#probably haves a sniff at that napkin too...

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ok but, milf!reader with a kid or two that look like they could be König’s kid/s. He becomes obsessed with this lady that is gentle and kind but can be firm. Her kid/s even sound delightful! (He only thinks that because they’re hers. He doesn’t really like kids in general). When he finally gets the courage to go up to her, she’s like. Oh. A big baby. Yeah, he’s mine now <3 -🐦‍⬛

König with a milf/mommy kink will always be famous 🙌

König looks at milf!darling like she’s a goddess: dressed in her high waist mom jeans and a low cut neckline t-shirt, she looks like the woman of his dreams. The curves on her are ungodly sweet and when she bends over the diner table to prevent her youngest one from knocking over a soda, he gets an ample view of her beautiful breasts – it’s difficult not to moan at the sight. He just wants to have a bite, worship at her feet, maybe cover her in drool and cum…

She has a natural talent with kids because they worship her too, keen to do everything she tells them to do because she’s so sweet and cool. König doesn’t know that he looks exactly like an obedient, adoring kid, only a little too big and far too obviously in love. Stares at her with his jaw open, she just smiles and says he should shut his mouth before a fly goes in :)

Milf!darling looks at König with a pondering look, calculating how many calories she has to add to the table if she were to feed this beast. A tall, strong man would come in handy when she needs help putting up shelves or when she’s going to the park with the kids, a father figure would be a welcome addition too.

It’s just that he looks a little too intense, hopefully he’s not one of those guys who have a mommy kink... The man doesn’t seem to know what the word ‘discreet’ even means, just looks at her like he’s ready to make her squirt on command. Few men have been interested in anything other than their own pleasure, so it would be a nice change to try sex with someone who’d die to make her come…

When she asks for the bill, the waiter says it’s already been paid, along with the sundaes that are brought to the table for her and the kids. The stoic giant leans on the counter and nods slowly when she looks his way, probably thinking she’s too overwhelmed and shy to come and say thanks. In truth she will soon go to him and tell him to eat those goddamn desserts himself; she’s not going to watch her kids come crashing down from a sugar high. He deserves a proper scolding and a thanks, she’ll have to slip her number in his hand, the one she scribbled on a torn napkin now tucked inside her bra…

[luveline]

carmy! i have a request, it’s so basic but everything you write is golden. him and r are pining coworkers, and maybe someone else yells at her or upsets her or whatever and he’s like but i’m the only one allowed to shout at you and he hugs her (because you know… arms 👀)

—Carmy tries to make you feel better after a customer upsets you. fem, 1.5k 

“Fucking asshole,” Richie mutters as the door swings closed. 

Carmy would cringe if he had the energy, or a lack of self-awareness —it’s not as though he doesn’t swear like a starved sailor every other sentence. 

“Who’s the asshole?” he asks, feeling down his side for the bump of a box of cigarettes he doesn’t find. 

He’s taken to hiding them in the office. He’d love to pretend it was an act of lent, but in actuality, he never told Ritchie that the box of cigarettes left near the burner, that gave them their C-army rating, wasn’t Richie’s at all, but Carmy’s. He isn’t ever planning on having that conversation, so he’s trying not to carry a box around and leave it somewhere stupid again. 

“Fucking– you didn’t just hear that guy?” Richie asks, scowling. 

Carmy scowls back. “Yeah, that’s why I’m asking. What the fuck do you think?” 

It’s slightly too much aggression off the cuff, but Richie brings it out of him. “Some asshole just came in here and started shouting like a motherfucker because he forgot his stupid napkins. I thought Sunshine was gonna cry her eyes out.” 

Carmy clocks back in fully. “What?” 

Sunshine is the mildly sarcastic nickname Richie gave you before Carmy ever step foot in The Beef. It’s not that you’re moody, but you’re always tired, and you give these little shy smiles out to anyone who asks how you are. I’m fine, you say every time, followed by something deflective like, I’m just tired. Lack of vitamin D from working in this place. 

“Where do scumbags get off, making girls cry like that?” 

Carmy's eyes widen. “She’s crying?” 

Richie is capable of seriousness, despite himself. “Yeah,” he says, his anger swapped out for a low remorse, “I told her to go sit in the office until she’s feeling better.” 

Carmy pauses. “Should I go look in?” he asks. 

“Duh, Carmen. You’re the only one who can make her feel better. Which I resent!” He brings a rag end from his shoulder to wipe his forehead, which is gross, but whatever. “I’m fucking excellent at being a shoulder to cry on.” 

Carmy doesn’t know what that means. Richie says it like it’s obvious, but since when is Carmy the only person who can make you feel better? You’ve known everybody here far longer than you’ve known him, and sometimes Carmy thinks you probably don’t want a thing to do with him, does anybody in the kitchen? You’re smart, and you’ve been working here as long as anybody, started when you were genuinely too young and learning everything you know from the other. You have potential, like everybody here. You just didn’t get the right training, and you’re defensive (again, like everybody here). 

Carmy’s almost positive you’re gonna tell him to fuck off when he knocks the office door. He doesn’t know why he does it, nobody knocks in this shithole, but he does. Maybe he’s buying time; you’ll be feeling better when he pushes the door fully open, and he won’t have to navigate the treacherous depths of his feelings for you while he’s so busy trying to work himself out.

You sniff, muffled, like  a sleeve is held over your face. “Hello?” you ask. 

Carmy gets a burst of energy and doesn’t ask before stepping into the room. You can’t say no if he doesn’t ask, and you don’t, looking at him from the rickety office chair with distrust, and then sheepishness. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be in here.” 

“No, no, you can come in here,” he says. He has a bad habit of pausing too long and looking too close, hands clenched in front of himself. “You can come in here. Some asshole made you cry?” 

You shake your head with tears still wet on your cheek. You’re at home in the office, all the chaos and posters and paper trails a match for you dishevelled appearance. You’ve pulled your foot onto the chair, showcasing a shoe that’s falling apart and two pairs of socks pulled to uneven heights. Your hands are a riot, none of your jewellery but a mismatch of different coloured band-aids over a multitude of wounds. And your face glows with tears, shitty light of the desk lamp casting yellow onto your teary cheeks, your lips bitten raw. 

“I’m fine,” you say. 

Carmy doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he was hoping for a better confession. “Over napkins?” 

“Said I’m s’posed to put napkins in the bag,” you say, a monotony to your voice that’s forced and weak at once. “‘Cos I’m a fucking idiot, right, who doesn’t put napkins in the bag?” You sniffle. “Whatever. Richie said he can’t come back.” 

“He can’t,” Carmy says quickly. 

He fails to follow it up. There’s an idiot in the office, for sure, and it’s not you. 

Your mouth crumples and you look away from him, something achy about you as another tear falls down your cheek to curve into the skin above your top lip, making a home at your cupid’s bow. “I’m fine.” 

“You can be upset,” he says. “This job’s… hard enough, without people making you feel like shit for shit you didn’t do.”

You respond to his warm(ish) tone with a small smile. Your tear slips down your lip. Carmy wants to wipe it off. 

“What can I do?” he asks finally.

He wishes he could make you feel better without asking, and there are parts of him that want to turn tail and run, too, but Carmy stays standing in front of the half-open door watching as tears make their way to your chin. He doesn’t know why you’re still crying. 

Maybe he does. Carmy doesn’t usually cry. He just watches things go wrong without stopping them, or keels over in the alley for long, too fast minutes as his heart pumps a bruising rhythm against his ribs. 

“I’m fine, Carmy,” you say, wiping your face roughly as you stand from the chair.  

He scratches a hand through his hair. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” 

“You don’t have to anything.” 

“Richie said I’m the only person who can make you feel better.” 

“You’re just the only guy who ever shouts at me,” you tease, sniffling softly as you do. 

Carmy shouldn’t yell at anyone, but he does. You’ve never cried. He wouldn’t yell at anybody if he thought it would make them upset like that, it’s just that yelling’s like talking where he comes from, and the kitchen doesn’t help. 

“So what? Am I supposed to beat that guy up?” Carmy asks. 

You laugh through what he hopes to be the last of your tears, scrubbing at your cheeks ineffectually. “Like you could beat somebody up. You’re all bark and no bite, Berzatto.” 

Sure. And he’s a loser, he’s more than aware of it; Carmy knows fifty seven different ways to prepare corn for eating and he doesn’t know a single way to make girls feel better, so he tries something he saw on TV. 

“Come here,” he says, holding his arm out insistently. “C’mere.” 

He leans in to grab you. You hold your arms out, but you still when he touches you like you're shocked. He’s a little shocked too. 

“Richie knew the guy, right?” Carmy asks. 

“He said he’s banned for life.” 

“Okay, great.” Carmy feels up your back slowly. Your arms are hesitant behind him. He’s the braver one for once, feeling at the dips and slopes of you with a greedy hand.

You smell… really good. He has a good sense of smell, can pick apart a meal's ingredients by scent alone if he’s awake enough, so he can tell you’re wearing that little solid perfume you keep in your cubby, gentle enough to not bother anybody in the kitchen, ever so slightly milky and sweet. He can also smell the salt on your cheeks. So weird to be able to smell your tears. 

Carmy pats your back and leans away. Your hands fall to your side. 

He wipes your face hesitantly, pinky to your soft cheek, until your tear stains are dry and you’re looking at him steadily.

“That was really weird,” you say. 

He panics, stepping away from you, “Fuck. Fuck, sorry.” 

You shake your head. “No, I’m just kidding. Thanks, Carmy.” 

“Dick,” he says. 

You smile brightly. Okay, his heart fell into his ass when you said it was weird, but you can tease him all day if it makes you feel better. 

“I better go tell Richie I’m okay,” you say. “Don’t you have a stock to reduce?” 

“Oh, you mean your stock?” he asks. 

Your smile makes him wanna grab your wrist, and it makes him wanna chase after you. You slink out of the office, waving a quick goodbye with your fingers, and Carmy stares at the place you’d been sitting while you cried for a couple of seconds to get a grip.  

He puts his hand on his chest and feels his pulse racing. 

“Fucking asshole,” he mutters, not sure if he means the customer or himself.

[ilguna]

Piano Sessions: Style + Finnick Odair -- reader x Finnick faking a relationship to gain favor in Capitol, but real feelings develop, maybe have them towing that line in the lead-up to Quarter Quell

☼ style (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, use of the term 'good girl' kinda in a gross way, mention of gore, brief mention of the morphlings.

wc; 2.9k

notes; Piano Sessions: songfic, Style by Taylor Swift.

--

Finnick Odair is one of those victors that you have never been able to properly figure out, despite knowing him for almost eight years.

Every time you think that you’ve finally got a handle on his thought process and the way he acts, he strays, surprising you. Over the years, his impulse decisions have slowly declined, as his situation with the Capitol and District Four stabilized. However, with recent problems rising, it’s brought back his unpredictability. 

For some reason, you don’t have this issue with any of the other victors. In fact, you could read them like an open book, cracking their spines in the process because you can delve deep. It’s really not that hard to sniff out secrets in their seemingly perfect facades when you’ve been doing it for so long.

It’s a talent, really. One that not a lot of people appreciate. What happens is that they find it irritating when you know their intentions before they’ve had the chance to approach you. Most of the time, they have this look in their eye, giving it away. You don’t even need to search half the time because of it.

That’s why you can tell that Finnick is up to something right now, but you don’t know exactly what it is. From what you’ve gathered so far from the stolen glances in your direction, is that it has something to do with you. He’s just waiting for the right moment to talk to you.

Which is driving you crazy. You’re not sure what the right moment could possibly be, especially now that the two of you are on a train being shipped to the Capitol in their custody. This is not just another year of mentoring, where every thought can wait until you’re ready. You’re District Four’s tributes in the Quarter Quell, unspoken words could mean life or death. They can change the trajectory of the Games.

He knows this, of course. Probably better than anybody.

You suck in a breath through your nose, rolling your head in his direction, making eye contact right as he glances at you again. Instead of looking away immediately, the two of you enter a silent staring contest.

It doesn’t last for long. “Are you going to say it or are you going to keep looking at me?” You ask.

Finnick offers you a small smile, getting up from where he’s sitting on the plush train couch to go to you. Where you’re sitting at the dining table, enjoying the bottomless pot of sweet tea that the avoxes provide.

A laugh leaves him. “I was thinking, while we’re in the Capitol, we could fake a relationship to gain more favor.” He says nonchalantly. It’s so relaxed coming from his mouth that you almost feel ridiculous when you choke on your drink. “So that we have nothing to worry about with sponsors in the arena.”

You raise a napkin to your lips, clearing your throat, trying to get the burning pain to subside quicker.

“And it could work out in your favor too, you’ll get allies.” He continues. “Since we both know that you have a special talent for driving people away.”

You raise your eyebrows, blinking, absolutely speechless. This is exactly what you mean when you say that Finnick makes it so difficult for you to pin him down. And you’re not referring to the add-on at the end. You’re talking about the way he just casually suggested for the two of you to fake a relationship.

“Have you hit your head recently?” You ask.

“No.” He lets out a light laugh. “You can’t tell me I’m wrong, especially about the sponsor part.”

You know he’s not wrong. Your ability to anticipate intentions have lost you a good handful of friendships over the years, particularly in District Four. Your former friends saw you as an opportunity for money after your win, despite having plenty of it for themselves. So, you lost them. You told them to get lost. 

It’s stunted a lot of potential friendships since, and it’s because you’re entirely too suspicious to let new people in right away. It happened with Finnick, even though he was the one to really mentor you before going inside. You couldn’t quite place your finger on him, which makes sense seven and a half years later. He doesn’t have a consistent personality.

Still, on the other hand, your gut feeling has given you a chance to grow in other areas. Like with the Capitol, for example. You used it to your advantage during your Games, like when you interacted with the tributes around you. You knew what the Gamemakers were looking for with scoring, giving you a higher one than you deserved.

You simultaneously flattered the Capitol while talking about yourself during the interview with Caesar, getting you a step in the door. It truly isn’t difficult to sweep the Capitol off their feet in the first place, but you managed to do it so effortlessly that they held onto you. They cared about what happened to you in the arena.

When you won, it only continued from there. You became the Capitol’s favorite female darling, because Finnick was their male. It wasn’t long before you were the good girl, you couldn’t do anything wrong. Even when your tongue accidentally slipped and you showed some of your true colors.

So, while Finnick isn’t wrong about allies, he’s far off about sponsors. It’ll work more in his favor than it will in yours. Although, with his own fairly decent sized sponsor list, you two could blow the competition out of the water with your combined efforts.

But then again, you don’t really care about having allies right now. They don’t inherently matter until you’re in the Capitol, and even then with the chaos going on in the districts, you need to figure out who will be good to have around. You volunteered knowing full well you were signing up to go blind, which is why your whole plan revolves around analyzing the mindsets of the other tributes.

Especially when it comes to Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, but you know how difficult they can be. You’ll be looking at Haymitch for real direction when it comes to the rebels. His teenagers sparked the rebellion, and the rest of you will make sure that it gets set ablaze.

Finnick’s plan is almost meaningless. And so is he, to you, in some capacity. You don’t need him, you haven’t in years. If he’d been paying attention to that recently, he’d know that you’re self-sufficient in the Capitol, and you’ve never been afraid of approaching other tributes. This year will be even easier since you’re all victors, anyway.

Finnick’s proposition is just so bizarre. 

