#just thinking about him doing his usual ranting and raving

[madame-mongoose]

how can i work when all i can think about is cuddling evil wheatley while he rants to me about this and that and calls me freaky for staring at him so intensely

[lcriedlastnight]

i'm still your boy | franco colapinto

○ tw: franco pininggg, reader is dumb and in love and i am here for it tbh. not proofread because i am lazy and i can't be botheredddd

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : w/c: 1.9k

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

you were known by mostly everyone to be a complete and utter sucker for long and all that comes with it. maybe it was to do with your upbringing or maybe it was just the fact that you longed for someone to call your own but it was something you wanted so badly it felt like you were going insane sometimes. even though you were obsessed with the idea of love, it wasn't because you were going out picking up boys left, right and centre every weekend you possibly could, or because you were always in a relationship trying to find mr right. it couldn't be because you had never actually been in a proper relationship. yes, you had spoken to guys before but it had never really amounted to anything, much to your dismay. all of this is probably why you longed for a relationship so badly, maybe deep down you felt like you were missing out on something all of your peers seemed to experience with no issues whatsoever.

no you were known for being obsessed with love because of the amount of it you consumed in the media. books, tv shows and movies. name any in the romance genre and you had probably seen or read it. and if it was a movie or tv show? you had probably forced franco to watch it with you while you longed for what was happening on the screen.

forced may be an exaggeration because anytime you asked the argentine to watch something with you, he was cancelling plans as soon as he possibly could. he was your best friend, it was literally his job to be the one you confided in about these kinds of things and that is exactly what you did. you knew franco had some experience in that department so you didn't hesitate to rant out your frustrations and even ask him questions on the subject. every single time you complained about it he would say the same thing "you are just starting your life, there is so much time left to find someone. don't rush it because you are desperate", like that was any help to you at all.

★・・・・・・★

when franco moved to pursue his racing career and indirectly leave you behind, well it left you with a lingering sadness that you could never really name. it was unlike anything you had ever felt before.

"we'll still facetime though, right?" franco's departing words he had asked you, hoping for the answer he longed for. he didn't want to leave you either but he knew that if he ever wanted to achieve his dreams he would have to go and chase them, they wouldn't come to him.

"of course we will." was your reply, little did you both know just how hard that would be. with just how busy he was and the difference in time zones, you guys hardly had time for each other anymore. it broke both of you apart but you had no idea what it was doing to the other.

you would text him everyday even if you hadn't had a reply in days because when one of those days when he was finally free and could reply to all (yes every single text message he had missed) of your messages, it would be the best day of your week or even month. those days when he replied to your texts were usually the days where you guys could facetime and it would be for hours on end, catching each other of the lives you were living without the other. something you didn't think could even be possible a mere few months ago.

listening to franco rant and rave about an past race you realise that you don't know how much longer you can be without him. the only feeling you can compare it to is the feeling all those wives in all of those wars felt when their husbands left them to fight for their countries. even though you could keep in contact (though it wasn't much) with franco. even though he wasn't off to fight for his country but just to chase his dreams. even though you guys were nothing but friends.

you half listen to something he says about the car while longing for the romance you could only dream of. one where you and franco are together and he shows you the type of affection that you could only hope for from a lover. while being lost in your thoughts you realise just how perfect of a partner franco would be for you. he had everything you wanted in a lover and then it hit you-

"are you even listening?" franco laughs, pulling you out of your daydream before you can linger on your newfound realisation.

"yeah, carry on."

★・・・・・・★

the next time you get to see franco in person is at least a year later. he had just been promoted up to drive for williams f1 team for the rest of the season and you could not have been prouder. you don't think that there is a moment in your life that you have been prouder of him. he had finally made it.

of course as soon as it was offcial you were invited to his first race as an f1 driver and you dropped everything to be there for him. you told your work that you were taking a holiday and your university that you were sick for the week but would continue to work while being off so you didn't fall behind.

meeting franco outside of the track, it was like everything in your mind went quiet. he didn't look any different to your last facetime call a few weeks ago and he still had that same flirty sense of humour. so nothing had really changed with him. so it must be you that something had changed with, you just couldn't quiet work out what that was.

"you can do your uni work here while i do my media duties, yes?" franco suggests, gesturing to his empty drivers room that had a desk inside, ready for your use. it was sweet of franco to offer up the one space where he could ensure some alone time during this busy race weekend, but you supposed he wouldn't get a minute to himself this weekend anyway seeing as it was his very first grand prix.

you set up shop there and work away for an hour, maybe two at most before you get bored and your mind keeps wandering to franco and what it would be like to be the one he goes to first after a good race. once you realise where your mind had gone to, you quickly shake yourself out of it and decide to go and find the boy that was swirling around your mind.

the penny drops and you realise what exactly has changed when you see franco with another girl. they weren't even that close and if you were honest, it all looked friendly but you were still jealous.

you liked franco.

that was the thing that had changed. or maybe it hadn't changed and it was you were just, deep down, were tired of suppressing your feelings for your best friend.

franco spots you like its his sixth sense and wanders over to you, not giving you a lot of time to accept the new found information.

"can we watch a film tonight, after the race?" you ask franco, ignoring the heat that comes to your cheeks when he stands a bit too close like he always did. great, now you were going to overthink every one of his actions for the rest of your lives. that's exactly what you needed, another thing to constantly think about.

franco grins as he replies "the notebook or notting hill?"

he is going to kill you.

★・・・・・・★

while you had just realised your feelings towards your longtime best friend, franco had been living with those feelings for his entire life, near enough.

every memory he has of you has some kind of admiring thought to go along with it, if he had a diary it wouldn't be unlike one of a teenage girl who is smitten with her schoolgirl crush. and that was fine for when he was actually a teenager, i mean we all have crushes when we are going through that stage of life but franco knew the difference between a crush and whatever it was he felt for you. he had crushes on other girls before and not one of them had even been in the same realm of what he feels for you. it was a little scary if he thought about it for too long.

the first time franco remembers feeling the now all too familiar feeling of obsession, he must have been about ten years old. everyone probably thinks that ten years old is way too young to know that you love someone but franco knew. it was like those soulmate things you were always about, where they both have the first words that their soulmate will say to them tattooed on them, or they can't see colour until they meet their soulmate. franco was nintey-nine percent sure that the world was black and white until he accidentally knocked you over in the playground that day.

ever since meeting you franco has been infatuated. everyone around him knew it. the amount of girlfriends that had broken up with him because you just couldn't shut up about you and how you had actually tried that perfume that she was thinking about trying but you had thought that it was too vanilla-y for your taste, or that you used the aussie shampoo and conditioner because you thought that it made your hair healthier. it was safe to say, you were his favourite thing to talk about all the time.

moving away from you had killed him. he knew that you two would drift apart and the thought made him wanted to give up on his dream and create a new one entirely centred around you and what you wanted him to do but he knew that you would probably hang him from his balls if he told you he was giving up racing.

once he was settled in he made it his mission to make sure you teo were in touch as much as possible. it wasn't as often as franco wanted (read: every minute of every day) but he made it work.

screenshots of you from your nights spent facetimeing each other were made his lockscreen and backround. they would change every time you guys would facetime. the amount of times his engineers and racing crew mistook you for his girlfriend. it was probably because in his mind you were. he was in a completely different country to you with an opposite time zone and he had never even thought about looking at another girl. he was so down bad for you and he knows that you have no idea about it.

none of that would stop him though, he knew you would realise sooner or later, until then he had no problem keeping up this charade of "oh no we're just friends" and acting like the complete opposite with you. as long as he got to have you, he didn't care how.

even halfway around the world, he was still thinking of you.

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 8 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: you and stanley go fishing 

warnings (TW): swearing, panic attack/panic-inducing scenarios, slight gore/violence 

tags: mutual-pining, fluff, angst, action, affection

notes: idk anything about ice fishing so pls don’t get my ass for this okay, this was v different to write than my usual long drawn out heart gutting character analyses that I love (not that that is NOT here) but all the movement was deffff hard so it took me a minute but hey this is what I wanted imma do it ya know 

Also i configured this chapter in like three separate ways in my head and it was so hard to chose? But i think the one i did end up writing is most true to their dynamic so far. To be of note for the v stubble reference im giving here but yall know The Kiss by painter Gustav Klimt? Ya… that…. Thats here (spot it if you can) as always thank you for the kind messages and notes and comments, love yall <3 also comment below if you'd like to be on a tag list I should maybe organize that hehe

word count: 6.5k

| masterlist | ix |

January, 1987

She had found them both nice fold-out chairs at the flea market just that last season, along with fishing poles the nice old man insisted went with the seats also. Talked her ear off about how he used to go ice fishing with his son, before said son went off to college. 

Now he wouldn’t be home during the ice fishing season, so he saw no use for his chairs or his poles. But she did. 

Stan would tell her flippantly about his youth from time to time, usually if not always said stories incorporated Stanford in one way or another. It seemed that the two barely, if ever, separated during their youth. Something that upset her more, that her friend had never spoken of his brother to her in the six years they had known each other. She didn’t think he would speak of it all as fondly, these memories, considering he never confided in her about Stanley, to begin with. 

Stan would speak of the shoreline in New Jersey, of the sharp sand beneath his feet and hidden caves along the coast they both would trek through. Talk of the setting sun, of racing his brother home in the dark down paved streets back to their shared room. 

He spoke most fondly of a boat though, one that had taken both twins years to configure. 

She figured the fishing poles could be some sort of link, at least in her mind. 

That and they spent some of their summers down by the dock at the local lake anyway. Splashing in windy tides off the dock and watching boats go by until sunset was a great way to cool off. That or revisiting the pool, where Stan would insist upon ice cream for the short drive home. 

She figured he would wait for the season opener to go fishing. Considering she gave him the poles and chairs in December, a quick wave to Christmas, a holiday he laughed off on the regular. He would routinely celebrate it with her, just for the holiday cookies and cheesy movies he wouldn’t admit he loved. But he was Jewish, after all. At least raised in a Jewish household, he told her flippantly, after opening his gift this last December. Laughing at her blushing face, and flabbergasted stuttering, asking him why he would bother with all this. She sat straight when he said it was for her. Because she wanted to, so he would. Not that he was a religious man, anyway. 

He found it amusing this holiday season then, to find her struggling to make some traditional dishes his mother would make each year come December for the holidays. Nothing he necessarily missed, but something he found endearing nonetheless. Her usual attention to detail, and odd need to ensure his comfort. 

The fishing poles were a welcomed gift though, and he lit up at them and the differing tackles the nice man at the flea market had also gifted her. Hugged her into his side, while he ranted and raved about being able to fish off the docks come summer. 

But he didn’t want to wait. 

Something she thought rather glumly in the very early morning that January weekday. The sun not even having made its appearance, she had stumbled out of her bed around 4 a.m., having promised to reluctantly go ice fishing with said enthusiastic man. They stood before the porch door now, while he knelt in front of her, lacing up tall winter boots and pulling over her snow pants. Tucking her in, layer upon layer. Putting to use some winter clothes they both had rangled out of donation bins that very first cold season. The snow pants and boots had only ever really been used when they would trek through the outskirts of the woods, searching for clues to Stanford’s other journals. 

She was still half asleep on her feet, falling forward into Stan’s bent shoulder in front of her to groan. For some reason, he was wide awake, and grinning like a fool despite it being 4 a.m. That dumb look on his face reminded her why she even crawled out of her cacoon of blankets. He was beyond happy to be able to go fishing. Something he couldn’t even wait for a warmer season to do. 

He seemed a smidge like his younger self when he was closest to water. Some of his favorite memories are those ones with Stanford by his side and sand intertwined in his hair. His skin dark in the sun and his toes were deep in the tide of the sand. 

It seemed more distant now, as distant as Ford was to him now. He wanted to ground himself here too, and some of his new favorite memories are of them hanging at the end of the dock. His feet in the cold water of the lake, and her nudging his shoulder. Teasing him, edging him off the docks’ wood and into the cold water with her. He preferred the summer to the snowy winters, but he figured they could make some new memories by the water now also. Even if they were colder ones. 

So he more or less begged her to join him. Promising that he would handle the fish after she made a disgusted face at the thought of stripping the fish of their skin and bones for the meal they would make of the catch. She agreed though, happy to tag along if it pleased him. 

He stood from his knelt position in front of her, standing to reach behind him to grab his red coat from the coat rack. Turning back to her to fold her arms into the coat also, her eyes still blurry as she smiled at him slightly giddy. 

He had a gift for her that last December also. A coat folded into shitty wrapping newspaper he had thought to repurpose. She smiled at the blue coat but quickly became confused when she pulled it out of the wrapping to find it was far too big for her own physique to be for her. He had quickly pulled out another present for her, presenting her with another newspaper-wrapped gift. Which she tore open with haste, and rocked up quickly to her feet to dance around their small living room, his old red coat in her arms. 

It was hers now, and she reveled in the shitty coat. His smell still lingered in the seam line, and when she leaned her head far back into the hood she could pick up on his shampoo. It kept her warm, despite also not fitting her physique. 

He had woken up earlier than her that morning, putting the appropriate supplies for ice picking into the trunk next to their foldable chairs, the tackles, and the fishing hooks. So they made their way out into the dark, ducking into the car next to each other to make for the lake in the early morning. 

She hummed along to the radio as per usual, random songs interspersed in between the local morning forecast. She stopped though now, picking her head up from the back of the seat to look over at Stan. 

“We missed the entrance to the dock.” 

“Nah there's another one we can go to. Farther down, less people.” 

She hummed, smiling over at him. What he actually meant was there would be no lake office to report to. So no need to register them for the lake that day, and no stupid state fee to pay for fishing on the lake. Amused at his shortcuts, she turns back to watch the pine trees pass out the car window. 

It was a sharp, nose-burning 10 degrees Fahrenheit that day, according to the radio forecast. Only made worse somehow with the creeping darkness from the horizon line. The sun slinked slowly in the coldness of January. 

He made his way out first, the car’s cabin light flashing on as he grinned over at her. Securing his blue coat closed quickly before getting out to stomp a path in the fresh snow around the car. Pulling around the sides to pull open her door, before chugging around to the trunk to unload the supplies he claimed they needed. 

She knew how to fish, but had never ventured into ice fishing. Mainly because the cold was beyond unappealing to her. But the thermos Stan had presented to her before making out the door that morning heated her hands enough to dismiss the onslaught of negativity thrumming through her. And partially woke her up on the drive over. Stepping out into the crunchy cold snow to help Stan gather supplies. 

He shuffled her chair into her hands, slugging everything else into his own broad arms. He could reasonably carry everything, stomping forward in the snow to make a path for her to follow in. 

They had made a spot on the ice, the snowy shoreline a good bit away. Stan claiming the best spots must be farther out. Because the farther out, the bigger the fish. She sat, glancing around the empty ice. When Stan meant fewer people he meant no people. A frozen dock far off near the shoreline also, its wooden structure covered in ice. She watched him now, the fishing poles cradled in her lap, and the thermos warm in her hands. He’s bent in front of her, his mittened hands working an ice auger to break a solid hole through the thick layer of ice. 

