO4 companions

Part 2 with the M!FONV companions

And this prompt with F!FO4 Companions is on the way as well!

I hope you enjoy!

NSFW below the cut!

Gage:

The raider’s had his fair share of sexual partners, most of which he didn’t particularly care for, and all of which he’d never actually loved. This whole… relationship thing is new to him, so you’ve gotta cut him some slack on the finer points of it all, even when it comes to sex.

At first, he’s just as physical, and just as interested in his own needs, as he was before; when he was in his younger years, and with his previous sexual partners. However, when those genuine feelings finally seep into him, when he finds that his need for you is more than just physical, his aims change drastically, in a way that’s completely unfamiliar to him. But ultimately… damn, he finds that he just can’t get enough.

Gage loves to make you fall apart under his touches, loves to hear the way your voice grows husky, to see the way he makes you tremble in anticipation and writhe in overstimulation. And oh, how he just can’t help but leave his marks all over his partner at every chance he gets. You won’t leave the bedroom unmarked after a night spent with Porter Gage.  A neck littered in dark hickeys, hips bruised in the shape of his tightened fingers, chest spotted with reddened bite marks. He wants all the world to know that you’re taken, you’re his.

Gage is shameless in his love, and proud to show you off in public, taking PDA to a whole new level in his glaring and aggressive possessiveness of you, which often leads to; not quite blatantly public, but semi-public quickies in every kind of environment. Though he's not big on showing his mushier side (which he definitely has, despite what he tries to make everyone think) out in the open, when Gage needs you, he needs you, and almost nothing will stand in his way. Any surface of Fizztop is fair game, be it on the balcony, on the bar top, or just classic style on the big, soft mattress. And when it comes to the other boss' territory, it's a personal endeavor of his to have you in each one of their areas of the park. Whether they know or not, he'll leave up to you. He likes to see the way you try and keep quiet as he takes you in shady alcoves, in abandoned buildings, and behind old, run down rides, and he likes it even more when you just can't help but hold back all those delicious pleasured cries he manages to pull from you in those times.

Beyond all of that, Gage prefers to take the lead when the two of you are alone. You’re the Overboss, spending day and night trying to keep the raiders in order, stressing about the park and the feuds between bosses, and the power plays, and the chaos of his fellow men and women of Nuka World. When you’re with him though? He’ll take care of you. He likes it when you give in to him, when you follow his lead, and submit to him being in charge for the night. All you’ve gotta do is listen and follow orders, an’ he’ll make you feel pleasure and release unlike anything you’ve experienced before. If he feels the need, or just if he fuckin’ wants to, Gage’ll have some fun tying you up, maybe using some sensory deprivation, and if you’re into it, he could seriously get into some spanking sessions and other delicious punishments with you. Odds are, whatever you’re down for, the raider will be game.

If there is the occasional night you feel like taking the lead, he’ll humor you, but you’ll have to earn that right through a bit of play wrestling and persuasion. Also, if you blab about that shit to any of the other raiders, Gage won’t be so likely to oblige your wishes again. So just keep that in mind, and he’ll play nice… Or, as nice as you’d expect a raider to.

Really though, anything that sends a thrill through him, he is bound to want to enjoy over and over again with you. An’ with Gage, hopefully you’ve got a bit of a high sex drive, cuz though he may be gettin’ to his later years, he’s got a lot of time alone to make up for. Sure, he coulda had someone almost any night in his earlier years, and even now if he wasn’t with you, but you’re just different. And a hell of a lot better than anything he could remember having with any other mediocre partner he could scrounge up before.

Sure, sex was nice before. It was a good release, made him feel satisfied, and his partners always got something out of it too, but this? This closeness, all the goddamn feelings, your heated touch and the deep look of affection in your eyes, and just the way the expectations of it all have changed.

Now, sex wasn’t just about getting off, about release, but also about that extra shit he never knew about before. That build up, the running of his rough hands over your soft skin, the feel of your lips against his, pushing and pulling, tasting and biting as his passions turn aggressive. The drawn-out sessions that were so much more rewarding when he could watch you fall apart at his actions, and even at his words, as filthy and unrefined as they could be. And it was about what comes after too. His words of praise, and yours, the way you settled in his embrace, falling asleep together, legs all tangled, and an arm thrown over your chest, instead of feeling the need to leave before the moon had a chance to set. SO, depending on the relationship (or lack thereof), Gage's preferences and practices change quite drastically, but believe it or not, the closeness of intimacy really draws him in, once he gets a taste for it with the proper partner. It was unfamiliar, and it would take him quite a bit of practice to get all of it right, to treat you like you deserve. But Gage will be damned if he doesn’t give it a try. It may be strange to him, but already, this whole relationship thing is a hell of a lot better than whatever the fuck he was doing before.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.  