Here’s the thing—it’s been a while since you’d heard from him. The last time you held a genuine conversation beyond the formalities was a year and a half ago, when you’d decided that you were done with his whirlwind romance. He would suck you into his own personal vortex, and the only reason why you’d get spat out would be because he wasn’t interested anymore.

And it’s not like this happened once, it was multiple times. The reason why you kept going back was because your relationship before hadn’t been like that. It changed a couple months after Annie Cresta won her Games. One day, you two were stable. Next, there were more issues than you could take care of, which would be the beginning of the end.

Of course, you tried to fix every problem you had, but it didn’t feel like you were making progress. So, the next solution came to be an on-and-off relationship. You would get together, everything would be fine for a couple months, and then you’d break up. By the time he wanted you back, you’d be over the fight, and you’d go right back to him.

You thought that after the last time, he’d be done. Yet here he is, surprising you again.

“Come on, (Y/n), it’ll work out in our favor.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“It’ll work out in your favor.” You correct him. “I don’t care either way, and I think you knew that already.”

Finnick tilts his head with a knowing smile. “You caught me, but I meant what I said about allies. I have an in, and you don’t. You’ll be able to skip the processing time with me.” He winks.

He must be talking about the rebels. It makes you wonder how he’s been talking to them, especially Haymitch, or anyone else that might be involved in higher places, besides District Four. Your home has been making quite the uproar since the news of the Quarter Quell, it’s just gotten worse recently. They’ve basically flooded every possible open space with the Peacekeepers, afraid of the Mayor being overthrown. Or worse, joining in on the rebellion. Which is why they replaced the old Head Peacekeeper with a new one, and she’s a fucking bitch.

“Let me guess, I’ll have to follow your lead?”

He makes a face, “Not exactly. I can’t be in charge of an alliance that large, so I’m sure we’ll all be given a part to take care of.”

You squint at him as the realization that this is a terrible idea dawns on you. You have to admit, it’s a creative way to get you back into his arms after so long, but if it’s anything like the past ten times, you know where this leads. And you know that you should tell him to leave, but you won’t.

“Fine, I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend.” You emphasize.

Finnick gives you a dimpled smile. “I knew you’d agree.”

—

The Capitol has been eventful in its own boring way this past week.

In terms of training and impressing the Gamemakers, there wasn’t anything new. You showed up to the gym, you played around with their toys, and you’d go back to the apartment at the end of the day. From the outside looking in, no one’s been able to tell that there’s more going on in the background.

If they looked closer, they’d see that you’ve been conspiring with victors that you haven’t shown interest in the past. That you’ve been getting along with Johanna and morphlings, when rivalries and distaste haven’t been hidden from the public. That you haven’t been their perfect little darling all week.

With the Games quickly approaching, and happening as soon as tomorrow, it’s been hard to keep the anticipation from boiling over. Especially since Haymitch’s plan has finally been smoothed out, after days of working out the kinks.

At the beginning of training, you scoped out Katniss and Peeta. Truth be told, they weren’t sure about how they felt about you. After some proving, Katniss was able to admit to Haymitch that she knows something is off with you. LIke you can read her thoughts and act on them before they’re fully formed. All Peeta could say was that he thinks you’re nice and looking for peace.

This gave Haymitch an idea, which eventually led to him giving you a role—just as Finnick said he would. It’s pretty obvious how distrustful Katniss can be with Finnick, and so you’re expected to placate her, in hopes that Finnick will be able to keep control of any given situation. You told them that you’d try your best. 

If Katniss can already sense what you’re doing, it’s only a matter of time before she fully catches on and shuts you down. Once that happens, there will be no coming back. She’s stubborn, so she’ll go out of her way to ignore you and your advice. You can see it coming.

Until then, you’ll keep your promise.

“And you’re finished!” One of the prep team members sighs. He backs up, hands pressed against his chest with a dreamy look in his eye. “We’re right on time, too. They haven’t been waiting long.”

You get up from where you’re sitting on the stool, watching as your dress glimmers in the soft light. Immediately, someone jumps to fluff out the back, not wanting it to be flat. A floor-length mirror is moved to be in front of you, allowing you to see the iridescent dress. It’s primarily blue, sometimes purple, rarely pink unless you move a certain way.

“Like a soap bubble.” Your stylist remarks. “Clean.”

Of course, the colors were done with a purpose. To continue to project the idea that you’re the Capitol’s perfect darling. Maybe it’s done with the hopes that they’ll take it easy on you inside of the arena, but their opinions will change over time. They’ll smile through the gore and murder. They’ll be outraged when you try to escape.

“Thank you.” You murmur, heading for the door.

The boy seemingly jumps to open the door for you, and then he stops. You look over your shoulder at your stylist, face twisted, hoping he’ll tell him to get out of your way. Instead, you’re met with an open box, and laying right in the middle of black satin is a pair of white gloves.

They’ve got to be kidding, you think. As you force a smile to your face, you reach for the gloves, pulling them on one at a time. They’re foreign, material slightly uncomfortable against your soft hands. 

Now they open the door, letting you out.

You leave your room, going down the hall and into the living area to find Mags and Finnick. You’re greeted with a warm smile, Finnick moving across the room to hold your hand as you go down the few steps.

“Gloves?” He questions, rubbing his thumb over the material.

“I’m clean.” You roll your eyes, he lets out a breath through his nose.

“Of course you are.” He reaches to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, eyes fixated on yours.

“You’ve got that daydream look in your eye.” You murmur, stroking the side of his cheek with the back of your finger. 

It’s a look that you’re familiar with. It’s sexy, sultry. It’s what your mind clings on to when you think about him, when you dream about getting back together with him. You know that it’s a facade that he puts on for the Capitol, but he’s perfected it over these years. You can’t help falling for it, too.

“You have that red lip, classic look that I like.” Finnick murmurs. “My type in every way.”

Yes, you know. You’re Finnick’s type, because you started it. You’re the girl he loves so much that he can never get enough of, even when you’re not together. So every girl that he dates now has to have some quality of yours, because you’re the blueprint. And all the girls that come after are the copies, second editions. Clones.

But he never really needs them, because when you go crashing down, you come back every time. By your will, or the universe’s, you can never stay apart for long. You thought that the last break up was it, yet you’re here again, back to taking care of each other. You love him.

You think you love him.

“It’s time to go, we’re going to be late for check-in!” Your escort warns you two, coming down the steps. “To the elevator, let’s go.”

You reluctantly pull away from Finnick, offering him a small smile. He motions for you to go first, following behind you casually. Your escort is the last to leave the apartment, but she’s quick to enter the elevator first. She presses the buttons, holds the doors to ensure you all make it on, and then relaxes.

Once you’re on the ground floor, she loses interest in control, pushing you and Finnick to join the rest of the victors, while she takes care of the rest. This is the last time you’ll see your stylist, prep team and Mags for the night. They’ll be in the crowd, somewhere in the front row, where you’ll be able to see them when you’re on stage.

The interviews haven’t started yet, but they will be soon, judging by the giant clock on the wall, counting down from ten minutes. There’s victors scattered everywhere, friends having their own conversations. Johanna catches you two through a brief glance, waving you over to join her.

Your pace doesn’t change. You play with one of the fingers of the glove. “What’s your plan for the interview? I heard an idea going around, and I was thinking of joining in, but I wanted to hear what you’re doing first.”

“I wrote a poem.” Finnick shrugs, “For a girl.”

You blink, face twisting as you slow down. “Why would you do a poem for me when I’m with you?”

Finnick opens his mouth, and then closes it.

Your body warms as you come to a stop in the hallway. Finnick’s lips are pressed together, head slightly tilted. “It’s for Annie, isn’t it?” You ask. “I heard you’ve been out and about with some other girl.”

Some other girl, you mock in your head. It’s Annie. He’s been out with Annie, part of the reason why you think your relationship has failed in the past. It’s no coincidence it started after she won. You had a feeling there was something going on between them before you left District Four, but you were just going to ignore it because it couldn’t have been true. Finnick wouldn’t cheat.

“What you heard is true, but I can’t stop thinking about you and I.” Finnick reaches to take your hands, squeezing them. 

You sigh, “I’ve been there too a few times.”

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

[annafayeink]

Canvas of Lies

summary: Cate’s life is a careful balance of paint-splattered sweaters, rejection emails, and dreams too big to fit in her tiny apartment. Lu’s life is all charm, designer sneakers, and family obligations that come with impossible expectations. They’re best friends, polar opposites—and suddenly fake dating to help Lu survive a high-stakes family dinner. What starts as an improvised act becomes a whirlwind of tangled stories, unspoken truths, and moments that blur the line between pretend and reality. In the chaos of lies they craft together, Cate and Lu might just uncover the truths they’ve been avoiding all along.

warnings & tags: best friends to lovers; fake dating; mutual pining; slow burn; emotional hurt/comfort; fluff, angst & humor; eventual romance & smut;

Chapter Two

Lu leaned against the counter, absently playing with a baguette like a philosopher pondering the mysteries of life. “You know, the key to a convincing lie is to anchor it in truth.”

“Is that so?” I lifted an eyebrow at him, crossing my arms.

“Absolutely,” he replied, unflinching, dipping into the professorial voice he reserved for when he was lecturing someone. “It's basic psychology. People are more likely to believe a lie if it's anchored in something real. That's why we should stick to things we know—places we visit often, mutual friends, things we've both experienced in some way. It makes the story feel lived-in. Plausible.”

“I'll take your word for it, Professor Mangione.” I bit back a grin. “You seem disturbingly good at lying. Should I be worried?”

“I've read my fair share of books on human behaviour.” Lu smirked, picking up the baguette before resuming his pacing like a man on a mission.

“Remind me never to play poker with you.”

He chuckled. “Truth is, lying is not much different from storytelling. The same principles apply. Every great story needs a consistent internal logic. If we’re going to make this convincing, we need to think like writers.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t deny that his point made sense. “Fine, O Wise One. How do we make our fake relationship Pulitzer-worthy?”

“Glad you asked.” Suddenly animated, he gestured wildly with the baguette as he spoke. “People believe what feels authentic. If our story has details that are too perfect or too rehearsed, it'll fall apart. People will start picking at them—”

“Like a loose thread on a sweater, yeah.”

“But if it's imperfect, unpredictable, and grounded in who we are… then it works.”

“I can do imperfect,” I say. “My life is one big ball of entropy.”

“Exactly,” Lu grinned like I'd just proven his point. “If we lean into that, sprinkle in a few real moments—your terrible dancing, my savior complex—we’ll be untouchable.”

“Terrible dancing?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“You're right,” he replied with mock seriousness. “That was unfair. ‘’Terrible’ doesn't quite capture it.”

I threw a balled-up napkin at him, laughing despite myself.

“We will need to set some rules,” he declared, jabbing the bread in my direction for emphasis. “Without rules, things get messy.”

“Messy? Like crumbs on my floor?” I flicked a stray flake from the croissant he’d brought over earlier, trying to keep a straight face.

Lu shot me a sharp look and placed the baguette on the counter again. “I’m serious. If we're not convincing enough, my mother will sniff out the truth faster than you can say ‘respectable’.”

I couldn't imagine what his mother would do if she found out we were faking it. I'm guessing it would probably involve shame, a string of painfully awkward family dinners for him and absolute social suicide for me.

“And what happens if she does?” I asked, arching a brow. “What’s the worst-case scenario here, Lu? You get disowned and have to slum it with the rest of us peasants?”

His smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second, but long enough for me to notice the way his shoulders stiffened. A tiny pang of guilt pierced my heart. I’d only meant to tease, but something about his expression made me wonder if there was more truth to my words than I realized. The smirk that followed was smooth, almost too smooth, like a patch slapped over something cracked.

“Actually, worst-case scenario, she tries to set me up with someone like…” He grimaced comically. “Anastasia Ricci.”

That made me wince instinctively. Everyone knew about Anastasia Ricci. From what I’d heard, she collected red flags like they were limited-edition handbags. “Fair point. Let’s avoid that.”

“So,” he clapped his hands, the motion as confident as if he were running a boardroom meeting instead of scheming in my tiny apartment. “Shall we build our magnum opus of fake love?”

I snorted, grabbing a notebook from my desk. I couldn't decide if his ability to spin convincing lies so effortlessly was impressive or just a little unnerving. I decided I wasn't ready to find out, so I leaned into humor instead. “If this ends up being more work than my actual relationships, I’m charging you for my time.”

While I wrote Fake-relationship Commandments in all captions at the top of the page, Lu plopped down on the couch next to me.

When he took a peak at the notebook, he laughed that easy, confident laugh of his. “Okay.” Rule number one: no going off-script.”

First commandment: thou shalt not improvise, I wrote.

“If the details don't align, people start asking questions,” he continued. “Questions lead to scrutiny. Scrutiny leads to exposure. We have to commit to it completely, because it is confidence that sells the story. Act like you belong in the lie, and most people won't even think to question it.”

“The more real it feels to us, the harder it is for anyone else to see through,” I agreed. “So, what's the timeline here?”

He thought for a moment. “If anyone asks, we’ve been dating for six months.”

“Six months?” I frowned. “Why not three? It’s more believable.”

“I think three is too short. Six gives us enough time to seem serious but not so long that people wonder why they haven’t met you before.”

I sighed, conceding with a small shrug. “Fine. Six months. How did we meet?”

He grinned with a familiar mischievous glint in his eye. “Obviously, I saw you painting one of your masterpieces in the park and was so captivated I tripped over a bench trying to talk to you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. If anyone was tripping, it’d be me. Over my own feet.”

“Okay, fine.” He laughed again, the sound warm and unguarded. “How about we met through a mutual friend? Chelsea, maybe? She’s always dragging people to those weird wine-and-paint nights.”

“That works,” I said, nodding and scribbling.

“We also need specific touchpoints—milestones,” Lu said, his tone growing more thoughtful. “A first date, for example. Something cute and memorable we can refer to in conversation. Something that sounds like… us.”

I tapped my pen against the notebook, thinking. “Obviously, I dragged you with me to my favorite art gallery.”

“Yeah,” he said immediately, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “The one on Main.”

I froze, my pen hovering just above the page. “You… you remember that?” I asked, looking up at him, thinking about the dozens of galleries I hauled him through over the years and wondering how on Earth he remembered which one I preferred.

His gaze was steady, the kind of look that felt like it could see right through me. “I actually listen when you talk, Cate.”

The way he said it—so matter-of-fact yet filled with a quiet sincerity—caught me off guard. Warmth spread through my chest, rising to my cheeks as if the room had suddenly been plunged into a furnace. My throat felt tight, and I forced my focus back to the notebook, pretending to be absorbed in jotting down the details.

“Okay,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended, betraying the flutter in my chest. “What’s the next rule?”

Lu leaned back against the couch cushions, crossing his arms as he considered. “Rule number two: no overcomplicating things. The simpler the story, the easier it is to stick to. If we try to make it too elaborate, we’ll trip ourselves up.”

I raised an eyebrow, still jotting notes. Second commandment: keep it stupid simple. “That’s ironic coming from you. Your entire life is one big overcomplication.”

“Fair,” he admitted with a smirk. “But this is different. We’re not building a soap opera here, we’re creating a believable romance. Keep it straightforward—dates, conversations, little quirks about each other. No crazy exes, no dramatic love triangles.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “What about PDA?”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Hmm. Let’s keep it natural. Enough to sell the story, but nothing over the top. We’re supposed to look comfortable, not like we’re trying out for a rom-com.”