Grunting, he stands back up, hands on his hips admiring his work. 

“Is the ice too thin here?” She observes. 

He tilts his head left, turning to her now. “No, doll. Perfectly fine right here. We’ll only be here until a little after sunrise anyway.” 

He sits in his own foldable chair that she had set up for him while he was finagling with the ice. Their chairs positioned side by side, a little distance between them and the whole he had just made. He reaches between them, opening up the tackle box to shuffle around drawers, looking for something in its depth. 

“Close your eyes, hun.” 

She rolls her eyes, closing them, while shuffling the thermos between her thighs to hold out her hands in wait. He places something in her mittened hands, it’s slightly heavy in them now. 

“Open ‘em.” 

She opens them to see an odd black contraption in her hands. Two knobs, a dark screen, and a long antenna on what she presumes is a battery-powered electronic. Almost too dark to make out what it was, but it hit her and she gasped. 

“Ta-Da!” 

“A radio!” She sings, clutching it closer to her chest and swinging in her seat to knock her knees with his. Clawing at his shoulder to fold herself into his neck and coat’s furry trim. She wouldn’t question where he got it, just revel that he had thought to, for her. 

“I know you weren’t too eager to go fishing with me, doll. But I figured this could make up for some of it.” He chuckled, readjusting his hat on his head after they pulled away. Knee’s still knocking between them. 

“I’d do anything with you Stan.” She hums, unthinking, as she looks down at the device in her hands. Tweaking around the knobs and the antenna to turn it on. She misses his flush next to her. 

She gets it working quickly, the music faintly staticy in the background of Stan attempting to put lures at the end of their poles. 

He gets her’s ready first, leaning forward in his seat to situate the pole in her hands. Pointing out the slack line and the type of lure he put on the end of her pole. She’s too distracted, like she always is when he’s probably explaining something vaguely important. 

The music hums between them, perched on the tackle box he had closed. His cheeks flushed from the cold, his hat slumping down the back of his head, hair peeking out around the rim and sticking to his forehead. He leans in closer, his knee and thigh along her own. His own covered hand reaching for hers, folding it around the pole for her to hold. 

They enjoy each other's company until the sun peaks up along the horizon, a good hour in. As they pass the coffee-filled thermos back and forth, she hums to the radio. Enjoying stories Stan told about tourists from the end of the last season. Telling her about their ridiculous questions he had to work around last minute. 

“Then he asked me if they were extinct!” 

“What you tell him?” 

“Well he couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and he got all teary-eyed when he asked me.” Stan waves his hand around, drumming up the memory of when a child had asked him if the fake displayed plady-beaver was the last of its kind. 

“Annnnddd?” She hums, sipping on the last of their shared beverage. 

“And I may or may not have said they were not.” He shrugs. “Was easy to convince the kid’s dad to buy him a plushy.” 

She laughs, thinking about the stupid merchandise she’s still not used to, that she sometimes restocked in the front of the house. But of course, Stan didn’t have the heart to really crush the kid’s spirit. Sad kids equaled less money probably, in his mind. That and he had a weird affinity of being about to communicate with them like no other. 

There’s a tug on her line suddenly, not the first in the hour they’d been at their spot, but the first real strong one she’s ever felt. Jerking her pole, bending it forward. Both her hands met the pole, yanked straight in her seat suddenly. 

“Woah!” He says, sitting forward and reaching for her pole also. His hands encased hers around the pole. “Hold it tight, hun.” Grunting in her ear. 

But the pulling got worse, had them both standing from their chairs. His arms around hers, helping her reel back the pole, pulling it back towards his left shoulder. His arms encasing her, pulling her flush with his front. 

“I gotcha.” He grunts again, close to her ear. 

“Do you?” Gasping at the strength of the pull along the pole. 

It seems to drag them closer and closer to the ice hole he had put in the ground not even an hour ago. His feet planted firm, yet scrapping against the ice. Hers fumbling, dipping under the strength of being pulled forward. Her hands tight, beginning to sweat and ache in the casing of her mittens. A heat around the ring of her hat. He’s hot behind her, warmth seeping out from his coat and onto her back. He feels firm, and yet they both continue a slow crawl forward. 

Until it tugs. It tugs so hard that she instinctually releases her grip. Her hands were still steady against the pole though, still beneath Stan’s own hands. 

The jerk has them both flung forward, his feet no longer steady, flipping against the ice. She’s still between his arms when they fall forward, inching towards the hole. He turns them somehow, taking the brunt of it on his right shoulder. 

Her head swims, having met the ground rather suddenly. But she’s between his arms, her hands having let go of the fishing pole. He’d let them slip from the pole, his arms tight around her, trying to take the force of the impact. 

“Stan.” She mutters, mushy between them. Her head pounded for a minute, as they continued to slide against the ice. His chin propped on her head, warm around her still. 

He doesn’t respond, because he’s given no time to. Another harsh tug on the pole sent him forward quickly towards the hole. He thinks fast though, bending his arms, hooking his feet along her legs, and pulling her out of his grasp. 

She slides along the ice and snow, his push along her legs and waist burned. She turned, pushing herself up on her hands. Grasping at the snow to get some balance. She had run into the chairs and tackle box. All their supplies scattered along the ice. The radio was static behind her. 

It had all happened so fast, her voice cracking in the cold air. Calling his name but not finding him. One moment he was there, the next gone. The water still. 

They had been pulled forward so suddenly, a quick five-second span between the tug and her head meeting the ice. And he was gone as soon as she had lifted herself again, the ice cracking along the sides of the former small hole. 

“Stanley!” Scrapping, crawling towards the hole. The surface wet and slick from the cold lake water that had seeped through the cracks along the hole now. Stan’s visage far from view, the top of the water dark. 

She stares in what feels like forever but is only quantifiable in the movements of the sun. It’s rising now, around her. Sparkling on the ice and water around her. Something she’d marvel at, have her grasping at Stan’s shoulder. Nudging him to see as she does. 

She thinks only briefly before shucking off her hat and gloves, beginning to unlace her boots. She’d follow him, into the dark depths. 

A deep continuous thump. Running along the ice. First near her feet, then farther and farther from her. It has her racing towards it, the vibrations along the ice guiding her along. It must be him, must be that something that pulled him into the dark murky water. The rhythmic thudding has her racing back to the supplies. Fumbling for the axe Stan had packed to help pick out the ice in the hole. 

Running full force back, the ice cracking beneath her legs. Shoelaces dancing around her feet, her fingers nippy and uncovered around the wooden handle of the axe.

It cracks, sickenly loud and sudden. Water bursts beneath her shoes, seeping up and around her. The ground opens up in front of her, splitting along the horizon line. A flash of blue precariously balanced in the large maw of a blurred creature. 

It shakes the ice, splintering and fracturing it below her feet. The weight of the creature resting the front of its body along the ice. Shaking the striking blue figure in its jaw, trying to subdue it. 

She stands still in the ankle-deep water, trying to make out the blurry figure in the maw of the anomaly. It strikes her then that it could be nothing else but Stanley, confirmed by the sputtering grunts the figure heaves, coughing up cold water from his lungs. 

She stands frozen only until then, stepping forward into the slowly sinking ice bath. Ax swung behind her shoulder, ready to slice along the neck of the beast in hopes it would release her husband. 

He clamors in the cage of teeth above. Raised his large hand into a well-practiced fist, blindly throwing said fist to meet the eye of the beast. 

The hit startles the beast, cracking open its jaw to release Stan, a sudden sharp screech creeping up its large neck through its throat. Rattling her bones as she leaps forward in the ice and water, bringing the ax into the meat of the beast's neck. 

It crawls back further, slinking back into the dark cold waters. She stumbles back through the ice and the water until she feels snow beneath her unlaced boots again, the ax gone from her grasp and embedded in the skin of the anomaly. The beast is there and gone in a flash, scrambling back beneath the water. 

Stan has the air knocked out of him, having landed on his back. His head cracked against the ice and water below, the cold creeping in through his clothes. He opens his mouth to groan but finds only his shallow breath and the puff of heated air leaves his mouth. The sun creeping above the horizon now, something he can only gauge by the heat on his face. The rest of him rock solid and shivering under the weight of his wet clothes. 

A sudden eclipse above his head, the sun, and shadows shaded by a beautiful face. Her face shadowed by the sun, her hat gone and her hair spilling all around her head like a halo. Her cheeks flush from the cold, from the adrenaline. It could be the cold or the way the light looks around her head, but he swore she must have been an angel. 

He’s muttering when she finally reaches him, stumbling through the cracked ice and wet water. Her only thought was getting to him. He was beyond sense when she did make it to him, clutching at his tattered and soaked blue coat. He was soaked, drenched to the bone. His hat gone and his hair icy along his head, his gloves gone also, a boot missing from his left foot. And he’s drenched. It all stuck to his body, freezing quickly in the icy temperature. She had to get him home, get him out of these clothes, and heat him up. 

She runs her hands along his coat first, checking for punctures, for blood. He had been dragged several yards under the water in the toothy jaw of said beast. But no punctures and no blood made themselves apparent through his coat. Something she’ll have to access later. 

A thump along the ice has her whipping her head around. The vibration rippling along the ice and the shards of the broken lake surface. The beast lingered in the area, waiting for them to be off guard again. 

She wastes no time, lifting Stan’s large arm up and above her shoulder. Leveraging his body up to be leaned against her side and her back. All those stories about mothers and daughters and adrenaline ring in her head, a truth to the stories of women and abnormal strength in times of strife. She would ache tomorrow, and be glad of it anyways. 

He unconsciously shuffles his feet, and she makes note that he’s somewhat conscious. The ice helps her slip them both along the good hundred yards she has until they reach the shoreline. Their supplies the least of her worries, and the anxious thought of the beast meeting her back out there in the wreckage of it all. She does not turn back to look when abandoning it all. 

It’s harder folding his stiff body into the passenger seat. His legs flopped into the car last. She curses, reaching over him to buckle him in and then making for the driver's side. She rarely drove them, it was more of a special occasion between the two of them. She had only ever driven once in the winter and had been deeply scared of the slipping ice and heavy snowfall. But the sky was clear and she’d put the thought of ice away for a long while. 

She curses again, reaching over to Stan to feel up the inside of his coat pockets for the keys. He stirs at the movement, shrugging off her touch, shivering in his seat. 

“Not Doc’.” He mutters, his head spinning. 

“What?” 

“You’re not Doc’.” He grunts again, his lips loose. His head hurts like a motherfucker. 

“I am!” She hisses, hands pushing his away, reaching for his pockets again, looking for the keys. 

“Oh.” He looks back, eyes blurry under the odd pressure along the back of his head. This person sounded like his wife, he’d admit. Shifting his head to lean against the back of the long bench, making out the flush on her face and the halo of hair around her head. He thought this was his angel? He guessed it was the same thing in his mind, anyway. 

She’s still ruffling through his soaked half-frozen jacket. “Hi, angel.” He says, smiling down at her frusstrated face. Why was she so frazzled? 

He’s grinning like an idiot, and he just acted like he didn’t know who she was. Like she wasn’t her. Calling her angel? He’d only ever done that in her dream. That achingly sick dream she had of them, of them in this very car. Of his weight above her, of his breath along the crook of her neck. Of his kiss. 

She shakes it off. Finally finding the keys folded into a very frozen and flat pocket along his chest. Turning back to the wheel, starting the car up, and peeling out of the parkway backward. Leaving the same way they had come in. 

She races home, glancing over at Stan stiff in the passenger seat. His eyes hadn’t left her figure but seemed distant. His thoughts far beyond him, and his coat and pants were frozen against him. His hair melts off his head in the car, still wet but no longer frozen to his scalp. Messy wet hair tucked around his big ears. 

She parks and throws open doors as quickly as she physically can. Slipping in the snow, tripping over her loose boots. Fingers frigid when she reaches for him to move him out of the passenger side. 

She knows the signs of hypothermia. Knows the dangers of prolonged exposure to cold, and dropping body temperature. Doing math in her head, hoping he had been exposed short enough for her to physically raise his temperature before his heart began to slow. Before blood began to sludge its way through his veins. 

He looks as blue as his coat, his arm slugged back over her shoulder as she attempts to get him up the stairs. The slurred speech, the confusion, the dulled skin. It made her heart race, taking steps two at a time to drag him to the upstairs restroom. To the bath. 

She sets him against the open door, running and slipping along the tile, turning on the bath to its warmest temperature. The water would be scalding against his cold skin, would sting and tingle in contrast to his wet clothes, but it was the only way she thought to raise his temperature. 

She rushes back to him, kneeling in front of him, grabbing at his coat and pants to pull the wet clothes from him. He’s smiling again, giggling at her attempt to uncloth him. 

“Could have asked hun.” He jokes, but she cries. He’s so out of it, so gone from this reality and it shakes her bones. He’s here and not all at once. 

He thinks he sees her clearer here in the yellow bathroom light, hot fog swelling around them from the facet. She has her hands all over him, eager to get him out of wet clothes that stick hard against his body. Didn’t she know? That all she had to do was ask and he would shed any layer to get closer to her? He giggles again, leaning into her hot hands against his cold blue body. 

She manages to get everything but his boxers and socks off him, a flush to her face. Not for lacking of trying though, but Stan would laugh and shake her hand away. Muttering under his breath between them when she would reach for the waistband of his usual blue loose boxers. So she luggs his wingspan along her back again, leveraging him up to move him to the scalding water. Heat bubbling up in clouds around the water. Bruises along his chest have begun to form from the pressure and weight of the beast's teeth and jaw. They’d turn purple and swell soon, a good sign she sighed. A swell meant blood was flowing fast still.

He hisses, his head rocking back along the edge of the clawed tub when he finally is able to sit in the water. It’s hot, too hot. It hurts to breathe in the heat, and he attempts to lift his lungs above the water to gain air again. The muggy water hurts his skin and burns him. But her hand meets his chest, pushing him back into the scalding water. 

“Stay.” She commands, eyes wavering when she looks at him now. Melted into the porcelain of the tub. He’s still shivering. He doesn’t even register it but his body has been shaking, vibrating, this entire time. Moving his muscles in an attempt to warm him up. 

She reaches to turn the hot water back on, cursing, beating her hand along the rim of the tub when the water comes out cold. It’s all gone. She looks down at him again, her hand moving along his chest, trying to generate heat where her hand was. “Stay, Stan. Stay in the fucking water.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He mutters, still smiling at her like an idiot. God, she was pretty, god her hand felt nice along his cold bitter skin. She was out the door so quickly. Was it possible to miss someone who was just in the other room? 

She’s barreling down the stairs, flipping on every gas burner in her wake on the kitchen stove. Stumbling to the cupboard, pulling out saucepans and the like to put water in. She’d boil it, damnit. Like her grandmother used to do for her when she was preparing her bath. 

