#that mugs gonna poke someones eye out

[boney-t]

color 6 Katalina n' her favorite Vyrn mug!

[somnoir]

Bats and Phantoms - Part 5

Part 4 | Masterpost

Jason and Phantom

Danny has noticed a pattern ever since he punched the Joker to death.

He's lost multiple things over the course of the past few weeks. Once, his laptop was smashed to bits during an attack by Bane (he really should have Tucker reinforce all his electronics). The next day, there was a new Wayne tech laptop on his counter.

When he visited his favorite cafe, his usual orders were paid for the next month. The barista refused to tell him who bought his month's supply of Living Dead. She was smiling a little too much in his opinion (he'd have to ask Tucker for a background check on Chelsea now. He liked her, but damn him if she was working with the crime lord.)

Danny knows very well that Gothamites either mug people or get mugged. And yet for the entire time, he hasn't gone through that BS... At all. It's almost nice.

He's done his best not to get caught up with the Bats, except for the fucking Red Hood. He tries to stay low, knowing that the Bats—especially Batman—was very strict on his no-kill-rule. Red Hood in the other hand... Unfortunately, he can't escape the bastard if all he wants to do is follow Danny around and gift him the most random shit. But if he's gonna deal with the Red Hood, then he's going to use it for good.

In other words, he was going to let the man feed him with godly food that he'd never been able to have. Danny's a decent cook but the Red Hood was almost godly when it came to cooking.

"You're never gonna leave me alone?" Danny doesn't even turn away from his laptop once he hears Red Hood slip into his apartment, shamelessly crawling through his window. He's so fucking sure there's a bunch of containers in his arms or maybe a reusable bag, but there's a bunch of containers. Filled with food.

"Someone's gotta keep you fed." Red Hood softly hums, passing Danny from where he was sitting on his floor while his dry eyes were watching instruction videos. By this point, Hood might be playing Tetris in his fridge with the containers. (Danny hopes there's chicken in there)

He doesn't move, doesn't want to.

Red Hood pokes his cheek.

Danny grunts in reply.

His cheek is poked again.

He might just bite the guy's hand off.

"Go away."

"Eat and then sleep."

"Perish."

"C'mon now, darling. You gotta take a break or whatever the hell you're studying for will go away."

"I will stab you."

But apparently, Red Hood isn't intimidated by his threats, already picking out one of the containers, heating it up, and then proceeding to make Danny suffer from the scent of something chicken. He's so hungry, he's sleepy, but he has exams! He has deadlines! A part of him wanted this handsome and sexy crime lord to pamper him but he'd drown in that contaminated ecto (Lazarus) than admit it.

And then his laptop is confiscated by a crime lord. Danny suddenly finds himself sitting on the Red Hood's lap and being forced to eat. At least the man isn't feeding Danny himself.

He was just enjoying the chicken casserole, sleepily trying not to stab a fork into his mouth while Red Hood has his hands on Danny's waist, caressing and cooing at him to keep eating.

The next day, he wakes up in his bed, tucked in, and the scent of freshly made coffee from his kitchen.

(God, his siblings are going to make fun of him for this)

Jason likes Danny. He'd actually tell himself that he legitimately adores the tired and unhinged college student. He wants that crazy little shit like he's gonna blow up the world if he doesn't. Because he wasn't just Joker's killer. Danny Fenton unknowingly became Jason Todd's avenger, the one person to actually avenge the second Robin. And he's just...

The infatuation would have been almost selfish, if not for the fact that Jason grew to actually fall for Danny after making sure the young man was okay. He's done his best to keep Danny away from the Bats. He didn't need Batman fucking this up for him.

Danny was so... strange. In a good and endearing way. He was dedicated to his studies, and tried to live his life but helped when he could. He's seen Danny stop by crime alley a couple of times just to help feed the kids, just to hand over blankets and what seemed to be his old clothes that nobody would be wearing. He was kind, and brutal if he wanted to be. Aside from the Joker, Jason had witnessed Danny almost drown a man for trying to kidnap a meta child in the same alley. The bastard was left for dead but survived when someone dragged him out.

Oh, Jason was in love. Horrifically so.

Honestly, he was kinda screwed at this point.

He's pretty happy that he doesn't share a class with Danny. If he did, he might not be able to focus on the lecture knowing that the very thing that calms the pits inside him was so close. The possibility of getting lulled into sleep was pretty high. But their schedules didn't even align and he barely saw Danny on campus. But he'd be lying if he wasn't trying to catch a small glimpse of him.

It's one of those days that he doesn't try looking for Danny when he's got some papers for Lit. But this was different.

Riddler is a maniac, even when he tries to be harmless. Anyone who failed to solve his riddles sometimes got blown up. Gotham U ends up becoming one of his targets. Jason just so happens to be there, waiting, watching, unable to operate out of his suit. The Waynes were not the Bats. They tried not to be to keep their identities face.

He needed to keep everyone away. He needed to keep them safe, even as Jason Todd. Fuck.

Riddles. Riddler liked his riddles, plagued the city with them. Barbara's voice is in his ears immediately, reciting Riddlers gods damned questions.

"I hold dreams cast by the desperate and bold,

My heart is silver, my whispers cold.

I’ve seen generations, yet I do not age,

A quiet witness to joy, love, and rage.

Though rooted in stone, I endlessly flow,

Reflecting the sky and the world below.

Look beneath where wishes sleep,

There lies a secret, dark and deep.

What am I?" Babs' voice is shaky, just a bit before she's hardened steel in seconds.

Jason cursed under his breath, trying to figure out the riddle. They weren't stupid. They've done this before and Nygma's Riddles were hard just for them, especially Tim and Bruce. But even so, Jason was raised by Batman. He could do this.

The words were complex, the poetic nature was irksome. But Jason took just a couple more minutes before he's identifying the answer.

"A fucking fountain. Gotham U has three of those." Jason responds immediately, sucking in a deep breath as he quickly evacuates his classmates and urges them out the building. "East, north, and south."

"Red Robin and Orphan en route to the south fountain. Robin and Nightwing to the east." Oracle quickly says, "Batman to north. Signal and Spoiler are evacuating everyone from the building. Hood, get out of there—now!"

No can do, Babs, he thinks to himself and goes running to the northern part of the campus. Batman can't do shit alone, even if he insists on it. They've learned not to let him.

He arrives before Batman, already rummaging through the fountain for the fucking bomb. If it was beneath the fountain then he'd have to destroy it, but if it was already attached to the water? Shit.

One second later, he's trying to find anything to destroy the cement, and then another passed. Jason is staring at a strange young man, white hair, green eyes—it reminds him of the descriptions of Wraith and Specter that Damian and Dick repeated. He blinks, meeting eyes with the maybe Ghost Hero. He flinched, looking into glowing Lazarus—a purer hue—eyes. "The bombs under the fountain?"

"Uh... Yes!"

The ghost nodded, phasing his hands through the fountain and a second later, he's dragging out a bomb. Fuck, it only had ten seconds to spare. Both of them stared at it, wide eyed as they panic on what to do. But the stranger doesn't seem to pay too much attention and proceeds to swallow the bomb.

"WHAT THE FUCK—"

An explosion—muffled and small—boomed through the courtyard and Jason stared at the smoke and flames covering the ghosts head. A coughing fit is heard through the smoke and the stranger is waving it away, whining about the horrible taste of burnt food.

Lazarus eyes look back at him, blinking before offering Jason a radiant smile. "Sorry about that! I'm Phantom, by the way. Was just passing by when I heard about the bomb." He offers Jason a hand, still smiling.

"Oh, uhm... Any relations to Specter?" Jason immediately asks, trying not to die from his own stupidity. Way to go Jay, immediately interrogating another guy that makes the pits all mushy and warm.

Fuck, fuck fuck. Was he going to fall for everyone that calms the pits? Fuck, he didn't want to cheat on Danny (Jayyoudelusionalidiotyou'renotevendating.)

Phantom tilts his head, before he's laughing loudly. "You've met my little sister?"

"No, but she saved my brother from a kidnapping."

"Is that so?" Phantom smiled, clearly amused. "Well then, I must bid you adieu. I can see that your city's knight has this all handled."

Just then, Batman drops just behind Jason. DAMNIT, B! GO AWAY!

Phantom just glances at Batman, amused before he takes Jason's hand and pressed a light kiss to it. Cold lips pressed against his hand and he's immediately blue screening. Fucking shit, this was the exact same scene he's read in those books about the heroine getting saved by the mysterious man who'd later on be her sexy enemy/lover. FUCK!

Phantom goes back to speak, but all Jason heard were a couple of trills and chirps, a language he couldn't understand but... It felt familiar.

"Ȋ̵̢̨͍̹̺̼̜͉̳͍̮̠̯͙̤͈̥͔̰̤̐͐͜ͅ ̴̡̤͔̪̠̗̤͉͙͓̥̺̗̎͒͒̔̎̑̀̑͜͝w̷̖͍̑̃̃̓̀̔̀̆̋͒͛̂��̝̹̤̪̞̭͎̞͓̟̪̗̱͕͜ͅi̴̧̢̧̡̡̩̻̗̬̦͉͎̮̠̤̬̪͇̖̦̘͚̟̪̠̠̪̣̪̖͇̤̣̱̪̺̩̘̼͐̇̂̂͛̿̀͗̃͑̔͋̈́̐̽̿́͊̃̄̿̄̊́̔͘̕͜͠͠͝ͅļ̴̨̢̢̨̡̢̫̘͍͉̞̝̙̹̘̜͎̩̟̰̹̙̟͉̳̯̹̫̼͉̬̯̼̪̖̿̒ḷ̸̨̱̫̣̪͖̤̩̖̮̙̋͛͆̓͜ ̴̨̨͉̩͉̠̖̖̫̠̬̥̮̲̦͙̦̜̱̺̠̫̤̫̐̑͂́̇̆̐̋͂̈́͘ş̷̛̘͎̬͙̖̜̞̗̣͍̲̒̎̈͋̄̄͛̑̈́́̌̐́͋̃͑͑̈͛͋́̂̂̂͂̈́̌̄͊͂́̓̆̎͑̕̚͝ȩ̶̛̝̮̳̭̘̪̰͚̗̖̪̤̟͊̃̐͛͆̄̀͊̄̓̒͝͠e̶̡̢̧̨̢̨̢̛̞̖̤̲̱̯̘͇̖̹͖̻̱̜̼̹̠͙̺̞̽͌̍͗̿̒̃̍̆̽̓͂͗̽̈́̀͝ͅ ̵̢͚͔̦̹͚̱̝̪̗̽̕͜ỷ̵̛̲̘̟̭̬̩͇͖̮̉͋̑̽͂͛̆͆͂̃͋̀̎̆̑͊̃͛̐́̄̊͗̄̾͋̈́̕͝ỏ̶̖̹̦̭̱͇͔̲̝̜̹̹̗̗̮̪̗̬̥̜͍͉̻̍̍̈́̓͊̍͑́̀̈̇̄̐͐̔͛͌̊̀́̈́̍͑͆͑͒̈́̅̌́̄̉́̇͐̒̈̍̀̎̽͝͠͠͝͝ư̴̢̡͕̯̱̫̗̠̪͓̻̜̪̣̞̟̩͎̗̜̹̯̮̱͎̳̖̹͙̖̬̖͕̙͔̲͊̾͂̓̓̀͆̂̏̀̅̀̉̉͊̈́̅̎̍̇͋̽̿̒̓͐̄͛͊̄̉̽̏͛̋̓͗̍̎̆̒̄̕͘̕͝͝͠ͅ ̷̦̰͈͒̀̆̓̈́͑̂́̇͌̑͒̿̐̈́̅͋̎̄̎͒́̒͒̈́͊͛̚̚͠͝͠͠n̷̢̢̦̟͎͚̹̜̜̞͇̝̲̦̻̩͖̦̮̅̌̔̌͛̅̐̈́̋͌̂͋̈̋̎̈́̈̾̊̊͌̽̿̂̐͆͂̌͐̅́̌̚̚ȩ̵̨̧͔͔̩̭̦͈̪̟͉̦͚̘͚̥̰̰͓͓̤͉̫̳̜̲̲̖̘̜̮̠͉̪̤̤̮̣̫̼͓̦̣̤͖̘̹̉͐͗͆͆̉̐̂̀̄͑͑̄̈̒̀̈̀̀̎͘͜ͅx̶̝̘̼̟̜͎̲̪͎̥̖̠̼̀́̎̔͂͂͐̀̓̓̾̏̅̀̌̐̌̀̑̆̃͝͠ţ̵̢̭̫̫͇̟̣͓̲̦̩͉̞̞̳̬̞̘̙͈͓͈̺̱̮̮̘̠̤͔͍̼̼̳̳̳̦̼̣̼̹͍́͐̍͒͆̎͒͊̊̎͛͑̅̿͂̀̍̎͐́̋͛͗͗́̄͒̾͒͆̏̀̀̽͑͌̓͗̚͝͠͠͠ͅͅͅ ̷̨̧̡̮̝̜̟̠̦̳̼̝̭͖̭͚͎̦͕̦̩̺͓̺͚͈̺̤͋͌̔̏̒̾̓̈̅̃̑̏̓̂̚̚͜͝t̸̛̳̯̻͙̼̳̤͎̦̙̟͌̊͋͐̐͊́̑̈̽̎̎̾͂̓̉͆͗̐̇̏͋̕̚͝͝į̵̡̖̠̝̬̠̲̞̩̼͖̦̺͎͖̺͉̘̦̜̜̬͇̠̗̠̬̥͕̭̙̜̳͕̯͈͔̫̤̝̲̫̥͑̃͋̇̊̈́̍̈̉̑͛̈́͌̓̈̈̀̚͜͝͝͠͠ͅm̸̡͓̦͗͗̉͗̒̈́̂̆̿͒́͆ȩ̷̡͍̙͇̫͖̣͙̝̣̣̻͕͈͍͎̣̹̟͓̲̔̀̎̓͘͘͘͠,̶̢̨̨̧̧̢̖͖̠̲̞̮̘̮͉̩͔̭͕̻̝̤͚̻̭̘͈̮̥͉͎͙̜̭̿̿̆̑͗̌̈̈́͛͋̂̑̆̄̈́͋̈͐̑̍̆͂͆̂̌̍̅͊̍̌̓͘̕͝͝ͅͅ ̷̦̦͚̞̖̖̗̎̋̐́̍̆̾̑̾́͌̔́̀̿̀̓̂͒͐̑̋͊̒̈̕Ȑ̴̢̢͉̟̠͍̲̠e̷̛̓̉̈́̈̀͋̂̂̈́̆͑̏̅͌̌̂̓́̐͒̈͝��̢̡̢̡̡̨̨̢̨̝̰̪̠̥̠͓͍͔̗̩̯̺͕̬̮̳͎̩͈̼͕͙̯̟̦̺̣̠̺͔̅͊̀̑̂̿̐̂̒̆̓̂̐͗̚͜d̶̢̧̛͇̙̰̺͉͔̼̘̩̟͎̖̪̻͖̥̳̠̣̖͎͈͓̳̯̤̲͔̻̱̝̿̈́̆͛́͛̆̄͛͒̿̈̊̉̈́̆̃̒͋́̽̒͐̀̃̑̂̔̋̈́̍̀̀̐̅̄̇͝͠ ̴̡̡̧̡̟̥̟̝̮̟̘̯̺̳̗͚̮̭͍̘̰̭̹͈͈̱̦͎̝͍̺͎͕̼̝̼̝̦͋̾̏́̐̍͌̍̋͒̕͜͠ͅḨ̵̡̧̧̤͓̖̺̭͕͉̖̝̲̖̙̣̳͚͙͚͇̙̼̻͖̺̼͉͖̞̤̞̝̭̂͐̒̑̓͂̈́́̉̽̇̀́̌͂͑͜ͅͅǫ̶̨̢̧̳̠̱̻͉̦̳͚̜͓̭̯̳̘͕͎͍͖̟͖̹̞̤̘̣̖̰͓̙̩͍̻͖̘͚̠͕̗͍̮͙̼͍̪̰̾̂͌̓͗̃̀͗̈́̚ͅõ̸̧̨̡̢̧̡͎̺̭̬̼̱̟̝͔̲̣͖͍̭̜̣͔̠̗͍̯̣̬̮͚̔ͅd̸̡̹̠̹͍̝̜̍̈́̄̇͋̈́́̈́̈̎̎̀̉̍̎̔̋̒͒̔̒̇͐̀̀́͌̊̉̓͌̕.̴̛̛̛̫̹͍̯̟͓̒̀̈́̑̈̏̓͊̽̈́͊͗͒͌͌̏̌̔͌̏́̄͊͒̽̏̏̏͆̅̐͋̐̿̿́̐̈͐͗̊̏̔̚͜͜͝͝"