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards  the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

[mercurygguk]

what a man gotta do? | kth

genre; established relationship au, fluff

pairing; kim taehyung x female reader

summary; what a man gotta do when his girlfriend is insanely adorable when she’s drunk and doesn’t take no for an answer?

word count; 2,488

warnings; mentions of alcohol, a tiny bit of swearing, just soft tae and oc being a cute ass couple that i really adore

a/n; saw a text quote on tumblr, my brain popped an idea. this is it. also, i know nothing about gaming, so if anything i’ve written doesn’t make sense, just ignore it lol. please love it a lot and enjoy!! ps. please tell me what you think, thanks x

There is something so oddly pleasing about having the entire apartment to oneself on a Friday evening. Taehyung has been looking forward to this evening for a week and it is finally here. An entire evening for himself with his gaming console, his friends in his headphones and a big bowl of popcorn beside him. It’s quiet in the apartment as he sets up his gaming spot, fluffing the pillows and setting them up nicely on the couch so he can sit comfortably for the next many hours of nonstop gaming with his bestest friends.

The reason for his night alone is because his girlfriend’s (you) best friend just got promoted to a higher rank in the law firm she works at. She then went on to invite all her friends out for drinks which, of course, included you. Taehyung had fought to keep in his excitement when you had told him of your plans a week ago. You had eyed him down then, noticing the small exciting smile forming on his lips as he listened to your words carefully as if he actually cared. He was just overly excited to finally be able to have a gaming night without interruptions. And it’s not that he wants to sound ungrateful or like he enjoyed that you weren’t at home. He loved spending his Friday nights cuddled up with you, hell, that was his favorite Friday nights. But he’s only a boy, really. And a boy has needs. Gaming needs.

So he walks to the kitchen with a pep in his step as the microwave finishes with a loud ping! He pours the popcorn into a bowl and heads back to the couch where his gaming spot has been set up to perfection, everything in place and ready for him to have a relaxing night of games. He sits back in the mountain of pillows, sighing in content as he places the popcorn beside him before grabbing his headset. He sets it atop of his head, checking the sound and mic. Seconds later there’s an incoming call from his group of friends. 

He picks up with a grin on his face. “Hey guys!”

Seokjin gasps from the other end. “What the hell? Got a night off from the wife?”

Taehyung scoffs and rolls his eyes playfully, a small smile on his lips. “She’s out for drinks,” he explains, “best friend got promoted.”

“Em got promoted?” Jimin then asks, just now hearing about the news of his long-time crush.

A smirk appears on Taehyung’s face. “Yeah, like a week ago. She didn’t tell you?”

Jimin falls silent at his question. Taehyung wants to tell his best friend to get out of his misery and just ask the girl out. He’s a hundred percent sure she’d say yes within a heartbeat. In fact, when Em is here visiting you and Taehyung, she talks about Jimin more often than she’d ever admit.

“Just ask her out already!” Seokjin groans annoyed, causing Jimin to tell him to ‘fuck off’. Taehyung grins, having missed gaming and talking with his friends like this. He saw them a few days ago in person which was nice too, but gaming with them is just so different and fun. It’s been a long time since he has had the opportunity to game for an entire night with Seokjin and Jimin.

“Well,” Taehyung captures the attention of his two best friends, “shall we get started?”

And that’s how the next three hours pass. There’s bickering, arguing because Seokjin didn’t manage to cover for Taehyung which caused Taehyung to get killed. “Come on, hyung! You were supposed to cover for me!”

Seokjin sighs deeply on the other end, calming his temper. “You think I’m a mind reader? How was I supposed to know you’d-”

Taehyung’s phone starts vibrating in his pocket. He pulls the phone from his pocket to look at the caller-id. Your photo flashes across his screen, the wide smile on your face on a snowy day in December. A photo Taehyung snapped one day before Christmas, a day you had dragged him outside and into the snow. The first snow in Seoul in years and you had been so happy that you couldn’t stop smiling, so Taehyung saw it fit to snap a photo of you with his vintage camera which he had brought along.