She doesn’t breathe until every corner of the stove is full. Leaned over the countertop next to the burners. Her hand rubbed along her chest, along her heart. Self-soothing, the purpose of the continuous motion above the erratic beating. She had tunnel vision up until now, suddenly noticing that she hadn’t even flicked on the kitchen light. Hadn’t even closed the front door. 

She had been scared. Still was. Shaken beyond something she knew. It pained her to be in the next room, afraid of looking over her shoulder and not finding him there. She’d never lead them through crowds again, never let him stray far from her peripheral. Because then he would be gone, could be gone. 

Ice seeps in through her snow pants, and she tugs off her boots too. Socks wet against the kitchen tile. Her hands shake as she pulls her boots loose. 

She had almost lost him. Lost him for good. It was a shell shock beyond her, beyond her imagination. For the last five years, it was hard to conjure up adventures and trips without him. The thought of flippantly leaving him behind never crossed her mind. Hadn’t ever left her mind. Not after storming in through the shack's door, not after his confession to her across the dim kitchen table, across their kitchen table. 

She sits there now, feeling like it was a lifetime ago, but knowing she could blink and mistake the past for the present. He had reached across to her that night, across the table. Held his palms face up when he asked for help. When he confided in a four-second mistake he had made. She had hesitated then, to reach for him. To reach across and find assurance between them, to fold her hands into his own. She had judged initially. But they had both made mistakes. Both made mirror image mistakes, it felt. She didn't want to hesitate to reach for him ever again. She just feared he would be gone before she could. Feared he would disappear along her shoulder line. 

She had thought it was obvious, the unspoken agreement between them. That they both meant something to the other. That her dreams threaded into a deeper reality, and that the jokes they shared weren’t some passing balm to deal with it all. That the late nights in front of the T.V. analyzing movies were for the thrill of each other's company, and that their yearly poker game was a silent promise of convergence. That the shitty driving lessons weren’t so she could drive away from him someday, that chalkboard lessons were so he wouldn’t scoff when she said he was smart with her whole chest. That the yearly diner dates were just that, just dates. Not something flippant, not something as unkind as the upkeep of an image. That he opened doors for her for a reason and tucked her below his chin because he cared enough to. That he reached across tables, palms up, because he never feared her hesitation. 

Something unwritten between them she believed, everything shared in everything but words and letters. She was a calculating woman throughout her years and didn’t know how to trace the beginning of the feelings she had amassed all the way to the end of it. She didn’t know how to explain that her heart clenched when he leaned over the seat to buckle her in or explain how her hands shake when he reaches for the chalk from her now in the middle of a lesson. It was inconsequential, improbable, and entirely unexplainable to well… explain the sum of him to her. It felt little in comparison to his constant devotion. 

The two front pots begin to boil over, she lifts her head, turning off burners and carrying a stem to a pot in both hands. Taking the stairs two at a time again, uncaring about the burning water running down her arms in her haste to make it back to him. 

He’s still the same shade, but he lifts his head to look at her when she enters now. His smile less doppy, more genuine. His hair beginning to dry along his head, no ice to be found in its dark strands. He’s still leaning heavily along the back of the tub, not yet able to hold himself up. Color coming back to his cheeks, to his face. She kneels beside the tub, the floor wet as it seeps in through her pants. She pours in one pot at a time, swiping the water around to acclimate it to the bathwater. His hands move unconsciously, grabbing a strand of her hair to fold behind her ear. To be able to look at her more clearly through the fog of hot water. 

She begins to pour the next pot into the tub, but he tugs her forward, folds her body against the rim of the tub. Something in her makes her stand, lifting her feet into the tub. The way he looks at her, so disorientated and shivering still. It moves her forward, has her crawling into the tub completely clothed just to lay her cheek against his chest. To make sure it continues to rise under her. Like when she sleeps, and he lulls her back to sleep by simply being there. She wants that, for him to lull her racing heart now. Make her forget about his disappearing visage and still water. He does that, hums like he always does, folding her head under his scruffy chin. Comforting her despite his weakened figure. Hoping she wouldn’t notice how cold he still was against her. 

Something unwritten she believed, something she had never had to say out loud because she had never felt this weird depth before. But he was slipping from her grasp now, heavy against the rim of the tub. And so very quiet it made her sick, made her heart chase up her throat. Made her anxious beyond words, because the thing she meant to say to him would stay unwritten. If he was gone she’d only voice such fantasies in her dreams. The dreams she had of him as hers, those other realities her mind conjured where he wore a golden band and called her his. Where she was his. 

“You're mine.” Her voice was unwavering, something unwritten between the syllables of her words. It blooms and bursts from her throat, a growth that had sprouted long ago, stumbles out of her mouth searching for light. Still folded under his chin, along his chest. Her shirt wet from the water, bunched up along her waist where he had put his hands. 

He gets that look in his eyes despite her intensity, a joke on the tip of his tongue. Something to soothe her racing heart, to stamp down the distant look in her eyes. How she had looked in the car scared him, the rush of her chest but the focus of her eyes. Like they had been driving in the dark, through a neverending tunnel. But she chases it away before he can open his mouth, her hand meeting and cupping his scruffy jaw, pulling back from her comfort to look at him. Turning his eyes to her intense ones, ones that held something unspoken. 

“No.” A shake to her voice, eyes blurry. “You’re mine.” 

He nods, his voice stuck in his throat. Running his hands up her back, his warmer hands. 

“Y-you aren’t allowed to leave me like that, Stanley. You can’t l-leave me all alone like that.” Flashes of a towering beast are nothing compared to turning over her shoulder. Of searching the horizonline. Like she does for Stanford, eyes drifting to tree lines. She wouldn’t, couldn’t compartmentalize doing such a thing for Stanley. She’d take back hesitancies and reach across tables palm up if it meant he wouldn’t leave her again. 

“I promise, angel.” He takes her again, tucking her back to his chest. Her racing heart fluttered against his warming chest. “I won’t leave.” 

Her hand fall into that crook in his chest, the other clutching along his back, trying to bring him closer, trying to make the space between them disappear. She sniffling, from the cold and stress, against his chest and he doesn’t think twice about his words. Thinking of reaching for her, of meeting her across bridges and tables and in tunnels to meet her open palms, her warm hands. Unfurling her from his chest to lean down and place his lips near her ear, something unspoken between syllables. 

“You’re mine, too.” 

His lips traveling to her cheek, hovering against the flush skin before tracing her warmth. Kissing the apple of her cheek as she leans into the front of him. His lips warm against her cheek, like she had dreamed of. He had never been this close in the waking world, something she craved more with each passing day. She never pulled away, sniffling as he brings her forward again. No hesitation to be found in the nod of her head along his scruff, a nudge, and nestle of agreement. Something unspoken, unwritten. 

She forgot about the pots and burners. 

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

"Is there something wrong with me, why do they hate me so much?"

Dick breathes, it's not often now that's it just him and Tim usually Damian is lurking around, or Bruce needs something.

He hesitates, putting into words anything involving Jason or Damian is always convoluted, at best.

Hate is such a interesting word even on his best day there aren't many he would say that about.

Majority are villains. People who have hurt him or his brothers.

Does he think Jason or Damian hate Tim?

No.

He believes it's a mixture of jealously, pride and just overall trauma.

"There's nothing wrong with you Baby bird, your one of the best things that have ever existed in this world. Your my baby brother."

He looks at Tim fond and soft.

He wonders about Jason mostly if he just doesn't see this, or maybe doesn't care. How can you hurt a person so badly and not even blink?

"You didn't deny that they hate me?" It's bitter.

Dick wonders when this became his life carefully trying to sew up gaping bloody wounds that with the carelessness of his brothers will never scar.

He wants to shove it in their faces see what you have done. These are consequences you broke his wings and everyday you keep trampling them. You rant and rave about what has been done to you, yet turn and do the same.

Maybe that is brotherhood cutting so deep you mark bone and not glancing back.

How is it that for all the anger that sits in his chest he could never be Cain.

He remembers after Jason first came, he had looked up the story imagined standing covered in his brothers blood.

He had wanted to vomit.

"They do not hate you, they just are cruel."

It's feels almost like a lie or maybe something nastier to say anything about two boys who aren't men even if Jason likes to pretend to be.

But where is the loyalty Tim has bled for where's Dick's?

"Cruel, is that so different, or worse?"

It's funny the leaps and jumps you can make, to excuse the most despicable of actions.

"You know Cain loved Abel? It's not so black and white."

Or it is and this is how Dick will eventually justify lowering the corpse of his brother into the ground. Will he see a smirk painting Damian's face while he stares at the grave.

Will he look across the dining table to an empty chair sharing a meal with his brother's as they bond over the murder of another. Will his father care or will he be apathetic to another dead son.

Isn't it funny that Dick expects it that it will not surprise him if one day he gets the call.

"Why do I have to be Abel why am I the one who has to Die... Dick. Don't I have the right to live?"

"Who said you had to die, why can't you be Cain?"

Maybe it's selfish or something else but if he had to pick why shouldn't it be Tim.

It's only fair after all.

"Your lying, you would never look at me again if I did what they have."

No.

"I have never denied being willing to die at your hand brother, I have already forgiven you."

[brights-place]

Trollex dating headcannons!

- OH GOD I'M SO IN LOVE WITH HIM AND HE DIDN'T EVEN GET MUCH SCREENTIME?!??! - HE'S JUST SO YFGBNV FVGHJUJHKKJ - SOMETHINGS WRONG WITH ME BUT HE IS SO CUTEEEEE - Dating this man isn't easy given that he's oh let me think... THE TECHNO TROLLS KING!??! - practices asking you out with techno beat drop who hypes him up - Trollex and Techno Beat Drop Button are best friends so it's obvious he's gonna talk to him about how he feels about you and how amazing you are when you start dating and when you weren't - You met at one of his raves you were dancing near the front with other techno trolls cheering - He loved your smile and how you danced around literally grinned wider when you two made eye contact - He told Synth to take over and wanted to get to know you... Literally swam towards you and welcomed you happily ( If your an different genre he would ask questions and if your an fellow techno troll he'd ask why he hasn't seen you around ) - He would try to find you the next day and successfully did with the help of his friends - Found you buying stuff at the market and purposefully bumped into you and talk to you more which worked out for him as he asked to hangout more which made you turn red since THE KING of TECHNO TROLLS was asking you to hangout - After like 3 Months this man would start to turn into an flustered mess for wanting to date you even after 3 months - Confess to you and asked to take you out on some dates you both where blushing but trollex was more confident since he practiced so hard on beat drop - First date was at another rave and the second date was him taking you to your favourite places he was so serious and planned everything out just for you which made you blush - Officially started dating on the second date which was quick.... - Kiss his freckles he'd giggle and look at you lovingly - loves you deeply with his large pixelated pink heart - Loves when you admire his body due to how cool it looks he likes how compliment his neon green hair, and his rainbow glowing bands of color on both arms - He doesn't have a single love language he uses gifts, physical touch, words and acts of service to express his love and care for you which is so much... - He makes sure your next to him in the DJ booth so he knows your beside him safe and also so you can be near him - After you've been together for a while he learnt how to identify whenever you need help so he just turn to look at you to know

- He would praise you whenever he can if he’s free

- When you talk about your interests he just nods and smiles lovingly at you <33

- kisses on his face makes him melt he just loves when you show him affection - He understands emotions so well so if you wanted to vent or rant to him he would listen and comfort you the best he can. - When he first started developing a crush on his future S/O aka YOU! he was able to tell pretty quick. - He realized as soon as the butterflies appeared in his stomach whenever they was around he just knew very fast and quickly!

- Would steal some of your stuff to wear out of boredom

- He loves holding your hand or even shows PDA Whenever he's stressed out, he likes knowing that you're there with him, and holding your hand is the perfect way for him to do that.

- he may be abit relaxed to his people but to you and in an private space he’s an ball of energy bouncing of the walls

- He usually shows himself as a calm and realxed dude for his partner but they know better. - he's the biggest softie around and will become comically flustered if this is brought up by them.

- would invite you to all his raves that he is being the DJ for… It’s all of them and you don’t miss an single one unless you aren’t into it he still likes to talk about it to you

- Night owl and early bird duo. Whenever he goes to bed late, you go to bed early and whenever you wake up late, he's up early.

- Tickle fights, chasing you around the beach when you steal his things, passionate kissing in the sand.

- Pepper kisses across your knuckles, the palm of your hand and wrist as he fawns over you, praising you without an second.

- He LOVES to show you off.

- He'll take you out and strut around with you on his arm like he won the lottery - Bliss and Laguna would gang up on him and tell you the stupid shit he did when they were younger up till now.

- will follow you around when you visit if he has the chance, he'll happily chatter away and keep you company

- takes great pride when you compliment or comment on the state of the castle or the decor for the raves - You wake up with him clinging to your ass in the morning

- If you call his name he will turns towards you with the biggest doe eyes and abandons all his duties to talk to you when you just wanted to ask where he put your jacket

- he was wearing it...

- When you go out on dates Trollex wouldn’t hesitate to kiss you on the cheek or lips and hold your hand.

- lights up when he sees you, who always has a new joke or dramatic story to share. - He could go on and on about how much he loves you to anyone who would listen.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Can we have bestfriend headcanons for rollo please???? i need to be friends with this guy so bad you don't understand

***Warning: Glorious Masquerade spoilers in the final few headcanons!***

Curiouser and Curiouser...

The best way to sum up this relationship is that Rollo is the mom friend, and you are his child. (If you were to ask Rollo, he would say you're an idiot, but you're his idiot.)

From an outsider's perspective, it's hard to tell that you're friends at all. He always has that hard-to-read face on him, plus those grimaces he gets whenever the slightest annoyance or inconvenience makes itself known.

You've gotten used to his quirks though, so you can read his emotions a lot better than most. When the corners of his mouth twitch, that's him trying to smile! When he taps a finger against his arm? He's thinking hard about something.

He dislikes it when you call him "bestie" (so, of course, you make sure to do it often). Rollo corrects you with his name each and every time.

He finds physical affection just as repulsive. Rollo's constantly shying away from your touch, insisting that it's unhygienic and immodest to even so much as brush shoulders by accident.

There was an incident when you hugged him once and he got oddly quiet, then asked "... What is this?" to which you had casually responded, "Affection."

"Disgusting," Rollo had declared, handkerchief to his nose. "... Do it again."

He's one of those old-fashioned people who insists on keeping in contact via letters and cards instead of text messages, email, and/or social media. Rollo claims that stuff "rots your brain cells" and "promotes a vain, degenerate lifestyle".

You thought it silly and inefficient at first, but over time you've come to appreciate the time and thought that comes with each letter. Receiving a note from Rollo is the best part of your day--you love catching up with him and sending him back updates of your very own.

He's a busy guy and follows a strict schedule, so more often than not you're the one that's following him around as he does his various tasks. You lend him a hand too, though Rollo takes care to not burden you too much. These are his responsibilities, so he should take charge of them.