(Later on, Danny gets one hell of a tongue lashing from his siblings for eating a fucking bomb. At least Red Hood comes to visit with some dessert to make the flavor of bomb go away.)

[notlongtolove]

joy sneaks in

you're chosen to host the BAU's annual christmas party at your apartment, where spencer's books line your shelves and his sweaters are tangled in your laundry. the days leading up to the party are a blur of stuffing his things into every drawer and cupboard you can find. it’s your mess. your life together. and it’s everything.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: domestic! and also a christmas party! less on the party and more on how spencer and bau!reader suck at lying though; which make for some humorous moments.

word count: 3.8k

note: i wrote this awhile back and felt like posting it too. honestly a tad bit dramatised for comedy's sake but whatever i love domesticity and nervous!spencer. and it was fun writing them flounder about.

a line: For the first time, the thought of being home doesn’t feel like a concession; it feels like choosing happiness.

joy does not arrive with a fanfare on a red carpet strewn with the flowers of a perfect life joy sneaks in as you pour a cup of coffee - donna ashworth

It starts innocuously enough—a draw from Hotch's coffee mug, a simple slip of paper pulled out in front of the team, the scrawl of your name on it in black pen, and the pause before your name is announced in his unmistakably measured tone. “Looks like you’re hosting the Christmas party this year.”

Derek grins. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he drawls, shooting you a look that’s practically dripping with amusement.

You feel all the eyes on you, and the weight of it sinks into your chest. Your first instinct is to swallow it down, play it cool, try not to look at Spencer. Hosting a party means opening up your space— the space that’s been shared with Spencer for the last six months. Your apartment, which has slowly morphed into a mix of the two of you, a messy blend of both your lives—where his books spill off your shelves and his sweaters are tangled in your laundry, where his favourite mug has a place in your cupboard.

Derek leans back in his chair, arms crossed, smirking. “Better start tidying up, huh?”  You laugh it off, aiming for nonchalance but his teasing lands squarely in your chest. Your heart does that familiar flip when your gaze slips, unbidden, to Spencer who to your dismay, is standing there with his eyes ever so slightly widened like a deer caught in the headlights. You can feel the team’s teasing smiles from every corner of the room, their unspoken questions hanging in the air. But beneath their teasing, there’s an edge. Suspicion. They’ve been suspecting for weeks, piecing together the small clues you’ve been desperately trying to keep under wraps. 

And why wouldn’t they? The truth is, you’ve been dodging their invites lately, throwing out flimsy excuses about “errands” or “early mornings” that didn’t quite stick. At first, it was the occasional “I’ve got other plans”, but it became more frequent, more noticeable until even Derek had started to raise an eyebrow. He’d started poking at the seams of your alibis weeks ago, slouching against your desk with an eyebrow arched in pure disbelief. “C’mon, pretty girl,” he’d said. “What gives? You’ve gone full hermit mode on us.” You’d brushed it off, offering up a half-hearted excuse about how you’ll definitely join them next week, but Derek didn’t look convinced. And neither did the rest of the team. They weren’t blind, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that there was something—or rather someone you weren’t telling them about. 

Then there was Garcia, sidling up to you with that twinkle in her eye that only ever meant trouble. “Spill,” she demanded, hands on her hips. “Who is he? And when do I get to give him the Penelope Garcia Official Seal of Approval™?” You had laughed, and tried to deflect with a vague answer about how busy things had been. “Whoever he is, he better be worth it, because you”—she jabs a finger at you with exaggerated flair—“never skip a night out. Ever. We’re talking borderline-unbreakable attendance!” 

You bite back a smile, your mind flickering to those wild nights—sweaty dance floors, drinks flowing, laughter that echoed until dawn. It’s still a little surreal to think you’ve turned into one of those girls—the kind who would happily trade a night out with friends for a quiet evening in with their boyfriend. That was never your style. It was always a point of contention with past boyfriends. They always wanted more of your time, wanted more of your presence, but the idea of slowing down for someone else always felt like a compromise.

But somehow, with Spencer, it doesn’t quite feel like you're giving up anything at all. The simple, quiet moments with him have a gravity you never expected. Cooking dinner together while music hums softly in the background, curling up on the couch with a movie you’ve both seen a dozen times, or just sitting in comfortable silence as he reads and you scroll through your phone. The domesticity, the softness, the ease of it all—it feels complete. With Spencer, those quiet evenings aren’t boring. They’re grounding. For the first time, the thought of being home doesn’t feel like a concession; it feels like choosing happiness.

Honestly, you don’t really know how the team hasn’t put two and two together yet. Maybe it’s because you and Spencer had always been close—it was easy for them to chalk it up to that. Since you’d joined a year ago, it just felt natural to click with him, the two of you always slipping into the same rhythm. You were closest in age, after all, and the team had seen you trading inside jokes over takeout on stakeouts, hunched over books in the quiet moments after cases. In their eyes, it was harmless, a friendship born of long hours and shared exhaustion—Not that that came without teasing. 

The question was always there, floating just beneath the surface of their casual remarks. Words unspoken, a line uncrossed. That is, until a tense night in Texas where you had gotten far too close to an unsub. The team had gotten to you in time of course, they always do. But that didn't help shake off the lingering memories of the encounter as you stared out the window of the jet. It was so simple—a quiet look, his hand slipping into yours, his thumb gently tracing over your trembling fingers as you looked out the window trying to dispel the the thoughts of whatever had happened just hours ago—and suddenly, it was like every wall you’d both put up had just vanished. His touch held a weight that words couldn’t carry, and in that touch, something between you shifted, settling into a place neither of you had been willing to acknowledge before. Looking back, maybe you’d both felt it coming long before, but neither of you had dared to say it out loud. 

You and Spencer had made the decision together—keep things quiet a little while longer. It wasn’t the right time. Not yet. You wanted to savour the privacy of your stolen moments: his hand brushing yours during late-night coffee runs, your head resting on his shoulder as you both tried to survive the tail-end of a grueling case. It was fragile, precious. You could already hear the laughter, the surprise, the “We knew it!” and the endless questions about how long it had been going on, how you kept it from them, how you didn’t tell them sooner. And you could already feel the weight of that—how you’d both be under a microscope in a way you just weren’t ready for. You liked the privacy, the simple, quiet moments that only the two of you shared. It was yours, together, something no one else needed to know about just yet.

The days leading up to the party are a blur of frantic cleaning, shoving Spencer’s belongings into anywhere they can fit. “Emily’s a hawk with this stuff,” Spencer mutters, half-buried in a pile of mismatched socks and paperbacks. It had started with a few quick attempts at tidying up, but soon it turned into a frenzy of stuffing things—his things—into every drawer and cupboard you can find trying to make your place look like you’re just you. 

You hold up a pair of slippers with a dubious look. “Do these scream, ‘man secretly living here’?” You hesitate, then stuff them into your wardrobe anyway. “Hotch will see the shoes. He’s thorough.” At one point, Spencer just starts throwing random clothes into a duffel bag with a kind of desperate determination, muttering something about how “Derek knows way too much about my wardrobe”. Despite the chaos, there’s laughter—giddy, shared moments, like when Spencer hisses in horror at your attempt to cram his gift—an English copy of War and Peace—under the coffee table. “That’s sacrilege,” he whispers furiously, clutching the book to his chest as if shielding it from harm. You have to bite back a grin.

There’s a particular moment though, when you’re crouched beside the couch again, frantically trying to shove a few stray novels underneath the coffee table hoping they’ll blend in with the meticulously arranged stack of Architectural Digest magazines you’d placed there purely for ‘decorative purposes’. Spencer suddenly peeks out from the bedroom, his eyes wide with alarm, his expression a mix of disbelief and panic. “Hey, can you, uh, maybe not put those under the coffee table?” he whispers urgently. 

You pause, halfway through your task, and blink up at him. “Why?”

“It’s just—” He looks around frantically as though an ominous presence has settled around you. “They will know. They’ll know,” he repeats, shaking his head, the weight of some unspeakable doom settling over him. It’s all you can do not to burst out laughing. You try to keep the situation light, but then you see the look in Spencer’s eyes. This is serious business. 

And you nearly lose it, stifling a laugh so hard it hurts. The sheer absurdity of the situation.  Yet, beneath the humour, there’s something grounding about it—in the middle of the chaos, the intimacy of it all hits you harder than you expected. This isn’t just a mess; it’s your mess. Your life together. And it’s everything.

By the time the day comes and the team arrives, the apartment looks borderline staged. You feel a little more prepared—almost confident even. You breathe a little easier, relieved that all the obvious signs have been concealed. You act casual, ushering them in with drinks and snacks, but the sharp-eyed profilers in the room are already picking up on things you’ve missed. Rossi’s gaze flickers to the second set of keys on the hook. JJ raises an eyebrow at the coffee machine by your counter. You don't drink coffee. And Derek? He’s grinning like the cat that caught the canary, leaning against the wall and watching it all unfold.

“Nice place,” he says smoothly, his tone loaded. Rossi’s eyes fall on the meticulously organized bookshelf, your heart stutters. “War and Peace,” he says, picking up the hefty copy with a raised brow. “Yours?” 

You freeze, your stomach sinking, silently cursing yourself for giving in to Spencer’s insistence that it was too precious to be shoved under the dusty coffee table. It had seemed fine at the time, but you should’ve known better. 

“Yes,” you say too quickly. “Mine. I’m really, uh, passionate about Tolstoy.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Since when?

You flounder, trying to remember any of Spencer’s ramblings about the book that you may or may not tune out at times. Your mind races as you remember brief mentions about symbolism and war and societal constraints. “Since, um…well, you know, Tolstoy is…deep. About…symbolism. And…life.”

Spencer, bless him, is standing behind them in your kitchen, making desperate hand signals to help you out. He subtly taps his chest, mouthing “individualism,” then points at his head, clearly trying to convey something intellectual that’s just not coming through. His hands flutter around like he’s illustrating the grandness of Russian literature, and you do your best to follow his cues. You latch onto it like a life raft. “Individualism and thinking about—uh—society!” You nod vigorously, wishing you could disappear into the floor. Emily eyes you, smiling a little too knowingly. Spencer, meanwhile, is practically acting out War and Peace like a mime in the background, pretending to hold a musket, then making exaggerated ‘thinking’ gestures, trying to help you navigate this act. 

“I just love Tolstoy’s exploration of, uh, individual identity within societal constraints…” you manage, brows furrowing as if trying to convince even yourself of the words spilling out. Rossi’s brow lifts, skepticism dancing in his eyes, but he says nothing, clearly amused as he watches you scramble, letting you dig yourself a little deeper. He’s David Rossi for a reason—The man’s silence is practically weaponized, making you ramble on and on, as if you’ll somehow stumble your way into a believable explanation. You’re nervous-rambling now and you can feel yourself grasping at threads, scrambling to remember something—anything—that sounds remotely convincing. You start stumbling over a vaguely remembered plot point and that’s when Spencer starts making his way towards you from the kitchen, grimacing as you butcher the story. He walks toward you almost as if to steady you, a silent plea for you to stop digging yourself a bigger hole than you already have. “Yeah, well… it’s, uh, definitely a classic,” he says, stepping in.