“So no making out in front of your mom,” I deadpanned.

Lu barked a laugh, the sound sharp and carefree, but then something shifted. “Definitely no making out in front of my mom. But…” His voice dipped just slightly, quieter now, and his gaze flicked to my lips, lingering there for a breath longer than necessary. When his eyes met mine again, the teasing glint was gone. “There has to be chemistry. That’s non-negotiable.”

I froze, caught in the weight of his words—and the weight of his gaze. For a second, I couldn’t tell if he was still talking about the plan or if we’d wandered into something else entirely.

“Obviously,” I managed, my throat dry. I forced a small laugh that didn’t quite land. “If we don’t look convincing, we might as well call the whole thing off now.”

The air between us shifted, thickening like a storm cloud waiting to break. My pen hovered over the notebook, but I couldn’t make myself look away. Did he feel it too? Or was I just making things weird, overthinking the logistics of playing pretend? Maybe it was just the idea of kissing my best friend that had me spiraling.

“Holding hands? Sure,” he said finally, breaking the spell as he leaned back against the couch, his tone lighter now. “An arm around your shoulders? No problem. But…” He shrugged, an easy smile creeping back onto his face. “Anything beyond that, and we’re venturing into uncomfortable territory—for both of us.”

My chest tightened at his words, an ache I couldn’t quite name settling in. “Yeah,” I said lightly, nodding as I wrote it down. “We don’t want that.”

Third commandment: Minimal touchy-feely.

When I glanced up again, he was grinning at me, his usual charm back in full force, the moment slipping away like sand through my fingers. I let it go, choosing to believe the slight tremble in my hand was from the coffee I hadn’t had that morning.

“Any other rules?”

“Yeah,” he said, his expression more serious now. “We need to keep this between us. No one else can know it’s fake—not Chelsea, not your nosy neighbour, not even the barista at that coffee shop you love. The fewer people who know, the lower the risk of it getting back to my family.”

“Agreed,” I said, writing it down. Fourth commandment: Loose lips sink fake ships.

He leaned forward again and reached out to touch my shoulder. “Just… trust me, okay? If things get weird or someone starts digging too deep, I’ll handle it. You just have to trust that I’ve got your back.”

The sincerity in his tone caught me off guard. He made it all sound so simple, but I couldn't shake the feeling that pretending to be his girlfriend might be the most dangerous thing I'd ever agreed to. I hesitated, but eventually nodded. “Okay. I trust you.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Alright! What’s missing? Oh—how about our favorite shared memory? You know someone’s going to ask about that.”

I snorted. “I don’t know, Lu. Do you have a favorite memory of me?”

He thought for a moment. “Yeah, I’ve got one. Remember that time we went to the beach and a seagull stole my sandwich? You nearly died laughing.”

I burst out laughing at the memory. The smell of salt and sunscreen was still as sharp as if it had been yesterday; Lu glaring at the seagull with the sandwich dangling from its beak and me laughing so hard I could barely breathe. “That’s actually perfect. Let’s go with that.”

He grinned. “See? We’re naturals at this.”

“Don’t get cocky,” I warned, though I couldn’t help smiling as I wrote it down. “Okay, last thing: our couple’s song. Suggestions?”

He groaned. “Ugh. Can’t we skip that? It feels so fake.”

“Everything about this is fake, genius. Just pick something.”

We spent the next fifteen minutes arguing over options, vetoing anything too obvious or cliché. Finally, we settled on a random indie song he’d shown me once and neither of us could stop humming for the next seven to ten business days.

“Alright,” I said, closing the notebook with a flourish. “Fake-relationship Commandments complete. Is there anything else you need to cover?”

Lu leaned back, a satisfied grin on his face. “Nope. We’re ready to moonlight as con artists.”

He made it all sound so easy, like slipping into a role was second nature to him. But something about the way he looked at me—so steady, so sure—made me feel like maybe I could pull it off without actually tripping over my own feet.

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth of his smile was contagious. “Let’s just hope this doesn’t end in disaster.”

“It won’t,” he said confidently. “Trust me, Cate. We’ve got this.”

___

For the tag list, click here ✨

@mrsmangione286 | @nosebeers

[mamawasatesttube]

For the fic prompts: 52) “I Wouldn’t Change A Thing About You” with the Souperfam? Thinking about them again (<- Guy who’s always thinking about them)

👉🏾🥺👈🏾

“—in the originals, there were actually five different guys playing Darth Vader! They had the main guy who played him in the full suit, David Prowse, and then his stunt double for a lotta the fight scenes, Bob Anderson, but then his voice was James Earl Jones, obvie. But James didn’t do the breathing! That was another dude named Ben Burtt.”

Across the table, Kon pauses to suck at his milkshake. Kara swings her legs back and forth before hooking her heels back onto the bar on her barstool, humming. He was right; this place has really good fries. And the burgers are solid, too.

“That’s only four guys, though,” she says, counting them off on her salty fingers. “David, Bob, James, and Ben.”

“Yeah! I’m getting there.” Kon grins. He dips one of his fries into the pink swirl of his milkshake (strawberry, because he says he likes everything fruity). Kara wrinkles her nose. That still seems weird to her. But Kon pops it into his mouth, chews, swallows, and continues: “The last guy is Sebastian Shaw. Who was only Vader in two scenes! Although technically you could argue he was never Vader and was only Anakin, if the semantics of that mean anything to you.”

Kara has seen these movies a grand total of once. Very recently. As in, Kon got her to agree to watch all of them this weekend. As in, they finished watching Return of the Jedi about ten minutes before they came here for a late lunch.

“They do not,” she assures.

To her surprise, though, Kon deflates a little. “Oh.” He drops his gaze to the fries left in his basket, then looks up again with a grin that doesn’t seem quite as genuine. “Right, yeah, I’ve been rambling for a while, haven’t I? It’s probably gotta get boring to anyone who doesn’t have these movies literally uploaded into their brain.”

He laughs, but Kara doesn’t join in. She frowns. “I wasn’t telling you to stop,” she objects, and lightly kicks him under the table to accent it. “I was just saying the semantics don’t mean anything to me!” Another kick.

“Stop kicking me,” he pouts, so naturally, she kicks him again. “Linda!”

This time, when her foot connects with his jeans, it freezes in place. Kara gasps, then glares at him. She could probably pull free of his telekinetic grip, but that’d definitely take superstrength, and this diner might not look too kindly on a potential hole in the ceiling. “Let go!”

“Only if you stop kicking me!”

“Then stop pouting and keep telling me movie trivia!”

“You don’t have to say that if you’re getting bored!” Kon huffs. His glasses do nothing to hide the flush on his cheeks. “I know I get rambly sometimes. Blame Cadmus, they’re the ones who made me so good at being annoying.”

He grins again, but Kara’s not buying it. He’s not very slick about hiding that this is an insecurity, is he? He probably thinks he’s being slick. He’s not. It’s endearing.

“I don’t think you’re annoying,” she says honestly. “I like that you get enthusiastic about stuff. I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

And then, because that’s embarrassingly earnest to say to her cousin while they’re in public, she has to follow it up properly, before she starts blushing too. Lightning-quick, she swipes a finger through his milkshake and dabs a dollop onto the tip of his nose. Ha!

Kon squawks. “Linda!” he protests, face even redder. He scrubs his hand over his nose, then licks the melting milkshake from his palm. “Jeez!”

Kara grins at him. “Your move, Conner.” As a concession, she dips one of her fries into her milkshake (simple and plain vanilla), then pops it into her mouth.

Kon huffs at her and makes a big show of rolling his eyes and scrubbing his face with a napkin. “Uncivilized,” he sniffs. But the telltale soft look in his eyes tells her she’s won, even before he opens his mouth. “Anywhoozies. So after the release of the prequel trilogy, George Lucas decided they needed to do some continuity edits on the originals, and there was a rerelease, and…”

[itcanbegoodagain]

Pregnancy Cravings

Word Count: 1288

Rating: N/A

Inspired by this video.

"There's no rules, baby," Peeta says softly, the corner of his lip quirking up in amusement at my frustration. "Do what your instinct tells you to."

I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. Then, carefully, I dip the brush into the light pink I made, swirling together white and red. I bring it to the canvas and begin to fill in the gentle lines Peeta drew for me. I start at the edges of the petals, bringing the color down in quick strokes. I've learned that if I think too much about how I move the brush, the more I mess up.

A few minutes of silence pass by before Peeta murmurs that I'm doing well, and the primroses look beautiful. I smile, not taking my eyes off the painting in front of me. "Eyes on your own work, Mellark."

He laughs next to me, and I hear him shift before putting his palette down. He holds my head steady, pressing a kiss to the side of it. "What can I get you to eat? I'm going to the kitchen."

"I'm okay," I reply.

"Yeah, sure, the noises coming from your stomach totally mean you're not hungry," he says with an eye roll I can hear.

I look at him out of the corner of my eye, clearly admitting he's right. "Do we have any leftover cinnamon rolls from yesterday? I could probably eat a whole baker's dozen in three seconds."

"Lemme check." Then he's out the door, taking the warmth of his hands on my head with him.

Cabinets open, then he yells back. "No cinnamon rolls."

Immediately, tears spring into my eyes. They blur my vision slightly, but I focus on the flowers and holding the brush correctly. Slowly, one drips down my face. Down the drain that hope goes.

He walks back into the room, holding a small plate of date bread he made today. "I brought the bread from this morning to hold you over until-" he breaks off. Peeta sets the plate down with a quiet sigh. He nears, frees my hands, then kneels in front of me. He holds my hands to his chest and looks up at me. "What's up, Katniss?"

I sniff, feeling ridiculous, and say, "I just... cinnamon rolls sound really good right now. I wasn't lying when I said I could eat a lot of them."

He laughs quietly. "I know -- you can always eat a lot, even when there isn't a baby asking for more." He brings my hand to his lips for a kiss. "What do you want me to do?"

"Can you make some?" I ask hopefully.

"I don't have everything here," he says, protesting when my face breaks again. "But hey, hey, there is some dough at the bakery that I've had proving since last night. I can go get it and make you some fresh rolls in less than an hour."

"No, Peeta, I don't want you to go all the way there for me."

He smiles, shaking his head a little. "What, like that's the most taxing thing I've ever done for you?"

"Peeta, I'm serious," I cry.

He pulls me into a hug. "Me too, Katniss, okay? I love you and our baby you're carrying, and if you both want some cinnamon rolls, who am I to deny you?"

I brush my hands over my face, wiping away the tears. I look at him, and my heart feels so close to bursting it's hard to breathe. "Are you sure?" I ask quietly.

"There is nothing else I want to do right now," he replies. My stomach does a little flip at his words.

"Okay," I whisper. "Thank you."

He grins at me, leaning forward to press a kiss to my lips. I hold him there for a moment, relishing in his warmth and comfort and love.

"I'll be back soon. Get comfy, or keep painting, and there will be cinnamon rolls before you know it." He presses one more kiss to my lips before walking to the doorway. Once there, he pauses for a moment, leaning against the doorway to watch me compose myself. When I start painting again, he taps the wood with his hand a couple times and he's gone.

--

I'm in the living room when I hear the timer go off for the oven. I'm curled up on the couch with a blanket, stroking Buttercup's fur.

Soon, Peeta exits the kitchen with a large plate in hand, a knife and napkins in the other. He sits beside me, setting the plate on the small table before us. "There, fresh and warm. All for you," he tells me, laying an arm across the back of the couch.

I reach forward and grab one with my fingers, ignoring the knife completely. As I bring it close, I get a close whiff of its smell, and my stomach turns. My mouth closes, my face turning away from it and Peeta.

"Katniss?" he asks. "What is it?"

I break down into tears again, putting the roll back on the plate. I cover my face, getting a little bit of frosting on my forehead with the movement.

I cry and laugh simultaneously, not believing the state I'm in right now. This is absolutely stupid. "I..." I begin. I feel his hands on my back, rubbing soothing circles, and I cry harder.

"Katniss," Peeta says again, real concern pushing through.

I drop my hands and look at him, tears running down my cheeks. "I know I said that cinnamon rolls sounded good, but... But they don't anymore. And you went all the way to the bakery to get the dough and make them for me, and I don't even want them anymore, and I'm so picky and ungrateful-"

"Woah, hey," he says, cutting me off. "First of all, you are not picky. You would eat food off the floor. Second, you are not ungrateful, Katniss, okay?" His hands move to my face, brushing away the hair there so he can get a good look at my tear-stained cheeks. "You thank me all the time even though you don't need to. We're married, so you never have to feel bad or thank me for taking care of you. It's the pride of my life."

Without conscious thought, I crawl into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. His arms circle me, pulling me close. Slowly, he rocks us back and forth, and my slight hiccuping sobs grow smaller before they fade away entirely. He presses kisses to the side of my head the whole time, whispering little things about his love for me in my ear.

"Okay?" he asks, minutes later.

I take in a shaky breath. "I'm okay," I tell him quietly. "And I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," he replies. "You're doing something incredible, giving over your body for months for something we both get to enjoy for the rest of our lives. I don't have to feel what you do. I want to take care of you, no matter what that looks like."

He pulls my head from his neck. "I love you, Katniss, and the baby you're growing in your stomach. If I wasn't in it for the ups and downs, for the long haul, I wouldn't have married you. But I am, so I did."

"I love you, too," I say, leaning forward to kiss him. It's a little snotty, a little teary, but that's okay. "You make me feel so safe. I wouldn't be able to do this without you."

Peeta hugs me close for a few minutes more. "Katniss," he says quietly, "I can literally feel your stomach growling. What sounds good?"

[phantom-dc]

Dad Hood - part 5

The next day, Jason is making breakfast. He puts some eggs, sausages and bacon on the stove, and grabs a knife. Danny is looking at what he is doing.

‘Jason, can I help?’ Asks Danny. Jason thinks for a bit, and gives him some napkins and plastic cups.

‘Why don’t you set the table, ok kiddo?’

Danny is excited to help, and runs off to the dinner table. Jason takes this moment to cut up some mangoes, and put them in the blender. He doesn’t want Danny anywhere near the knife. Thankfully, Danny is small and the counter is high. He’s got nothing to worry about. He gets some banana’s intending to put them in with the mangoes for a smoothie. He turns around and sees Danny sitting on the counter. He asks how Danny got up there, but before he can finish his sentence he realizes what is happening.

‘DANNY NO-‘

He is too late. Danny presses the button on the blender, which is still without a lid. Jason’s vision flashes white whit a mango-y tint. When he gets it out of his eyes, his kitchen is laminated, and Danny is looking sheepishly.

‘I’m sorry, Jason.’

Danny hasn’t stopped apologizing during breakfast. Jason sighs. He knows Danny only wanted to help. Plus, now he knew Danny had another power:

Accelerated healing

Invisibility

Cryokinesis

Flight

Danny had flown, like Superman, and given Jason a napkin to clean himself. That was probably how he got on the counter in the first place. Jason realizes he needs to store his weapons somewhere else. Simply putting them high up wasn’t a solution. Looking at his kitchen, he realizes he needs to clean that quite thoroughly. Danny was still looking sad. Jason gets an idea.

‘Hey buddy, want to help me clean up?’

Danny looks up, hopeful. He wants to help, as he knows it was his fault. Jason ruffles his hair. He realizes he’s been doing that a lot. He compliments Danny on being responsible kid, and they get to work. Danny gets an apron that’s way too big and a cloth to keep his hair clean, like Jason. Jason wonders what task he can give Danny.