You occasionally climb up the bell tower with him (the view up there is amazing!) and all the gargoyles clamor to greet you. Rollo has to remind them not to overwhelm the guest.

When there is time, you sit down at a cafe and share a meal. Rollo introduces you to his favorite places and makes recommendations (though he usually gets the exact same thing). You try to push him to vary up his diet a bit more, tearing off pieces of your own lunch or offering him bites of whatever it is you're having (even though he insists he'll have none of that).

One day, you caught Rollo parading through the streets on horseback. He introduced his steed to you, instructing you on how to safely pat it and feed it an apple from your hand. The horse seemed to like you, so Rollo hoisted you up and let you ride it around the city for the rest of the day.

He's still not very good at expressing himself. When you sense that he's feeling down in the dumps, it takes quite a bit of coaxing to get him to talk about it with you (if at all). In his mind, he shouldn't be troubling others with his own matters.

Sometimes you're not successful at convincing him to open up, so you settle for giving a gentle reminder that you'll be there for him no matter what. You wouldn't want to push him to talk when he's not ready to!

... On the other hand, when Rollo wants to talk, he'll rant and rave for what seems like forever. You patiently nod your head and listen to everything he spews out, from his express hatred of a certain lizard to how the local goats almost ate his stationary set.

There are rare times, though, when Rollo shares his passions and ambitions with you. The relaxing gardening he has been doing as of late, how beautiful the Bell of Salvation is today, his plans for the future... It's in these moments that you can truly appreciate how solemn and thoughtful he can be.

Rollo often nags you for little things: there's a crease in your shirt, your room is slightly messy, there's a hair out of place, etc. But hey, it's fine. You know he does it lovingly, even if the comments come with a slight frown.

He also tends to lecture you about your own safety, often warning you to keep away from "suspicious individuals" (and, of course, mages). Rollo lets you know that if anyone gives you trouble, you should inform him right away and he'll come storming over to give them hell. Yes, he's the overprotective friend that will throw himself into the crossfires to defend your honor--

This man comes to hangouts with everything you could possibly need in case of an emergency. Got a scrape? Boom, first aid kit. (He even patches you up personally.) Hands dirty? Hand sanitizer and wet wipes for the rescue. You start calling him “dad” as a joke every time he produces exactly what you need.

Rollo has the tendency to (sternly) speak up for you, especially in cases when you're too meek to speak up for yourself. It has big "EXCUSE ME! They asked for no pickles" energy.

Once a year, you join Rollo for a very special trip. You always stop by the same florist's shop, always watch him select the same bouquet of white lilies, always walk quietly alongside him down to the local cemetery. You don't follow him to the grave, but you let him know he can take as long as he needs with the visit, that you'll wait for him at the gates.

You watch the clouds slowly pass by and the sky change colors from cornflower blue to the shades of sunset. Night has started to trickle in when you hear his approaching footsteps. The flower bouquet is gone, deposited as an offering to a boy that has become one with the stars.

Rollo emerges, and you pretend to not notice the wetness to his eyes, the silvery shine upon his cheeks. You know if you point it out, he'll only become defensive and deny it.

"Ready to go?" you ask every year.

"... Yes," he replies, just the same as always. (Rollo will then try to subtly wipe away at his tears.) "Thank you for accompanying me. I do apologize for imposing on your time."

"Don't," you tell him. "I've always got your back, just like you've always got mine. That's what friends are for, right?"

[bbyquokka]

Hyunnie thst type of bf to have a spa day with u when u had a rough day at work and he be like

Getting face masks and wine ready and he be like

"Spill the tea baby, what happened"😭

spa day

FLUFF/SUGGESTIVE THEMES BELOW CUT – MINORS, AGELESS & DEFAULT BLOGS; DNI

cw: gn reader, established relationship, food & alcohol mentioned, it gets suggestive at the end, hehe. words: 1k ~ (1,002)

a/n: soft thought turned slightly hard? mhm, yes, hehe. i dont make the rules, my mind told me to do it! i hope you enjoy! don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

dont repost. dont translate. feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

“i'm so over today. freaking dumb ass people and their dumb ways of thinking. how can i give you a refund on something you used months ago!?” you mumble to yourself as you throw your bag on the floor and kick your shoes off.

your commotion makes hyunjin jump in his seat. he puts down his paintbrush and wipes his hands on an old tee. he peeks his head out of the studio door, brows furrowed together as he notices how stressed and unamused you look.

“fucking people. i don't get paid enough to deal with the bs.” you continue to grumble. you go to flop down on the sofa but a pair of strong and warm arms pulls you out of your bubble and back down to reality.

“oof!” you grunt as hyunjin pulls you into his chest. he rocks you side to side, stroking your hair softly.

“rough day?”

“you could say that.” you laugh bitterly before melting into hyunjin's chest.

“want to talk about it?”

"yeah, that'd be nice.” you whisper.

“ok. but go take a shower first.”

“trying to say i smell?!” you look up at him. hyunjin thinks for a split second and nods. you scoff and gently slap his chest. “ok ok, finee.”

you push yourself off him and walk to the bathroom. you do your usual shower routine, feeling a hundred times better and more relaxed in your comfy lounge wear.

you open the door to the bathroom and walk to the living area, gasping at how it currently looks.

the coffee table moved to the side to make room for two cushions and a blanket. candles lit up in the room with the tv on low volume. hyunjin dressed in shorts and his robe, his hair up on a half ponytail.

on the coffee table are two glasses of wine, bowls filled with your favourite snacks and treats, two facemasks and other spa inspired items.

hyunjin looks up at you as he pours you a glass before setting the bottle on the table. he gives you a warm grin before walking to you.

“what is this?” you whisper, still in awe.

"thought the best way to help you relax was to have a spa day!”

“you did all this in the time i was in the shower?” hyunjin nods and grins, clearly impressed with his handiwork. “that's impressive.”

“haha, thank you! now come and relax.” he guides you to the cushions. you sit down cross legged as he hands you a glass of wine.

“thank you.” you take the glass and take a big sip of it.

“easy there tiger. at least wait until food arrives.” he laughs

“you ordered food?”

“yeah, your favourite!”

“god i fuckin' love you.”

“i love you too.” hyunjin puts down his glass and grabs a face pack and a headband. he hands you the band and waits until you have finished putting it on.

he opens the pack and gently puts it on your face, soothing it out with his fingers. you hum softly at the refreshing coolness of the pack. you close your eyes slowly and sip your wine as you relax.

“all i need is some cucumbers on my eyes.” you mumble. hyunjin laughs softly before putting a mask on himself, relaxing beside you and sipping his wine.

“so, tell me what happened.”

“ugh. well–” you go on a rant and rave about work, about the customers, managers and bosses. the more you talk, the more annoyed you start to feel. hyunjin simply nods his head and listens to you.

he's good like that. he won't interrupt you in the slightest and just let you go on. once finished, does he soothe you with some kisses and hugs.

halfway through your long rant, the doorbell rings. hyunjin answers the door to the food delivery guy, forgetting about his mask. the delivery guy gives hyunjin a shocked face before laughing when hyunjin explains the situation.

he walks back to you, explaining what just happened. you laugh and make jokes about it, forgetting about your rough day at work and why you were so angsty to begin with.

“thank you, hyun.” he looks at you as he peels off his mask.

“for?”

“for this. i appreciate it greatly.”

"no problem! i hate seeing you distressed so this is the least i can do for you.” you hum softly and take your own mask off.

after eating the food, hyunjin gives your hands a massage and even paints your nails. you do the same, matching the colour he has given you. you both enjoy each others company and enjoy what he has done for you.

you can't believe how lucky you are.

“strip.” you blink at his sudden request before noticing the bottle of massage oil in his hand. you strip yourself of your tee, resting on your stomach with your chin on your hands.

hyunjin straddles you and pours the lotion onto your back. you shiver at the coldness which makes him laugh.

“wasn't expecting a massage, hyun.” you giggle

“it's not a spa session without a massage!”

"mhm, i guess you're right.” you grin before groaning. his thumbs dig into your tense back muscles, fingers working their magic on you.

you squirm underneath him, moaning and groaning. hyunjin swallows thickly as something so innocent is sounding so lewd to him. he feels himself heat up and his groin to feel warm.

“babe.. please, can you keep the moaning to a minimum.” he begs.

"but your fingers feel so good, hyun.” you grunt innocently as he digs into your muscles.

"yn.. please..” he huffs. you ignore him. hyunjin bites his lip hard, his penis twitching several times.

“h-hyunjin.” you moan softly.

“fuck.” you squeal as he turns you on your back suddenly. your eyes widen as you look up at hyunjin. his eyes filled with lust as he licks his lips, ready to devour you.

“you're doing this on purpose yn. you must really enjoy riling me up.”

[brucewaynehater101]

So there's a fic that I think you will like. It's called The Definition of Valor by Nerdpoe. Really short, spoiler free summery. Instead of loosing his Spleen, Tim looses his eyes. He makes special gadgets to help him with this, such as a device in is cowl that scans the room he is in and tells him what is where via coded sounds, like say, two low A notes followed by a chirp means there is a wooden desk to the north east of him. He also makes a special computer program for his grapple so when he points it somewhere, it will adjust his aim so he never misses and always attaches to a good spot.

This fic is giving me *so many* thoughts about the potential fall out of this being found out not as soon as Tim gets back to Gothem because he never tells anyone. Specifically it's making me think about Tim who is Bruce's dad not telling Bruce because he doesn't want to worry his son. He doesn't want to worry his grandchildren/siblings either so he puts in colored contacts and wears glasses when his cowl isn't on. The glasses and an ear piece have the same tech as his cowl to tell him where everything is.

How long would it take them to find out? Tim would never tell them, so do they find out on accident because Tim forgot the contacts that are his normal eye color, or because Ras is mad at Tim and tells them what Ras did to Tim? Maybe he got to mad and while ranting at a Rouge (either Harley or Two Face would be especially funny if he's just been hanging upside down and ranting and raving fo 30 minuets already) over one of their traps, he accidentally lets slip that he's blind, or maybe he yells at Riddler, "Nygma, this isn't fair! I've been completely blind since last July and my usual tech that tells me what's around me is getting fucked by your signal jammer! So either read the riddle to me out loud or let me go!" and then later Riddler scolds one of the other Bats for letting the blind one do the visual puzzles much to their confusion.

Hi!!! I love that fic so much! Have you seen the sequel for it as well? It's short, but a great read. I would die for more of this concept.

In that fic, Bruce turns out to be a good dad. While I may hate Bruce, the way that guy handles the situation in that fic is fantastic.

However, I would like a fic where this concept gets a delayed reveal. In the AU, Tim figures out how to function without his eyes.

He engineers technology to read people's facial expression/body language to help him out. It reads words for him, etc.

I wonder what excuse he'd give for wearing the earpiece and glasses all the time. Maybe he says it's another aspect to separate Timothy Drake from Red Robin?

Just Tim gaslighting and girlbossing his way into pretending he can still see. I kind of want him to keep up the ruse for a long while.

When he does get found it, it'd be hilarious if the others forget he's blind. Tim has engineered technology to assist him, but he still can't see. So they'll try to take him to activities they did together when he could see (like star gazing) or they'll ask him what he thinks of the color of their outfit. He also ruthlessly uses his blindness as an excuse to mess with people. If Timothy Drake-Wayne is known to be blind, he'll use it to accuse Luthor of being ableist at every chance he'll get. He also bullies the shit out of governmental agents and companies that don't provide accommodations.

I'm also a fan of Riddler finding out about it, but him just changing his puzzles to be accommodating. I'm biased towards Riddler (I love him so much) so it'd be cool to see the silent show of support like that.

Another AU idea: When Tim blows up Ra's bases, the explosions cause him to become deaf or hard-of-hearing.

Dealer's choice on how much hearing he loses, but I feel like this could be great to explore deafness and misconceptions commonly held in our society.

Tim would probably already know how to sign and lip read (might even know multiple different sign languages), but he would face a few difficulties.

He chooses not to disclose his hearing loss

People often cover their mouths or face away from someone when speaking (which makes lip reading arduous)

Ableist people suck

The world is set up for hearing people, so a lot of issues stem from a lack of accommodations rather than Tim's ability to hear

Tim chose not to tell anyone about the change in hearing for a few reasons: he doesn't trust anyone (especially during his adjustment period) and he doesn't want to be underestimated (wants to prove himself in the field before they try to pull him from it).

As far as technology to help him, the comms were easier to program than other auditory inputs. Since they were designed to transmit clear voices, he merely has to train a program to automatically close caption whatever is spoken (the automatic ones used today are useful, but still make too many errors for Tim's preference. Some also only do words automatically and leave out helpful information like laughing, choking, screaming, computer dings, etc.). Each Bat member has their own designated color. For those he doesn't interact with often, it says their name before every time they speak up.

Tim incorporates the visual overlay into his goggles and glasses. He can read what people contribute to the conversation based on that. It also leaves his hands free so he doesn't need to look down. His wrist computer stores records of what has been said so Tim can go back over it if he misses it. He also has the ability to change where the words appear on his field of vision.

I also hc Alfred is the first to notice that Tim is staring intently at his lips when he talks and has difficulties with the conversation when Alfred changes the way he pronounces words or isn't facing Tim (this is before Tim's tech gets perfected). From then on, Alfred makes a point of facing Tim whenever the teen is in the room. They both don't talk about it until the rest of the family finds out (however long that takes).

Feel free to add more to either AU!

[snowyquokka]

ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴇɴᴅ • ʏᴀɴɢ ᴊᴇᴏɴɢɪɴ

wc: 1.4k

mafia au jeongin x fem reader

cw: mature themes MDNI, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, mentions of possessiveness, angst, arguing, slight degradation, swearing, toxicity, implied ptsd

a.n- i’m actually really excited to write this series!! hope you guys like it too <3

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“You fucking did what?” Pissed. That’s the only word you can think of to describe your husband right now. He’s pissed because you went behind his back and met with the leader of another mafia to discuss some unfinished business that Jeongin had yet to fix.

“I was helping you! Without me, you and San would’ve never worked things out. You’re just too blinded by your ego to realize that.” As soon as your words register your hand flies to meet your mouth. Jeongin nods and bites the inside of his cheek as he analyzes your response. Usually when you argue there’s always a hint of something in your tone. Fear maybe? No, Jeongin thinks. Horror. You always seemed too shy to speak out but now there’s been a shift in your demeanor. A hint of resentment.

He really lets everything sink in and carefully calculates his next move. “Y/n, what have I told you about leaving here without permission, or even a guard? What if you got hurt?” you roll your eyes which throws Jeongin off a little. What has gotten into you? He’s trying not to become angry, but you are making it really fucking difficult. Deep breaths, Jeongin. You know the drill; she’ll rant and rave until she finally crawls right back into your arms. Every. Single. Time.

“Are you even paying attention?” Okay maybe it’s going to take a little more work this time.