Spencer subtly coughs behind his hand, catching Derek’s attention for just a second—enough to let you scramble for closing line. But the team’s smirks only grow. “Well,” Emily says with a laugh, “if you’re such a big fan of this Tolstoy guy, why don't you tell us your favorite passage hm?” You try not to cast a desperate look Spencer’s way. Spencer opens his mouth like he’s about to cut in, but Derek catches his attention with a look that says, Don’t even think about it, Spence.

Their eyes dart between the two of you, waiting for something. You can feel the tension building. Spencer stands there looking on, probably trying to telepathically send you the correct Tolstoy quote—or any Tolstoy quote at this point, but you’re lost in a sea of flailing words and desperate thoughts.

“Uh, no, actually, I don’t have a favorite passage,” you finally stammer. “It’s just, you know, the themes are really profound.”

Emily crosses her arms and gives you a once-over, clearly reveling in whatever spectacle just unfolded. “Uh-huh.” You roll your eyes, but before you can fire back, Rossi smoothly redirects the group’s attention to the kitchen, likely throwing you a lifeline to salvage what little dignity remains. You and Spencer exchange glances, his lips quirking in the faintest hint of a smile. It’s a private little conspiracy you two have shared for half a year, but now, as the night wears on, it’s starting to feel like the universe has other plans.

It doesn’t help that your team is sharp—they catch everything, a roomful of profilers who thrive on details, and tonight, every small habit, every casual touch seems magnified. Garcia narrows her eyes when she spots Spencer absentmindedly reaching to fix the crooked frame on the shelf. “You know where that goes, huh, Boy Wonder?” she teases, winking, and Spencer mumbles something about “aesthetic consistency,” looking thoroughly flustered.

You try to brush it off, laughing along with her, but then there’s Hotch, eyeing the stack of board games in the corner, the ones you both picked out last month on a whim. “Didn’t know you were into game nights,” he comments. “Oh, yeah. Huge fan of… Scrabble,” you say, your voice a little too high, trying not to look at Spencer, who’s doing everything he can to stifle a laugh. 

You can practically hear the thoughts running through his head, probably remembering the night you’d blown up at him after he beat you four times in a row with a ridiculously pretentious winning word—quixotic, no less. You’d been so mad, you’d tossed your tiles and stormed off like a petulant child. Now, judging from the way he's trying to hide his grin, the twitch at the corner of his lips, it's clear he hasn’t forgotten the fiery aftermath either. You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. 

Your life with him has become this strange, endearing mix of shared routines and accidental collections. Where he’s meticulous, you’re spontaneous, always flying by the seat of your pants and, at times, leaving him with a resigned sigh when you’ve left your keys in places you never should. It’s a quiet chaos, but it works. And now, as you stumble through the evening, every little piece of your life— your lives are flashing under the team’s increasingly suspicious gaze. 

JJ picks up a scarf lying casually on the floor, half-tucked beneath one of your jackets. She holds it up with a curious look. “Hey, Spence, this yours?” Spencer’s heart skips a beat, and he quickly tries to school his expression, but the wide-eyed panic is hard to hide. He looks at the scarf as if it’s just been resurrected from the depths of his lost belongings. “Oh thanks!” he says, dramatically, “I’ve been looking everywhere for that!” He reaches for the scarf with an eagerness that betrays his attempt at nonchalance, fumbling with it awkwardly. “I thought I’d lost it,” he adds, his words tumbling out in an over-explained rush as his fingers fuss with the fabric.

JJ doesn't buy it. Not for a second. “Funny, I thought you brought it with you today,” she says, a knowing smirk creeping onto her face. “Since, you know, it’s right here by the door.”

Spencer freezes again, scrambling for a response. “Right... yeah, that—that makes sense. Of course.” He forces out a laugh, the sound more nervous than casual, and wraps the scarf around his neck with an exaggerated flourish. “Good to have it back,” he adds weakly, trying and failing to look composed.

JJ just shakes her head, her grin widening. “Sure, Spence. Whatever you say.” She watches him for a moment longer, clearly amused by the whole thing, before finally turning away, letting him stew in his overdramatic act. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Spencer breathes a sigh of relief, but his cheeks are still tinged with pink, and he can’t help but glance nervously over at you hoping you’re doing a better job than him at keeping this increasingly bad act up. 

By the time Garcia corners Spencer in the kitchen, her grin is practically predatory. “You guys are terrible at this, you know.” Spencer looks all too comfortable setting dishes away for someone who has only ever been to your place 'once or twice'. Spencer sighs, defeated, but there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches you across the room. “Yeah,” he says, more to himself than to her. “We are.” Spencer, at least, seems resigned, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he watches you across the room, fumbling as you desperately try (and fail) to explain away a forgotten pair of mismatched socks by the door—somehow "yours" now, despite them clearly being too big.

You can feel your cheeks burning as the night progresses, their eyes catching every little detail—his fingers brushing against yours when he hands you a drink, the way you absentmindedly drape your arm behind him on the couch as the night winds down after one too many said drinks. The team exchanges knowing glances, soft chuckles bubbling up around you as they take in every stray look and subtle movement between the two of you. 

As you say your goodbyes and thank yous, it’s clear you’ve been thoroughly caught. Emily snickers, shaking her head as she slips on her coat. “You two are adorable,” she murmurs, grinning without trying to hide it. You clear your throat feigning innocence, trying to look casual. She turns back with a sly smirk, her voice laced with amusement. “So Spence," she asks, challenging, "You staying the night?”

The room falls silent. They all know. You both know they know. Spencer, ever the professional, tries to brush it off. “I’ll help clean up,” he says nonchalantly, but the team is already rolling their eyes, clearly seeing right through the act. They’ve been in this business long enough to recognize the signs.

You try to come up with something clever but Spencer knows it’s game over. He steps in beside you and there’s that look on his face, that soft, earnest expression he gets when he’s about to confess something—whether it’s a fact about astrophysics or a half-hidden truth he’s been holding close. “Alright, alright” he says, glancing at you for reassurance. “You got us.”

Spencer slips his hand into yours, his fingers warm and steady, grounding you in this moment. A round of knowing laughter echoes through the room, with Derek clapping Spencer on the back, Garcia gasping dramatically, and Rossi chuckling, muttering something along the lines of “about time”.

Spencer squeezes your hand. You squeeze back.

The team leaves you with a final round of cheers and teasing winks, and as the door clicks shut, you turn to Spencer, his smile mirroring your own. You hear the unmistakable whoops and cheers from outside. A laugh bubbles up inside you.

Once the house quiets and the last footsteps fade away, Spencer pulls you into his arms. The soft glow of the christmas lights he'd helped you put up yesterday creates a warm halo around him as he looks down at you, that adoring smile still tugging at his lips. “Guess the secret’s out,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek.

You shake your head, a little amused at how badly you’d tried to cover up something everyone already knew. “We really are terrible at this,” you admit.

“Well,” he replies in a low voice, “it could’ve gone worse.”

You laugh, resting your head against his chest. “Think they bought it, even for a moment?”

“Not a chance sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But it was fun watching you try.”

You lean into him, the warmth of his touch, his presence grounding you in a way you never expected but now can't imagine living without. You look around the room, taking in the space you’ve shared together. Sure, most of his belongings are still hidden away, tucked somewhat haphazardly in the cupboards or behind closed doors, but there are traces of him everywhere. It’s in the small things—the little hints of Spencer imprinted into the fabric of your life.

There are hints of Spencer in the kitchen sink, the one he fixed when it started leaking a few months ago. You had been ready to call a plumber, but Spencer had insisted he could handle it. He always does.

There are hints of Spencer in how you've stopped arranging your plates a certain way just for aesthetics because he'd proven how much more convenient it was to stack them according to how often you used them.

There are hints of Spencer in the stain on the couch from pasta night three weeks ago, a mishap that still makes you both laugh whenever you catch sight of it.

There are things only the two of you can understand. A code only the two of you can decipher. Small, unnoticed details that no one else can see—No matter how observant they are, no matter how well they think they can read you. 

And so maybe it's okay that the secret you’ve shared for months now belongs to the people who matter most. Because as you think of these little hints of Spencer—the way he’s subtly woven himself into your life and you into his—you realize that some things do get to stay your own little secret after all. And in that, there’s something beautiful, something that’s just yours.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[thegettingbyp2]

can you do an imagine with jax teller x reader where he cheats on her with tara? reader and jax hooked up after tara left charming (reader was a rebound), reader got pregnant so jax married her thinking he'd get over tara. jax starts feeling guilty bc while he wasn't necessarily in love with reader, he did grow to love her and she is a good wife (the kids are angels and get good grades in school, she gets along with gemma and the club,he always comes home to a clean house and he can't recall the last time he ate leftovers that wasn't a holiday).

This Life You've Given Me

It all happened one morning. Jax woke up and looked to your side of the bed when everything crashed into him; he’d fallen in love with you and he hadn’t even realised. You were only meant to be a rebound; someone to take his mind off of the fact that the love of his life had left Charming. When he found you that day, 5 years ago, quietly crying to yourself holding a positive pregnancy test, he knew that he needed to step up and do the right thing.

He married you two weeks later, making sure that you had as much of the ceremony that you wanted, trying to overcompensate on the fact that, on the day he was getting married to you, he couldn’t stop wishing that it was Tara.

And that brought his thoughts all crashing into him as he looked at you sleeping soundly next to him.

All of a sudden, he felt a wave of guilt hit him, making him sit up and get out of bed instantly, the jostling rousing you instantly, used to being a light sleeper because of your two boys.

Blearily opening your eyes, you noticed that Jax was no longer laying next to you, his side of the bed still warm, making you get up, thinking that it was something to do with the boys. When you poked your head into their bedroom and saw them still sleeping soundly, you made your way into the kitchen, finding Jax sitting at the table, head in his hands.

‘You okay, baby?’ you asked, walking over to the coffee pot, getting a fresh batch ready.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Jax whispered, his head still in his hands.

‘For what?’ you asked, walking over to him and placing a mug in front of him before moving to sit in the chair opposite him.

‘You’ve never deserved any of this,’ he said, sighing heavily before looking up at you, wrapping his hands around the warm mug.

‘Jax, you’re gonna have to tell me what you’re talking about.’

‘This life. Baby, I’m so sorry. When we first started hooking up, you were meant to be a rebound. Tara had just left and I needed someone to distract me so I could carry on helping out the club instead of dragging them down. And then when you fell pregnant, I knew I had to marry you, but I never expected it to be like this. This life you’ve given me, our boys, hell, even coming home to a home cooked meal at the end of the day, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted but I was using you and then this morning, I woke up and looked over at you and it hit me. I don’t know when but I’ve fallen in love with you. I’m so sorry, baby.’ You sat in silence for a little while as you took in what he said, the only sound in the room was your breathing before, Jax looked at you again, anguish in his eyes. ‘Say something. Please.’

‘I knew,’ you replied simply.

Jax’s brows furrowed instantly. ‘You knew?’

‘Of course I knew, Jax. You were a wreck when Tara left, so, when all of a sudden, you started coming to me, I knew I was a rebound, a distraction, but I let it happen because I’d always had a bit of a thing for you.’ As you spoke, you watched as Jax flinched at your words. ‘Even on our wedding day, I could see your heart wasn’t in it and I wondered why the hell you were going through it; it was for our boys and you thought it was the right thing to do. And again, I carried on with it because I wanted our boys to grow up in a stable home and we’ve done that Jax. They’re happy and healthy, they have friends, it’s everything we wanted for them so, if I had to go through life pretending that I didn’t know you were with me because it was “the right thing to do”, then I was prepared to do that.’

Jax put his cup down, getting out of the chair and moving until he was kneeling in front of you, his heart clenching in his chest when he saw the tears that were welling in your eyes. ‘Fuck, I’m sorry,’ he whispered, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you off of the chair and into his lap on the floor. Your legs wrapped around his waist as one of his hands cupped your cheeks, the other holding you against him. ‘I know it doesn’t make up for anything but I promise, I’ll do anything to make it up to you, baby. If you want a divorce, I’ll - ’

‘I don’t want a divorce,’ you interrupted, pulling back slightly to look at him. ‘Jax, I’ve never wanted a divorce.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asked, frowning at you. ‘Because I know that - ’

‘Jax,’ you said softly, making him stop talking and look at you, guilt and love warring in his eyes. ‘All I want is for you to love me, and you’re giving me that. I love you too. I just want us and our boys and this beautiful family that we’ve made together.’

Jax let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, looking around the kitchen as he held you tightly in his lap. ‘It is pretty beautiful, ain’t it, baby?’

Smiling, you leaned down to press your lips to his, your smile widening when he immediately deepened the kiss, tightening his hold on you as he gripped you impossibly tighter.

‘It sure is.’

[firewasabeast]

Truly Madly Deeply

You guys voted on this poll and chose Truly Madly Deeply as the song to be featured in my little fic. Enjoy!

tw: blood, stabbing, near death experience

If you had asked Tommy what his plans were for 9:32pm on a Thursday, he would not say, “Placing pressure on my ex-boyfriend’s stab wound,” but that’s exactly what he was doing.

The night hadn’t started so dramatically. He had gone to the bar for karaoke trivia, just like he had plenty of times before. Right as it was about to start, he glanced over to see Buck staring at him, mouth agape.

Buck hurried out of the bar after that and, before Tommy could even register what he was doing, he was following behind him.

“I didn’t think you’d b- be here,” Buck explained, the conversation irrelevant to Tommy at the moment. “You changed your schedule and I- I thought you’d be working tonight.”

“I switched with someone for a couple weeks,” Tommy replied, pressing down harder on the wound, feeling Buck’s blood under his hand.

“Oh- Ah!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

I- I thought you didn’t wanna see m- me on a call or something.”

“No, that’s… No.”

“Oh,” Buck repeated. “Okay. I- still, I just wanted t- to get out a little. I- I’ve mostly been baking. I- when I saw you I was g- gonna leave. Try to go before you- you saw me.”

“I saw you,” Tommy muttered.

“I know. Y- You followed me.” Unconsciously, his hand moved up toward the wound. Tommy gently batted it away. “Why?”