“Hyung, one second,” he cuts off Seokjin’s rambling, removing his headset to answer your call.

“Hey babe,” Taehyung greets who he thinks is you. He stills, confused as Em greets him back in a rather serious, tired-sounding tone. “Oh, hey Em, did something happen?”

Em sighs deeply. “____ is drunk off her ass. Can you come get her?”

Drunk of her ass? You haven’t been drunk off your ass in months, which is why you being drunk so drunk right now doesn’t come as a shock to him. It’s been a while since you went out drinking like you’ve done tonight, so your body has gotten used to not fighting alcohol. Taehyung runs a hand through his dark black hair, removing it from his eyes.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll come by. Where you at?”

With the information from Em, he hangs up and grabs his headset to put it back on. “Hey, guys, I gotta go.”

Jimin sounds like an unsatisfied child as he whines. Taehyung can imagine the pout. “What? Why?”

“Em just called,” he tells his best friend, “____ is drunk as hell. I have to go get her.”

Jimin mutters an ‘oh’ and so does Seokjin. They tell each other goodbye before Taehyung is shutting off his gaming console and heading for the front door. He grabs a coat from the closet in the hallway, throwing it over the white t-shirt and the green unbuttoned flannel he’s wearing. He jumps into a pair of boots and grabs his keys before heading out of the apartment. 

“Shit,” he swears under his breath as he steps outside, into the cold air of January. He takes long strides towards his car, getting in and turning the key in the ignition. The heat is immediately turned on before he pulls out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of the bar Em told him you’re at. “One night,” he mumbles lowly to himself as he slowly drives around the parking lot behind the bar to find an empty spot, “one freaking night.”

The bar is filled with people, some drunk and some just barely tipsy. The aura in there is happy, void of any worries these people might have on regular days. Taehyung skims the darkness of the bar, trying his best to spot you in the crowd. Soon enough his eyes zoom in on Em who’s waving at him. He glances to her right side, spotting you sitting there with your head resting on Em’s shoulder. You look like you’re passed out and Taehyung immediately finds himself worrying a bit more than he originally had. You never pass out, you just always end up being a slur who laughs a bit too much at anything you find funny in the moment.

“Hey,” Em greets Taehyung. He nods at her in a greeting as he stops in front of them, immediately squatting down to be at your level. He reaches out, brushing your hair out of your face. You look at him, eyes blank and unfocused as you take him in. Thank god, you’re not passed out, just closing your eyes for a few seconds for a short nap.

“Hi baby,” Taehyung coos, thumb brushing across your cheek. You smile sheepishly, a very soft and drunken smile. Your boyfriend has to stifle a laugh as you almost fall over as you sit up. He catches your shoulder with his warm palm, steadying you as he tries to catch your eyes with his own. “Wanna go home?”

You nod, not muttering a simple word other than a low hum as he helps you to your feet. You’re leaning against his chest, cuddling into the warmth of him as he talks to Em for a moment.

“Thanks for calling,” he tells her. 

Em nods with a grin and pats your shoulder as if to say goodbye. “Get her to bed,” she smirks, “she’ll have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

Taehyung chuckles and nods in agreement. He bids Em and your other friends goodbye before leaving the bar with you cuddled up against his chest. You’re stumbling alongside him, finding it rather difficult to stand on your own two feet.

“Baby,” Taehyung softly calls, “could you use your legs for a second? You’re way heavier when you’re not cooperating, you know?”

You mumble in response, nuzzling your body even closer to him. “I wuv y-you,” you hum, smiling with your eyes closed as you hug him tightly. The man holding you up can’t help but laugh at you, his heart swelling twice it’s size as you drunkenly confess how you feel for him. Even though he already knew that. Good thing it’s love confessions and not some other kind of confession that slips from your drunk mind.

Taehyung struggles to get you into the passenger seat but he manages. He helps you take a sip of the water bottle Em had gotten for you at the bar. Your head falls back against the headrest of the seat, eyes still closed and lips moving on in another round of mumbles and humming. Taehyung buckles you up before moving to his own seat behind the wheel. He glances at you as he ignites the car. You’re really a sight to see right now. Completely unfazed as you sit in a weird position in the passenger seat, your head lulling from side to side because you have absolutely no control over it at the moment.

“God, you’re drunk,” Taehyung sighs deeply, “let’s get you home.”