“Yes, I’m listening, but you need to realize that you’re under my protection. And as a matter of fact, you follow my rules.” he states as calmly as possible.

You blink once. Twice. You can’t believe him. “You don’t fucking control me, Jeongin. I’m sick of hearing you commanding me like I’m some pet. It’s getting really fucking old.”

Jeongin clenches his jaw and flexes his fists. You know that if you were literally anyone else in the world, you’d be a mere blood splatter on the cream rug.

But you aren’t anyone else.

You’re Yang Y/n.

Jeongin’s wife.

The love of his life.

But right now- “You’re acting like a bitch, y/n.” he hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud until he saw the tears well up in your eyes. He could practically see your heart breaking in your chest, but honestly, he didn’t care. You needed to know your place.

“Fuck. You. I’m done.” you shake your head and remove your wedding ring before tossing it on the ground at Jeongin’s feet. You leave without listening to any of his protests. He seemed surprised that you acted out like that, and you even surprised yourself. You’d never been the type of person to engage in any sort of confrontation. You’d seen your parents do it enough to know that most of the time it doesn’t end well. Like right now.

Taking large deep breaths, you enter your car and just drive. The only sound that fills the car is your choked sobs as you turn his words over and over in your head.

You start to wonder where everything went wrong. Just two months ago you were happy. Right?

You start to recall the first time Jeongin had killed someone in front of you. The man had been eyeing you up all night while he was negotiating with your husband. One thing led to another and Jeongin shot the man point blank in the head with zero hesitation. That night you’d slept on the couch then woke up in the morning to Jeongin cooking for you and spewing out apologies and reassuring you that it wouldn’t happen again.

That turned out to be a lie. Not even a month later he shot a guard he had just hired because they were “staring at you like you were a piece of meat.” To you, that didn’t justify murdering a man in cold blood.

Jeongin, of course, waited until you were married to let the…darker side of him show. At first you thought nothing of it, blinded by love. Then gradually you started to become almost disgusted by the way he could hurt someone over something so little. It’s not like those men touched you or even talked to you.

You park in a random lot and pull out your phone.

innie <3 (15)

You immediately delete the voicemails he left and dialed your brother's number after coming to the conclusion that you wouldn’t be able to sleep in your car.

One ring.

Two.

Thr-

“Y/n?” Chan’s voice sounds groggy and hoarse as if he’d just woken up, it was around 2 in the morning. You tried your best to compose yourself. “Hey, Channie.” it comes out as a faint whisper. You hear rustling on the other end and a sigh. “What’s wrong?”

“I- Can I crash there for a bit?”

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

As you pull up to Chan’s house you mentally prepare yourself for the ‘You know better’ talk. Chan practically raised you and knows you better than anyone - with the exception of Jeongin.

No, no. Stop thinking about him, y/n. Just put on a smile and take deep breaths.

You don’t bother knocking, instead you just walk in. “Chris?” you call out. You almost speak again as you search for him but immediately change your mind when you notice your wedding ring sitting on the coffee table in the living room. Your heart drops to your feet and you can’t help but feel a twinge of betrayal. You spot someone out of the corner of your eye but choose to ignore them and turn to walk out of the door but are stopped by a gentle hand on your wrist. You don’t even need to open your eyes to know who it belongs to.

“Sunshine, please.” Sunshine. You haven’t heard you call him that in ages. Your heart melts a little but you dismiss the feeling and turn to face him when you notice your brother standing behind Jeongin.

“What happened to ‘your secrets safe with me’?” he flinches at your use of the words he promised over and over again starting from your early childhood.

“Just talk, Y/n.” Chan disappears into the hall, leaving you and Jeongin alone.

“Baby-“

“I can't take it anymore.” you whisper.

“Take what?”

“Feeling like I’m not good enough for you.” One crack in the dam you put up to stifle your emotions.

“Please don’t do that, love. I-I said things that I didn’t mean and I’m sorry I’m just-“ Jeongin takes a deep breath, “I’m afraid of losing you. I love you with all of my being, you are the most important thing to me. I can’t risk it.” Every feeling you’ve been pushing back floods you, overwhelming you. Unexpected tears stream onto your already reddened cheeks.

“If you really cared you wouldn’t have killed somebody right in front of me. Not once, but twice. Do you know how fucking difficult it is not to be fearful? You may be afraid of losing me, but I’m afraid of you. The man I married isn't there anymore. You changed, and it’s fucking terrifying.” you squeeze your eyes shut as two lifeless bodies flash through your mind.

Jeongin freezes. He fucked up; big time. He wraps his arms around your shoulders gently, silently asking for your approval.

You finally let go and sink into his arms.

You love him, that’s never been questioned. But you don’t love this life. Your body racks with sobs as Jeongin rubs soothing circles across your back. Your mind is so jumbled and fuzzy that you can’t focus on one topic. One second you’re thinking about you and Jeongin, the next you’re picturing Changbin ridding the white linoleum floor of a large pool of blood before it has a chance to stain.

If Jeongin wasn’t keeping you stable you’d most likely collapse on the floor.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” he whispers.

But he knows.

He knows that he has a slim chance of winning you back. So for now, he’s going to savor your warmth and your sweet scent. He’s going to etch the feeling of his arms around you into every crevice of his heart and soul.

You’ve reached a dead end in your relationship and you aren’t sure if you want to turn around and find your way back to him.

[alchemistc]

an: I was cleaning out my drafts and ran into this nearly-finished piece of two disasters having their first kiss. Enjoy.

the way you feel when you kiss him for the first time like fire within your bones like your soul has returned to the water like every part of you that came from a dead star is alive again

Here’s the thing. So. Like.

He’s kissing Eddie Munson, tongue and everything, hands digging into his crazy fucking hair, face twisted sideways because they’d been sitting there next to each other, close enough that their hips were touching, and Eddie was gesturing with both hands thrown wide, so that every once in a while his hand smacked Steve’s chest on accident and he murmured a quick apology before going back to his story, and Steve fucking loved listening to him rant and rave about whatever he had a bug up his ass about on any given day, he loved it so much and it seemed like the thing to do when you loved something about someone so much it made your chest tight and your head a little fuzzy.

Steve twists his head and slots his tongue over Eddie’s lips and Eddie makes a noise that Steve feels down to his fucking toes and he nips, just a bit, swallows up Eddie’s gasp and curls his fingers around his neck and licks into his mouth.

First kisses are usually either tentative or chaotic, and this one is sloppy as all get out but it’s not – it’s good. It’s so fucking good Steve thinks he could happily fucking die right this second and he wouldn’t even be mad about it. Eddie’s teeth slide along Steve’s lower lip when he sucks said lower lip into his mouth and Steve hums and blows a breath out through his nose and fleetingly imagines their entire lives expanding out before them – tables that for another day when he’s done more than make out with Eddie in the woods behind his house.

Eddie pulls back, and Steve chases, a bit, blinks his eyes back open with a pout. “You. What. You?”

It’s – Steve’s done this whole song and dance with half the girls in his age group in Hawkins, rarely ever felt this buzzing under his skin. The desperate urge to claw his way into Eddie’s chest is burning him. That’s…not the usual reaction he gets when he kisses someone.

“What the hell, Harrington? What the fuck?”

And like… okay. So. He’s had crushes before. He’s been in fucking love before and he fucking knows what it feels like and he knows what it means when someone looks at you that way that Eddie looks at him and.

“Fuck, uh… Shit, sorry man. Yeah. Should have, uh…whoops?”

“Whoops?”

Eddie’s on his feet then, his limbs akimbo as he throws his arms out, gesturing vaguely in Steve’s direction, looking at Steve like he’s grown like, three extra heads. Which. Okay so maybe he could have done better at like, explaining what the fuck he was doing but Eddie was so fucking hot when he got really in the zone with some rant or other and Steve’s been like, waiting for him.

“You can’t just go around kissing people, man!”

“I thought you were gay!” Steve says, like that explains a damn fucking thing, and Eddie whirls on him, wild eyed, like Steve’s just shouted some tightly kept secret to the world and… yeah. Alright. Fair.

“I thought you were the straightest fucking dude in America, Steve, what the fuck?”

“Oh,” Steve says, because that, yeah. That tracks. Okay. So. Yeah, he can work with this. 

He runs a jittery hand through his air, glances up at Eddie through a few strands that cut loose from the hairspray. “Yeah uh, so I guess like, no? Chicks are like, great but then here you are being so fucking adorable I wanna like, put you in my fucking pocket to keep you safe and like, take you out on a date and, I don’t know, suck your cock or something. Which is.” 

He’s rambling now, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

“Okay so like I guess I didn’t really think about the ramifications of this before I fucking went for it but I have been thinking about your lips on my lips for way longer than I have been acknowledging to myself and you weren’t fucking doing anything about it and I just thought I could. Do something about it. So um…no. Not. Not straight.” 

Steve imagines, for a moment, Hawkins High jocks fading out of the shadows to beat the shit out of him, bible thumping mothers intent on letting him know his sins will destroy the country and land him straight in hell, his own father telling him he won’t have a fag for a son. Feels really fucking shitty about it for about thirty seconds and then remembers he’s saved the world at least four times and internally tells them all to go fuck themselves. 

“Hey, is there a word for that? Liking both? Do you – fuck, is there like, a handbook? Do you even know? Did – but then you’re – I mean I definitely for sure got the feeling you and Robin have more in common than just being really great at saving the world, also you for sure kissed me back and – holy shit Robin’s gonna be pissed you found out before she did.”

Eddie stares at him in abject horror for about thirty seconds, but it’s not – it’s not judgy, at least, it’s more like Steve looks at Robin when she word vomits. “Jesus H Christ did you just speed run gay panic?” Which – Robin has explained that before and if Eddie knows about it then he probably also is not…not gay.

“I don’t think I’m strictly gay!” Steve says, his voice a little higher than he’d like but Eddie is pacing now, which. Not conducive to more kissing, and it’s literally all Steve wants to be doing right now. “It might not even be dudes in general, I haven’t gotten any further than you!”

“What the fuck, Harrington?” And pacing be damned, Steve hops up and cages Eddie in again, leans forward for a kiss because he’s not, like, saying no, he’s just confused because he didn’t think Steve was into it and kissing will definitely help him figure it out. Only he rolls his head back, away from Steve’s, shoulders and neck rolling back. The rest of him stays, though, and Steve slots his hands on Eddie’s narrow waist and stares at him. 

“I’m like, super into you, Eddie, and unless I’m suddenly really fucking bad at reading signals you’re also into me.”

Eddie leans forward, rolls his forehead against Steve’s. It’s nice. Not as nice as the kissing had been but…yeah, he’s cool with this. Eddie huffs out a breath of laughter, a self-deprecating little chortle that Steve recognizes and wants to dash away. “I’ve been trying really hard not to throw those signals. Just. Just so you know.”

“You’re really bad at it,” Steve tells him, fingers digging a bit into his side now, his left hand sliding towards Eddie’s back, and he doesn’t really think about it when he exerts a bit of force to drag Eddie a little closer. “To be like, fully clear here. I’m not… I haven’t been misreading, correct?”

“Fuck,” Eddie says, those wide dark eyes holding Steve’s. “This is insane. People don’t just wake up one day and go ‘hey I’m actually totally attracted to my own gender and I have literally zero bad feelings about that’ – people kill themselves about it.”

“Nearly died enough times to know I don’t care for it,” Steve tells him, and he really, really wants to fucking kiss him again but probably Eddie needs a second. “Listen, do you like me or not, because if not I am seriously overstepping right now and I don’t actually want to make this weird.”

“This is so fucking weird, man,” Eddie says but then he’s curling his fingers into the end of Steve’s shirt and fisting it there before Steve has a chance to draw back and respect his boundaries, like he’s holding himself back from more but not quite ready to let go. Steve follows his lead. “Did Robin say something?”

“Robin has been literally zero help,” Steve admits, because she really has been fucking useless and cagey and completely unwilling to give him any idea if this whole thing is reciprocated or just a fully fucking unrequited crush. “I am actually pretty emotionally intelligent, so I figured…” God he’s giving Steve that look. Again. “Vibes were there.”

“Vibes.” Eddie says, like he wants to bash his brains in. “You… you just threw all caution to the wind on fucking vibes.”

“Vibes are a thing!”

Eddie curls the hand not already fisting in Steve’s shirt around his waist, his long fingers catching at the stripe of skin exposed by the pull of his shirt. Every thought in Steve’s head feels like it’s centered right there, where he can feel Eddie’s rings warm against his skin.

Steve is like, 97.3 percent certain at this point that he hasn’t just ruined a decently important friendship, and he really, really does want to return to that zenith of his tongue in Eddie’s mouth, so he rolls his head again, nosing at Eddie’s cheek, reaching for his jaw.

Eddie shoves him back – slowly, regretfully almost. 

“Give me a fucking second, Harrington.”

“Sure. Yeah.” 

Even as Eddie goes back to pacing Steve feels good about this. Eddie Munson is probably a lot more accepting of things than most of the assholes in Hawkins but he has yet to tell Steve to go fuck himself and he seems more…overwhelmed than anything else. Surprised. He had just admitted he thought Steve didn’t go for that thing. Had he thought about it, beyond a passing ‘Steve the Hair Harrington digs the ladies’?

Jesus. He’s so fucking embarrassing. Even in his own goddamn brain.

Eddie whirls on him, opens his mouth. Shuts it and takes a few pointed steps further away from Steve. Steve very much hates that, but – time. Space. He can manage that. He takes the opportunity to enjoy the pull of Eddie’s jeans over his ass. 

Holy shit, Steve thinks to himself as he ogles the other man, holy shit he’s so very much not straight and it’s taking every ounce of willpower to give Eddie his fucking second. 

“You’re a fucking psycho,” Eddie says, and it’s probably aimed at Steve even though he still hasn’t actually turned back to look at him again. “You fully understand that what you just did screams absolute lunatic, right?”

“The – which part, exactly?”

“Steve, what if I wasn’t gay?”

It’s – kind of a sad question, if he’s being honest, because he’s suspected he likes dudes for maybe two weeks, even if it’s been nagging at him for literal months now, but he’s been that shitty kid who called people queer like it was the dirtiest word in the book, and he’s well aware at this point how fucking scary it is for anyone who is the least bit not ‘normal’ by societies standards. Especially if it’s actually true.

“I mean, I assume you’d probably give me a lot of shit and I would spend a good month too mortified to look at you before you let me off the hook?” But that question gets a little closer to the heart of it, the one thing Steve’s still a little worried about. “But…you are?”

“How the fuck did you even know?”

“The vibes!” He wiggles his fingers at that, widens his eyes like that will help Eddie understand. “And, you know. The general feeling every time you look at me like you’re half a second from eating me alive.”

“I do not!” Eddie says, a little scandalized, a little like he’s been caught out. 

“You totally do. You have…very expressive eyes.” This is new. Just balls to the wall flaying honesty, right off the bat, no hiding behind a slick smile and a clever little wink. What even is flirting, Steve thinks. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I fully thought you were gonna bend me over a table at Gary’s party last weekend.”