“I thought,” Tommy paused. “I don’t know, just wanted to talk to you. Didn’t know you’d be busy getting mugged.”

Even through his labored breathing, with the gash in his abdomen still oozing blood no matter how much pressure Tommy put on it, Buck looked up at Tommy eagerly. “About what?”

“I don’t think that matters right now, Buck.”

“Why? B- Because of th- the stabbing?”

“Yes, Buck. Because of the stabbing.” In the distance, Tommy began to register the familiar tune of an older song. He thought it had been coming from the bar at first, but now he knew it wasn’t. “Why is this damn song playing again?” he asked as it started over. “And where the hell is it coming from?”

“Th- The guy dropped his phone. It st- started playing,” Buck informed him, hand shakily pointing across the alley toward the phone on the ground. “Must b- be on repeat.”

A small gush of blood seeped out between Tommy’s fingers. “I can’t reach it to turn it off.”

“I don’t mind it,” Buck assured him, wincing as a wave of pain hit. “I- It’s fitting, don’t ya think?”

“What do you mean?”

“Truly Madly Deeply,” Buck mumbled, eyebrows raised. “I- I’d stand with you on a mountain.”

Tommy sighed. “Okay.”

“Bathe with you in the sea.”

“Buck.”

“Not sure I- I wanna lay like this forever.” His words began to slur about halfway through and, as he finished the sentence, his head lolled to the side, eyes closing.

“Evan!” Tommy yelled, bringing one hand to his face to tap at his cheek. “You gotta stay awake for me, Evan!” he alerted, getting right up in Buck’s face. “Eyes open. Talk to me.”

Buck’s eyes popped back open and he opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “Looks like y- you were wrong,” he said, swallowing down a familiar metallic taste.

“That’s nothing new,” Tommy replied. “But what about this time?”

“You… You will get t- to be my last.”

“Stop it. You- You’re not dying, Evan.” He groaned, ignoring the burning in his eyes as he looked out toward the road. “Where’s the damn ambulance?!”

“It- It’s only been a few… few minutes.”

With one hand still on Buck, Tommy checked the time on his watch. Buck was right, Tommy had only hung up the phone maybe five minutes ago. It had felt like an hour.

“You know what I- I think?” Buck asked, raising a hand to poke at Tommy’s shoulder.

“What’s that?”

“I think you- you’re scared.”

“You’re delirious,” Tommy

Buck shook his head. “No, I- I’m lirious,” he replied, then scrunched his face up in confusion. “You know what I m- mean. You’re scared, Tommy. Scared o- of being loved. Scared of c- committing to s- something r-” his words broke off as he began to cough. He could feel something wet on his chin. Was sure it wasn’t just spit. “Real,” he finished once the coughing died down. He could hear his own breathing now, wheezy and stunted. That didn’t stop him. “You- I don’t think you really w- wanted to go that night. I- I know I screwed up but w- we could have fixed it.”

“Can we stop talking about this, please?” Tommy was willing to beg, if necessary. Tonight had been about trying to forget all his failures as a human. He was not prepared to be thrown right into each and every conversation he spent most of his life running away from. Especially not when he was trying to prevent his ex from bleeding out.

“You said t- to stay awake,” Buck reminded him. “Need t- to talk to stay… stay awake.”

“Well, choose a different topic. A funner one. One that doesn’t involve me.”

Buck rolled his eyes, moaning a bit. “Eddie is l- leaving.”

“Yeah? For good or for awhile?”

“Good. Texas. Christopher.”

“That’s good,” Tommy said. “For him. Sorry for you though.”

“It’s… S’okay. He- He’s running to- towards something, ya know? Needs t- to be there.”

“I know,” Tommy agreed. “Still, sucks when a friend leaves.”

“Mm,” Buck hummed. “Sucks more when th- the person you love le- leaves.”

Tommy sighed, “Evan.”

“I n- never said I was talking about…” he voiced trailed off as he sucked in a wheezy breath, “about you. Very pre- presumptuous." He managed a weak smirk in Tommy’s direction. “I w- was talking about, um, that guy f- from that bas- basketball team that, that you like who… he’s retiring this year, I think.”

“Sounds like you two were very close,” Tommy deadpanned. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Th- Thank you.” He blinked up at Tommy, running his tongue over his lips. They suddenly felt so dry. “Just wish- wish you would b- be honest… honest with me before,” he stopped, each breath a little harder to take than the last. “I’m gonna die, Tommy.”

“You are not dying.” The words came out like a demand. He stared into Buck’s eyes, his blood-soaked hands maintaining their pressure. “But I tell you what. After you get all fixed up, if you remember anything from tonight, we’ll talk,” Tommy promised. “I will tell you why I- why I left. Because you’re right, Evan. I’m scared. I’m terrified. You… You scare me. I’ve never felt for anyone th- the way I feel for you.”

“Love.” It wasn’t a question. “You love me.”

Tommy sucked in a shaky breath. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Yes, I do.”

A tiny smile rose on Buck’s face. “Truly madly deeply?” he whispered, voice becoming weaker by the second.

Tommy huffed out a laugh, the song repeating yet again. He nodded. “Truly madly deeply.”

Buck’s breathing slowed, eyelids drooping. “Tommy?”

“Mhm?”

“I… It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Tommy became laser focused, pressing down even harder on Buck’s wound, “Evan, you hang on, you hear me? I hear the sirens now. They’re close, Evan!”

“I’m,” Buck’s eyes began to roll back in his head, “I’m cold,” he muttered before the whole world went dark.

*****

Buck woke up to a hospital room full of family and friends.

But all he noticed was one very important person was not there.

“Where… Where’s Tommy?” he asked Maddie with pleading eyes as she held onto his hand. His heart began to race, wondering if it was a dream, or a hallucination. Maybe Tommy had never been there at all. Maybe-

“Calm down,” Maddie instructed, rubbing her thumb over his palm. “He’d been here for three nights, Buck. We finally got him to go home for a bit. Shower, change, try to sleep. He’ll be back later.”

His eyes scanned the room. “I- I need my phone.”

“Right now?” Maddie questioned, glancing around at the other very confused visitors.

“Yes. Yes, right now.”

“Okay, okay, I’ve got it.” She picked up the bag beside her chair, digging in it briefly before pulling out Buck’s phone.

“He might not answer,” she said, handing it over to him. “He’s probably resting.”

Buck was too busy typing out a text to listen. His words were simple.

Truly Madly Deeply.

The text bubble was only on his screen for a couple of seconds before a reply came through.

I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

[tiki-was-here]

Billy Butcher x GN Reader-Valentines Edition

Word Count: 2k

Pretend that this isnt rushed because i forgot about it lol. also if its not clear reader cancels the reservation when they make the phone call butcher just doesnt hear

Valentines Event

Masterlist

You weren’t exactly the kind of person to get all starry-eyed about Valentine’s Day. The whole thing was a corporate cash grab, anyway—overpriced chocolates, gaudy heart-shaped decorations, and forced declarations of love. Yeah, you weren’t that type.

But still.

You glanced down at the confirmation email on your phone, the words practically glowing with your shame. "Your reservation for two at Le Château Noir has been confirmed for February 14th, 7:30 PM."

It wasn’t anything crazy. Just a nice dinner at a fancy place you wouldn’t normally splurge on. A way to say, Hey, I actually care about you, and I like spending time with you, even though you’re an absolute dickhead.

Because whatever was happening between you and Butcher—this thing that was built on stolen moments and rough hands on quiet nights —you didn’t know what to call it.The two of you hadn’t talked about what any of it meant.

And maybe it didn’t mean anything at all.

Still, you had scraped together enough money to make the reservation—partly from your own savings, partly from “borrowing” a bit of cash from Frenchie and MM. They’d get over it. Probably.

Shoving the thought to the back of your mind, you focused on the present—walking beside Butcher, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets, the two of you wandering through the city. No destination, for the sake of it.

The streets were packed with people, moving in and out of stores with bags of chocolate and teddy bears in their arms. Heart-shaped A-Train mugs, Queen Maeve teddy bears, little action figures of the Deep holding bouquets of roses. It was ridiculous.

Half-listening as Billy muttered about some new Vought scandal, something caught your eye—a massive, over-the-top billboard featuring the Seven.

They were all posed dramatically, dressed in shades of red and gold. Starlight stood front and center with a megawatt smile, Homelander beside her, eyes glowing faintly like he was about to laser the next person who so much as breathed wrong. The text at the bottom read: “Make this Valentine’s one to remember. Diamonds are forever! – The Seven’s Valentine’s Special!”

You snorted. “Jesus. They’re really milking the holiday for all it’s worth.”

You glanced at Butcher, smirking a little while nodding your head towards the board. “What do you say, Butch? Gonna get me a nice rock? Maybe pop the question while you’re at it?”

Butcher scoffed, barely sparing the display  a glance. “Not bloody likely.”

“Oh, c’mon. Not even a lil’ something?” You smled, poking fun at him. “I’ll get you a Black Noir keychain in return. Real sentimental.”

“Romance is a bloody scam.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, here we go.”

“Think about it,” he continued, gesturing vaguely at the streets. “Whole thing’s just a racket. They guilt you into spending’ a fortune on chocolates and all that shit, just to prove you give a shit about someone.”

You raised a brow. “Right, because God forbid.”

He kept walking, jaw set. “I don’t see why people make such a big deal about it. It’s just another day.”

You rolled your eyes, but the sting was still there. “Right. Yeah. Stupid holiday.”

You hadn’t expected him to be enthusiastic about it, but the way he dismissed it so quickly—it kind of hurt. Because you had been excited, just a little. And now you just felt dumb.

The rest of the walk home was quiet, tension clinging to the air between you.

Later that night, when you were alone in your room, you pulled out your phone and scrolled to your reservation.

Maybe you had been jumping the gun with the whole fancy-dinner thing. Maybe it had been stupid to think that Butcher would ever entertain something like that.

You sat on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen longer than necessary before finally pressing the call button. The restaurant picked up on the second ring, a professional yet pleasant voice greeting you.

“Hello, thank you for calling Le Château Noir. How can I assist you this evening?”

You inhaled sharply. Just do it. It’s not a big deal.

“Hi, I’m calling about my reservation for tomorrow night,” you said, voice steady but distant, as if saying the words out loud made them more real. “The table for two at seven thrity?”

Down the hall, Butcher had been walking past your door, intending to grab a beer from the fridge. But your voice caught his attention, and something made him pause just outside the room.

A table for two at eight?

“For two, yes,” you confirmed, nodding even though they couldn’t see you.

Butcher frowned, shifting his weight. You never mentioned anything about it to him.

“Under what name?” the receptionist asked.

You gave them your name, confirming all the details, and Butcher had heard enough. He turned away, walking briskly toward the kitchen.

What the bloody hell were you thinking?

He grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped the cap off with a little too much force, and took a long swig.

You had planned a fancy dinner. For him. After everything he had said earlier about Valentine’s Day being a joke. He didn’t know what to make of it. Part of him was irritated—you hadn’t even told him, and now he was expected to sit through some overpriced meal, pretending not to hate every second of it.

But another part of him—one he refused to acknowledge—felt something else entirely.

Something warm. Something suspiciously close to endearment.

Despite himself, the thought of you planning something like that, of you wanting to spend the day with him like it actually meant something…

He set the beer down a little too hard.

He didn’t know what to make of it, so he wasn’t going to make anything of it.

The day started off strange.

For one, Butcher was still here.

You fully expected to wake up alone, but instead  when you rolled over, he was  in bed scrolling on his phone, one arm folded behind his head. His eyes flicked to you the moment you stirred, something unreadable passing through them before he exhaled and looked away.

“Morning,” he muttered.

You blinked at him, still groggy. “You’re still here.”

“Brilliant observation, love.”

You frowned, pushing yourself up on your elbows. “Thought you had shit to do today.”

He shrugged, barely glancing at you. “Plans changed.”

Weird.

But you kne better than to question him— especially so early in the morning.

Instead, you dragged yourself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you shuffled toward the kitchen, figuring you’d have to scrounge around for whatever scraps were left from the last grocery run.

But then—

There was coffee.

A full pot. Fresh. Still hot.

Your brow furrowed as you hesitated near the counter, eyeing the mug waiting beside it. You didn’t even have to ask to know that it was for you.

Still, you didn’t comment on it. Just poured yourself a cup, and leaned against the counter, 

When Butcher finally strolled in, you watched him out of the corner of your eye. He grabbed his own mug—black, of course—and leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed, staring at you like he was waiting for something.

You blinked. “Did you poison this?”

He smirked. “Drink it and find out.”

You just scoffed at him and took your glass to your room.

The whole morning was like that. A light touch on the small of your back when you passed him in the hallway. The way he didn’t snap at you when you stole the last piece of toast off his plate. The fact that he stayed.

Usually, Butcher had somewhere to be. Always on the move, always planning, always chasing the next lead.

But today, he lingered

It should’ve made you happy. A day ago, maybe it would have. Now it just made the ache in your chest worse. 

And now, he was sitting beside you on the couch, one arm draped across the back, fingers lazily playing with the ends of your hair while you scrolled through your phone.

“Not even gonna look at me today, then?” he mused.

You shrugged. “Dunno. Nothing to look at.”

His fingers stilled. “Bit rude, innit?”

“Only returning the favor.”

It slipped out before you could stop yourself, and you weren’t even sure what you meant by it. But he let it go—for now.

By the time evening rolled around, you had fully settled into your mood. It wasn’t even intentional—it was just there.

And it must have gotten to him too, because by the time seven-thirty hit, he was clearly restless.So when he finally stretched, exhaling through his nose, and said, “Well, I’m gonna take a shower,care to join?” you barely acknowledged it.

You just shrugged, staring at the TV. “I’ll take one in the morning.”

“Not even if I promise to make it special?”

Your fingers twitched around the remote.

Usually, that would work. You’d roll your eyes but still let him pull you in, let him distract you.

But not today.

You didn’t even look at him. “Not in the mood, Butcher.”

His face darkened, his usual sharp smirk twisting into something meaner. “Christ, what’s with you today?”