If Taehyung thought getting you in the passenger seat was hard, then he had another thing coming. Getting you out of the passenger, however, is a completely different ordeal and then getting you inside the apartment building and into the elevator was probably more exercise than Taehyung has ever done in one day. Ugh, he really hates going to the gym.

The front door is soon unlocked and you’re back home in the warmth of your shared apartment. After the elevator ride up, it’s almost as if you’ve sobered up again. You’re walking better, still holding onto Taehyung, but walking. You’re blabbering now, talking about how you and Em had tested who could drink the most shots in 30 seconds and who could chug a beer down the fastest. Taehyung listens with a small smile, shaking his head in amusement because this is so very much unlike you. But he’s happy you had fun with your friends.

“Oh, you should’ve seen the way I chugged down those shots,” you laugh, plopping down onto the couch as Taehyung kneels down to take off your shoes. “Em could not catch me at all!”

“I’m sure you were ace, baby,” Taehyung hums, grinning now because you’re way too cute when you’re drunk. He’s not even mad that you spoiled his gaming night because you’re too drunk to get home by yourself. This is a sight he would’ve hated to miss out on.

“My head hurts though,” you mumble, frowning. Taehyung matches your frown as he glances up at you while unclasping your heels from your feet.

Once your shoes are off, he gets back up. He cups your cheek, brushing a stray eyelash off it with the pad of his thumb. “Just gonna get a makeup wipe and some pills for your headache, okay? I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

You nod, smiling up at him. He pecks your forehead quickly before heading for the bathroom. Taehyung glances back at you to see you sitting there silently, wiggling your bare feet and hugging a pillow to your chest. He chuckles as he enters the bathroom to retrieve painkillers and a makeup wipe to clean your face. A few minutes after rummaging through the cabinets and the drawers, he exits the bathroom and heads back to you. He stops in his tracks when he notices you’re gone from your spot. He skims the living room, not finding you anywhere. What he does find though is something he hasn’t seen since he was like eight years old. Right there by the dining table behind the couch, you’re currently putting up a blanket fort, a wide grin on your face.

“Baby,” Taehyung catches your attention right away, “whatcha’ doing?”

You smile, looking back at the project you’ve started. “What does it look like I’m doing? It’s a blanket fort!”

Taehyung steps closer, nodding. “I can see that.”

It doesn’t take long for you to finish setting it up before you’re grabbing pillows from the couch, throwing them inside the blanket fort. You’re way too good at this. Something tells Taehyung that you’ve made a lot of these as a child. You emerge from the fort to motion at him, beckoning him to join you. “Come on,” you insist.

Your boyfriend looks at you as if you’ve lost your mind, when really, you’re just tipsy as hell. “____, shouldn’t we just go to bed? I mean, this is-”

“Just get in the fucking blanket fort.” 

Taehyung’s eyes widen as you stare back at him with hard eyes. “Alright,” he puts his hands up in surrender, painkillers in one and a makeup wipe in the other, “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

The hard stare turns into a wide, content smile and Taehyung seriously thinks he’ll get a whiplash from how fast you can switch between facial expressions. You’re already inside the blanket fort when Taehyung stands in front of the opening to it. He squats down, looking inside. It did look insanely inviting and cozy in there. You pat the spot next to you on the blanket, still smiling. Taehyung sighs as he knows you won’t give up until he’s inside your blanket fort. You really don’t take no for an answer.

“You’re lucky you’re adorable,” Taehyung shakes his head before crawling inside the fort, plopping down beside you. You lay on your side facing him with a grin. “I haven’t been in a blanket fort since I was eight.”

You laugh, reaching for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “Then we must make blanket forts more often.”

[mischiefandspirits]

Bernard Figures It Out

Was reading through all the comments on @frostbittenbucky's post and all I could think of was that it was Bernard talking to Tim. Then I got to thinking...

"I've connected the two dots."

"You didn't connect shit."

"I've connected them."

Bernard figures out Tim's a superhero... sort of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim fidgetted nervously as he waited on the front porch of his boyfriend’s house. Bernard had sounded so serious when he’d called during Tim’s lunch to ask him to come over after work so they could talk about something.

Which Tim had done, after spending an entire board meeting just going over the past week trying to figure out what he’d done.

The only thing he could think of was that he’d ducked out halfway through their lunch date on Wednesday to give Duke some backup, but Bernard had seemed understanding when Tim explained there was an emergency at GRC Labs. It couldn’t have been a tipping point, either, since Tim had managed to only flake on three other dates over the past few months they’d been dating. Kate had been happy to cover for him as often as she could “out of queer solidarity” when she found out Tim was dating a boy for the first time and Tim had managed to trick Bruce into covering a few actual Wayne Enterprises emergencies for him when they came up.