“Jesus fuck,” Eddie says, only he’s still not denying it, and he’s turning those same round shining eyes on Steve and – yeah. That is not a platonic fucking look. “I’m gonna take, like, three steps towards you right now. Can you. Not fucking attack me when I get there?”

“Yeah. Sure. Totally.” Robin and Nancy once ganged up on him to tell him he was basically a golden retriever in human form, and he feels every inch one as Eddie takes long, measured steps towards him. If he had a tail he’d be wagging it so fucking hard his ass would be wiggling. 

“Full disclosure,” Eddie tells him at a step and a half in. “I was actually thinking about getting on my knees and sucking you off until your soul left your body, at Gary’s party, last weekend.” Steve bites his lip, doesn’t say a word, ignores the heat thrumming in his veins. “Don’t you dare kiss me right now, Harrington,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice that is very fucking interesting and Steve would like to explore more.

“Yep. Hands and lips to myself. Gotcha.”

“I also had a massive panic attack about it like five minutes later because you’re the best person I know and I will be fully, absolutely destroyed if I lose you, so. Before I set myself adrift here, are you sure you have a single fucking clue what you’re getting yourself into?”

“See, that’s the thing!” Steve points, just as Eddie takes another step, so his finger ends up right in Eddie’s face and he’s eyeing it like he might just pop it into his mouth. In for a penny… “You got really mad at me when you thought I was avoiding you, and I very much, totally was because I have like, two age appropriate friends and figuring out one of them might be the love of my life threw me for a fucking loop.” Too soon, way too fucking soon, he was supposed to like, at least get Eddie in his bed before he admitted that. “So. I’ve already had that crisis and I know I lied and told you it was nothing but that’s. What that was.”

The look shifts. Eddie’s eyes were already wide, so his expression doesn’t change all that much, but his eyes get a little glassy and the dimple in his cheek twitches. 

“Whoops,” Steve repeats and Eddie gathers up the hand Steve still has between them, guiding the arm down towards Steve’s side, lacing their fingers up together as he gets close enough Steve can feel his breath on his cheek.

“You’re an actual lunatic,” Eddie tells him, but he’s leaning in close, now, curling a hand around Steve’s neck. “Whoops, he says,” and Eddie shakes his head fondly, close enough that the tip of his nose swipes across Steve’s with the movement. “How long?”

“We’re still not kissing, right?” Steve asks, just to clarify, and Eddie smiles, shakes his head. “Yep. Still good with that. Sure. How long what?”

“Don’t play dumb, princess.”

“I mean – are you asking about me? Are you asking about me knowing about you? Are you asking about attraction, or feelings, or…”

“Sure,” Eddie says, and Steve supposes he walked himself into that. He’s still – Steve could count individual lashes dashed across Eddie’s eyelids, he’s so close. 

“Yeah. Alright. Me? Been trying to sort it out for a while, I think, since Vecna. For sure? Two weeks ago, when you made me come watch your campaign finale, or whatever.” Eddie’s eyes gleam with interest, and Steve can see him searching for a specific moment, but it hadn’t been a specific moment, it had been an amalgamation of the last seven months of his life, and watching Eddie in his element, threading together a sweeping close to a tale he’s been working on for a full year, seeing the kids delighted faces, thinking about all the shit they’d been through and all the terrible things they’ve seen, it had all clicked into place. “You? I didn’t know, know. Just. Robin’s always saying there are signs, if you look for them. I hoped. I was looking for them.” 

Had to talk himself into and out of reading into signs multiple times, honestly. 

“I had some very confusing boners before I understood them, so I can’t really pinpoint that one, but a while,” and Eddie’s lips curl up, which is nice. It’s one of his favorite things to do, making Eddie smile like that. “The… I liked you from the start, is the thing, so there isn’t just a single moment but… you remember that night we got up on the roof of the van and got way too fucking high?”

“You couldn’t find the Big Dipper,” Eddie recalls fondly. 

“Yeah, well, you were right there next to me, being all freakishly smart about constellations and looking at me and when you told me about your mom I wanted to just – tear the whole fucking world apart for you. So.”

“So,” Eddie says, and his voice has gone whisper soft and his breath is fanning across Steve’s face and his eyes are big and brown and soft at the edges.

“We’re still doing the no kissing part, right?”

Eddie hums. Tilts his head to the side just a bit, and his nose stripes across Steve’s cheek. “I could probably be persuaded otherwise.”

It’s – he’s –

“If I admit the panic might be coming on now, will you change your mind?”

“Absolutely.”

“Cool. I’m very chill about this.”

“Steve,” he says, and his voice is so fucking soft, and his fingers are skittering up the side of Steve’s arm. 

“Freaking out a little bit. Don’t – you can stay here, though.”

“I’ll stay here as long as you need.”

“While we’re here, you could – I mean I know I said I clocked you pretty easily but if you wanted, I would definitely be okay hearing about – how. How that happened.”

Eddie’s eyes flit up, hold Steve’s. “You lying about anxiety to get me to tell you my dirty secrets?”

“I’m not that smart,” Steve tells him, and Eddie’s smile tilts up at the corners.

[reobsessed]

Sickness In His Care

Pairing: Reader X Karl Heisenberg. Content Warning: 18+, Mentions of sex but no actual sex in the story itself, Reader X Karl Heisenberg fic, slight humour. Can't think of any other warnings but please let me know in the comments if I missed anything. Summary: You'd been seeing Karl Heisenberg for a while now and had since started staying in the factory. However, one day you come down with a fever. Expecting him not to care you do your best to avoid him but you find yourself at a loss for words when he tries to take care of you. This is just a short one, inspired by my current illness. Wanted to write about a sick reader being taken care of by Karl =p Hope you enjoy! Might add more one-shots to this series later. Thanks again to Suri for editting and reads!

Your body was racked by coughs and splutters, occasionally drowned out by the sound of heavy machines whirring. You did your best to fall asleep but the oppressive heat of both your fever and the humid factory air wouldn’t allow for that. How Heisenberg worked in this, day in, day out boggled your mind. You had a lot of questions concerning that man.

With no such luck in drifting off, you flung your legs over the side of the makeshift bed and wrapped a blanket around yourself, for modesty’s sake. You made your way to the main elevator and adjusted your underwear while you walked.

Despite their inability to see, you felt intimidated beneath the many dead eyes of the factory. They’d long since had the life and humanity extinguished from them, but much like a porcelain doll, their eyes followed you across the hall.

Unfortunately you weren’t wearing any shoes either. They’d been discarded halfway across a room, (you couldn’t remember which) when he’d accosted you from behind several nights before. He did that sometimes, he’d enter a room irritated, ranting and raving about his ‘life’s work’, Mother Miranda or some other insignificant event. Then as he would throw his coat to the floor he’d come up behind and bury his face in the crook of your neck. It was his silent plea for attention, the only release in his life that didn’t coincide with destructive violence.

Things would get rough sometimes. Tumbling around with shrapnel and a dirty man who never left his basement certainly had its risks; but at the end of it all, nothing ever went outside of your comfort zone. Cruel and ruthless Lord Heisenberg was capable of some decency, if only in that regard.

Memories of the prior night filled you with excitement. You brought your hand to the swollen cluster of love bites mapped across your chest and neck. You’d returned the favour, and left a colourful array dotted across his neck, ensuring they were in full view of any who encountered him. You hoped to God he got called into a family meeting sometime soon. With an impish giggle you clicked the button on the elevator and ascended to the top floor. You hoped he was anywhere but his office, but unfortunately your luck had run out around the same time you’d met him.

As soon as you opened the door you were greeted by his side profile, head in hands, slumped over a diagram on the table. Probably sulking again.

“The fuck are you doing in here? I thought I told you not to bother me while I’m working.” He let out a puff of cigar smoke. Didn’t even have the decency to look at you. Dick.

As per your usual pettiness you ignored him and made a beeline for the door at the back of the room. Suddenly you toppled backwards as a thin chain of metal wrapped itself around your wrist, not intended to hurt you but to stop you from going any further. However, he’d miscalculated and hadn’t noticed your sickly state until after you’d begun to tumble backwards. As you fell to the ground, he steadied you with more offcuts of metal.

“The hell is wrong with you?” he raised his voice, a combination of tiredness and confusion. 

Metal clattered to the floor as he stood up. With a rough grip, he pulled you upright and turned you to face him. He studied you intently, glasses slipping down past his nose. You stared into his eyes, watching as anger dissipated into uncharacteristic worry.

Heisenberg was never good at concealing his emotions, especially not his anger and now this too, apparently.

“I just wanted some fresh air,” you croaked.

Cigar smoke choked your already irritated throat and you began another coughing fit, you tried your best to turn away but his burly arms held you in place. You were shocked that he didn’t seem to mind when you spluttered all over his stained work shirt but then again, you’d covered him in worse things.

“Forgot humans get sick, haven’t been sick in over forty years.”

“Certainly starting to get sick of you.” 

You couldn’t see his eyes behind the blackened glasses, but you knew he was rolling them.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” He grabbed your arm and shook it. “What do you do when one of these gets sick?”

“Well, I was hoping to avoid you turning me into one of your new toys, but I guess that’s up in the air now,” you sniffed, swallowing a large glob of phlegm stuck at the back of your throat.

“That’s fucking disgusting,” he sneered at you, now holding you away from him at arm’s length.

“I can’t help it,” you spat, attempting to pull yourself free. “And besides, have you smelt yourself recently?”

“Wait a minute, I have something for this!” His grip slipped from your wrist and fell into your hand. You let out a nasalled grunt as he dragged you across the room to his desk. After rummaging around with one hand he pulled out a dusted bottle from the bottom drawer. “This should do the trick.”

Your nose wrinkled when you looked at the awaiting bottle. It was covered in a thick layer of grime and much of the writing had worn off the label a long time ago, based on the few remaining letters you assumed this used to be some kind of ‘medicine’. You turned it over to see the date ‘1923’ printed along the bottom.

“Yep. I’ll be better in no time with this.” You swivelled the bottle, watching as black ooze splashed against the sides. He had a triumphant grin on his face and you couldn’t bring yourself to ridicule him further. “Right, well I’m going outside.”

“Dressed like that?”

“What are you, my dad?”

He pulled the blanket around your shoulders and touched a gloved hand to your forehead.

“You’re cold.”

Stifling yet another cough, you laughed softly. 

“How can you tell? You’re wearing gloves, you buffoon.”

He wrapped you in an embrace, only when held in the stillness of his arms did you realise that you’d been shivering this entire time. Had your fever turned to chills? With his arms still around you he pulled you over to his chair and sat you in his lap, presumably so he could keep working.

“So… you not gonna turn me into a Soldat after all?” you laughed nervously.

He brought the cigar to his lips. “Bad materials.”

You slapped his chest playfully and turned to nestle yourself in his arms. Usually after sex you’d push him away, the man radiated far too much heat in the already sweltering factory, but you were currently thankful for the warmth. It must have been awkward trying to work around the mass of your body, but he didn’t complain. As the two of you sat together you came to the realisation that he wasn’t doing any work at all, and that in reality, all he wanted to do was sit with you in his arms while you recovered.

Fuck.

Somewhere along the way the two of you had lost yourselves. What was supposed to have been a one-night stand had spiralled into weekly hookups, and from there it had turned into shared space and something akin to actual concern for one another. You were filled with a sense of dread, but you pushed it down in favour of sinking further into his chest. Before you drifted off, you could have sworn you felt the brush of his lips against your hair. 

A bitter sweetness churned your stomach. You felt a unique longing, beyond anything you’d ever felt for anyone else. Sex and desire had become secondary in favour of a new want; if only you had more time to spend in comfortable silence together.

[manyeels]

Apparently when I was off my ass on tranquilizers to get dental work I wrote this prompt in my notes section

What the Cold Boys were up to 9/11

Little: Slept in til 2 and straight up missed it all

Irving: Goes into a wide-eyed trance the entire day

Collins: was off his ass on edibles and shrooms the night before, wakes up at 11 and is glued to the TV all day trying to figure out if it’s a war of the worlds style hoax. Goodsir drops by in the afternoon and gets him to eat something.

Goodsir: Goes to donate blood knowing that it won’t do anything, goes to check on his friends in person since it’s hard to get through on phones. People suddenly treat him like an expert on building collapses and he keeps explaining he is a mere anatomist.

Tozer: Cries a bunch. Spends the rest of the day in his bathrobe googling how he can get deployed to the Middle East ASAP

Armitage: Shows up at Tozer’s place to use comforting him as an excuse to hug and cuddle him a bunch. Dissuades him from trying to go into combat (Armitage can’t join up bc of his bad ear) and eventually unplugs his computer router.

Crozier: Is able to get Fitzjames on the phone for an inappropriate whisky-fueled rant that is somehow both anti-US foreign policy and vaguely Islamophobic.

Hodgeson: instantly knew Bin Laden did it because he just finished a book on the Mujahadeen.

Stanley: Shows up to work like usual and is annoyed that his coworkers are glued to the TV and patients keep cancelling appointments. Reorganizes his office all day since people aren’t showing up and then takes a 4 hour bike ride after work.

Fitzjames: Yells at Crozier on the phone a bit but shows up at his place with a bottle of port that costs more than his mortgage to commiserate. They end up taking a long horny-sad shower together.

Pilkington: would go to a rave about it

Sir John: Learns about the attacks from Lady Franklin but soon after asks her to turn off the TV. Spends all day writing a sermon for Divine Service. Definitely knew someone in the Pentagon but is Not Thinking About That right now. Will support the invasion of Iraq before anyone even proposes it.

Hickey: Rushes to short airline stocks. Insinuates that the Egyptian failson neighbor he buys adderoll from knows something about the attacks and gets in a screaming fight that ends with Billy dragging his ass away.

Gibson: Keeps brewing endless pots of tea which has a lot of lifting to do now that Cornelius has lost their addy plug. Manically cleans the entire house and bickers with Cornelius while folding towels.

Jopson: After making sure the Captain is well and not alone, he opens up the prepper vault in his basement and whistles as he unloads his shortwave radio and MREs and tapes plastic over his windows in case of a biological weapons attack. He then curls up with a nice book.

Des Voeux:

[keyotos]

disgusting

summary ⎯ after a long day, all you want to do is relax with your boyfriend.

tags ⎯ gn!reader. tooth-rotting fluff. ONE minor innuendo. basically alhaitham is in love.

tana's words ⎯ hi guys sorry for the mini hiatus but i'm bored and i am going to write this very quick and very simple drabble just bc

"why do they always have to run?" you complain as you settle onto the couch that alhaitham was quietly reading on. "i mean, it's never gonna do anything. like, we are the matra. we can catch up to you at any second, but noooo, running will most definitely allow you to evade us," sarcasm dripped from your voice.

alhaitham puts down his book and turns his attention towards you. earlier that night, when you arrived home, you barely even greeted him. now, alhaitham is not one to get clingy due to the fact that you didn't greet him with as much affection as usual, but he was missing you quite a bit (not that he'd ever let you know that), so he was concerned.

the affection you had given him prior tonight was a chaste kiss on the lips. it wasn't much, but it still meant a lot to him, whether he showed it or not. tonight, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. ridiculous, alhaitham is well aware, but it still raised some concern within him. your actions meant you probably had a stressful day, which made alhaitham want to know more.

when did he start finding himself enthralled with your very essence? there was no switch to define when his feels for you developed to more than just friends. only a heavy beating in his heart when he was around you. only a feeling of airiness in his chest when he spoke to you.