You turned your head, finally looking at him fully. “What’s with me?”

“Yeah.” His hands went to his hips. “You’ve been sulkin’ all day. Thought you’d be happy I’m stickin’ around, but you’re actin’ like I kicked your bloody dog.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped. “Isn’t it supposed to be Valentine’s or something? ”

You glanced at him, brow raising. “And?”

He met your eyes, something simmering there, something edged. “And you’re actin’ like it’s just any other bloody day.You’re supposed to be all over me, right?”

You stared at him for a moment, then let out a short, humorless laugh. “You don’t even like Valentine’s Day, so why do you look so upset that I didn’t plan anything?”

“Tch.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Ain’t upset.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He huffed, looking away for a moment before muttering, “Just figured—” But then he cut himself off, exhaling sharply like he’d already said too much.

You folded your arms. “You figured what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just sat there, staring at the TV like it suddenly had all the answers he needed. But his grip on his knee was just a little too tight, his shoulders just a little too tense.

“…Figured you would’ve still gone to that dinner.”

So that was it.

He knew.

Your stomach twisted. “I—” You let out a breath. “I canceled it.”

He stiffened slightly. “Right.”

“You made it pretty clear how you felt about Valentine’s, so I figured there wasn’t much point.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, in a low voice:

“That’s different.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

Butcher ran a hand down his face, looking uncharacteristically frustrated. “It’s different when it’s you.When its us i mean…”

The words weren’t particularly soft. They weren’t overly romantic. But from Butcher? They might as well have been a love confession.

Your fingers tightened around the remote once more“You’re an idiot,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Something in his expression shifted. “You still wanna go?”

You gave him a wry look. “You think I can get the reservation back?”

He  sighed, glancing at the clock. 7:09.His lips twitched, just barely.

“Guess not.”

There was another pause before you sighed, rubbing your temples.

“Fine,” you mumbled. “Let’s order pizza and watch something stupid.”

Butcher snorted. “That’s your idea of a Valentine’s date?”

“It is now.”

He didn’t argue. Just plopped down next to you on the couch as you placed the order.

The pizza arrived, you put on the cheesiest rom-com you could find, and somehow, between bites of greasy food and sarcastic commentary, you found yourself leaning against him, head on his shoulder.

He reached into his pocket, then tossed something onto your lap.

You frowned, picking it up. It was… a keychain. A tiny, dumb-looking Black Noir keychain.

Your lips parted in surprise. “Wait—”

He looked away, feigning nonchalance. “Didn’t wanna show up empty-handed.”

You stared at it for a moment, something warm flickering in your chest. Then, shaking your head, you muttered, “You’re impossible.”

He grinned. “And yet, here we are.”

And when his arm slung around your waist, tugging you just a little closer, you didn’t pull away.

[gloomskulls]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ YELP REVIEWS [tasm!peter parker x reader]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ a fan decided to make an unofficial yelp page for spider man as a joke. A lot of clients...or citizens had so much to say.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ none

A/n: Just a random short fluff. I'll go back doing dark stories once I feel like it. I haven't really used Yelp, but my friend gave me this idea lol, so credit to Angelina lol. Don't steal this coz I'll shave your head.

Peter slumped on the couch scrolling through his phone. He frowned intensely and tapped a link you had just sent him, headlined as "Spider-Man Yelp Reviews"

You leaned against the door with a stifled grin. "Found it while looking at reviews for that new pizza place. Thought you'd get a kick out of the comments from your…clients."

Peter groaned. "Clients? I'm not running a business. What is this?"

Thumbing through the reviews, he cycled through disbelief, frustration then finally wounded pride.

2 stars

"He saved me from a mugger, but he sailed so quickly I didn't even manage to get the chance to say than you. Really rude."

3 stars

"I appreciate the help...however, he left me dangling from a lamppost for 20 minutes until the cops arrived. You could have just dropped me on the ground bro."

4 stars

"Brilliant rescue, but my phone screen got cracked when he yanked me into a speeding car. Thanks, I guess"

Peter threw his head back, exasperated. "Cracked phone screens? I'm sorry, Janet, would you prefer to have been hit by the car?"

"Peter, this is gold," you dropped beside him taking the phone to scroll further. "Ooh, look at this one!"

1 star

“I yelled for Spider-Man to come help me when my cat was stuck in a fire escape. He didn’t show. What’s the worth of a superhero when they won’t even help the little guy from time to time?”

"That wasn't even a crime," Peter exclaimed with hands thrown up. "What do people expect me to do run a cat rescue hotline?"

"I mean…isn't helping people your whole thing? Even the little guys? Or, in this case, little cats?"

He narrowed his eyes at you. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Oh, I'm loving it." You scrolled to another review.

3 stars

"Got my purse back after it was snatched, but when he handed it to me, he just said, 'Here ya go,' and left. No photo, no autograph. Kinda rude."

"Oh no, Peter, how dare you not stay for selfies mid-crime fighting?" You snickered.

Peter dragged a hand down his face. "Am I supposed to throw a meet and greet after every mugging? Should I bring merch? Web-slingers for kids? Spider-Man action figures?"

You wiggled your eyebrows. "Don't tempt me to start a side hustle."

He shook his head, scrolling further. His eyes widening in disbelief at the review.

1 star

"I yelled for Spider-Man to help me with my groceries. He didn't show up. Ended up dragging six bags up five flights of stairs by myself. What's even the point of having a superhero if he doesn't help the little people?"

Peter let out a strangled laugh. "Groceries? I have to save people from groceries now?"

"Be honest," you teased. "If you would have heard her, would you help?"

He hesitated. "…I mean, maybe. If I wasn't busy."

"Softie," you said, poking his cheek. "You're gonna carry someone's Costco haul one day; I just know it."

Peter groaned louder and clicked on another review, muttering, "It can't get worse. It can't possibly—"

0 stars

"Spider-Man swung by my building and broke my balcony railing. Now my landlord's charging me for repairs. Thanks, webhead."

"Oh," you managed a stifled laugh. "Isn't that the guy from your last patrol? You know, the one who yelled at you when you were chasing that car thief?"

Peter buried his face into his hands. "It's not my fault that balconies are so flimsy in the city. It's very hard to swing around without hitting something."

You patted his shoulder soothingly. "Don't worry, hero. I'm sure you'll get your Yelp rating up again. Maybe even start a loyalty program? Save five, get a free coffee?"

Peter shot you a look, betraying irritation and amusement. "You're impossible." You just grinned menacingly at his words.

"Hey, look at this one," you said, stealing the phone and scrolling to a five-star review, finally. "Finally, some love."

5 stars

“Spider-Man saved my dog from traffic. My girlfriend thinks he's cute. I do too, honestly. Would let him rescue me any day.”

He blinked. "What…what does that even mean?!"

"It means you’re the city’s hottest, most eligible bachelor,” you said, draping an arm over his shoulders. "Even dogs are falling for you. Can't blame them."

He rubbed his temples. “I think I need to retire. Or move to a quieter city. Do they need Spider-Man in, like, Ohio? Whadoyo think baby?”

You smiled and opened the Yelp app. “There, there, hero. I’ll fix your reputation." You assured him as you patted his back

Peter leaned over, squinting as you typed. “What are you— '5 stars. Spider-Man is amazing. Handsome. Athletic. Definitely has a great butt' Babe!" He read out everything you typed for him as you clicked the submit button

You winked. "Just telling the truth. Besides, if you're going to be stuck here, you might as well be a five-star hero."

"Unbelievable," he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile.

@gloomskulls 2024, DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE OF MY WORKS IN ANY OTHER WEBSITE. Photos don't belong to me

[bratdotcom]

He Needs Me!

swansea x coworker!reader ⋆ an au where you're his coworker

⋆ tags : coworkers/friends(?) to lovers, slowburn, angst(?), mutual pining

word count : 2k+ ( and proud !! ^^ ) ⋆

Swansea wonders why he was doing this.

Holding two mugs of warm coffee in his hands. He promised to keep the pot hot for you. He even said you made the brew better than he ever could.

He felt...soft.

There were many things Swansea was known for. Being soft wasn't one of them.

He voices his thoughts out loud to himself in the empty kitchen. "What the fuck am I doing..?" He sighs tiredly, putting both mugs on the counter with a soft clink as he awaits your return.

You were both playing with fire, doing this.

Crossing the line between decorum and affection. Genuine human connection in the cold, unforgiving vacuum of space. How cliche.

Swansea remembers the smile on your face when he praised your coffee making skills, the way you stretched out your arms to put away the tub. If it weren't for the knot in his back, he probably would've helped you.

"Where the hell is.." Before he can finish his sentence, you step into the kitchen. Smiley, as always.

He never could wrap his head around how you could be so...happy all the time. It reminded him of a certain someone he couldn't put his finger on.

The scowl on his face softens, ever so slightly.

"Finally, you're here. Jesus." Swansea huffs, crossing his arms over chest. "If I wanted to wait this long, I would have pulled out a chair myself."

He pushes off of the counter with a heave, two lukewarm mugs of coffee in his hands. "Here." He says gruffly, shoving a mug into your hand without question.

"Thanks for waiting for me." Is all you say in response, smiling at him gladly. Swansea bites back a mean comment to say, not wanting to unintentionally hurt your feelings.

"Always seeing the good in everything, don't ya, sunshine?" He uses the nickname sarcastically, he could practically see the energy radiating off of you. He further emphasizes his sarcasm with the usual frown he had accompanying his features. Deep set wrinkles tugging down his lips.

You take a long sip from your mug before responding. "I saw some hot packs in the med bay. Maybe Anya will let me nab some later."

You were so...caring. It made sense to him, you being the ship cook and all. You added a human touch that most of the crew missed while on the Tuplar.

He didn't get why you focused more on him than the others.

Him, of all people.

Swansea follows you to the dining table, setting down his aching muscles with another sigh. He looks at you with tired eyes.

"I never ask you to do things for me, you know."

"Well, you never complain about my cooking." You say back, smiling as you drink your lukewarm coffee. Is that all you do? Smile and slave away in a kitchen?

He shakes his head and looks away, eyes focusing on a corner of the room to keep himself from thinking about the way you looked at him. He had to keep it together. He wasn't the touchy type.

He had enough self-loathing in him to believe that anyway.

"What do you even do in that shower anyway? You were in there long enough for the coffee to get all shitty." His words were harsh, but he meant them with the utmost care possible.

He wanted to hear you talk again. Your voice was better on his ears than the hums of the ship he constantly heard throughout the workday.

You answer with your mug held to your chest, knees folded against the edge of the table."Oh, I was washing off the curry stains on my uniform." Swansea's mind circles back to the lunchtime from earlier, Daisuke accidentally spilling his leftovers on you. That kid needed to watch where he was going, but Swansea wasn't planning on being the one to tell him that.

His eyes steel on you. "Quit sitting like that. You're gonna pull a muscle or somethin'." He pokes your knee with the pad of his fingertip, his elbow against the wood of the dining table. Worn down and old, just like the rest of the ship.

"Sorry, sorry." You apologize with a chuckle, now sitting properly in your seat. Swansea rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath.

"Be careful next time." He says, fingers wrapped around the curve of his mug. He meant his words, he really did. Even though they came out mean. He couldn't control it.

Another thing he wished he could control was the way his eyes settled on you. Drawn to you like a moth to a flame. There was a reason why he avoided you like the plague.

"I fixed the sink like you asked." He says, silencing himself with a long sip from his mug. God, in the corner of his eye, he could see the appreciation written all over your face. "Good as new." He adds, lower back still hurting from kneeling down and fixing the sink on his own, without the help of his intern.

Some people were just better off by themselves. Including him.

"As good as this ol' girl can get, anyway." He's almost down to his last drops of coffee now. He wonders if you'll still want to talk to him after this. After everything he was doing to try and push you away.

"Thanks a ton, Swansea. I owe you a bunch." He was just doing his job.

Hearing you thank him for his work made his chest feel warm. He'd be damned if he wasn't lying to himself.

His beer belly presses against the table as he speaks. Swansea leans in closely. "You don't owe me anything." He replies, his much rougher hand almost inching towards yours. Tentatively, he pulls away.

In contrast to his, your hand was smooth. Barely noticeable scratches, marks of merit from your work. Feeding the hungry mouths of the crew, using your own heart and skill.

He appreciated you more than you thought.

"You work too hard, Swansea." Your hand slides closer to his.

His eyes drop slightly past the tired bags of his eyes. He sees how close your hand was to his.

"I work enough. You don't have to give a damn for a man like me."

Swansea almost wants to pull away, but something about this moment feels right to him. It's been...so long since he's had a proper conversation. Where someone cared for him. Worried for him. He heard the way you spoke.

"You're not just any man. Not to me."

He had to go now. Now or never. He was in too deep.

Swansea squares his shoulders, cup barely empty. He gets up to leave but feels something tugging on the back of his shirt.

Your hand.

"Don't go. Don't leave me here alone." You plead. "I'll pour you another cup of coffee. I'll do anything." You say, and as you say that, Swansea searches your eyes for something. Something more than just worry for a fellow employee's work-life balance.

He stays.

His rough hand gently removes yours from his shirt. The gruffness in his voice softens.

"You don't have to do that to make me stay." He says, going back to his seat.

He almost wants to take your hand again. The distress in your eyes was as clear as day to him. You were hurt.

He had to know what was wrong. All these years of working with you, and he had nothing to show of it besides pushing you away and keeping himself barely out of reach. Enough to talk but never to touch.

"I have something to tell you. Please don't go. Please." The shake in your voice makes him sink further into his seat. He wasn't planning on going anywhere. Not until you told him what was wrong.

Swansea has to choose his words carefully now. He didn't want to make things worse. The fatigue in his eyes meets yours.

"Tell me what's botherin' you and I'll lend an ear. I ain't going nowhere."

His words hang in the air alongside the mechanical hums of the ship.

"Trust me."

Swansea places his hand atop yours as he says that, reassuring you with the weight of his palm against your own.

He was holding your hand now. In his own way.