There had to be a reason Bernard was breaking up with him, though. Had he missed something? He definitely wasn’t forgetting an important day. He was good with days and Tam was even better, so she would have reminded him on the off chance that he had forgotten.

What was he missing?

Bernard was smiling when he opened the door, but there was a nervous energy to it that had Tim’s stomach sinking. “Hey, Tim.”

“Hey.” Tim gave his own nervous smile then slipped inside.

They went into the living room and sat down on the couch.

Tim frowned when Bernard grabbed a manila folder off the coffee table. Crud, had he screwed up enough that Bernard had had to make a list? He knew he was new to dating a guy, but he hadn’t thought he’d done that bad. He’d really been trying, especially with how his and Stephanie’s relationship had fallen apart at the end. “What -”

“Just let me speak, Tim,” Bernard said, waiting for Tim’s nod. “Okay, so you know Clark Kent, right?”

Tim blinked as Bernard opened the folder to show a picture of Clark. It looked like one of the employee pictures from the Planet’s website, with his dorky “I’m just a humble country boy” smile and the golden globe from their roof photoshopped in as the background. “Uh, yeah? I think so. He works for the Daily Planet, right? I think he’s worked at a few of Bruce’s events. Not a lot of outside reporters are willing to come to Gotham.”

“Exactly!” Bernard said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Tim.

“What?”

He pulled out the picture to show the next page was an article titled, “DAILY PLANET REPORTER… BATMAN!?”

A wave of relief washed over Tim and he placed his face in his hands. “Were you up all night on the hero conspiracy boards again?”

“No. I mean, I found this on a board and was up all night thinking about it, but I found it reasonably early.”

“One in the morning isn’t reasonable, Bernard.”

“Says the guy who’s always wide awake when I call to infodump.”

“Touché.” Tim leaned against Bernard and gave him a smile. “So tell me, why is some reporter from Metropolis from all places Batman.”

“First of all, living in Metropolis is the perfect cover. Everyone assumes Batman would live in Gotham, no one would consider he could be from anywhere else. Metropolis is outside the GMA, but close enough that the commute is still possible.”

“But it’s Metropolis.”

“And who would think Gotham’s Dark Knight lives in the sunshine capital? Plus, I hear he disappears a lot on the job. There’s gotta be a reason for it!”

Tim made a note to let Clark know he needs to cut back on the disappearing act some since people are catching on.

“And have you seen the guy? He is swol AF, babe.”

“Please don’t call me babe while you’re talking about how hot another guy is.” Especially Tim’s honorary uncle.

“You know I prefer twinks.”

“BERNARD!”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring Tim’s shout. “The guy is definitely hiding something! Besides, Kent is an investigative reporter. He’s gotta know a lot about cases and the underground and detective work.”

Not as much as he likes people to think, but more than he likes people to know Superman does, Tim mused. “But what about the other vigilantes?”

“Well, Kent has a cousin…” Bernard flipped through a folder and pulled out a picture of Kara. It looked like a screenshot of her interviewing Lena for CatCo. “She’s obviously the latest Batgirl. Look at her hair. And the first Batgirl and the current Batwoman were obviously Lois Lane, the red hair is just a wig. Did you see how she kicked butt at that last event she went to? She’s not as subtle as Kent. That means their son is the latest Robin. He’s exactly the right size.”

Oh, Damian better not hear about this, Tim cackled internally. His youngest brother hated being reminded that Jon was the same height as him despite their two years age difference. Damian definitely took after Talia when it came to body type, no matter what he said.

“And Kent also has a brother.” This time he pulled out a picture of Kon. The clone must have been caught by a reporter out shopping with Ma since he was carrying some paper bags and glaring at whoever was behind the camera. “At least, he’s supposedly Kent’s brother, but he was a teenager when he first showed up with the Kents. A lot of people think he’s actually Kent’s son, that Kent got a girl pregnant when they were teenagers and something happened to the mom so Kent had to take him in. Now the Kents are trying to hide it by saying the two are brothers.”

That was… scarily accurate actually. Especially given Luthor and Clark were close friends at the time that Kon would have theoretically been born.

“And that beef would explain why the younger Kent brother went all crime lord on Gotham for a while before reconnecting with the family.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, Kent Jr.’s got the perfect build for Red Hood.”