"what happened today?" alhaitham asked calmly, being the complete opposite to your frazzled antics while describing your hectic day. to help you relax, he began to rub his hands up and down your thigh. you melted into his touch instantly, letting out a deep breath.

"oh you know. the usual research fraud. wasn't even that bad actually. he was probably going to get like, what, two months of suspension and eight months of community service? better fate than most. but instead of surrendering, he chose to run all the way from sumeru city to gandharva ville!" you ranted, throwing your hands in the air to indicate your frustrations. "and he even tried to hide. from the matra. from me! like, you're cornered like a deer here, might as well surrender and make it easier for everyone else."

you rubbed the thigh that didn't occupy alhaitham's hand, "also, i'm sore as hell. all that running from sumeru city to gandharva ville and then all the way back has me spent. i feel like i'm not gonna be able to walk for days."

alhaitham lightly scoffed in response. you were tough, one of the matra's best at that. alhaitham could also think of instances where you couldn't walk, yet pulled through for the next day (ignoring his advice to stay home). however, he wasn't going to comment about that at the moment.

his gaze never left you the entire time. alhaitham was so incredibly focused on your face, studying you and focusing on you like a researcher would, hoping to never let something as brilliant as you go. his eyes traced the movement of your mouth every time you groaned; the way you squeezed your eyes shut when you raved about another frustration; the way your hands moved sporadically through the air.

again, when did go from simply observing you to essentially admiring your every move? and why is it so easy to do so?

"hey," you dragged out the word and poked his cheek. "were you even listening to me? or were you just gawking at me?"

alhaitham is snapped out of his daze, refocusing back on your words. well, he was always focused on your words. just not at this moment. "of course i was listening," alhaitham rolls his eyes teasingly, "if he ran all the way to gandharva ville, maybe he had more to hide. why else would he go through all the trouble? or maybe your face scared him so much he felt he had to run far, far away."

you rolled your eyes, "very funny, acting grand sage. are you trying to get involved in matra business now?"

"quite the contrary," alhaitham countered, "just wanted to get involved in my partner's life. is that a crime?"

"yes," you replied instantaneously. "you'll be arrested now. hope you know that you're getting the life sentence," you grinned, grabbing his wrists and placing them by your hips. you were caged underneath him, smiling wide as ever.

alhaitham finds it hard to not smile back at your antics. most of the time, he tried to keep a stoic composure to keep people away and hide his intentions. but with you, he finds that it all melts away, leaving it only you and him and nothing but bliss.

you were the first to break the silence, "so... were you actually listening to me or were you just making inferences based on what i was saying earlier?" your voice was nothing above a whisper, letting it be known that it was only you and him in the house.

"'course i was listening to you," his voice matched your soft tone, words filled with sincerity and admiration, "how could i not with a voice as sweet as yours?"

and that's when you lose it. you lose it for two reasons: alhaitham was teasing you and you knew that during your entire rant you sounded anything but sweet. malice and exasperation flowed through you as you spoke about today's events. alhaitham was simply pulling your leg, the bastard.

but, that did prove that he was listening. only he would be able to distinct the way your words moved through the air, tainting it with annoyance and irritation. only he would know.

you shoved alhaitham off of you, sending him back to the other side of the couch. "you're disgusting!" you giggled and shoved his shoulder, "i've had enough of you. i'm going to bed," you grabbed a pillow from the couch and shoved your face in it, hoping that alhaitham wouldn't be able to see your blush.

but of course, alhaitham sees through you yet again. "okay. i'll see you soon," he picked up his book and continued to read, knowing that you'd be next to him in a matter of seconds. if you weren't in the matra, you would have had a fulfilling career as a researcher with your curiosity.

"what are you reading?" you rest your head on his shoulder, peering at the pages. you let the pillow that you were holding go, now discarded to the side as you moved towards your boyfriend.

alhaitham closed the book to show you the title, which you read out loud, "remarkably bright creatures. taking a break from nonfiction?" you turned your head to look at him. that feeling alhaitham had in the beginning of your relationship came back, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. no matter how many years you two have been together, alhaitham thinks that he will never be able to shake off the feeling of being in love with you.

"needed to replenish my pallet," he shrugged simply. his vagueness made you even more curiouser, alhaitham's goal in the first place. you could chalk this up to him trying to engage your interests again, but really, alhaitham just wanted your affection. as stupid as it sounds, alhaitham is a man who (at the end of the day) just wants his partner's touch.

you let out a hum and move closer towards him. you had your knees raised up to your chest, reading the words alongside him. your arms were touching, your head almost leaned onto his shoulder.

once you found yourself fascinated enough with the novel, alhaitham took this as his chance to get you closer. he grabbed your waist and pulled you into him, now so close that he could feel the air exhale from your nose. you, too distracted from the words in front of you, didn't seem to pay any mind.

"'as a general rule, i like holes,'" alhaitham began to read from the book, causing you to subvert your gaze towards his face, "'a hole at the top of my tank gives me freedom. but i do not like the hole in her heart. she only has one, not three, like me. tova’s heart. i will do everything i can to help her fill it.'”

"you know," your fingers dance along the bicep that you've curled under, "this octopus reminds me of a certain someone. impassive on the outside, yet he cares about others on the inside."

"comparing me to a sea animal now? i'm surprised you've hit a new low," alhaitham teases you. he accepts your compliment by kissing you on your jaw.

"shut up!" you swat at the same bicep you were just relaxed under, "if i was really comparing you to a sea creature, you'd be a sea lion. cute on the outside, but horrible on the inside," you exaggerated.

alhaitham smirks, "you think i'm cute?"

you immediately notice where you've went wrong. you can't hide your flustered expression from alhaitham this time. you wouldn't be surprised if the bastard planned this. "i also said you were horrible."

"but you also said i was cute," he retorted as if he was boasting.

"emphasis on was. maybe not anymore," you couldn't help but smile at your response.

alhaitham pressed a kiss to your temple, "really? not at all?" he raised an eyebrow as he looked down into your eyes. they say eyes are the window to the soul, and alhaitham is one to think that it is true. he didn't really believe it before he met you, but now, everytime alhaitham looks at you it's as if he can understand everything you're trying to say based on one gaze.

alhaitham was already leaning forward when you decided to kiss him, like he knew that it was coming. cocky, you wanted to think. but you know that's not the truth.

alhaitham knows you so well that it's disgustingly endearing.

hi guys!! sorry i've been away for so long. my writer's block has been so bad and it also doesn't help that i've began my six-week volunteer program as well as other work. i'll try to regulate updates to be asap, but i still dk bc of my crazy schedule. hopefully i'll be able to update more often, but until then!

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Lee Know: Prompt 04

-> Pairing: Lee Minho x Fem!Reader -> Requested by: Anon -> Prompt: 04 - "Are you okay?” “No. Everything is a mess right now.” “What can I do to help?” “You’re already doing it.” -> Warnings: Reader having a bad day from the moment she wakes up. -> Word Count: 545 -> Request: Closed.

500 followers = 500 words Masterlist | Main Masterlist

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead

The moment Y/N walks into their apartment, Minho can tell that something is wrong. It's not just the tear stains on her face or the redness and swelling of her eyes. Her whole demeanor seems different. She's not her usual cheerful self. Instead, she looks sad and defeated.  

He turns off the TV, moving Dori from his lap and gets up, going to her. He opens his arms as he reaches her and pulls her into a hug without saying anything. He can hear her trying to hold back her tears as her body trembles. 

Are you okay?" he asks, rubbing her back in an attempt to comfort her.  

"No," she sniffles, fresh tears streaming down her face and wetting his shirt. "Everything is a mess right now."  

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks. She shakes her head in response. 

"What can I do to help?" he asks.  

"You're already doing it," she tells him. Despite the tears, her body starts to relax as she feels the warmth of his body against hers. His familiar scent lulls her into a sense of ease. Feeling the weight of her troubles start to lift she whispers, “I’m already starting to feel better. I just need you to hold me for a little while.” 

“Let’s move to the couch,” he suggests so they could be comfortable and he can hold her for as long as she needs him too. She nods in agreement. He lets her go, taking her hands and leading her to the couch.  

As they sit down, Minho pulls her back into his arms. Dori joins them, pushing his way in between them. They sit in silence, until he breaks it. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about?” he asks again, letting her know he’s all ears if she does want to vent. 

She thinks about it for a moment before she answers. “I just don’t know where to start,” she says with a sad sigh. “It feel like everything went wrong today.” 

He gently rubs her back, his full attention on her as she continues, “My alarm didn’t off this morning and I couldn’t work out why until I realized I set it for pm not am. Because of that I was late for work.” 

“I had a feeling I should have woken you up before I left,” he admits. This morning, he had to leave their apartment earlier than usual. When he went to leave, he debated whether or not he should wake her up so he could tell her he was leaving and that he’d see her later that evening and of course get in a kiss before he goes. He ultimately decided not to and let her get that extra hour of sleep.  

“That wasn’t even the worst part of the day,” she assures him and goes on to tell him about every bad thing that had happened, from her supervisor reprimanding her for being late to reprimanding her for not having her part of the new project done, even though she hadn’t been told that the date had been brought forward. 

The whole time, keeps mostly quiet, offering reassurance when she needs it, as he listens to her rant and rave about her bad day.  

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[starlightrosa]

Outlet

With thanks to @mari2akary for this ADORABLE idea!

Summary: Valentino is pissed off, like usual. Vox is sent to pacify him. It ends, for once, in a rather unexpected fashion.

Warnings: Canon-friendly language, severe swear warning, Valentino in general. (If not comfy seeing him written, please skip past and take care of yourself.) All SFW.

Word Count: 1.6k

Enjoy!

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

It had been a relatively quiet morning. In the tower belonging to Hell’s fearsome overlords, the Vees, Vox was in his hideout playing around with cameras and feeds so as to get the best angle for spying on Alastor yet again. At least, that’s how he assumed the morning would go. Hell comes with its problems, and one was bubbling up faster than the flat-screen could have assumed.

“VOX!” came the voice of Velvette, crackling over the monitor of the TV overlord. Honestly, you’d think the Brit would have learned to solve her own problems by now, surely she could just-

“VOX! I need you up here, NOW!”

“Whatever could be the problem, my dear?” Vox asked, turning his back to the British woman, sipping from a mug of coffee as he scrolled through his phone.

“Your little boy toy. Get up here now and cool him off before he rips apart the models that I need for MY SHOW! Damn it, Valentino!” Velvette yelled, before the digital screen went blank.

Vox lifted himself out of his chair, his charismatic smile gone from his face now.

“Oh boy, here I go. Off to go see Valentino. Hey, hey, hey! Fuck my life.” Vox said, ranting to himself as he stepped aboard the lifting pad to take him up to where Valentino was, in the efforts of cooling his anger.

When Vox got up to the suite that the Vees all shared, he saw something that should have surprised him, but it really didn’t. Red smoke blanketed the area, and there was a very angry Valentino, ranting and raving to the air with saliva flying from his mouth in his outrage.

“THAT UNGRATEFUL WHORE!” the moth demon screamed aloud, throwing a glass of… whatever he was drinking. And it would have hit Vox in the face, had the TV demon not quickly stepped out of the path of oncoming liqueur.

Vox had gotten used to a lot of Valentino’s mannerisms by now. The moth Overlord was a very unstable sort, with a temper more fierce and fiery than the eternal flames that ravaged the wasteland of the Pride Ring. So this once again came as no surprise.

“Um, which whore are we talking about exactly?” Vox asked, his hands behind his back. He looked mildly bored of this tantrum already, and if Valentino was anything to go by, this was only getting started.

“Fucking Angel Dust!” Valentino snarled. “Who the hell else would I be talking about?! That fucking SLUT walked out on me! ME!!!!” he continued, pacing around the room. “I fucking made him! I’m gonna remind him of just who he belongs to!” he said, rifling through the storage cupboards and pulling out two shotguns, one yellow and the other pink.

“Now, which of these compliments my coat?” Valentino asked to himself. Vox just chuckled.

“Val…” he crooned, though his charismatic drawl switched to something sharper, offering one warning and one only. “You’re not going over there.” he says.

“And why the fuck not? Angel is mine. I own him, so I can do what I goddamn want with-!”

“VAL!” Vox shouted, startling the moth into an angry yet disbelieving silence. “I said you’re not going over there, so you’re NOT FUCKING GOING.”

Valentino fell back on the sofa, kicking his legs in anger and pouting like a goddamn child. Sometimes Vox wondered why in the hell he was dating such a petulant, whining man. He shouldn’t care about any of this, realistically.

But leaving Valentino to stew in anger without any way to cool off was not a very good idea. Vox swore he was still finding bullets in the walls the last time Valentino got angry, and the carpenter’s prices were way too damn high for Vox’s liking anyway.

“You need to control yourself.” Vox said. Val scoffed.

“And how in the fuck do you expect me to do THAT?!”

“I don’t know, read a damn book? Play darts?” Vox guessed, rattling off some casual activities as an idea, before he saw the look on Val’s face. Like he was hatching some kind of plan, as the moth overlord quickly sat up and kept his eyes on Vox the entire time.

“Uh, Val? Why are you looking at me like that?” Vox enquired. Suddenly, the TV demon felt a little worried.

“You know, Voxy… I might have a way to take out my anger. If I can’t use Angel as my outlet… then you’re gonna have to do.” the moth demon said, before tugging Vox to him. Vox stumbled forwards and landed across Val’s lap. And usually Vox didn’t quite mind being in this position, if you get my drift. But the way Val was looking at him, not with lust, but with sheer mischief did more to unsettle Vox’s nerves.

Vox felt the moth demon working him out of his jacket, leaving him in his red and black striped vest. Of all the fucking times to wear the short-sleeved one. And Vox quickly began regretting it even more when he felt one of Valentino’s hands gripping his wrists and pulling them above his head.

“Val.” Vox warned, though the sharp warning was lost in the way his voice wavered. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, I’m thinkin’ about it, guapo.” Valentino responded. “I really am.” he continued, his voice a cat-like purr.

Vox opened his mouth to say something else, but an uncharacteristic squeal left him as Valentino gave the other overlord no warning and began digging his claws into the hollows of his underarms with his free upper hand.

“VAHAHAHAHAHAL!!!!” Vox cried out, squirming in the moth demon’s arms. Val just tightened his hold around the other, refusing to let him go.