Fingertips against the pulse of your wrist. You could feel his heartbeat in between your fingers. Intimacy hidden behind subtle touches on wood coated lacquer.

"Tell me what's wrong." Swansea's voice softens more, his hand now around your wrist. He still keeps his hold on you to remind you that he's still there.

You can't bear to look him in the eye now, even if you always looked for him first. Your voice is low, almost merging with the Tuplar's sounds.

"They're.." You had no idea why you were drawing out your words like this. Making Swansea wait was a pain as much as it was to yourself.

His hold on your wrist tightens quietly as if he was trying to encourage you to continue on. Swansea was a prepared man. He knew the ins and outs of the line of work you both found yourselves in.

Your eyes were glued preemptively to the floor now as you finished your sentence.

"They're replacing me, Swansea."

Swansea stares at you quietly. Soaking in what you said.

It was inevitable, wasn't it? Their lives didn't mean as much as a rat's ass to the company.

He should've seen this coming. He knew how things worked around here.

He leans in attentively, his elbows now pressed against the table.

"Why?" He asks, genuinely wondering why the Pony Express would ever replace you. It would've made more sense to Swansea if they replaced him.

It should've been him, not you.

In his eyes, you did nothing wrong to deserve this. You never did. Sure, you acted stupid sometimes. But enough time on a piece of shit like this does that to a person sometimes.

You were the heart of the ship. You kept people fed. You reminded them of the home waiting for them. A taste of what they were leaving behind.

You pull your hand away, resting it on top of your shoulder. Forearm against the center of your chest. Right across your ribs.

You've thought of this moment over and over again in your head.

It was always harder to say something when the thing on your mind was right in front of you, wasn't it? You loved him more than you loved the job itself. You actively sought him out during his lunch breaks, secretly sliding him extras onto his plate when he liked the dish you made.

You didn't say it, but your actions were enough to show you saw him as someone more.

You didn't want to leave. Not yet.

A genuine frown plays on his wrinkles as you pull away. You still won't look him in the eye.

"I got the papers the first day we boarded. After this job is over, they plan on upgrading the living area with automated food giving machines." That was the fancy way to put it, using professional jargon the higher ups spoke in to hide the emotion in your voice. The uncertainty of what was to come for the both of you.

Finally, you look at him. Eyes wet with tears.

"I'm getting replaced by...by vending machines, Swansea."

Your arms tighten around your chest, your other hand against your sleeve, slowly closing in on yourself as if you were in acceptance of your situation. Like there was nothing you could do.

Vending machines. They were replacing you with vending machines.

Your last trip around the stars and you decide that he's the one you want to spend your final days and nights with.

He didn't know what was going to kill him first. You or the constant stress of never-ending work needing to be done.

And if he had to choose a way to die surrounded by the stars, he'd choose you.

The angry, confused tears start to well up in your eyes.

"Don't..." Swansea sighs to himself. Again, what the fuck was he doing? He should've left when he had the chance. Every signal in his body told him to leave.

But his legs didn't move.

It may have been selfish, but he didn't want to see you cry. He was all about tough love, but even he knew his limits.

He runs a hand through his short brown hair, smoothing out the strands as he thinks of what to do to help you. To comfort you.

Not as a coworker, but as a man.

"C'mere."

Swansea breathes through his nose, arms wide open for you to hug. He nudges the leg of the table out of the way to welcome you into his embrace without you being squished in between him and the piece of furniture. Another small way of showing how much he cared for you.

You were always on his mind, even without thought.

He wasn't always the best with words. By God, he was scared as you dragged yourself out of your chair and into his arms.

He can feel the beat of your chest against his. Your hearts connected together through the way you rested against his chest, his big arms wrapped around you almost protectively.

"I won't let them take you away from me." There was a tinge of vulnerability in his tone as he speaks.

He crumbles in your arms. The smell of your hair fills his lungs. The comforts of the kitchen mixed with your shampoo hit his senses in the best way possible. You fit perfectly against him, the palm of his hand in the small of your back.

"I'm here for you. Don't..." Swansea realizes what he's saying. His words were almost a confession. He didn't know what he was doing, but he knew he was giving you a promise.

A promise that he wouldn't leave, that he wouldn't let them take you away.

A promise that he'd keep.

With a calloused thumb, he wordlessly wipes away your tears. His gaze fully softened.

His hand comes to a still, resting against your cheek. He looks down at you quietly.

"You're worth more than ya think to the crew." The warmth of your skin mixes with his.

"And you're worth more than ya think to me."

You sniffle, finding comfort in his words.

"You know, I've always liked you." You smile at him, your fingers molding against the bone of his knuckles.

"You always cleaned your plate and never complained. You never had anything bad to say about my cooking." His eyes widen as you say your words.

He could disassemble machinery and put it back together himself as easily as he could tie his shoe. He knew the layout of the ship like the back of his hand.

And yet he didn't realize that you confessed to him hours before. You repeat what you said earlier, almost word for word.

His hand lowers down your cheek, thumb now thoughtfully pressed against the corner of your lip.

"I've always liked you too." Swansea confesses quietly, your hands travel further up his sides, to the planes of his shoulders. They settled there comfortably, as if that was where they were supposed to be all this time.

This was more than just camaraderie now. You were always more than just a friend.

"Can I kiss you?" Your thumbs caress along the fabric of his shirt.

A wry smile plays silently on his lips. Do you even have to ask that now? You just confessed your feelings to him. The feeling was mutual.

God, you were lucky that you were cute.

"Yes, sweetheart. You can kiss me." A deep chuckle leaves his chest at your words. He pulls you closer, encouraging you with a squeeze to the small of your back.

Gingerly, your hands find the collar of his shirt, you lean in to kiss him, pressing your lips against his. You tasted better than any bottle he's put to his lips in his life.

Swansea melts into the kiss. Years of yearning, words never said, all rolled into one. With the way you held onto him, it was like you never wanted this kiss to end. Like you never wanted to let go.

Finally, you pull away. Swansea smiles at you like a cocky idiot.

He gazes into your eyes, a look of love in them. A look that he wasn't going to forget any time soon.

"Never took ya to be such a good kisser, sweetheart." He comments, brushing your lower lip with his thumb.

[thefreakandthehair]

@steddiemas day 1: deck the halls | wc: 1.2k | rated: m

Robin Buckley loves Christmas.

Like, really loves Christmas. If she could convince Steve to put the tree up in their little shitbox apartment the day after Halloween, she would. In fact, she'd tried last year but Steve reminded her that a live tree would be a needleless fire hazard by Christmas Day and she refuses to entertain the idea of a fake tree.

Absolutely not. Live tree or bust.

And this is how Steve ends up at the Christmas Tree Farm the day after Thanksgiving, dragged around with a fond if not tired smile as she checks tree after tree, pulling their branches, checking their strength and health.

"It has to be a Blue Spruce to hold those heavy ornaments from my parents, and none of these are Blue Spruces!" She bemoans, whipping her head around to glare at Steve. "Are you even helping?"

He rolls his eyes and sips the hot chocolate that warms him from the inside. "I'm here as moral support and to cut the thing down when you find it." Steve wiggles the little saw he'd been handed and nods her on.

Robin scoffs and marches back towards him. "I think there are some Blue Spruces in the lot towards the back."

Without a question, he turns on his heel and follows her. This isn't their first Christmas Tree Hunt so he knows the drill. No matter how much he actually hates Blue Spruces because the needles are sharp and stick him when they hang the lights, he'll never say a word. Not when it makes his best friend this happy.

Eventually, they make the trek through muddy grass and Robin does, in fact, find a Blue Spruce that makes her eyes light up in the hidden away lot.

"This is it," she beams. "This is the one."

"Perfect, here, hold this--" Steve hands her his mug and starts to lean down, only for the tree to start shaking.

A man in ripped jeans and Reeboks lies beneath the tree, his own saw just beginning to make its mark in the stump of the spiky, healthy Spruce.

"Hey! Hey, what are you doing? This is our tree." Robin says, reaching through branches to hold it steady. "We were just about to cut it down, back off."

Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. It's not that he won't defend Robin's honor and get into a fight in a Christmas Tree Farm for her, he'd just really rather not.

The mystery man pokes his head out from under the tree with furrowed brows and two needles sticking out from the top of his head, dirt on his denim jacket that protects what looks like a red and black flannel. Steve's definitely been watching way too many Hallmark movies with Robin lately because holy shit, he's cute.

"Listen, my best friend wants this tree, and I don't even wanna be under here but if she doesn't get this Blue Whatever-The-Fuck, someone's halls are getting decked and it'll probably be mine. So, sorry." He shrugs and returns to his place under the tree. 

Robin looks at Steve, bewildered and frazzled simultaneously. Do something, she mouths. 

Like what? He mouths back, scrunching his face and contorting his mouth. 

She widens her eyes and jerks her head to the side, desperate. 

He should’ve known Robin would be responsible for his demise. 

“C’mon, man, we’ve been here for two hours looking for a tree.” Steve gets no response, just a few grunts that shouldn’t go straight to his crotch but what can he say? It’s been awhile.

He steps forward and lies down beneath the tree with the Tree Thief. “Is she here with you? Your best friend who seems as fucking rabid as mine is here about these trees?” 

Steve watches as the man focuses on the tree stump, rhythmic back and forth motions of the saw moving his torso along the ground with his tongue poking out between his lips. “Maybe I can talk to her? Or send Robin? She’s… convincing?” 

“Chrissy wants this one, dude. Hate to break it to you.” 

“Ah, okay. Robin and Chrissy. Well, I’m Steve, and you’re…?” 

The sawing stops as he catches his breath. “Eddie. I’m Eddie. And unless you’re gonna help under here, you might wanna move. I don’t wanna drop this on you.” 

Steve pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and takes a chance. Reaching out, he places one hand on top of Eddie’s. “Can I make you a deal?” 

Eddie startles, eyes flickering back and forth from the space where their hands touch on the rough bark of the tree up to Steve’s gaze. 

“Depends on the deal, I suppose.” Maybe Steve imagines the flush to his cheeks and the playful grin that blossoms across his lips. All he knows about Eddie is that his best friend’s name is Chrissy and that he has the most beautiful brown eyes Steve’s maybe ever seen. 

Not maybe. Definitely. 

“Uh,” he shakes his head, trying to pull himself out of whatever Christmas romcom he thinks he’s living in. “What if we help you and Chrissy find another tree and I help you cut it down? I’ll even carry it to the car for you.” 

“What are you, some sort of lumberjack?”

“Nope,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, joking as he leans closer, like an idiot. “Just desperate not to get my halls decked.” It earns him a genuine smile and surprised laugh punched from Eddie’s lungs. 

“Alright,” he taps the saw on the trunk and smirks over at Steve, mere inches apart beneath a Christmas tree. Close enough for the faint scent of Eddie’s cigarettes and Old Spice cologne to permeate the strength of the resinous spruce. “You help us find another tree, lug it to the car, and then meet me for coffee after? Seems like the least you can do, all things considered.” 

Trading numbers with the guy he met while bargaining for Robin’s dream Christmas tree isn’t the weirdest moment of his life, but it’s certainly on the shortlist. As is plucking rogue needles out of his hair when they come up from beneath the tree.

He ends up lugging two Blue Spruces to the parking lot an hour later in two trips— Robin chatting with Chrissy in front of them and Eddie at his side, gravitating closer and closer until their arms nearly touch. 

“You know, you didn’t actually have to do this,” Eddie says, moving away from Steve and to the other side of Chrissy's sedan to help tie the tree to the roof. “You’re not like, actually obligated or whatever.” 

Steve finishes tying his end of the knot and looks across at Eddie, finding him standing with hopeful eyes and a piece of hair drawn in front of his face. 

“Oh, I know.” He smiles and shrugs. “But I want to. Especially the coffee-with-you-after part.” 

“Not until we get this thing up and decked, Munson!” Chrissy pops up next to Eddie at the same time Robin appears next to Steve, both of them practically bouncing on their heels and grinning ear to ear. 

Robin nudges Steve in the side and he looks down to see her phone held out, Chrissy’s number typed into her contacts with a tiny pink heart to it. He gives her a subtle, excited thumbs up from below Eddie and Chrissy’s view beneath the car. 

Eddie slings an arm across Chrissy’s shoulders and ruffles her hair before she fixes her ponytail, indignant. 

“Alright, alright,” Steve laughs. “I’ll uh, I’ll text you?” 

Eddie nods and turns himself and Chrissy towards the front of the car. As he gets in the passenger seat, he looks back at Steve with a mischievous wink most likely emboldened by Steve’s brash flirtation. 

“The sooner, the better.”

[sweetiesicheng]

wooyoung - one morning

word count : 606

—

"hey. loser."

you feel someone poke your head multiple times, making you finally wake up. you grumble and open your eyes to see wooyoung laying down next to you. he has his head propped up with his hand.

"breakfast?" he asks.

you hum. "yea. do you want me to cook?" you ask him and brush your hair out of your face.

"no no no, i got it," he replies. "i'll make you tea," he says and leans in to kiss you on the lips. "come down when you get up," he says to you as he throws the blanket off of him.

"are you sure you don't want me to cook?" you ask him as he walks to the door and opens it.

"i cook for us all the time! do you doubt me or something?" he immediately asks with a frown.

"alright, whatever you say," you reply while pulling the blanket to ensure that it's around you. you close your eyes. "i'll be down in a bit," you say to wooyoung.

"yea, you're definitely falling back asleep."

"leave me alone."

—

"wow, she woke up," wooyoung says as you walk into the kitchen.

"bite me," you grumble as you hug him from behind.

"you'd like that."

you hit his stomach, "wooyoung, you're so—"

"handsome? i know. now sit down and eat something," he says and gets out of your hold. he bumps into you in order to push you toward the table.

you sit down at the table and heavily yawn. wooyoung isn't done cooking everything, so you wait for him to finish. then, you decide to lay your head down on the table.

you accidentally fall asleep, and wooyoung isn't surprised when he turns around. he laughs and puts another plate on the table.

"baby," he calls out and leans in to peck your face. "baby, come on. let's eat something together," he says, gently waking you up this time. "tea?" he asks and drags a mug in front of you.