Tim bit back a comment on how Kon was shorter than Jason by a good foot. Timothy Drake-Wayne should not know that. Add Jason to the list of people who can’t hear this theory.

“And then there’s this girl,” Bernard picked up a picture of Lois, Jon, and Natasha Irons walking down the street together. “No one’s sure exactly who she is, but she’s been spotted with the Kents a few times. I think the cover story is that she’s Jon’s babysitter.”

“And the actual story?”

“She’s Black Bat, obviously. That’s why she wears a mask that fully covers her face. She doesn’t want to stand out as the only African American Bat.”

“Isn’t Signal also Black?”

“Yeah, but he works in the daytime so he’s already a standout.”

“And who is Signal in this? And what about Nightwing and Red Robin?”

“Well, Nightwing’s just a Blüd who came to Gotham. He doesn’t count.”

Ouch. Sorry, Dick.

“And Red Robin is obviously an older Robin, the one who was Robin when we were kids. Kent wanted to keep him on, and I don’t blame him. As for Signal, he’s got the same backstory as all the other Robins Kent picked up, he just went the Signal route because he didn’t fit the usual Robin mold.”

“Because the female Robin fit the mold,” Tim snorted. Robin Mold, as if he and his brothers were even the same ethnicity. Or even had the same hair color. Jason dyes his hair, Dick’s is brown-black, Tim’s is pure black, and Damian’s is more a dark brown and it’s only getting lighter as he gets older.

“She didn’t, that’s the point. Kent tried to give breaking the Robin mold a chance by letting his cousin have a go at it, but he realized it just didn’t work so she went back to being Spoiler and he got a new Robin.”

Not touching that with a ten-foot pole. “Right, and where does he get the usual Robins? Please tell me you’re not back on the secret government orphanages theory.”

“No, no, no. Kent travels sometimes for his job, right? And a lot of the time he’s going to places that have been hit by disasters or major crimes. So he’ll take in some of the displaced children to train as his robins.”

Tim pressed his face back into his hands.

“You see it, right?”

Honestly, Tim was just wondering how his boyfriend could be so close, and yet so far off. “How would Kent even afford taking care of a bunch of secret -- possibly illegally acquired -- children without anyone noticing?”

“Simple. Bruce Wayne is funding him.”

“Bernard, I love you, but what the heck?” Tim blushed and looked up as he realized what he’d said, but Bernard didn’t seem to notice as he steamrolled ahead.

“It’d also explain how he can afford all the gear and how he’d be able to travel to Gotham or anywhere else Batman goes without anyone noticing. He probably has a secret Batplane or something.”

“Why would Bruce do that?”

“Because Wayne cares about Gotham, everyone knows that, and this way he can make sure someone’s taking care of the city without anyone putting two and two together.”

“And two plus two is?”

Bernard gave him a hard look. “I’m not stupid, Tim. Bruce Wayne is obviously Superman. His face is right there.”

Oh, the others are going to love this! Too bad I can’t tell Damian or Jason. Jason especially would have loved this. “Right. Bruce is Superman.”

“He is. Superman is known for being nice and Bruce Wayne’s basically all that’s keeping the city running at this point. That’s nice as hell.”

Oh my god.

“And Wayne does charity for the victims of cataclysms, doesn't he? I bet he first saves people from them as Superman and then builds them new homes for free.”

Oh my god! Why am I not recording this!?

“And the Wayne’s were rich enough to hide the fact they adopted an alien baby.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “If you’re about to tell me this is why Bruce’s parents got killed, you might want to stop while you’re ahead.”

“It’d make sense. There’re all sorts of unanswered questions about their deaths,” Bernard muttered under his breath, flipping through the folder. He pulled out another picture of Kara. This time she was in full Supergirl attire with a bus held overhead. “So if Wayne is Superman, then that’d mean your ex-girlfriend could be Supergirl. They look a lot alike and it’d explain how she got involved with you all.”

“Bernard, she has a human dad. You know, Cluemaster. The supervillain.”

“Yeah, her dad. But we don’t know anything about her mom!”

“Let me guess…”

Bernard pulled out a picture of Karen. She and Helena were suited up and talking to a group of cops, two goons held over each of Karen’s shoulders. “Her mom could be Power Girl! Some makeup and a wig and she could look just like Crystal Brown! And Damian Wayne is obviously the new Superboy! That’s why his background is such a mystery, right? He had to stay a secret until he could control his alien superpowers. That’s why he’s always so mean. It’s a cover since everyone knows Superboy is super sweet!”