‘Ok, buddy. Here are a bucket of soapy water, a scrubbing brush and a towel.’

Giving Danny a pile of unbreakable items like plastic cups, placemats, Soda bottles etc., Jason asks Danny to clean all this icky, sticky stuff after showing him how to do it. Danny puts up his hand like a soldier and scrubs away. Jason grabs his own cleaning supplies and gets to work.

After a few hours, Jason is done and exhausted. He takes of the apron and collapses on the couch. He asks Danny if he is almost done. Danny says almost:

‘I only have a few cups left!’

Judging that Danny is doing a good job, Jason lays down on the couch. He tries to keep an eye on Danny, but is too tired and quickly falls asleep. After a few minutes Danny is done with the cups. He gets up to tell Jason, but he is sleeping. Danny wonders what to clean next. Taking a sniff, he knows one more icky, gross thing to clean.

Jason is walking through a hallway. For a moment he is confused as to where he is, when he hears the angry bubbling of the Lazarus Pits behind him. Turning around, he sees a green liquid monster chasing him. As Jason turns to run away, he realizes it’s a nightmare.

‘Not this one again!’

He runs as fast as he can, but like always, the monster gains on him. Jason expects to be engulfed, to drown like every night. Suddenly, as the monster is right by him, they both float up into the air. Jason has a moment to think that this is new before they both fall upwards into a sea of nails! Jason is surprised, and it hurts! He feels them scraping his… skin? No, not his skin. His heart? No, not that either. Where is this feeling coming from? Its everywhere and not at once! Confused, he suddenly notices the monster is also trapped in the sea of nails. But where Jason is only mildly in pain, the monster is in agony. It is screeching and wailing, being pulled apart and slowly disappearing in the sea. Its screams leave Jason lightheaded. After the monster is torn to shreds, the sea disappears, leaving Jason floating. He is confused, when he sees himself, a giant lying asleep below his floating self.

Jason wakes up. He still feels lightheaded and doesn’t want to open his eyes. He feels a weight on his belly. Realizing it’s Danny, he tries to open his eyes. AAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! The nails are back! What!?! Eyes wide open, he looks up. Danny is indeed sitting on his belly, still in his apron and cleaning… what is that? Danny is scrubbing a green, floating orb with the soapy brush and Jason realizes he can feel it!

‘Danny? What are you doing?’

Danny looks up. ‘You’re awake! I found something gross to clean!’

Jason looks to his left and sees the bucket is full of Lazarus water, no Lazarus goop? Its consistency is too thick for watAAAAAH!!! Danny scrubs a bit harder.

‘Done!’

Danny dunks the brush into the goopy bucket. Jason is confused.

‘Danny, what is that?’

Danny says it’s a Core.

‘Ok, so what’s a CorRRRGGGH!’ The towel dry is very uncomfortable! Danny answers:

‘It’s like a Soul, but for dead people!’

Jason’s blood goes ice cold.

‘What?’

Danny doesn’t notice Jason’s existential crisis.

‘Yeah! I have one too! But yours was covered in gross goop! So I cleaned it! Don’t worry, I was reeeeaaaallyyyy careful!’

Danny gets off Jason and picks up the bucket. Jason realizes why his head feels lighter now. It’s the Pit. It’s quiet. He forgot what that felt like. He almost spirals, until he looks over to Danny.

‘DON’T FLUSH THE LAZARUS GOOP DOWN THE SINK!’

First - Previous - Next - AO3

[ana-snz]

Alright here’s *one* more snz transcript, although this one doesn’t involve me inducing, it’s a video they sent me of inducing themselves with the chhinkni I gave them but I’m having too much fun to stop doing this.

“Alright so, take one, I guess. Doing a little bit of the powder. I don’t really know how much it too much or too little but we’ll see.”

*sniffs chhinkni*

“Oof… probably need a little bit more than that actually. Oh, maybe not.”

*keeps sniffling, then suddenly sneezes*

“Ahh… there we go, that’s one.”

*sneezes four more times*

“Oh my god”

*sneezes, sniffles, sneezes again*

“Oh this shit works”

*wipes nose with tissue, sniffles, then a very wet sounding sneeze*

“Oof… excuse ME!”

~~

“Alright take two, this will probably be the last one I do because I have to get to some other stuff and I don’t really wanna overdo it like I probably did last night, but hopefully this comes out well like the last one, so here we go”

*sniffs chhinkni*

“Dropped a little bit… okay, takes a second”

*long, breathy build up, two messy sneezes*

*quickly wipes nose, another two messy sneezes*

*wipes nose again, then sneezes again*

*lots of wet sniffling*

*sneezes*

“Oh god”

*sneezes again*

*three VERY messy sneezes into a napkin*

“Ugh, god”

*sneezes again into tissue*

“Oh sorry, you said not to cover it up”

*sniffles loudly, starts building up again*

*another messy sneeze, this time without napkin, which goes everywhere, leaving snot dripping from their nose”

“Oh my god”

*laughs*

*wipes nose*

“Oh jeez… okay… I think that’s all I’m gonna do. That’s still two pretty good videos, so let me know what you think about those.”

*blows kiss*

*sneezes again*

“I had one more”

*laughs*

“Maybe a couple more… I’m not gonna take anymore of the powder tho-“

*interrupted by build up, sneezes into tissue*

“Oh…. my god”

*wipes nose*

“Okay”

*false start*

“Okay. That’s probably all”

*false start, holds up finger like “wait”*

“Maybe not”

*deep breathing, sniffling, kinda starting off into the distance*

“Okay, sorry this is probably a long video without any actual sneezing in it but I thought I felt a couple more coming on, so. Maybe not. Anyway, so, that, THAT is the last one.”

*blows kiss*

“Bye :)”

[theboywithburninghands]

Well, I said I’d deliver on the Funnybunny, so I have. This is probably the most “written” one so far. It’s also got an actual kiss in it, which I was looking forward to.

I Wonder What’s For Dinner?

*Pomni shuffles her way into the backstage hall, her eyes marred with dark circles. Jax just so happens to be there as well, grinning and beginning to follow after her*

Jax: Rough day, Pompom?

Pomni: No thanks to you. Where’ve you been..?

Jax: Side adventure. You gotta learn how to weasel your way outta the big adventures, Pompom.

Pomni: It would have been easier if we had more help…

Jax: Looook, I get the whole team effort thing, I do. But I gotta look out for me first, ya know? If I go cra~azy- *eyes twirl for emphasis* -who’ll keep your life interesting?

Pomni: Jax- …Don’t, okay? My eyes hurt I’m so tired. I don’t need to hear your slimy c£@? right now, alright? …God, even c£@? is censored! God-£@#%#& &@%%!+!!!

Jax: Ooooo-hoo-hoo~ someone oughta wash your mouth out, Pompom.

*Pomni is on the verge of exploding. Perhaps the circus has added in tea kettle sound effects or her face has slowly turned red. But instead of shouting, she turns to Jax with poison politeness*

Pomni: Jax. With all due respect? Go away. Take your selfish jibber-jabber somewhere else.

*Jax oddly seems to smile a bit wider at the insult.*

Pomni: And for the thirty gazillionth time, STOP calling me Pompom!

*Pomni throws open her door, but stops a few steps in. She sniffs the air, despite her lack of a nose. There’s a familiar sweet and savory aroma in her room. It takes a moment for her tired eyes to spot a small table and chair set up in the middle of the room for her. On it sits a bowl of white rice topped by a pinkish-orange fillet, brushed with a caramel-brown sauce*

Pomni: Is… this…?

*Jax leans against the doorframe on one hand*

Jax: Honey-garlic glazed salmon. I had to think a little outside the box to get some private info about you, but hey, I figured if Caine knew our birthdays and whatnot, I could weasel it out of him.

*Pomni sits at the small table, Jax shutting the door behind him. There’s a fork set out on a napkin for her. Even though she feels her mouth watering, she has to hesitate. She’s dealing with Jax*

Pomni: You put something in this, didn’t you? Ghost pepper sauce or farting powder or…?

Jax: *shrugs* I might’ve. I am pretty selfish after all.

*Pomni stares at the food a moment longer before caving, picking up the fork and cutting herself a piece of the salmon. She places it in her mouth and chews thoughtfully… her eyelids flutter a bit and she swallows*

Pomni: Oh my god… it’s delicious…

*Pomni tucks into the food, Jax watching her now and then from the door. There’s a few minutes of clinking dishes before Pomni speaks up again*

Pomni: …I uh… I think I used to eat this with chopsticks…

Jax: Bubble’s only used forks and spoons since I’ve been here. Does he look like a weeb to you, Pompom?

*Pomni snorts a bit too loud and covers her mouth, trying to disguise it as a cough. Jax gives a self-satisfied grin at being able to make the ball of anxiety laugh.*

*Eventually, Pomni is all finished. Even if she wasn’t actually filling her belly, the taste of her favorite food has helped her forget… well, everything. At least for a little while.*

Jax: Sheesh, you eat like a pig, newbie. *he comes over to the table*

Pomni: …Thank you for this, Jax. It… It was…

Jax: Thoughtful? Sweet? Caring? I dunno, you said I was selfish. Maybe I just wanted to do something for you so you could do something for me later. *he bends down to pick up the empty bowl* If I do come around askin’ you for a favor though, y-

*In a flash, Pomni takes advantage of Jax being down at her level and plants a quick, feather-light kiss on his cheek with a small chu. Jax takes a moment to register what touched him before his face gradually blooms from periwinkle to fuchsia. Pomni touches her own mouth as though it moved of its own volition, looking at Jax to confirm what just happened. They stare at each other for an eternal two seconds*

Jax: I should…

Pomni: Yeah.

*Jax about-faces and speeds to the door with the dishes in hand, barging his shoulder into the frame as he goes into the hall and shuts the door without looking back*

[tu-sugar-mami]

Tales of the side of the road #11: A lil reassurance

Summary: the pretty ladies come back to the coffee shop and you have a lil crisis

You can read part one here

_________________________________________

Out of all the things Alcina expects when she enters the shop, seeing the barista –the same vessel of a goddess that was powerful enough to almost bring her to her knees by the pressure of her sole presence– laying on the wood floorboards in a puddle of coffee and ice with her gaze drilled into the ceiling is definitely not one of them. The tray next to the barista and some plastic cups next to the body lets Alcina know that you had slipped and fallen on the floor, spilling the cups' contents onto your uniform. 

Why you haven't gotten up, now that's a mystery to her. 

Karl, who joins the group a moment later with his younger sister in tow, struggles to have his brain make the connection between the depressing person on the floor and the person that kicked his ass last time.

"Mother, should we help her?" Bela whispers at Alcina, pointing at you with her gloved hand, noticing your heaving chest. "She looks like she's about to cry."

For what Alcina can see, Bela is right. Your shiny eyes and pouting quivering lips do look like you're trying so hard to not let your tears fall like you did. 

"Poor thing." The tall Lady's hand gently nudges her daughter towards you. "Yes Bela, help her up." 

But before Bela can move, a shorter figure is already making a beeline for you, the skirt of her black dress is lightly lifted as she kneels next to you and with a gentle voice asks for permission to touch you.

Your gaze stills avoids her, but you allow her to help you seat up. The sudden pressure on your cheeks and the following thumbs gently wiping the slipping tears away make you close your eyes and let the pooling drops roll down in its entirety.

"It's alright, let them out. I'm here…" Donna's voice is soothing and comforting just as her touch, and your heart aches at the tenderness in which she cups your face in her strong hands. 

Angie stands on your other side and one of her wooden hands awkwardly pats your shoulder in at attempt at comfort, and even though it isn't really helping, you're grateful for the intention.

"What happened?" Daniela skips towards you and plops down by your side on the floor with her legs folded under her while Bela follows behind and silently starts picking up the mess. 

"I slipped…" You say barely above a whisper. A sniff escapes you in an attempt to stop the tears, and you can't help but to lean more into Donna's cold touch.

You can hear Cassandra's smirk when she talks next.

"Yeah we could see that." 

In any other situation, you might have laughed it off, but today has been a stressful day so far and your usual gallon of espresso has done little to help the pounding behind your eyes. Slipping and dropping the tray and being was the last straw needed for all that stress and turmoil to be unleashed in the way of embarrassed tears.

"Alright, that's enough." Alcina, who now stands behind you, brings you out of your dark cloud as her hands slip under your armpits and lift you up easily, carrying you like a misbehaving cat and plopping you onto the counter. Grabbing some napkins from the nearby box she starts dabbing your neck and chest, trying her best to dry out the excess sugary liquid on your person.

Donna, Karl and the girls follow not too far behind, silently watching Alcina work.

"We should probably get that changed." Angie says as she moves a chair and climbs it until she's standing next to you, eyeing your ruined uniform. "I can see everything underneath." Donna's ears burn under her veil, and she's quick to grab Angie by the waist and willing her to shush, at least for the time being. Angie is right though, and your dark apron is the blessed thing that prevents your cleavage from being exposed.

The day had started terribly, and you had decided to use the short-sleeved button up uniform usually reserved for warmer days instead of your usual polo style shirt in an attempt to give yourself extra cheer points. 

You wouldn't have imagined how badly that would turn out. 

Tears pool in your eyes again and you fold your arms over your chest in an attempt to cover more space. Your head lowers in shame, but not even a second passes before Alcina's hand gently guides it up by your chin until you're looking at her. And if she leans down to make it less difficult, you don't notice.

"Do not do that, darling. Never lower your gaze." Her bright eyes are enthralling, and their fire has you absolutely captivated… you swear you could look into that molten gold until the end of your days, but then the spell is broken by a very much forced cough…

"All nice and everything, but we came to talk business." Karl steps forward from behind Alcina, but his gaze is drilled into the cake exhibition at your right. He might be a stinky man, but you're grateful he has the decency to look away so as to not make you even more uncomfortable, even if there isn't much for you to show in the first place. It almost makes you giggle. 

You take a deep breath and smile, though it doesn't reach your eyes, before jumping down the counter still with your arms over your chest. 

"Aw and here I thought you had missed me too much." The quip lacks its usual strength, but you hope it's enough to distract them. 

You look back to the place you had fallen onto, and are surprised to find everything clean, as if the incident didn't happen at all, and at a corner you spot Cassandra putting down a bucket and a mop while Bela places the fallen tray along with the plastic cups and some soaked rags onto a table. You make a mental note to thank them later. 

"Here, let's get you cleaned up." 

Daniela's hand lands on your middle back and gently guides you towards the 'staff only' room. You remember how easily that same grasp tore Gary's shirt, and you're amazed with how careful she's being while leading you.

You can read the rest on AO3 here!

[eeboshmeebo]

Little Treasure.

"Naanaaaaa! Can I have a cookie? Pleeeeaaaseee?"

"Only after they're cooled down. Right now, they're still squishy, goopy messes, so they'll solidify after a few minutes.

Hana smiled fondly as she set the pan of cookies on a cooling rack. It had been around... four years that had passed in this 'quirkless' body she had inhabited. Quirkless people were seen as weak. No wonder. And that this was a 'gated' community, so the external security was supposed to be strong. No wonder it was so easy to get in.

"Okay, nana. But I don't like waiting..." Monoma pouted as he sat down on a chair, looking up at her with shining blue eyes since he knew what would happen next.

"...don't look at me like that."

"Pretty please, Nana?"