Valentino just laughed. “Where are you trying to go? No escaping me, Voxie~” he crooned, enjoying the sight of his boyfriend squirming in his arms far more than he would admit. Vox was enjoyable to get his hands on, in many more ways than one.

“D-Don’t! Val, don’t! Don’t!” Vox begged, wriggling like a worm in his boyfriend’s arms. Val only grinned, every sharp fang in his mouth fully on show, even the gold one.

“Don’t what, Voxie~?” he questioned.

“Tickle me!” Vox giggled out, too caught up in the tickles to properly register what Valentino implied in the moment. Oh, he fell for it. And Vox soon realised and attempted to backtrack, though Val was undeterred. “Wahahahait wahahait WAIT- ACK!”

“Begging is always rewarded with me, guapo.” Valentino crooned. “This goes on until I’m not angry with Angel Dust anymore. And because you made me mention that slut again, that’s an extra minute of me wrecking your shit.” he finished, hearing Vox gasp at the suggestion.

“V-Val!” Vox cackled, his eyes screwed shut. “Thahahat’s nohohot FAIR!”

“I don’t think I asked for your opinion, Voxie. Now quiet down before I double your time.” Valentino threatened with a rare glint of playfulness in his reddish eyes.

“Gohohoho somewhere else!” Vox pleaded. If he kept getting tickled here in the underarms, he was going to overheat, quite literally. Having a literal TV for a head seemed like a fun concept, but it meant that the fun of blushing was thrown out the damn window and instead there came a very real possibility of Vox overheating from exertion, or blowing a fuse due to overuse of his energy. And a reboot wasn’t exactly how he wanted to spend his afternoon, and he was fairly certain Val wanted that even less.

“Alright, fine. Whiny-ass.” Val said with a loud sigh as he pondered where to go next. Then he got a good idea. He released his hold on Vox’s wrists to gather hands under his back, and flipped Vox over.

Vox landed with a muffled ‘oof’, now lying on his stomach. Valentino looked down at Vox. “You know, Vox… I could go for a snack.”

“Then gehehet Kihihitty!” Vox babbled between chuckles that bubbled up out of his throat. Kitty was their robot who did whatever any of the Vees wanted without any fuss.

“No, she’s not needed.” Val purred. He gnashed his teeth playfully at Vox. “I was thinkin’ something else.”

“Lihihihike what?” Vox asked, not liking the evil smile on Valentino’s face.

“Ribs.” Is all he says, before he got Vox’s little striped vest up, revealing the electric blue skin, as he dipped his head, enjoying Vox’s pleads. Valentino had stumbled upon this spot a few times ago, and it was a favourite spot to get the TV demon crumbling.

“No, no, no. Val, please! Don’t, DON’T-!”

Val’s teeth met Vox’s ribs, nibbling along the ticklish bones. Vox shrieked as soon as he felt it, cackling and clawing into Valentino’s shirt with the freedom of his hands.

“VAHAHAHAHAL!!!” Vox screeched. He couldn’t think straight, and his face was getting dangerously hot. If this didn’t stop, he might just burn out. “STOHOHOHOP!”

“Awww, but I’m having so much fuuuun tickling your back. I kind of want to keep going.” Valentino shrugs, now going at his ribs with one set of hands, and the lower set scratching at his underarms. “Not like you can stop me anyway, since you’re laughing your ass off at the moment.”

Vox babbled. “I AHAHAHAM GOHONNA OVERHEHEHEHEAT!!! VAHAL, PLEHEHEHEASE!!”

Valentino debated, but then he sighed, letting go of Vox. “Fiiiiine.” he says, before grinning. “But this continues later tonight. Don’t think I’m done with you yet, Voxie.” he says, the Overlord getting up to go to the kitchen.

Vox sighed, leaning back into the comfort of the armchair. He really needed a nap to cool his circuits off. His eyes fluttered shut faster than he wanted, the last thing he saw before falling asleep was Valentino rooting around the fridge.

And if Valentino left the dozing Vox a sandwich and a glass of water while he slept, that would be just between them, and with only slight mockery from Velvette at some point. Such is life in Hell.

The End!

(Guapo - handsome. Spanish hehe)

[harmonyrae]

Getting Matching Tattoos

So, how would the boys react to you wanting to get matching tattoos with them? And what would that matching set be? I had fun with this one. Especially since I have so many tattoos and want to imagine the boys with one. Smile.

Xavier:

“Come on! It’ll be cuuuuute!” You whine as Xavier takes another bite of his ramen and stares at you.

You’ve been talking about tattoos all day and Xavier hasn’t given you any inclination that he would be interested in getting a matching tattoo with you. You finally figure the best way to convince him to talk is to feed him first. So you booked a table for two at his favorite ramen spot for dinner.

“I dunno. Maybe? What would we even get?” Xavier’s voice is wary, the idea of having a needle stab him multiple times over is not the most appealing idea. Not that he’s afraid. No, never. 

“I was thinking of something space themed. Like stars or planets? OH!” You nearly tip over your bowl of ramen as you reach across the table to grab Xavier’s hand. He struggles to keep his own bowl from spilling as you shake his arm in excitement. The other guests at the restaurant stare at you, but you barely notice their existence.

“Did you figure out what you wanted?” Xavier’s voice is amused, you’re so adorable when you’re excited about something. The flush of your cheeks, the twinkle in your eyes, he could listen to you rant and rave for hours.

You grab your phone and look up your tattoo Pinterest board. You’ve always wanted a tattoo, but have been afraid to go alone. You also want to make sure it means something. That in 50 years you can look at it and smile remembering this time in your life. You have an assortment of pins from silly tattoos to giant floral pieces. You hope Xavier will love the one you’re thinking of. It reminds you of him. And it’s a promise you intend to keep.

You turn your phone to show Xavier the picture. A pair of wrists, one with a little rocket ship and the words “to infinity…” and the other a little planet with the words “...and beyond.”  Xavier stares at the screen for a long time. Your hands start to shake as you start to wonder if he hates it.

Xavier takes your phone and sets it aside, holding your hands in his. His cheeks are the lightest shade of red and his eyes are glistening. 

“That’s a promise, right?” His voice is soft, just barely above a whisper.

“Of course. You’re my person. To infinity and beyond.” You bring his hands to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. His usually stoic face now holds an adorable smile.

“To infinity and beyond.” He repeats after you, giving your hand a squeeze. 

Bonus - How does he do during the tattoo? He’s been in pain MUCH worse than this. He falls asleep, obviously. But he wakes up to hold your hand and distract you with stories while you get yours done. You catch him staring at his tattoo when he thinks you’re not looking. And whenever he holds your hand, he flips them over to line up the tattoos.

Rafayel:

“Okay okay okay, what if you draw the tattoo? I’ll have a piece of your art on my body forever!” You say the last sentence in a sing-song voice as you chase Rafayel around his studio. 

“Since when did you start liking tattoos?” Rafayel picks up jar after jar of various paints, before finally settling on a dark teal. He turns on his heel, almost running into you, before striding back to his canvas. 

“Since, like, forever! I’ve just never had the guts to go get one.” You straighten up the mess Rafayel left behind. He always tosses his paints around so haphazardly. You’re surprised his studio isn’t more of a train wreck. Or that he even has any paint left at this rate.

“Oh and now you do huh?” Rafayel continues painting. The outlines of two fish sit on the canvas, he starts adding highlights of teal to one of them.

You drape your arms around Rafayel’s shoulders, hugging him from behind. You set your chin on his shoulder. You’re determined to get Rafayel interested in this idea. You not only want to match with him, but you want a constant reminder of him. Every time you look at it, you’ll be reminded that you’re his and he’s yours. Then it dawns on you.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately, since we’ve been getting more serious. I want to be able to look at it and be reminded that I’m yours and you’re mine.” Rafayel stops painting, he leans his head back on your shoulder.

“You’re so cute when you’re possessive.” His tone is sarcastic, but you can tell he’s being serious. You hold him tighter.

“I want to look at the tattoo 50 years from now and remember all the good times we had when we were young. By then, we’ll probably be old and wrinkly and having wheelchair races.” 

Rafayel laughs and puts down his paintbrush. He holds your arms as he turns to face you. Placing your arms back around him, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You don’t need a tattoo to know I’m yours.” The weight of his words tug at your heart. 

“I know. I just like the symbolism of it. And your art always makes me smile.” He leans back and places a kiss on your nose.

“You’re the teal fish. I’m the red one.” You look at him confused before looking over his shoulder to the canvas. 

“You were painting our tattoos the whole time?! Why did you keep giving me such a hard time!”

“Cause you’re so fun to tease, cutie.” You go to smack his shoulder, but he grabs your hand. He pulls you closer and kisses you sweetly. 

“We’ll always find each other, no matter where the tide takes us.” He whispers into your neck as he hugs you.

Bonus - How does he do during the tattoo? He yaps the whole drive to the tattoo parlor trying to appear nonchalant. He keeps saying he isn’t nervous, but he nearly screams when the artist draws the first line. Immediately he relaxes and says “Oh that’s not bad.” He’s back to complaining and squirming in his seat when the artist starts adding color. You’re apologizing to the artist the whole time, who seems to be highly amused by the whole display.

Zayne:

“Studies show that tattoos can help improve your immune system!” You hold your phone up to Zayne’s face. He gently pushes it away, trying to focus on his book.

You crawl on top of him and snatch the book out of his hands. His usual patient demeanor is thinning as you hold the book above you. He could easily grab the book from you, but he plays along. He loves this side of you, playful and determined to make him listen.

“They also reduce cortisol levels helping relieve stress!” You rattle off all the benefits of getting tattoos, hoping it will convince Zayne to agree to get a matching tattoo with you. 

“New tattoos can become easily infected if not cared for properly. And someone has a poor track record of taking care of themselves already.”

You huff at the insinuation, he’s not wrong, but he’s making you more frustrated by the minute. You toss his book on the coffee table and put your hands on either side of his head on the couch. He has nowhere to go and he will listen to you.

“I’ve wanted a tattoo forever and never gotten one because I haven’t found one that really speaks to me.” You stare at him with your best puppy dog eyes.

“Tattoos don’t-” You know exactly what he is about to say and you’ve officially reached the end of your rope.

“I know tattoos don’t talk! I want to get a matching tattoo with you because I love you, you idiot!” You instantly feel bad about calling him an idiot, but he’s been avoiding this tattoo talk and teasing you for the past few hours. 

“I love you too.” His smile is soft, he wraps his arms around your waist pulling you closer. Your body flush against him.

“You’re so annoying…” You say with a huff. Zayne chuckles before nuzzling into your neck.

“But you still love me.” He places gentle kisses along your neck making you shiver.

“So will you consider it?” You ask quietly as you run your fingers through his hair. 

“We have an appointment on Friday at noon. I called while you were in the shower.” You pull back from him and squint your eyes. You punch his chest gently.

“You sneak!” 

“You decide what we get. I’ll be happy with whatever you choose, my love.” 

You grab your phone off the couch behind you and pull up a photo on your phone. You eagerly show it to Zayne. The picture is of two fingerprints crossing to make a heart. 

“No two people have the same fingerprint, it’s like snowflakes.” Zayne’s eyes soften when he looks at the picture. He looks at you, his eyes shining.

“Just like snowflakes.”

Bonus - How does he do during the tattoo? Zayne is no stranger to needles, so this is a piece of cake. He holds your hand and doesn’t complain when you squeeze the living FUCK out of it. He helps you take care of it to ensure it doesn’t get infected. And he posts a picture of the healed fingerprint hearts before you do, excited to show everyone.

Sylus:

You open the door to Sylus’ office quietly. His chair is facing the window, so he can’t see you. You slip in and walk up to his desk. You hop onto his desk and cross your legs, straightening your hair before clearing your throat.

“Did you think you snuck up on me?” Sylus doesn’t lift his eyes from the folder in his hand. 

“I wasn’t trying to.” You try to come across as confident as possible. You have no idea what Sylus will think of the proposal you have for him.

“What can I do for you, kitten?” He closes the folder and turns his chair to face you.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh oh…” Sylus rubs his eyes, a smile still on his lips.

“Okay, rude!” You cross your arms, sticking your bottom lip out in a pitiful pout. 

“I’m sorry, go on, tell me what you were thinking about.” He places the folder on his desk and places a hand on your knee. You fight the smile threatening to spread across your face from his touch.

“I’ve been thinking about us maybe… getting…” You take a deep breath and look at Sylus, his eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“I’ve been thinking about us getting matching tattoos.” You speak so quickly you hope Sylus understood what you said.

“Matching tattoos? Really?” He looks intrigued, but his questions are pointed.

“Yeah… I’ve always wanted a tattoo, but I didn’t want to get something that didn’t have meaning.” Sylus stands, placing his hands on either side of your legs on the desk. His face is level with yours now.

“And what would our matching tattoos mean exactly?” You don’t attempt to hide the blush that spreads across your cheeks. You’ve learned not to bother, Sylus always knows when you’re blushing anyways. 

“Ever since I met you, we’ve been bound together. Through the Aether core or the linkage or…” You try to push your feelings down, you don’t want to get emotional.

“Or…” Sylus encourages you to continue. His hand rises to stroke your cheek softly.

“Or just… my desire to be near you, with you… or I mean…” You close your eyes, you’re so embarrassed by how silly you sound. You feel Sylus’ hand trace your jaw and lift your chin, then a soft kiss touches your lips. Your eyes fly open and you stare into Sylus’ crimson eyes.

“So, you want matching tattoos to reflect our bond?” His voice is gentle and sweet. 

“That… and…” 

“And what?” Sylus tilts his head, watching you closely. 

“And how much we care about one another.” Sylus’ smirk turns into a genuine smile as he continues to caress your cheek.

“What were you thinking? For the tattoos?” A smile returns to your face at his question. He’s not saying no!

You pull out your phone from your back pocket and pull up a picture. A simple design of a king crown and a queen crown. You show Sylus and hold your breath. Sylus looks at the picture and his brows knit together. 

“You don’t like it?” You frown, worried he’s upset.

“No, I love it. I think it’s fitting.” 

You can’t suppress the giggle that rises in your chest. Sylus taps your knee and you uncross your legs, allowing him to slot his body between them. You reach out to hold onto his waist. He holds your face with both of his hands, leaning down to kiss you deeply. He pulls away slowly.

“You are my queen after all.” 

Bonus - How does he do during the tattoo? Sylus hires an artist to set up a private session at the Onychinus base. You assume he did this to make you more comfortable, but during the session his anxiety is evident. He sits completely still, but when you offer your hand he squeezes it tightly. You’re half convinced he broke a few of your fingers. After yours is finished, you ask if he’s okay and he’s more pale than usual. All he says is he’s not a big fan of needles. (I have a headcanon that Sylus & MC were experimented on as kids since they both have Aether cores, so it would make sense if Sylus has medical trauma. So needles of any kind would make him slightly nervous.)