"thanks," you say and kiss him. wooyoung sits down across from you while you drink your tea. "thank you for cooking."

"of course," he smiles. "hurry and eat. it's gonna get cold," he says to you.

both of you eat breakfast together, enjoying a quiet morning since you're still really tired. wooyoung knows better than to annoy you too much when you're tired.

—

"baby, want to go to ikea?" wooyoung asks as he walks into the living room. he had just finished washing the dishes from breakfast. "y/n, are you—" he stops speaking and chuckles instead.

you're sitting in the couch, but your head is tilted to the side. you have your arms crossed and look like you had been waiting for wooyoung before falling asleep.

"you're really tired today, huh? it's not even that early," wooyoung speaks and crouches down in front of you. "baby, my sleepy baby," he calls.

you wake up again, groaning when you realize that you had fallen asleep again. "sorry woo," you apologize and yawn.

wooyoung shakes his head, "don't worry about it. want another cup of tea? or we could go get coffee from your favorite place?" he offers.

"coffee?" you reply. "we have too many errands to do today."

"let's get ready to leave then, sleepyhead," he says with a smile before standing up, pulling you to stand as well. "try not to fall asleep in ikea. i might just leave you there," he says before kissing you.

"you would never do that," you reply to him as you wrap your arms around him.

"i so would do that," he laughs. "come on, let's go."

[matcha-milkies]

LOVE? ACTUALLY?

Summary: In which Mabel and Ford are both aromantic, and neither of them has the vocabulary to express it.

A sequel to “Well, You Did Ask.”

Relationships: Ford Pines & Mabel Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Bill Cipher/Ford Pines (Mentioned), Pacifica Northwest/Dipper Pines (Mentioned)

Tags: Humor, Family Bonding, Past Relationships, Advice

Word Count: 1,584

Link to AO3: Here

A/N: I once saw a post talking about how Mabel could be aromantic because she seems really in love with the idea of being in love and picks a lot of random people to have crushes on, and as an aro person that felt SCARILY familiar lol so here you go.

Ford is aro gay <3

“Ugh.” Mabel draped herself over the arm of the couch like a piece of laundry, stomach down, long hair flopping. “I can’t believe I’m 15 and still single! I’m never gonna get a long-term boyfriend!”

Ford, who had been preparing himself tea in the kitchen nearby, poked his head into the room, as though to ascertain whether his great niece was talking to him. They were the only two in the shack right now, aside from Waddles, so it was a 50-50 chance. 

Well, maybe 25-75. In Waddles’s favor.

“Grunkle Ford,” she lifted herself a little and drew back the curtain of her hair so that her eyes peeked through, “when did you first get serious with someone?”

Despite being addressed directly, Ford still glanced over his shoulder to make sure there wasn’t anyone behind him, perhaps some alternate-dimension Stanford Pines who was better equipped to answer such a question. “Serious?” He tugged at the collar of his sweater as obscenely equilateral imagery flashed across the backs of his eyelids. “W-Well, I suppose it depends on what you define as serious.”

“I dunno, I guess it’s serious when you both agree it’s serious?” She frowned at the ceiling helplessly before slumping back over the arm of the couch. Her voice came out muffled. “I wouldn’t know. It’s not like I’ve ever been in a serious relationship.”

Tea in hand, Ford stepped more fully into the room, looking about as comfortable as he’d been at his first college party (he’d been dragged there against his will, obviously). Come on, Ford. A few sage words from her great uncle. That’s all she’s asking for. A few times, he opened his mouth to say something and then snapped it shut. Luckily, conversations with Mabel did not require much input from the second party.

“I mean, Dipper is dating Pacifica! For a whole year now! I can’t believe he beat me! How does that even happen?”

Ford chuckled a little to himself, remembering high school, when Stan had teased him for having a girlfriend before Ford did. “Well, Mabel, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone goes at their own pace.”

“Urgh! But I want a boyfriend now! I don’t wanna waaaaaait.” She kicked her feet in agitation. “Is it so much to ask? To have someone in my life who makes me feel special?”

Ford knit his brows and seated himself at the nearby table, setting his mug down. “I understand your frustration, but, Mabel, I…” The man rested his head on his hand for a few moments, contemplating how best to put it. “I fear you’re looking at this all the wrong way.”

She peered up at him, leery. “What do you mean?”

He stirred the metal spoon in his tea, lazily winding it around the ceramic rim. “If all you’re looking for is someone to make you feel special… I worry you might end up with someone who doesn’t have your best interests at heart.”

“Oh, Grunkle Ford, I’ll be fine.”

He had started talking before she even finished her last word. “I’m serious. You have to be careful who you give yourself to. You become so desperate not to feel alone that you-you rush into things blindly, without thinking, without stopping to consider the ulterior motives your partner might have, and before you know it—”

“Hey! I don’t do any of those things,” Mabel protested, even though she very much did do all of those things in that exact order, and also even though Ford had not been talking about her.

“My- My point is,” he went on, taking a steadying breath, “you shouldn’t settle for less. One way or another, you’ll find special people to be in your life. I know it’s not quite what you’re looking for, but you’ve already got a wonderful brother.”

Mabel flopped onto her back and stretched the skin beneath her eye in distress. “But what if he marries Pacifica and I barely see him anymore? I’ll have nobody!”

“Dipper cares for you very deeply, Mabel. I doubt the two of you will ever drift apart.”

“Mmmmm,” Mabel groaned.

“But let’s say hypothetically you did,” Ford proposed. “You’d still have me and Stanley. You’d have your friends, your parents. Waddles, of course. And any number of new friends that you’re going to make in the coming years. I of all people can’t guarantee that relationships won’t fall to pieces. What I do know is that there’s always someone waiting for you on the other side, if you’re willing to let them in.”

“Aww… I guess that is kind of sweet.” She finally rearranged herself so that she was sitting normally. “Say, Grunkle Ford, you never told me about your first serious relationship.”

“I- Oh, you don’t want to hear about that.”

“Yes I do! Come ooooon, I’m so bored! Storytime! Storytime!”

“W- I- Um.”

“Wait.” Mabel narrowed her eyes. “You’re getting all weird the way Dipper does when he has something embarrassing to hide!”

“Mabel, don’t be ridiculous. It’s just not that interesting.”

“What’s not that interesting?” asked a gruff voice from the next room over. A few seconds later, its owner popped in carrying what looked to be groceries in his arm, mostly snacks, fruits and drinks.

“Grunkle Stan! We were just talking about Grunkle Ford’s love life.” She clasped her hands together and batted her lashes.

“What?” Stan raised his brows as he set down his paper bag on the table. “You told her about Bill?”

Ford got up from his chair fully with the intent to commit fratricide. 

“WHAT!” Mabel exploded. “GRUNKLE FORD?!” She glommed onto his leg and anchored him to the ground before he could give chase. Stan wisely moved over to the fridge to look for a few beers. “WHAAAAAT?!”

Ford tried to drag her along. “Mabel! Aren’t you getting a little old to be doing this?”

“No!” She looked up at him with wide, sparkling eyes. “Now tell me everything! Everything! EVERYTHING!” She shook his leg with violence.

Stan popped a couple of bottle caps and extended one of the bottles towards his brother in gesture. “Sixer, if I come over there to give you this, you gotta promise not to try to wring my neck.”

“I can make no such promise, Stanley.”

“Okaaaay then.” Stan, ever the innovator, set the drink on the table instead and slid it over to Ford, who caught it before it could slide off the edge. He eyed it for a moment and then took a few long gulps.

“Mabel,” he sighed, glancing down to find that she was still staring up at him with puppy-dog eyes. “There’s not much to tell! He manipulated me and lied to me and then we blasted him out of Stan’s brain. The end.”

“No, no, no!” Mabel cried. “Tell me when you first realized you were falling in love with him!”

“F- Falling in—” Ford cleared his throat.

The truth was, he’d been “in love” with Bill, in a sense, from that very first moment. But that all made it sound so much more… romantic than it was. It was difficult to explain exactly what he had felt. It was intense, and it was an attraction, and at one point he might’ve thought it was love, but… “I… didn’t,” he finished lamely, as if he were just now realizing it himself.

“Come on, Grunkle Ford, the cat’s out of the bag now! You can’t lie to me anymore!”

“No, I… I really didn’t,” he went on, looking down at his empty hand. “We had a connection. A deep and intimate connection to one another. But I… I don’t think it was anything like what you’re imagining, Mabel.”

“Huh?” she blinked a few times. Even Stan seemed confused as he leaned back against the fridge.

“Hang on a second. Back on the boat you told me you were romantically involved. Those were your exact words.”

“Well, we… were?” Ford himself sounded perplexed, as though he were working out a Rubik’s Cube in real time. Of course, if this were a Rubik’s Cube he would’ve figured it out a lot faster. “At least, that’s what the understanding was at the time…”

“Uh… okay, you lost me.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t really explain it.”

“I think I get it,” Mabel said thoughtfully, and the two grunkles turned to look at her. “You thought you were in love, so you got into a relationship, but you weren’t really in love. But you still loved him. Just not in a lovey-dovey way.”

“I, uh… Well, yes… I think so,” Ford affirmed.

“Yeah, I get it. I think I did that with this guy in freshman year. We really connected, you know! But I realized I wasn’t… in love…” she finished softly, as though she were now the one deep in thought. She snapped out of it with a shrug. “Womp womp.”

“Well, there you have it,” said Stan after taking a particularly long swig. “Hey, Sixer, now all you gotta do is tell Dipper and you’ll be three for three.”

“Stanley, don’t even joke about that. I’m absolutely done talking about this.”

“Awww,” said Mabel, who had really been looking forward to squealing to her twin about it. “Double womp womp.”

“Now will you please detach from my leg?”

“Nope! We’re bonding, baby! Learning each other’s backstories and stuff! Mabel-Ford bonding time!” She threw up her hands like she was on a roller coaster, although her legs stayed wrapped around his ankle. “Woohoo!”

[obessedd]

·˚ ༘ 𝑰𝒏𝒇𝒐 ➪ fluff, jealous & sassy nanami, black!reader

₊˚ෆ 𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔 while you were on your date with nanami, you had bumped Into a long time friend catching up with him. but nanami didn't like the fact he was being touchy with you and gets jealousy.

ミ★ 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 this was a request from someone anonymously who asked “young jealous nanami.” but I lost the thing 😕, so It won’t be able to notified the person I’m responding to so If you’re still keeping updated with me I’m so sorry for your late request and still hope you like It anyway!

also guys, we’re so close to 1k followers 🙏 If any of you forgot once we hit 1k followers I will be doing a face reveal and a little giveaway (If I think of something by then) but If It does happen I will provide details!

❝ 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 ! ❞ - 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

❤︎︎# — 𝖭𝖠𝖭𝖠𝖬𝖨 kento was very vocal about his expressions when It came to a lot of stuff. so when you seen the face he was making when your friend was talking to you, you put two and two together.

he was getting jealous ~

kento was never the jealous type which also surprised you to see the dirty glare he was giving f/n. a tight hold on his tea cup looked as If It was gonna break by how tight he was holding the mug, It made his blood boil to see this guy be all touchy with you. you might've thought It was all friendly and nice but he was also a guy, he knows how guys can be when It came to girls. your friend liked you. It was obvious!

even when gojo or geto would hug you or playfully touch you It was genuine friendship not this! he hated to say but he wished you were talking to gojo out of all people. thought gojo can be an asshole sometimes he knows to respect your guys relationship despite the many times he's tried to get under his skin or annoy him. kento scoffed to himself turning back to outside watching as cars and birds went by taking another sip from his tea. you noticed this, tearing your eyes away from f/n to him with a deep sigh grinning. f/n followed where your gaze was to be met with the blonde boy across from them, his eyebrows furrowed. when he was about to say something to catch your attention you Interrupted, "f/n It was so nice seeing you again but I have to get back to someone. I'm so sorry n/n." you said looking at him with an apologetic look standing up from your seat as he nodded his head slowly going disappointed. "uh yeah..I'll see you next time then?." you gave him a small smile, "of course, my number Is still the same just text me!." you ruffled his hair hearing him whine, swatting his hand at you, “y/n my hair!.” he pouted slightly but shook his head with a gentle smiling.

once f/n had left you walked back to your table to where your pouty boyfriend was sat. when you sat down In front of kento he still kept his gaze outside with a bitter look, "kento." he gave you a small glance with a brow, "oh? you're finally back from your friend? I didn't notice you." you rolled your eyes kicking him playfully under the table poking your lip out, "kenny, don't be like that. he's just my friend." he scoffed setting down his mug looking at you fully, "a friend that likes you?."

"he doesn't like me-" "y/n I'm a guy. I know how we are when we like a girl. the hints where there." again you sighed shaking your head, grabbing ahold of his hand. "ken, trust me when I say this. f/n Is clingy. like really clingy, and I admit he does need to learn boundaries but he's still just a kid babe. he's only 16, It's been awhile since we last seen each other. trust me he has no feelings for me." nanamis eyebrows furrowed but then sighed looking down.

after hearing your explanation..everything made sense In a way. he gave your hand a small squeeze nodding his head, "I only love you kento, stop being a big baby." you chuckled seeing him shoot a glare your way but nodded his head again, "I'm sorry my love." he mumbled feeling his cheeks heat up from being flustered bringing your hand to his lips pecking the back of It as you stared at him with nothing but love In your eyes, "I'm not mad at you so don't worry, It wasn't big anyway" you shrugged, "but don't do It again." you pointed a finger at him who grinned In response staring back at you, "yes ma'am." you smiled back placing your hand to grab ahold of his chin bringing him forward as you leaned across the table, "good." you closed the space between you both feeling his lips ontop of yours.

he Instantly relaxed In your hold leaning more Into It but remembering you're In a public place you pulled back after a few seconds as he chased your lips with a groan. you patted his cheek standing up from your spot with a energetic bounce, "now let's go! I can't be late to my hair appointment."

had him right between your fingers.