"..."

'Begrudgingly', she handed over a piece of brightly-colored konpeito.

"Now, don't tell your mom or dad about this, okay?"

"Okay, I won't! You're the best, Nana!"

What he knew was that if he opened his eyes really widely and pouted slightly while saying 'please', he'd get a candy.

However, she'd give him a candy anyways even if he didn't do all of that. Not that he knew that, though.

She opened the refrigerator, taking out some whole-fat milk to take a sniff before pouring it into two cups. Calcium was good for the bones, after all.

Hana could feel Monoma's gaze on her as she set the glasses on the table and got the plate out before she pried off the cooled cookies from the pan on the cooling rack.

"I'll only give you two cookies, okay? That way, you can share the rest with your mom and dad and say that you helped me make them."

"Hmmm... alright! Now gimme, nana!"

"And where did that politeness from earlier go?"

"I'm sorry... please?"

"And here are your cookies. Don't eat them too quickly."

"Yaaaay!"

Hana watched as he dove into the cookies with the gusto only a hungry four-year-old could match. Now that she thought about it, his Quirk was going to awaken soon, wasn't it?

"So, what kind of Quirk do you think you'll awaken?"

"Oh, I dunno! I hope it's something cool, though, all my friends got theirs already and they're all really sparkly and awesome."

"That sounds nice, little treasure."

She's heard of bad awakenings. Now, as she nibbles on her own cookie while Monoma had dipped both of his own into his cup of milk and was taking messy bites out of them, she promised something to himself.

'I won't let him get hurt.'

"Nana? Your eyes got all shiny for a second, are you okay?"

"I'm okay, little treasure. I'm just thinking about some things."

"Okay... you're not angry, right?"

"I can never be angry with you, silly."

Monoma beamed at that affirmation as he finished off the rest of his cookies, letting her wipe off the mess on his chin and cheeks with a soft napkin.

"How about we go to the playground? You've just eaten some sugar so you'll need to work that out of your system."

"Yay! Playtime with Nana!"

With that in mind, he jumped out of his seat and bolted out of the kitchen. She shook her head fondly while putting the empty plate on the sink, a jar of cookies on the kitchen counter, filled the two emptied cups with water, and swiftly followed after Monoma to start 'playtime'.

That joy and innocence is the most precious thing in the world.

================================================

A week later.

================================================

Hana stood behind Monoma as he held the hand of a family friend who's name she never bothered to remember. They were probably discussing family relations and business deals, but really, she couldn't care less.

Business wasn't her forte, but making sure her little treasure was happy and safe-

"Mom, Dad, look! I just got my quirk, isn't it cool?"

...

From the sudden silence in the room and the changing color on the father's face, this wasn't a good sign.

"Don't worry about them, little treasure. I'm sure they're very happy, like I am."

"Yes, sweetie... we're both very happy that you got your Quirk. How about you leave the room with your nanny while we talk?"

The father almost shoved Monoma but seemed to only not to since there was another person present that wasn't family. Along with that came another surprise.

"I've got two quirks now! I'm amazing, right nana?"

The tension in the room seems to be temporarily alleviated for now. Time to leave.

"Mm-hmm, you really are amazing, Monoma. Now, your mom and dad probably want to talk about some boring adult stuff. How about you help me bake a cake to celebrate?"

"I love cake!"

Hana quickly scooped Monoma with one arm and left, but not without glaring at the father whom she refuses to name.

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

He could've sworn that girl was quirkless. So, why did her eyes change color like that and why did it send shivers up his spine?

"Did we do a genetics test when he was born?"

Whatever. There were more important things to focus on like if his wife actually cheated, or if it was just a misunderstanding.

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

"Now, I'm going to let you mix it up, okay? You can go as fast as you want as long as you don't make a mess."

"Okay, nana! I'll be the best mixer ever!"

Baking was a good distraction. Well, it distracted Monoma from the situation earlier, Hana hoped, while she preheated the oven and got all the ingredients together in a bowl.

"Now, we do the eggs separately because there might be a bad egg, and we don't want bad eggs in the cake, right?"

"No! Because I'd get sick like my friend did!"

"That's right, and if you don't lick the batter, I'll give you some candy and you can decorate the cake however you want. Deal?"

"Umm... deal!"

Monoma's smile seemed to wash away any gloom that had appeared in her mood. She smiled back, genuinely this time, as she poured the ingredients into the bowl Monoma was holding as he mixed them together slowly at first, but he gained speed as time went by and she had finished pouring all the ingredients into the bowl.

He was in a better mood than she had expected, thankfully.

She buttered up the pans, checking to see if the oven was preheated sufficiently. Probably enough.

"Alright, now I'm going to let you pour the batter into the pans. Don't worry about making a mess, just wash your hands later."

Despite her words, Monoma was really careful when pouring the batter into the pans. Lots of concentration there.

Endearing, really.

Once he was done, she picked up both pans and put them in the oven to bake under his intense gaze.

"It wouldn't be a cake without some frosting to decorate it with, would it?"

"We're making frosting! Can I lick the spoon this time?"

"Of course you can, little treasure, just after the frosting's done."

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

Manesu couldn't understand. How was Hana, this maid, closer to her son than herself!?

He never looked her in the eyes, always held Hana's hand when scared, offered to play with that maid instead of her, and his first words were 'Hana' instead of 'Mama'!

What were all the gifts she gave him, air? It made her teeth grind at the thought.

If not for the fact that firing the quirkless maid would cause another stir of gossiping and rumors and distance her from her social circle even more, Hana would've been gone already.

With how close they were, it would've been easy to think that Monoma was Nana's son and not hers. Even her own husband thought that way when his Quirk awakened earlier, that paranoid..!

...

"Tch."

She'll get back at her for this. And the way that Hana looked at her.

Those eyes held a threat in them, as if she was a threat instead of Monoma's mother.

[ask-the-identity-5-senses]

If these guys represent the senses. Are their own senses affected by this?

moddie:

Yes!! They all have some kind of increase in their specific sense which is explained by everyone's autism :3 no but seriously, it's both a blessing and a curse.

Therese has an extremely good nose. Due to her past which I STILL CANNOT SHARE, she's able to sniff out certain things that can harm her. Which actually leaves her far more paranoid than you'd think. She was heavily inspired by canaries due to their submissive and easily trapped nature, but it turns out that canaries were also brought down into coal mines because they could sniff out poisoning in the air and were more susceptible to it. Do what you will with that.

She also loves smelling nice things. Like candles and such. Best thing to gift her. She'd sit there for hours. But also this means bad smells absolutely PULVERIZE her. Please wear deodorant.

Lux has the eyes of a falcon. He's able to spot the smallest detail from a away and sudden movements make him jumpy. hes able to spot the slightest twitch of an eye, the fleeing leg of a runaway hare, a stalking stare. He's amazing. He's also really good at detecting patterns which makes him super sharp at times.

However, this means his eyes are very sensitive and often costs him migraines (this doesn't help because his blood pressure is always super high because he's NEVER peaceful. Bro is a dedicated hater). He hates summer because the sun is so bright, he hates sitting outside for a long amount of time because his eyes get fuzzy and he definitely needs more vitamin D but he's too busy complaining about how he hates the beach because its like the sand in the sun is slowly melting his retinas

Him and his large hat :3

Nellie's mouth is overloaded with taste buds and receptors. She can taste the slightest change in cooking and she WILL call it out. She was definitely the kind of baby to put things in her mouth without a care. She's able to decipher textures and all kinds of tastes and she LOVES her ability. Very handy for her line of work.

However, this means that yucky textures leave her completely overwhelmed. Just spitting it out instantly, and trying to wipe at her tongue because wtf. But also, bad tasting foods also leave her a little dizzy. I know damn well she's spat food into her napkin because she felt like she'd throw up if she took another bite.

Bonnie probably gets it the worse out of all the survivors though. Her sense is touch which means she is constantly overstimulated and frantically making sure no gross textures come into contact with her skin. If anyone touches her suddenly she has to scratch at her skin. It's why her gloves are so long. Anything with a slightly unusual texture makes her feel sick and so forgive her if she doesn't want to accept any hugs.

But, this comes REALLY handy for being a jeweller. She's able to decipher the quality of a gem just by feeling it. She's also able to finesse her way through looking AMAZING because she can feel when something looks out of touch. She's obsessed with touch ups and making sure the things around her feel nice. I feel like she's the type of person to shove her face into something that's a nice texture. She likes the feeling of your hand? Prepared to have your hand pressed against her cheek as she appreciates the touch. Physical touch is her love language.

I get the feeling that poor Mr Kreiberg is the victim of this. She likes to feel his calluses.

And then there is poor Elias.

Elias is heavily on the spectrum which means he pretty much has all of these combined but his far most sensitive sense is his hearing.

This is fantastic as a hunter. He's able to figure out where they are if they're not quiet enough. He's able to focus on which ciphers are more primed than others because their beeping will be quicker. He is probably the kind of hunter to bring listen, so that + his natural abilities? He's INCREDIBLE. Be as quiet as death or else he's coming.

But. Any survivor with a loud ability can counter him. I think Coord's gun hurts him more than a usual stun because of the loudness also. He is VERY easily overstimulated which leads to a meltdown and it's not very good. That as well as his other sensory issues. He STRUGGLES a lot in the manor but I like to think that he has support to help him out. Like my survivors, Michiko, Ada, Emily, Victor, Aesop (because Aesop would know) and others.

Fun fact: Elias has a verbal stim. "Wiggle wiggle, Mhm Mhm" which is often followed by, you guessed it, a wiggle.

Don't have a drawing so have Elias in a top hat.

[blossom-hwa]

happy 5 years!! can you do juyeon + purple?? thank you ^^

thanks for the request anon, I hope you enjoy this!

5 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/TXT/Golden Child/Ateez/The Boyz member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!!

(this is a continuation of another juyeon story I wrote for this game, what the heart wants - you can find it here!)

REQUESTS CLOSED!!

~

Title: Lilacs and Roses

Pairing: Juyeon x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 683

Warnings: n/a

~

"You look tired,” is the first thing Juyeon says when you meet him in the park for a promenade. He hands you a small posy of flowers, but you hardly have time to look at them before he’s peering into your eyes. “Have you been sleeping enough?”

“Yes,” you promise him, dodging his stare. “But wedding preparations are...” You grimace. “I have never heard anyone argue so much at length between the merits of lilacs and roses. They were talking about this for two days, and all I could do was listen.”

Juyeon blinks as you take his arm. “Well, if they’re arguing, why not both?” 

It takes all of your effort not to slap a hand over his mouth. “My lord, whatever you do, do not suggest that in front of them,” you mutter, glancing back at your mothers who are walking behind you, deep in conversation. Probably still about the wedding. “I did, and I can tell you right now it did not go down well.”

“... Why?”

“Something about the color scheme being ruined.” You sigh, finally looking down at the flowers Juyeon pressed into your hands. “Oh, these are nice.”

Juyeon visibly sighs with relief. “I’d hoped they would be.”

“They’re beautiful,” you reassure him, smiling. “A lovely purple.” You breathe in the scent of the lilacs and lavender, closing your eyes. “Maybe I should suggest a color scheme such as this. Perhaps it would end the infighting.”

“Purple roses, maybe,” Juyeon suggests. “To go with the lilacs.”

“Good lord.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I don’t know how any of us didn’t think of that before. I’ll bring it up when we get back.”

“Not too soon,” Juyeon says, looking at you softly. “I don’t want you to be embroiled in a debate the moment you’ve finally started to relax.”

“Trust me, I’ll relax when they’ve finally decided on the theme,” you reply, rolling your eyes slightly. “I’ve told them I like the purple, but my mother is dead set on adding roses. This will be a good compromise.”

He gives you a dubious look. “If you say so.”

You pat his arm. “I do.”

For a while, you promenade in quiet, listening to the shouts and chatter of the ton around you. Several acquaintances stop to say hello, and you indulge them, but you revel in the silence as you walk, fresh air brushing past your face. 

“I wish I could kiss you now,” Juyeon suddenly admits, toying with the small posy of flowers between your fingers. 

“Where did that come from?” You look at him quizzically, though you can’t hide the shy smile curving your lips. “But me, too,” you continue, placing a hand over his. “Don’t worry, though. There’ll be quite a lot of that after marriage.”

“I know.” He smiles back, though he does roll his eyes with a pointed glance at your mothers behind you. “But do you think they could speed up the process a little? I’m growing impatient.”

You slap his arm softly. “Stop it,” you admonish, but you’re laughing anyway. “I’m the one who has to sit in on all the wedding planning. Would you like to take my place?”

“Maybe I would,” Juyeon sniffs, and you can’t hold back another bout of laughter at the image of your clueless fiancé sitting with your mothers, debating flowers and napkins and how your outfit must sparkle at the end of the aisle. “Don’t laugh!”

“Apologies, my lord.” You let out a last giggle. “The image was just funny, is all. And you want this wedding to succeed, do you not?”

Juyeon looks at you, affronted. “Of course I do!”

“Then leave our mothers to it.” You squeeze his arm slightly, watching a smile melt back onto his face. “They will plan a wonderful wedding, we will be wonderfully married, and then we will spend the rest of our wonderful lives together, happily ever after.”

“Well, when you put it like that...” Juyeon laughs, squeezing your arm back. “I will be patient, then.” He kisses your forehead. “Just for you.”

[antique-traveler]

and then they do that more

read it on ao3

4.6k, T, mattfoggy, brief reference to suicidal thoughts (matt's attempt in s3)

Matt's overjoyed by the way his friendship with Foggy has been revived. They're even closer than they'd been before Midland Circle; now they say "I love you" every chance they get, and they hold hands when they walk together, and Foggy greets him with light kisses. He's so happy that Foggy's his best friend.

It’s been three days since Father Lantom’s funeral. Three days since Matt Murdock officially decided to be himself again, three days since he offered his mother a chance, three days since his name was written on another napkin. It’s been three days, and now Matt’s accompanying Foggy to Josie’s for the first time in what feels like forever. The air is humid and musty, the whole room is filled with noise, and every surface is slightly sticky. Just as it should be.

“You know,” Foggy sniffs into his whiskey, “I really thought she of all people would understand. I mean, I was the one who told her to leave Landman and Zack and get her soul back. You’d think she’d support me in getting mine back, too!”

“Yeah, buddy. You’d think,” Matt agrees, frugally sipping his beer. One of them should probably be sober tonight, and it already isn’t Foggy. He leans forward onto the tacky table and adjusts his glasses. “Think of it this way: if Marci wasn’t gonna be supportive of you quitting and starting our new firm, then it’s better to find that out now while we’re still setting up our shoebox office instead of twenty years down the line when she divorces you and takes half of the millions you’re gonna make.”

Foggy laughs sadly. “Why do you always have to be so right, Matt?”

“I’m not,” Matt mutters, the darkness in his voice hopefully being muffled by his pint glass. 

Foggy shifts in his seat and puts on a more chipper voice. “Enough of me complaining about my now-nonexistent love life. What’s up in Mattland?”

Matt laughs and leans back in the booth. “Nothing that you don’t know about, Fog. Bruises are starting to feel a little better. Little less sore today than I was yesterday. You know how it goes.”

“Yeah, boy do I,” Foggy scoffs. “You know, you’d probably have less bruises if you hadn’t gone up against Fisk in an undershirt and sweatpants.”