Sure, when he’s not helping Damian pull pranks or using his adorable powers to put the blame on Kon and I. “No, Bernard. Damian and Steph are just very human hellspawn. And Bruce and Crystal are human too. I can’t believe you called me over here just to tell me you think Superman is both Batman’s sugar daddy and my adoptive dad.”

“Well, that’s not exactly why I called you over,” Bernard admitted, the nervous energy coming back. He grabbed Tim’s hands. “Tim -”

Tim’s stomach sank. “You are breaking up with me!”

“What? No! I don’t want to break up!”

“Why are you acting all nervous and serious then!?” Tim asked, pulling his hands away to throw them up in the air.

Bernard shook the folder. “Because I’m trying to tell you I figured out you’re Superboy!”

Tim’s brain blue-screened and his hands slowly dropped. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I know you’re Superboy. The older one, obviously. By the way, you and Damian really need to figure out separate names.”

Forget Jason and Damian, Kon can never find out about this. He’d never let me live it down. “Bernard, you called me a twink five minutes ago. Su-” Shoot, I can not risk getting Kon’s attention! “The older one might not be as big as Superman, but he’s not a twink.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the shapeshifting at work.”

“The what?”

“Obviously you Kryptonians can shapeshift. Why else would you look so much like humans?”

… Why do Kryptonians look so much like humans? Was there some - Wait, no! Break into the Fortress of Solitude for research later! Reassure your boyfriend that you’re not an alien now! “Bernard -”

“And that explains why your step-mom was so hot.”

“Gross.”

“She and your dad were actors hired by Luthor so you could have a normal life! But now Bruce has custody so he adopted you.”

“No.”

“That’s why you and your dad were so weird with each other when I met him.”

“We were weird because he’d just gotten out of a coma not long before to find that his wife was dead so he decided to actually be a dad for once in his life, but overcompensated and became a helicopter parent to a kid who was mostly on his own for his entire life!” Tim blurted out. “I am not an alien, Bernard!”

“Well, not technically since you were cloned from Superman on Earth.”

“Oh my god! You were just talking about Steph being Supergirl! Why would I date my dad’s cousin?”

Bernard blinked. “Supergirl and Superman are cousins?”

Right, Timothy Drake-Wayne wasn’t supposed to know that. “I thought they’d said something like that before, yeah. Are people seriously saying I’m Superboy on the internet?”

“NO! No, I swear I would have led with that if I thought your identity was compromised. A few people have mentioned Wayne and Damian, but not you or Steph or Jason.”

“Wh-Jason!? You think Jason was an alien too!”

“No, not exactly, but a few times when I’ve visited I swear I’ve seen a guy in the manor who looks like Jason. It’s just been out of the corner of my eye and he’s gone whenever I look so I’ve always thought it was just Dick or Bruce or some picture of Jason that my mind was playing tricks with, but it makes sense now that I know Wayne is Superman. He must have been able to heal Jason with alien tech, but couldn’t say anything because that would give away that he’s Superman.”

Damn it Jason! And damn it Bernard! I’m dating the smartest moron in the world! “Bruce did not bring Jason back with alien technology and none of us are aliens!”

“It’s okay, Tim. I won’t tell anyone.”

Tim grabbed Bernard by the jacket and pulled him into a kiss. When he started to feel lightheaded, he pulled back, “Could someone whose skin is as solid as stone kiss like that?”

Bernard blinked dazedly at him for a moment. “How do you know what Superboy’s skin feels like?”

Tim screamed internally. “He’s saved me from a kidnapping before.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I can get you the police report if you want.”

“Huh… And the others?”

“Not Supers. I can stab Damian the next time we’re at the manor if that’ll prove none of us are aliens.” He’d rather stab Jason, but that would probably only confirm to Bernard that Bruce used alien technology to bring him back.

“You probably shouldn’t stab your brother if he isn’t an alien.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I won’t stab him anywhere deadly.”

“That’s not the point,” Bernard said slowly.

“He’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“So do you believe I’m not an alien now?” Tim huffed, letting go of Bernard’s jacket.

The blond’s eyes dipped down to Tim’s lips. “If I say no, will you kiss me like that again?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Tim said, but he kissed him anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay, but I still say Clark Kent is definitely Batman.”

“Sure, Bernard.”