“Well, two Daredevils fighting each other would certainly make for a more interesting front page.” Matt clenches his jaw and tries not to think about Poindexter in his suit, going by his name.

“You probably could’ve still been the only double-D in town if you’d just been wearing the suit from the get-go.” Foggy finishes off his glass and tilts his head at Matt. “Why’d you stop wearing it in the first place?”

Now then, there’s a path that Matt doesn’t want to go down. He’s ashamed to admit that part of the rationale still makes sense to him, at least a little bit. He put the black suit back on to let himself get hurt, to take away his last line of defenses and leave him bare and naked for anyone to make the killing blow.

Tightening his grip on his beer, Matt clears his throat. “I, uh… I wanted to be more vulnerable.”

Foggy juts his chin inwards in confusion. “You wanted to be more vulnerable?”

“Yeah,” Matt says simply before taking a large gulp of beer, waiting for Foggy to pick up on his meaning so he won’t have to explain it.

Suddenly Foggy stills and his shoulders slacken. “Oh,” he whispers.

Matt had told Foggy and Karen that he wouldn’t keep any more secrets. He has so few left now, and some childish instinct deep inside of him makes him want to clutch onto this one, hold it close to his chest and hiss “mine” at anyone who tries to take it from him. There’s another side of him though, the side that wants to keep Foggy and Karen and this new life they’re starting to build together, and that side knows that he needs to tell Foggy about holding out that lead pipe.

“The first night I went back out,” Matt divulges, “I was losing. By a lot. I got knocked down, and I just– everything hurt. And there was this pipe right next to me, on the ground, so I picked it up, and I handed it to one of the guys, and I just– I waited, Fogs. I just waited.” Matt cuts himself when he hears the quiver in Foggy’s voice. Foggy’s smart enough, he doesn’t need Matt to elaborate any more.

Before he can react, Foggy’s arms are wrapped around Matt’s shoulders and his face is buried in Matt’s neck. Matt almost makes himself resist, save face and keep his stoic persona in place, but God, he’s missed this. He’s missed Foggy’s arms around him and his scent filling his lungs. Matt circles his arms around Foggy’s middle and squeezes, pushing his face into his shoulder and inhaling with all he’s got. Matt can feel the collar of his shirt start to get damp and taste the salt in the air, but he doesn’t care. He just hugs Foggy back and promises to himself that he’ll never make him cry like this again.

“Matty,” Foggy says from deep within Matt’s shoulder, “I love you. I should’ve told you more. I should tell you more. I love you so much, buddy.”

Something low in Matt’s gut sparks warmly and he squeezes Foggy tighter for an instant before letting go and letting Foggy see his face. “I love you, too, Foggy.”

“We gotta say it all the time, okay?” Foggy slurs. “‘M gonna tell you I love you all the time.”

Matt smiles and ignores the wetness in his eyes and the heat in his chest. “Me, too, Fogs.”

And then they do that more.

All their time together is filled with “I love you”s, as a hello, as a goodbye, as a “thanks for the coffee”, or just a “thanks for being here”. The first few days, Karen laughs every time they say it, as if they’re just doing it to embarrass each other, but soon she just smiles and sighs at them each time they remind each other that they’re loved.

Sometimes Foggy ups the ante. When Matt surprises him with coffee on a particularly dreary morning, he says “Matt, I adore you.” When he sees that all his paperwork’s already been digitally finished by Matt, he says “Ugh, marry me, Matthew.” When Matt comes into work bruise-free three days in a row, he says “Matt, I love you more than anything in the world”.

His heart beats steady and true every time he says it. 

Matt had almost forgotten what it felt like to actually have a friendship as easy as Foggy’s. He’d spent so long isolating himself and convincing himself that Stick’s mantra was true, that friends just weighed him down, that now he’s completely filled with warmth every time Foggy says “I love you”. It seems that with each time they say it, the shared wounds they have start to heal the littlest bit more and the scars start to fade.

Eventually Foggy starts saying it even when Matt can’t respond. When Matt’s across a busy street, waiting for Foggy to join him to walk to work together, Foggy will say it into the air and trust the wind to carry it over to Matt’s ears. A few times, they get separated in a crowded courtroom and Foggy will whisper it under his breath and make Matt’s face heat up from all the way across the room with how happy he is.

Soon enough, every night that Matt’s on patrol, Foggy will say “I love you” out his open window before he goes to bed. No matter where he is in Hell’s Kitchen, Matt always hears him, and always says it back.

Pretty soon it’s January and colder than Everest and Matt and Foggy are walking down the street on the way to work. Foggy said “I love you” when he met Matt outside his building, and Matt said it back like it was nothing, relishing in the heat that pooled in his stomach as he tucked his hand into Foggy’s elbow and braved the biting wind.

“But there’s no way the government would just… let that all happen!” Foggy argues through chattering teeth.

“Foggy,” Matt laughs, “you’re missing the point. You gotta suspend your disbelief a little more.”

“I’m just saying that it’s clearly an invasion of Truman’s privacy. He didn’t consent to being a… a fucking TV character.” Foggy pulls Matt a little closer as they walk and huddles into his side, and Matt feels heat bloom from every point of contact they share. Foggy’s breath, surely puffing out of him in clouds of hot steam, smells like coffee and toothpaste and he quietly hums some old Destiny’s Child song whenever he’s not talking and his steps have synced up to the rhythm of Matt’s own steps and tapping cane.

A car speeds past them and hits Matt with a gust of freezing wind, and he shudders a little bit into Foggy’s side. Without even thinking about it, Matt moves his hand down and laces his trembling, gloved fingers between Foggy’s, letting their arms swing between them as they walk. Foggy doesn’t mention it at all, just continues on rambling about the movie they watched together last night.

“I could easily argue that forcing Truman to watch his dad die like that was child abuse. I mean, it clearly traumatized him.” Foggy casually grips Matt’s hand like it’s natural, and they keep holding hands the whole way to their little office above Nelson’s Meats.

And then they do that more.

Everywhere they walk together, Matt holds Foggy’s hand instead of his elbow, and neither of them so much as mentions it. Matt’s hand fits so perfectly in Foggy’s that he almost thinks it’s weird that it took them so long to start doing this. The spaces between their fingers and the topography of their palms match together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, there’s no uncomfortable overlapping or empty spaces anywhere. 

Matt’s so unendingly happy that his friendship with Foggy has healed to the point where they can touch each other so naturally again that each time he takes Foggy’s hand his body floods with heat and he can’t help the smile that crosses his lips.

Soon it bleeds over into the rest of their day, too. Sitting next to each other at the shared little table that they misleadingly call a desk, Foggy will press his thigh against Matt’s or hook their ankles together beneath the table. On movie nights, Matt will gladly tuck himself into Foggy’s side and let him rest an arm around Matt’s shoulders as he narrates.

One time Karen walks in on Matt pouring two mugs of her “coffee” while Foggy hugs him from behind, chin resting on Matt’s shoulder and arms wrapped around his waist. She leans against the doorframe and says, “It’s like seeing a mother gorilla carry her young on her back,” with a knowing sort of sarcasm in her voice. 

There’s a day when Matt gets back from a lunch meeting to find their little office flooded with the scent of croissants. Karen and Foggy are standing by her little desk pulling the pastries out of a loud paper bag, and they both light up when Matt leans his cane on the wall and shuts the door behind him

“Oh, Matthieu!” Foggy yells in a horrible French accent. He rushes over and grabs both of Matt’s shoulders before kissing him on the right cheek, then the left, then the right again. Matt burns hot. “I ‘ave found les croissants on ze sale, and now we will eat like kings- uh, Karen, how do you say ‘kings’ in French?”

“Already Googling it,” she giggles from the desk. “Uh, les rois?”

Foggy turns back to Matt and throws his arms up. “We will eat like les rois!”

Matt laughs, gladly accepting a warm croissant from Karen and tries to ignore the tingling feeling that lingers on his cheeks from where Foggy bise-ed him.

And then they do that more.

Now their greetings go like this:

Step one: “Hey, love you!” “Hey, buddy, love you, too.” Step two: at least one kiss on the cheek, depending on how much Foggy wants to make fun of French people. Step three: weave their hands together as they walk, and let the conversation steadily devolve into nonsense on the way to work.

Matt loves it, loves that Foggy feels this comfortable around him again. It’s such a far cry from those months after dissolving Nelson & Murdock, before Midland Circle. Then, he’d just get the occasional voicemail from Foggy congratulating him on a case, or giving him strained encouragement to not hunt down the guy that left his wife’s body floating by the docks. If they ever ran into each other on the street or in a cafe, they’d just exchange awkward pleasantries before finding mutual excuses to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

But now Matt gets a kiss on the cheek and a hand in his and he’s told every day that Foggy loves him. The phrase doesn’t get diluted throughout the weeks, either. It means just as much to both of them the first time they said it as it does the hundredth. It means “you’re my best friend in the world, and if you ever start to forget that I’ll just remind you again”. It means “my life is better because you’re in it. I didn’t tell you enough then, but I’ll tell you now, as many times as you need to hear it.”

Well, it means “I love you”.

They’re drunk the first time it happens, of course they are. They’ve just signed the lease on the new offices of Nelson, Murdock, & Page, and Foggy insisted that they get shitfaced tonight and start packing up tomorrow with hangovers. Matt somehow draws the short straw again and resigns himself to his role as Foggy and Karen’s chaperone. Which isn’t to say that he’s not also sloshed, of course, just that he’s the only one out of the three of them who can actually walk in a straight line by the end of the night.

Karen is dropped off first, her and Foggy both loudly singing Bridge Over Troubled Water on the whole walk to her apartment building, despite neither of them knowing the words. Karen calls Matt “devil boy” as she says goodbye, and Matt doesn’t hold back his laugh.

On the way to Foggy’s building, they walk the same way they always do– hand in hand, pressed tight against each other– just notably slanted as Foggy makes Matt shoulder most of his weight. Foggy keeps humming the whole way, and Matt can’t even be mad at him for getting the song stuck in his head for what will probably be the next week. He’s always had a soft spot for Foggy’s renditions of Simon and Garfunkel. Foggy leans against the wall by the door when they finally reach his building, and Matt can see his glowing smile fill out his entire fiery silhouette.

Foggy finally mumbles out a “G’night,” and Matt starts to kiss Foggy’s cheek like they always do, but Foggy puts a hand on his chest before he can finish. Matt immediately worries that it’s his fault, that all their new habits have actually been crossing a line and Foggy didn’t want to tell him, but then Foggy giggles and wraps a hand around the loose knot in Matt’s tie and places a quick kiss right on Matt’s lips.

Something in Matt’s chest burns bright and hot like flash paper and he smiles like a little kid when Foggy pulls away, laughing a little at the ridiculousness of it all. Foggy lazily swings open the door and calls out “Love you, buddy!” as he steps in. 

Matt drops down each of the stairs and throws it back with just as much gusto. “Love you, too, Fog!”

His whole face is hot and he almost doesn’t mind the lingering March cold, because this is how far he and Foggy have come. Things aren’t just the way they were before Midland Circle and the Castle case, they’re better. He and Foggy are closer than they’ve ever been, and it’s an amazing feeling to have this kind of friendship in his life, the kind he used to dream about as a lonely kid in an orphanage.

And then they do that more.

Their kisses on the cheek are replaced by brief pecs on the lips, and Matt is giddy with it. He takes the feeling he gets each time Foggy says “hello” with a kiss and folds it up deep inside him, wrapping it up in wax paper to save for later when he’s bracing himself on the concrete with a bloody nose and aching ribs, to remind himself who he’s making it through the night for.

The day that it finally comes to a head, Foggy has to leave the office early for an optometrist appointment. He complains about having to get his eyes dilated and wear those dorky little disposable sunglasses they give you afterwards, and Matt dryly says that sighted people are so needy for having to get their vision checked, as if he hadn’t been to more optometrist appointments than he could count in the first year after his accident.

He and Karen hold down the fort at their brand new office (well, definitely not brand new, just newly rented) for the rest of the day, and they take their time closing up, tossing easy banter back and forth like they haven’t since before Frank Castle came into their lives.

“Hey, did you see that email I sent you about our new contract format?” she asks, carefully Tetris-ing all of her pens and notepads and other miscellany into her desk drawers.

Matt quirks up his lip and replies, “No, I didn’t see that, actually. Been a while since I saw anything, really–”

“Oh, shut up,” Karen says, throwing a pencil at his face that he catches in midair just to show off. 

Matt laughs brightly and Karen stills from across the room. “It’s good to hear you laugh like that again,” she says, and Matt cocks his head in confusion. She clarifies, “You haven’t really laughed like that since before Confederated Global. This new thing with Foggy really makes you happy, huh?”

“New thing with Foggy…?” Matt asks slowly. There is no “new thing” with Foggy, they’re the same best friends they’ve always been, only now they’re better at showing it.

“Yeah, you know, you two going out, like, officially.” She gives a little shrug and the smile in her voice is clear and easy.

Now Matt’s really confused. “Foggy and I aren’t going out.”

Karen scoffs. “Ha-ha,” she intones dryly, “sure. And I’m secretly Black Widow.”

“No, Karen,” Matt forces out a strained, disbelieving laugh. “Foggy and I aren’t dating. We’re both straight.”

Karen straightens her posture. “Matt, come on, you don’t have to hide it from me. You guys have been kissing and holding hands for, like, months now. I’m not homophobic or anything.”

Matt takes a determined step forward and tries to parse what she’s saying. “Karen, I’m telling you the truth, here. Foggy and I aren’t in a relationship. Neither of us are gay, or– or bi or whatever. We’re just friends.”

Karen digests his words for a moment, then slings her purse over her shoulder and crosses the room, resting a hand on Matt’s cheek consolingly. “Matt, you can’t see the way he looks at you, but I can. Holding hands and kissing each other and saying ‘I love you’ all the time… those aren’t things people do with people they’re ‘just friends’ with.” 

Before Matt can respond, Karen slides her hand off his cheek and leaves the office, the click of her kitten heels on the linoleum floor echoing down the hallway as she walks. Matt stands frozen in the office for… he doesn’t even know how long. 

You can’t see the way he looks at you, but I can. 

Matt throws his satchel over his shoulder, grabs his cane, and flicks off the lights haphazardly before taking long strides down the stairs and out of the building. The voices of people passing him on the street blur together into a static that barely rises over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Matt’s straight, always has been, and so’s Foggy. There’s never been anything between them other than friendship, it just took Matt so long to realize what friendship actually felt like. 

Their first few months at Columbia, Matt had been completely thrown off kilter by the way Foggy made his heartbeat waver with just a single touch or sincere compliment. It wasn’t until Foggy called Matt his best friend for the first time that Matt realized oh, this is the first time I’ve ever had a best friend. The first time I’ve ever had a friend.

And now he’s just finally not afraid to express that friendship to Foggy, with kisses and hand holding and “I love you”s.

Except. Except Karen is his friend, and he doesn’t do any of that with her. And Karen doesn’t make him heat up every time she says his name. And Karen doesn’t fill his stomach with butterflies and moths and all sorts of other buzzing things when she hugs him. And Karen doesn’t make his skin tingle every time they touch. And Karen doesn’t hold his hand. And Karen doesn’t kiss him. And Karen doesn’t say “I love you”.

Matt makes it to Foggy’s building sooner than he was expecting to, and, not wanting to wait for the elevator, he bounds up the four flights of stairs to Foggy’s apartment. As he strides down the hallway, he feels like he’s running in a dream, like each step he takes only amounts to a few inches of movement, and his target keeps stretching further and further away. The floor is a treadmill carrying him away from where he desperately needs to be, and he fights tooth and nail against it until he’s finally knocking on Foggy’s door.

Matt folds up his cane and shoves it in his satchel while Foggy comes to the door. When he opens it, he doesn’t even have time to finish saying “hello” before Matt grabs his face and pulls him into a kiss, deeper than they’ve ever had before. Matt tilts his head and sighs into Foggy’s mouth as he tentatively kisses back, and he feels that flash paper feeling spread through his whole body, lighting him up with joy and finality and a little bit of fear. Matt knots his fingers in Foggy’s hair, relishes in Foggy’s hand gently coming up to rest on his hip, then forces himself to pull away before he melts into the floor.

Foggy stands there, dumbstruck, and all Matt can say is, “Okay, I’m definitely not straight.”

Foggy stares at him for another moment before stuttering out, “Wh- What?”

“I’m not straight,” Matt repeats breathlessly.

“O– Okay, thanks for… letting me know. After kissing me?” Matt sighs and steps past Foggy into his apartment, grateful when Foggy just wordlessly closes the door behind him and follows him into the living room. “Do you wanna enlighten me a little on what’s going on right now?”

“Karen thinks we’re in a relationship,” Matt says without any preamble. “She said that I’ve been happier since you and I started this ‘new thing’, and I told her that we weren’t together, and that I was straight. Because I thought I was, but I– I’m definitely not. And then she said that all the– the kissing and everything we’ve been doing isn’t stuff that most people do with their best friends, and she said that…” Matt swallows and takes a deep breath, “she said that she saw the way you look at me.”

Foggy takes a step towards Matt and crosses his arms. “What are you trying to say here?”

Matt lets out a long breath and resigns himself to his fate. “I’m trying to say that just now you made me realize that I like men. And honestly, we kind of are dating, aren’t we? In everything but name, I guess. And I– fuck, I’m trying to say that I think I love you. Not in the way we’ve been saying it for the past few months. I think I’m in love with you, Fogs.”

For a moment the only sound in the room is both of their racing hearts, until Foggy breathes shakily and says, “I need to sit down.”

Matt drops his satchel on one of the barstools in front of the kitchen counter and nervously follows him to the couch, trying not to focus too hard on the sound that Foggy’s hair makes as he runs his hands through it and the earthy sandalwood scent of shampoo that it releases in the process.

“Why–” Foggy starts before catching in a breath, “why do you think you’re in love with me, Matt?”

Matt feels his face burn hotter than the sun and takes a moment to think. A list forms in his head of every time that warmth has filled his gut, his face, his skin because of Foggy, and he clears his throat. “You… you put this heat in me, Foggy. Every time you touch me or hold my hand or– or just say my name, it’s like there’s something burning under my skin. But it doesn’t hurt, it’s like a hot bath. And when I make a joke and I get you to laugh, all I can think is that, God, I’d do anything to make you keep laughing like that forever. It’s like every time in my life that I’ve ever felt happy, all of that is nothing compared to the way I feel when I’m with you, Fogs.”

If Matt’s heartbeat is going a mile a minute, then Foggy’s has reached Mach 8. He stares at Matt for a moment, and Matt thinks he’s about to get the most painful rejection of his life, but then there’s a hand on his cheek, pulling him forward until his lips are on Foggy’s again. It starts off far slower than their last kiss, Foggy just inhales and then pushes himself into Matt, who welcomes him gladly. After a few seconds though, Matt pushes his tongue into Foggy’s mouth and Foggy places a warm hand high on Matt’s thigh, and the kiss turns bruising. Matt feels his pants get a little tighter, and, if his blood flow is anything to go by, Foggy’s feeling the same way. 

Eventually they break apart, gasping for breath, and Foggy leans his forehead against Matt’s. “So,” he says between breaths, “definitely not straight.”

Matt laughs a little nervously, “And?”

“And,” Foggy says as he pulls away, a soft smile shaping his words, “I think I’m a little in love with you, too.”

Matt beams and surges forward again, straddling Foggy’s lap and holding his face in both hands as he bites at his bottom lip. Foggy puts his hands on Matt’s hips and squeezes, forcing a low groan out of Matt’s throat. Feeling both of them start to get harder, Matt pulls away again.

“I’ve never slept with a man before,” he whispers.

“Duh,” Foggy laughs, “me neither.”

Putting on the hungry smile he knows women always love, Matt shrugs off his suit jacket and slides the knot out of his tie before slowly starting to unbutton his collar. Foggy takes in a shaky breath and his heartbeat somehow gets even faster at the sight of what Matt knows is an impressive chest. He rolls his shoulders back and tenses the muscles there in the way that his sighted partners always drool over, and delights in the sigh that Foggy lets out.

Matt leans back in, squeezing Foggy’s hips with his knees, and kisses him again. Foggy kisses Matt. And Matt kisses Foggy.

And then they do that more.

[hermannsthumb]

I have a fun prompt I've been thinking about I hope you have time for one day! When Newt and Hermann meet actually things go really really well and they even get together. It's just they bicker so much and have huge science-based arguments that everyone assumed they must have hated each other on sight.

sure thing! i had fun with this one

----

"So," Newt says. "I was talking to Tendo today."

Across the mess table, Hermann hums in feigned interest. Newt knows it's feigned 'cause Hermann doesn't stop either thing he's doing: using his left hand to wind noodles around a fork, and using his right hand to scribble away a series of lengthy equations on the back of a paper napkin. His full attention has been hopping between both for about ten minutes now—no room for Newt to slip in there. He's testing his limits enough as it. Half of the last equation ended up scratched into the tabletop, and the last time he lifted his fork to his mouth, it was empty. And then he swallowed anyway. Newt kinda loves the guy.

"Yeah," Newt says, deciding to continue like Hermann responded the way he was actually supposed to respond, which would've been something along the lines of what an utterly fascinating story, Newton, do tell me more. I love hearing you talk, Newton. How marvelously smart you are, Newton, and how melodic and breathtaking your voice is. Now watch me bite down on an empty fork again. "Kinda funny. He was asking how we met."

Hermann finally looks up at Newt suspiciously over the rims of his glasses, which are slipping slowly down his nose. He stills them with the tip of his index finger before they land in his dinner. "Why?"

"I don't know, man," Newt says. "He just was. It was like, small talk, you wouldn't get it. He dropped by the lab when you were out this morning to let me know that there was extra space if we wanted it. Like, lab space." Hermann resumes scratching an equation into the table absently. Newt rolls his eyes. "As in, we could have separate labs if we wanted now."

Hermann knits his eyebrows together. "Separate laboratories?"

When Newt and Hermann first started at the Hong Kong Shatterdome, the k-scientist team was pre-existing and significantly bigger, and anyone who joined on later—like, you know, them—basically got shoved in wherever they fit. For Newt and Hermann, that happened to be Laboratory Space D, Basement Level 1 (the only basement level), along with a former marine biologist who was killed on a research excursion a month later when a kaiju made unexpected landfall, like, right on top of their chosen shelter. Bad luck. Anyway, Newt's known about the existence of other Hong Kong Shatterdome lab spaces in the vague and absent sort of way that you would an urban legend, but (similarly so) he never thought he and Hermann would actually ever lay eyes on one. And then Tendo stopped by to dangle it in front of Newt on a stick.

"The other labs were being used as storage for ages after everyone else—" Newt searches for a word tasteful enough to encapsulate got stomped by a kaiju and wised up and decided to live out what are probably our last few days before the world ends with their families instead of alone in a military bunker. "—left. Anyway, Tendo told me they've been going through shit like crazy this month, I think to see if they can salvage any old tech, and that the other labs are basically totally emptied out now. We just have to ask and they're ours."

Hermann sets down both his pen and fork, twisting his mouth contemplatively. He finally loses the battle against gravity with his glasses, and they miss his plate by an inch, swinging back on their chain and bouncing harmlessly against his chest instead. Newt briefly wonders if getting a chain for his own glasses would save them from their frequent fatal falls into kaiju organ cavities and buckets of non-neutralized kaiju blood, but decides not even the money he'd save on replacement pairs would make a fashion faux pas like that worth it. "You know I don't much fancy the basement," Hermann says.

"Your joints," Newt agrees. The damp of the basement sets Hermann's joint pain off frequently, something Hermann talks about just as frequently. Newt's not really a fan of the basement either, though for different reasons—he would kill to get some windows and natural, non-fluorescent light in there. Sun lamps can only do so much. He's pretty sure he'd fucking glow if he stepped outside right now. Also, it's cold down here.

"And it might be nice to be closer to LOCCENT, in case of an emergency," Hermann continues. "And closer to—oh, hang on. What has this got to do with us?"

"Huh?"

"How we met," Hermann says. "You said, that Tendo asked—"

"Oh," Newt says. It's his turn to play coy. He stirs his chopsticks through his own dinner, accidentally flicking a piece of tofu to the table. It lands on top of Hermann's etched equations. Hermann scowls, because that's how their routine goes: Newt gets Hermann's stuff dirty, and Hermann gets mad. "Well. It was just that Tendo was like you can finally be out of each other's hair, how the hell did you guys get stuck together anyway when you obviously can't stand each other, that kind of stuff."

"Ah," Hermann says.

"And I said that it was because we knew each other before," Newt says, "and that we transferred here together. And that's when he asked."

"And what did you say?" Hermann says.

"That we used to correspond professionally," Newt says, "and met at a conference way back in 2017." He adds, with a grin, "Also professionally."

This was technically true. Newt and Hermann did write to each other, professionally, and they did meet at a conference, professionally, but what went down after a long and public shouting match in the events hall of a very nice hotel—in Hermann's room, five floors up in that very nice hotel—was not very professional. The events of the week that followed—spent, intermittently, between Hermann's hotel room, several coffee shops, a bench under a tree in Newt's favorite park, a rotation sushi restaurant, brushing knees shyly on the tram, and, finally, clasping hands on the staircase of Newt's apartment and gazing deeply into each other's eyes—weren't very professional, either, but Newt likes to think that they were very romantic. Rom-com level shit. Newt revealed none of this to Tendo, who referred to the 2017 conference as that Infamous Day for the rest of their conversation. "Well, it was professional," Hermann sniffs.

But he reaches across the table, and, very timidly, crosses his pinkie over top of Newt's. It's the most blatant form of PDA Hermann ever willingly engages Newt in. Newt thinks if he ever tried to touch two fingers at once in anywhere but the lab, or God forbid, hold his whole hand, Hermann's ears might start emitting steam like something out of a cartoon. "It might be nice," he says again.

Laboratory Space D, Basement Level 1, is unique—Newt knows—in that Newt and Hermann's quarters are connected to it directly. None of the other labs have that luxury (and Newt has a feeling it's because Lab Space D wasn't actually intended as a lab space). He remembers being told that when they were shoved into it. Yeah, you have the darkest and tiniest lab space on base, but your rooms are right there! When Newt wants to go to Hermann's room, or if he's in Hermann's room and needs a sweatshirt or something from his own, he just has to step the three feet between their two doors. Moving labs could throw a wrench in that—they might be asked to move quarters, too, and might be shuttled to opposite sides of the Shatterdome, and though they could just bite the bullet and request couple's quarters already, it's nice to have their own spaces when they need it. That would never work. And, well, besides—the lab, their lab, feels like home to them at this point. Newt shrugs.

"On the other hand," Hermann says, and he taps Newt's pinkie lightly, "I quite like how things are. I can live with the damp, really."

"We can get a dehumidifier," Newt offers.

Hermann nods, and he gives Newt the barest hint of a smile.

Their monthly delivery of lab supplies—whatever they can afford with their shoestring budget, which, these days, mostly means chalk, rubber gloves, and nice instant ramen—comes three weeks later. Newt wouldn't exactly call the Shatterdome delivery guy a friend, seeing as he has yet to divulge his name to Newt (and also Newt's pretty sure he has a thing for Hermann, since he always seems to wait until Hermann is in the lab to stroll by with his package trolley and always calls him Dr. Gottlieb with big stupid heart eyes, oh, Dr. Gottlieb, that new sweater looks soooo nice on you!, so anyway, that makes him Newt's rival by default), but he, at least, recognizes and acknowledges Newt at this point. That's more than Newt can say for most people on the base. After his usual greeting to the two of them (hey, Newt, oh, hellllooo, Dr. Gottlieb, did you do something new with your hair?), he starts to unload their packages, also like usual.

"I was surprised to see that you guys are still down here," he tells Newt, not like usual. "Tendo mentioned something about you getting your own labs."

"He did?" Newt says, meaning to frown, but grinning instead. It's kind of fun to be the subject of gossip. He pulls off his gloves and tosses them in the trash to help with their supplies—the dehumidifier he requested should be in there, and it's fancy and definitely on the bigger side.

"Yeah," their delivery guy continues. He hands Newt a fuckin' massive brick of a package. Hermann's stupid chalk. The amount that Hermann tears through in a month really is astounding: Newt has a private theory that Hermann is an undercover space alien from a planet where chalk constitutes all of the primary food groups, and he secretly sneaks out here and eats it in the dead of night when Newt is asleep. "Anyway, sorry I'm late," the delivery guy says, as Newt imagines Hermann crunching on a piece of chalk like a carrot stick, "I went to all the other labs first."

"No worries, dude," Newt says. "Sorry for the confusion."

He lugs the package over to Hermann's desk, and drops it down on the only spot not over-cluttered with papers and books. Hermann complains about Newt's messiness a lot for a guy who is just as bad, if not worse. "Need any now?" Newt asks Hermann.

Hermann, scribbling away at his chalkboard, grunts. Newt decides that's a no.

"Hard at work, Dr. Gottlieb?" the delivery guy says, practically fluttering his eyelashes.

Another grunt. Newt snorts.

"I thought you guys would've moved right away," the delivery guy (obviously disappointed at Hermann's lack of attention) tells Newt. "Tendo mentioned you've been stuck together for a while, ever since some sort of dramatic confrontation at a conference ten years ago." he adds eagerly, "Did you really get thrown out? I don't know how you haven't killed each other yet."

"It's taken a lot of hard work," Newt says. Yeah, the whole being-ejected-from-the-conference-and-barred-from-all-future-ones-forever thing is technically true too, but everyone there was too stuffy and serious for Newt's fun vibes anyway, so he thinks it's their loss. The most important part of the scientific breakthrough process, Newt frequently thinks, was having someone there to challenge you and push back at you. Sometimes loudly. And in public. In the conference hall of a very expensive hotel, in front of all of your scientific peers, some hotel security guards, and a poor graduate student who made the mistake of asking you and your penpal-colleague for your joint opinion on something and got caught in the crosshairs. Besides—out of everyone at that stupid conference, Newt and Hermann were the only ones snapped up by the PPDC, so it's doubly their loss. "And, yeah, we got thrown out. Me and Hermann fight a lot, but we always make up eventually. It's no big deal. It's, like, our thing."

"Make up?"

Newt waggles his eyebrows and doesn't elaborate. The making up part is the best part of arguing with Hermann, honestly, but he's not about to go giving private details about stuff like that to his rival.

By the time Hermann finally descends his ladder, three hours have passed, and Newt is frowning over an email he's just gotten from Shatterdome HR. Hermann will probably see it in a second when he checks his own email—it was sent to both of them, after all—but Newt waves him over to his desk anyway. "Look," he says.

He draws out the spare chair he keeps by his desk (for Hermann), and Hermann drops into it gratefully, propping his cane up against the arm. Then Hermann pushes his glasses up onto his nose and scans the email with a frown of his own. Newt reads it aloud for him anyway. "'Subject: Quarters Reassignment,'" he says. "Dear Drs. Geiszler and Gottlieb: It has recently come to our attention that you will be transferring to Laboratories A&B. Should you wish to transfer quarters as well, you will find the necessary paperwork..."

"By Jove," Hermann groans, and pulls his glasses off again, smudging a bit of chalk on his cheek, "can't they just leave us alone?"

Newt laughs. "I'll tell them we're not interested. Wait, listen to this bit at the end: Congratulations—this must be a relief! Guess they were getting your complaint forms after all, Hermann." Both Newt and Hermann had long-since assumed that any and all official complaint forms stamped with a k-sci lab return address are filed right into the garbage. It's never deterred Hermann from sending them in, though.

"Hmph," Hermann says.

Newt carefully rolls his shirtcuff back down to his wrist and uses it to rub off Hermann's chalk smudge. When it's gone, or at least, mostly gone, he brushes his fingers back through Hermann's short hair. Hermann's eyelids flutter shut, and as he leans into Newt's touch, his creased forehead smooths just a little. "Mm. You're lovely," he murmurs. "We really ought to tell them we're married. It's gone on long enough."

"I guess," Newt says. "But it's kind of funny, isn't it?"

[waitimcomingtoo]

Plank All Over Me - Spill Your Guts Or Fill Your Guts Edition

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Masterlist

Plank All Over Me Masterlist

“Welcome back to Spill Your Guts Or Fill Your Guts.” James Cordan said to the camera. “I’m here with Tom and Y/n Holland.”

“Oh my God.” Tom looked at you with wide eyes as you both thought the same thing.

“He introduced us.” You realized. “We can’t do our bit.”

“You’re my wife now, darling. You get to do anything you want.” Tom stated at he looked at James. “James, we’re actually Dave and James Franco.”

“Who’s who?” James humored you, well aware of the way you and Tom acted in interviews.

“I’m clearly the James.” You mumbled as you smoothed your dress.

“Dave is more attractive.” Tom shrugged sassily and you made a face at him.

“Can we start the game?” James playfully interrupted and you and Tom sat up straight.

“Yes, sorry.” You nodded as James began to explain the rules of the game. You’d seen the bit enough times to know how to play, so you tuned James out a little. You didn’t mean to, you just had a lot on your mind lately. There was something you needed to tell Tom and you hadn’t found the right way to do it yet.

“The first question is for Y/n and since I love her so much I’m going to give her the hot sauce.” James smiled wickedly as he got the hot sauce in front of you.

“Mmm.” You said sarcastically and grimaced at the camera.

“Who got the drunkest at your wedding?” James read off the card before looking at you. You pursed your lips as you thought about the answer before chuckling.

“Probably Tom.” You laughed as you pointed at your husband who was sat across the table from you. His face lit up with laughter as he folded his arms.

“Yeah, I was gonna say. Ryan Reynolds and I had a drinking competition that I definitely won.” He said smugly, making the audience cheer.

“I never imagined I’d be standing by Blake Lively’s side on my wedding day, screaming “CHUG” at my husband, but I’m glad it happened. You made me proud.” You said to Tom with a fond pout on your face.

“Aw.” Tom held his hand over his heart as you stared at each other lovingly.

“Gross.” James deadpanned, making the two of you laugh.

“Next question is for Tom and I am going to give you the cockroaches.” You said as you spun the table. “Love you, honey.”

“It’s looking at me.” Tom gagged as he picked up a cockroach and quickly dropped it back in the little glass bowl.

“How dare that slutty, dead cockroach stare at you.” You joked. “Tell it you’re married.”

“I swear, you two are the strangest couple I had ever sat with.” James shook his head as he laughed.

“We get that a lot.” You and Tom said in unison.

“Okay, Tom, who is the most unprofessional Avenger on set?” You read off your card before setting it back on the table.

“Ooo. That’s a tough one since they’re all so badly behaved.” Tom clicked his tongue and the audience laughed gleefully.

“No, I’m joking.” He smiled at the reaction. “I’m gonna go with Evans because he’s pretty much a ten year old. Like, he carries around one of those tiny skateboards - what are they called?”

“Tech Decks.” You told him.

“Yeah. He carried around a Tech Deck and runs it over everyone’s arms when we’re blocking scenes.” Tom explained as he did the motion of the mini skateboard on the table.

“I have also seen him covered in Cheeto dust countless times.” You added. “He will straight up come to set with orange fingers. He is the opposite of Captain America.”

“I hate that. We call them Wotsitz in England and it makes me cringe.” Tom shuddered as he moved the table. “James, I’m gonna give you the bird saliva.”

“It looks warm.” James commented as he picked it up to examine it. “That’s so unsettling.”

“Ick.” Tom grimaced and picked up a card. “James, which guest would you not invite back to the show?”

The audience reacted accordingly and you raised your eyebrows at the host.

“I can’t answer that.” James held his hand over his mouth as he stared at the bird saliva in front of him.

“Then why do you get asked that in every installment of Spill Your Guts Or Fill Your Guts?” You asked bluntly, making the audience laugh.

“That’s an excellent question and I’m going to think about it while I drink this bird saliva.” James looked you right in the eyes as he took a sip from the small glass. You cringed when he swallowed it and immediately went to take a sip of water.

“Ew. Is it thick?” You wondered as he coughed into his elbow.

“You don’t want to know.” James said hoarsely, shaking his head.

“Do I go now?” Tom asked, already forgetting the order of turns.

“Yes, you pick for Y/n.” James told him as he wiped his mouth.

“Okay.” Tom smiled deviantly and spun the table. “I’m gonna give you the turkey testicles because I know how much you love-“

“Tom.” You cut him off with a stern look.

“Turkey burgers.” He finished his sentence. “She loves turkey burgers.”

You squinted your eyes at him as he laughed devilishly.

“I’m about to walk out.” You threatened him once your fate was put in front of you.

“It’s not a true interview with us unless one of us threatens to leave.” Tom noted as he picked up his card. “Who do you think is the smallest Avenger?”

“Oh, definitely Mackie.” You answered confidently, relieved you didn’t have to eat the “food” in front of you.

“But he’s taller than me.” Tom tilted his head in confusion and your eyes widened.

“Oh you meant height?” You asked, fully misunderstanding the original question. The audience erupted into laughter and you felt your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“WHAT?” James asked as he wiped tears from his eyes.

“I thought you were asking about something else.” You said sheepishly as you shrunk in your seat.

“This is CBS.” He reminded you and you have an apologetic grin.

“Next question.” You requested, wanted to move on from your lapse in judgment.

“This ones for Tom and I’m giving you the salmon smoothie.” James decided. “Tom, how much did you get paid for Spiderman: Far From Home?”

“Enough to put a 20 karat ring on Y/n’s finger.” Tom response was immediate and you lit up in delight. You held your hand up to your ear so the camera could see it.

“With matching earrings.” You said coyly before letting out a laugh, all while Tom watched you with a childlike grin.

“My turn. I’m gonna give you the tarantula. James.” You decided and picked up a card. “Who was your least favorite guest on Carpool Karaoke?”

You held the card to your chest as you looked at him expectantly, knowing he’d never answer it.

“I can’t answer that.” He shook his head. “I have an answer but I can’t say it.”

“When you met Lin Manuel Miranda, did he bite his lip?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them. Tom burst out laughing at you, knowing exactly what you were talking about.

“Oh my God. She’s obsessed with that one picture of the guy.” Tom explained.

“It’s so funny. EUHYYYHY WE WERE MARRIED THAT NIGHT.” You imitated the countless singing videos of Lin Manuel Miranda you’d seen on Tik Tok that left you in tears of laughter every night.

“I hear this everyday.” Tom told James as you laughed at yourself.

“I can’t. I can’t. Sorry Lin.” You giggled again before calming down.

“Lin was perfectly lovely and we would love to have him back.” James brought the conversation back to the question. “I have an answer but I just can’t say who it was.”

“Then you better put that spider in your mouth.” Tom nodded towards the spider.

“It’s easy. I do it all the time. Wink wink.” You gave the camera an over exaggerated wink.

“Oh My God. Every time.” Tom scolded you as you made yet another innuendo.

“It smells horrible.” James whined as he leaned down to sniff the tarantula.

“Well it’s a dead bug. Were you expecting Japanese Cherry Blossom?” You sassed him.

“Oh God. Here we go.” James plugged his nose and took a tiny bite of the spiders leg.

“How is it?” Tom wondered as he watched in disgust. “Is it crunchy?”

“It’s gooey.” James told him before wiping his face with his napkin.

“I could’ve told you that.” You shrugged, causing Tom to give you a stern look that told you to behave.

“Stop it.” He couldn’t contain his laughter. “Who’s turn is it?”

“It’s my turn to ask Y/n.” James said as he looked around the table for what hadn’t been used yet.

“Fire away.” You said casually despite the butterflies in your tummy over what he could possible ask you.

“Okay Y/n, I’m gonna give you the grasshoppers.” You bit your tongue between your teeth as James moved the table towards you.

“Delicious.” You grimaced as you poked around in the bowl of grasshoppers.

“Y/n, if you had to date one of Tom’s brothers to save his life, which would you pick?” James read off the card and the audience murmured with anticipation.

“How would I get into that situation?” You stalled your answer, knowing you’d have to pick between hurting Toms feelings or eating a bug.

“And how do I prevent her from getting into that situation?” Tom added, making you laugh. He was trying to keep his cool but you knew the question bothered him.

“You have to answer the question or get to eating. Come on now, before they hop away.” James joked, making the audience laugh. You stared into the bowl of grasshoppers and knew there was no way you could put it on your mouth without throwing up. You gulped and looked at your husband, giving him an apologetic pout before looking at James.

“I guess Sam.” You said weakly and quickly moved the grasshoppers away from you.

“Why Sam?” James asked, always trying to get the best response he could.

“That’s not the question.” You quipped as you taped the card with your fingernail.

“I want to know too.” Tom spoke up, making your stomach drop. You shrugged and folded your arms to look relaxed.

“He was the first one that came to mind and I don’t think you’d want me to sit here and go over the pro’s and con’s of dating all your brothers. Plus, he’s a great chef.” You answered, and to your surprise, Tom smiled.

“That’s true.” He nodded. “Good job, baby.”

“Thank you.” You blew him a playful kiss which he caught and then pretended to throw away to get a laugh. You shot him a look before returning your attention to the table.

“Stop it.” You warned. “Who’s turn is it?”

“It’s your turn, Mrs. Holland.” Tom said, always taking the opportunity to call you that.

“Okay. I’m gonna give you the bulls penis.” You said lovingly as you moved the table.

“You’re too kind, my love.” He teased as it landed in front of him.

“I know. It’s my gift since you always give me the-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Tom cut you off. “I don’t even want to know how it ends.”

“Fine. I won’t.” You gave the audience a pointed look and they laughed at your antics. You picked up your card and read the question, immediately laughing at what it asked. You were about to read the question when an idea popped into your head. Tom noticed the way your expression changed and sensed something was up.

“Oh no. I’m scared already.” He smiled nervously as you looked at the card again. Finally, you looked Tom in the eye and gave him a soft smile.

“Are you excited to be a father?” You asked the question that had been weighing on your mind ever since you took a pregnancy test in an airport bathroom two days ago. You wanted to break the news in a memorable way, and constantly being on planes or in cars made that difficult.

This show, however, made it easy.

Toms face melted from a playful smile to wide eyes at your question. The audience quieted down as everyone waited for Tom’s response.

“What?” He asked slowly, studying your face closely to see if you were joking.

“That’s what it says.” You put it simply, makes Toms face shift into a smile. James took the card fork where you had set it down, knowing damn well his writers hadn’t put that as a question, and read it.

“This card says “how big is it?”” James read off the card as he looked at you, making you chuckle slightly.

“I took a creative liberty.” You shrugged. Tom and James looked at each other, both thinking the other was up to something.

“Are you pregnant?” Tom leaned closer to you from across the table to ask.

“You don’t get to ask a question until you’ve chosen what food I have to eat.” You reminded him as you gestured to the table.

“Not to make this about me, but It’s also not your turn.” James threw in a joke as he watched the drama unfold.

“Cow tongue.” Tom said quickly and shifted the table so the cow tongue was in front of you. He looked up at you with all the hope in the world as you gagged at the tongue. “There. Are you really pregnant?”

“Oof.” You blew out a breath. “That’s a toughy.”

“That’s a toughy?” Tom asked in exasperation. You could see his leg bouncing under the table from anticipation but you wanted to drag it out just a little longer.

“Yeah. I mean, I really want to tell you, but this cow tongue also looks really good.” You teased him, making him let out a whine.

“She’s got a point, there.” James nodded, squeezing your hand under the table to congratulate you.

“No she doesn’t!” Tom exclaimed. “Baby? Are you actually pregnant?”

You knew Tom couldn’t take the suspense anymore and broke into a grin.

“Yes.” You told him. “I’m pregnant. We’re pregnant.”

“Really? We’re gonna have a baby?” Toms eyes welled with tears as he covered his mouth with both his hands. He’d been wanting to start a family for a while now but you hadn’t had any luck in conceiving.

Until now.

“Yeah, honey. We’re gonna have a baby.” You reached across the table and rubbed his hand with your thumb before pointing finger guns at the camera. “Keep watching to find out who the father is!”

The audience, who had been busy cheering at your news, switched to laughter.

“She’s kidding. It’s me.” Tom assured the audience.

“He’s kidding.” You insisted. “It’s Benedict!”

“Congratulations to the both of you.” James said sincerely. “I think that just about wraps this up this segment. My producer is going to be very happy with me for getting that information out of you without even asking.”

“You’re welcome.” You smiled at him as he leaned in to press a congratulatory kiss on your cheek. Tom finally broke out of his shocked state and got out of his chair, rushing to you and practically pulling you out of your seat to hug you. His hug was firm but gentle all at the same time, especially around your tummy. He pressed your face into his neck and you heard him sniffle, making you take his hand and put it on your tummy.

“We have about three minutes of commercial break. Excellent job guys.” James said as he got out of his seat. “That was definitely the best Spill Your Guts we’ve ever done. I might have to hire Y/n as a writer here.” He joked.

“Thanks for having us James. All three of us.” You said as you pulled away from Tom. Tom kept a protective hand on your tummy as you rubbed circles on his back.

“I can’t believe you’re pregnant. I’m so happy for you both. That’s beautiful.” James shook Toms hand to congratulate him as well.

“Well when you plank all over someone and don’t use a-

“That’s enough.” Tom cut you off but kept his smile on. “That’s enough for today.”

You leaned into him and took his hand, kissing the back of it as you all walked back towards the main stage.

“Can you believe we met planking on each other for a video and now we’re having a baby?” You asked him.

“I know.” He shook his head in pleasant shock. “We should name our baby BBC, since we met at BBC radio 1.

“You suggesting that tells me you don’t know the other meaning of BBC.” You laughed as you took a seat on James’s couch.

“What’s the other meaning?” Tom looked at you in confusion. You laughed gleefully and patted Toms cheek, always delighted by his innocence.

“Oh, Tom.” You sighed. “I’ll let you google that one.”

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