[pnfc]

heres an unfinished, no-plot horny d/p domestic scene i wrote yday when it was 20 degrees outside. just self-soothing writing, idk if its any good to read, but in case someone enjoys it, here 18+

heinz wakes to a frostbitten dawn, snug in bed, perry hot in his arms like a furry baked potato. his brain boots up, effortfully chugging to situate him in the correct temporality: it’s early december, a friday. he tries to remember whether the new day threatens any pressing obligations: nope, he’s still retired. good. it was such an excellent idea, retiring. he should’ve done it a lifetime ago.

for a while he’s just basking, watching perry sleep. he’s murmuring soft sounds, face shifting in some dream encounter. heinz always wants to peek inside -- but the dreaminator he made for that lost its novelty, they both agreed, and it’s never nearby when he wants it. so he lets perry keep to his private world, as he pets fingers across his shoulders.

however many minutes tick by and perry’s stirring awake. “hey,” greets heinz. “you have a good dream?”

perry noses into his neck with a discontented sound, stretching. then he moves back an inch, so heinz can read his hands. trapped in a cave, he signs. with santa. very unsettling.

heinz “ahh”s with understanding. it’s fun to pretend like he knows anything. “christmas shopping anxiety. don’t worry, perry the platypus. the craft expo’s this weekend. we’re gonna have an amazing haul, you’ll see. we’ll be winning over family members we didn’t even know we had.”

perry’s eyes are closed and he’s sagging back into a dead weight on heinz’s chest as he talks. a minute passes and he motions again: bathroom.

“you gotta go?”

without offering perry any choice heinz shrugs into his bedside robe and stands up with perry tight in his hold, carries him off to the ensuite bathroom. “it’s more efficient this way,” he explains. “you take too long getting out of bed.”

perry comes to life in his hands, as he registers the annoying thing heinz is doing, whipping open the purple velour robe like palanquin curtains with a gruff complaint. across the threshold he wriggles out of heinz’s arms and down to the rug, still dizzy from sleep, and leans against the bathtub.

“can i help you up?” heinz offers sweetly, meaning the toilet.

perry kicks him out of the room, little duckfoot impacts battering his legs, and shuts the door. heinz sighs theatrically -- he’s so closed off. really hurts a guy’s feelings. “ring me if you need anything,” he calls through the door.

in slippers heinz pads through the cold air of the penthouse to the kitchen. abovehead drifts of snow wool over the metal ribs of the glass overhang, and ice vines the windows in patterns of pocks and swirls. it’s desolate and pretty, will be prettier if the sun breaks through later and shines a prismatic display across their house. without the fireplace lit it’s hard to heat a space this big, but it’s hard to mind, anymore.

heinz heats a kettle of caff-boosted herbal tea, and assembles it with agave in one of perry’s mugs. he checks the sweetness with tiny sips.

in the bedroom perry has burrowed back under the blanket where their fading bodyheat still lingers, only his tail poking out by the pillows. that’s so cute. “you sleepy or just really cold?” he asks. he rubs a hand on the lump near what he thinks are the shoulders. a small muffled reply. that means both. heinz sets the tea down on perry’s side of the bed, and gets in next to him.

it’s a lucky thing platypuses don’t hibernate, though you wouldn’t know it from perry in the mornings. heinz considers it his privileged duty to help stave off the torpor pull. he doesn’t get too logy himself, even in the early hours, some innate quality of his brain chemistry -- especially not with perry close at hand, electrifying his blood. there’s never been a better stimulant.

perry rolls in automatically to the heatsink of his legs, pulling himself against the junction of belly and thigh, fists bunching in his shirt and then slackening open as sleep reclaims him. you’d never guess he’s wearing a personalized built-in fur blanket. heinz suspects he’s just addicted to heat, spoiled for it with so much of heinz’s body in so much bed.

and right now heinz’s body is in a less than neutral state -- through the fabric he feels his halfhard cock pressing into perry’s side, though if he noticed it he evidently didn’t care. that’s most mornings, heinz up and ready to go in every sense, perry lagging and clingy, an animate tease heinz would hate to be without.

once upon a time this predicament would’ve meant soulsearing terror, trapped with perry in a state of arousal. now it burns through heinz with a tight, pleasant tension, the kind perry must feel in his rope binds. he can’t get in trouble anymore, there’s no risk. he can’t lose perry anymore. he’s his.

he coasts a loving palm around the velvet back of perry’s tail, his waist -- perry’s still butt-up under the cover.

“i brought you a good cure for both,” heinz continues. “you should drink it before it gets cold.”

the bare skin is hot at the base of perry’s tail. heinz nudges his thumbpad into the little divot of his hole -- it’s so accessible to him right now, perry shouldn’t open himself up like this if he doesn’t want to be played with. perry’s little legs tense and then soften as heinz presses loops and circles into the soft pucker, like he decides he’s too tired to object. he’s in that half-submerged state, bobbing in the shoals of sleep as the tide pulls him further over a black abyss.

heinz wets a finger and presses back in, gentle, the swell of perry’s entrance bunched around the tip in a sucking kiss. he could push his way inside, play in him for a while, snare him back into reality by teasing a boner out of his sleeping cock. he’s thinking about it, breath stilled in his lungs, right as perry growls under the blanket and boffs him in the thigh.

“ow,” says heinz. perry rucks around in the blankets and emerges, finally, to give him a stare of disapproval. their first eye contact of the day -- it makes heinz smile uncontrollably. he’s such a sucker, he knows it. “i made a pot of your maté blend.”

perry huffs, stretching his arms out and climbing up to where heinz is sitting, against the jumble of pillows. he pulls perry into his lap -- perry’s hip sits heavy on his erection, but there’s nothing for it -- and bundles him up there, passes perry’s mug into his hands.

“i have this great idea that we stay in today, maybe make shepherd’s pie.” he grazes his hand across perry’s head. “watch the dumbest vintage sketch comedy we can find. you think you can handle that?”

perry nods, under the weight of heinz’s hand, and pulls the mug in for a quaff. the steam wafting up from it is spicy, floral. heinz travels his fingers around to perry’s clavicle. perry stills, then continues swallowing in leisurely gulps, while heinz feels the muscles of his throat contract. he has a fixation on this body, all the small pieces working together at odd shapes to his own, yet with resonance in the core purposes. he loves the way perry’s built, loves how compact, cute and capable of outperforming heinz at any task mental or otherwise. loves that he can hold him in his hands, span all his lengths, tug his limbs this way or that -- years removed from needing a mechanical pretense, robot hands binding perry or prying into his mouth. he used to envy his own traps.

perry snuggles back into heinz as he pulls off of the mug, for a breather. with a free hand he lazes the back of his fingers against heinz’s jutting cock, dragging them up the shaft and then back down, like he’s toying the armrest at a boring movie. a dark spot dews up through his sweats.

“or we could watch chips,” heinz says, saying nothing, fluff to fill the seconds, to buffer against perry’s touch. “you know, that old cop show that was playing at the pub last night, that you were asking me about?”

perry dips his head in a nod that’s as nonchalant as the drag of his fingers.

“it’s good. that whole decade was, in this astonishingly artless and bad way -- time was just slower, then,” heinz posits. “like molasses.”

like perry. he’s mastered the art of ignoring heinz so pointedly, a razor cutout around heinz’s comfort in perry’s orbit of concern, that it flips, exposes a humiliating wealth of care and comprehension. so many people have known heinz longer -- only perry has learned in short time the art of pulling one marionette string and watching heinz fall to a jumble beneath him.

“time’s definitely faster now -- every old person says that, perry the platypus, i know i know, i’m sorry. it’s true though. all the decades passing by, trends coming and going and coming back, internet speeding up. i guess you wouldn’t know, ‘cause you’re only like…” oh, it’s weird to go there with perry’s hand on his dick. he skips past it. “…man, there was so much 1970s tv landfill you totally missed out on, perry the platypus. i get vertigo thinking about it. i can’t believe monobrow thought it was good enough to leave your cultural education at all of the james bond movies. he could’ve at least thrown in an austin powers or two to lighten the mood.”

he looks down at perry, who’s looking self-satisfied in the bed of heinz’s lap -- a tragically good look on him.

“you’d better be grateful you have me, perry the platypus, to turn you into a worldly individual. who’s seen chips.”

he’s fucking squeezing and pinching the lip of his cock through the fabric, god it’s intolerable.

“f-finish your tea, perry the platypus.” heinz pushes the mug back up to perry’s bill, and perry snorts as he takes it in his paws. ugh, the stutter. he can tell perry lives for that, signs of his breakage. he tries so hard to hold it back.

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 59 | Part 60 | Part 61

Some sweet fluff for y’all ❤️

They walk back into the kitchen, hand-in-hand, to see Robin and Allison laughing. Robin’s sitting on the counter next to the stovetop where Alli’s stirring hot chocolate. When Robin glances at them, Allison turns around. “There you two are,” she says. “Sorry, Steve, I’m stealing your platonic soulmate.”

Steve’s jaw drops. “Robbie!”

“Sorry, Steve,” Robin giggles. “I can’t help it if she’s cooler than you.”

Steve groans dramatically. “My sister and my soulmate? Who’s left?”

Eddie gasps. “And what am I?”

Steve grins at him, squeezes their fingers together. “Okay, I guess I’ve got a pretty metal boyfriend.”

Robin and Allison exchange a look. “Boyfriends?” Alli asks, resolutely not looking at them. “You’ve had the talk, I take it?”

“We did,” Steve nods. Robin motions Steve over, so he goes to her. “What’s up?”

She grins and, quick as anything, flicks his forehead. “Proud of you, dingus.”

He rolls his eyes, flicks her arm back. “Love you too, Robbie.” He leans against the counter next to her and reaches across her to poke Alli’s arm. “You’re making hot chocolate?”

Alli flaps her hand at him with a grin. “Yes, you brat, go bother someone else.”

“My own sister,” Steve says, pretending to be shocked. Allison doesn’t move, doesn’t let her smile twitch any bigger, so Steve sighs and grins at Eddie. “C’mon, Eds, if we choose the movie now we can have it playing before they can stop us.”

Eddie grins and runs out with him, following him into the living room where he collapses in front of the entertainment center and begins to dig through tapes.

They find a movie and pop it in before Eddie turns to Steve. “D’you want me to go call those burgers in?”

“Oh,” Steve says, chuckling. “Probably, yeah.”

“M’kay. Whaddya want?”

Steve hums. “Probably just a normal cheeseburger. And one for El, maybe, I don’t know if she’s gonna wake up tonight but if she does I want to have food available for her.”

Eddie studies him for a minute, a small smile growing on his face.

Steve shifts. “What?”

“Nothing,” Eddie says, still staring at him. “‘S just, you’re a good brother.”

“Oh.” Steve ducks his head with a blush. “Thanks.”

Eddie tilts his head, smile growing wider. “You’re also really cute when you’re flustered.”

Steve grabs a pillow off the couch behind him and whacks Eddie with it. “Shuddup,” he laughs. “Go call for food.”

“I’m serious,” Eddie insists, “you are,” laughing and scrambling up when Steve moves to grab another pillow. “Okay, okay, I’m going!”

A minute later he hears Eddie’s voice in the kitchen, just low enough he can’t make out what he’s saying, and resulting laughter from Alli and Robin. He smiles as he moves to grab blankets for everyone, happy that everyone’s getting along.

A few minutes later, Alli calls his name. “Hot chocolate’s ready!”

He walks in to see Robin lowering a mug from her lips. “Steve,” she says, eyes closing, “I’ve achieved Nirvana.”

Steve snorts and ruffles her hair as he passes. “Good, right?” He grabs his own mug and lets out a happy hum after he tastes it, then cocks his head to the side. “Did you add something different, Al?”

“Ooh, good catch!” She says, eyes shining. “I added a little cinnamon. Is it good?”

“I think it’s the best you’ve ever made,” he answers honestly.

“Wayne’s gonna be so upset,” Eddie says, looking into his own mug.

Alli frowns. “Why?”

He grins at her. “Because up until now, his hot chocolate was unbeatable.”

Allison laughs and nudges Eddie’s elbow. “Just don’t tell him.”

Eddie snorts. “I’ll keep your secret until the day I die,” he says solemnly, placing a hand over his heart.

They talk and laugh for a few minutes until the doorbell rings. “Burgers!” Eddie exclaims, putting his mug down and dashing to the door.

Steve exchanges a look with the girls and follows, pulling out his wallet as he goes. “Eds,” he calls, “I’ve got it, I have a card from my parents.”

He pays as Eddie makes small talk with the delivery guy—someone who looks strangely like a younger Argyle—and soon enough they’re all in the living room with burgers and a movie, and Steve feels more content than he has in a long time.

He tosses his burger wrapper onto the coffee table and settles deeper into the couch with a content sigh.

Eddie leans over. “You alright?” He asks, murmuring so he’s not disturbing the girls.

Steve smiles and finds his hand, squeezing. “Yeah,” he answers softly. “For the first time in a long time.”

Eddie smiles, squeezes back, and leaves their hands tangled as he settles back into the couch, too.

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[copaline]

WIP Wednesday is here!

It's that time again! WIP Wednesday is upon us!

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The last chapter one-shot spinoff of Horror Vacui called The Dealer and the Oracle!

It's a fix it fic that answers the question "what if someone had rescued a young 1982 Model Ford as he was being tortured by Bill"! Here's a little snippet of the upcoming Final Chapter:

“Are you heading out, again?” Jheselbraum asked, interrupting Leaf’s morning ritual. “I am.” “Where are you going now?” “I have a pressing matter that needs my attention. I will be gone for a few days,” Leaf replied, not turning to face her as she stirred a teaspoon of vanilla sugar into her mug. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Ford’s condition. If you lift my restrictions I could get proper equipment from my dimension and-” “No.” “His connection with Bill is the only reason he is in danger. I know metal plating sounds extreme but it’s a small modification when compared to the benefits-” “Honestly, haven’t you modified him enough?” Leaf snapped, turning to face her with a scowl. Jheselbraum flinched but true to her name, she did not back down. “I don’t- I don’t believe that should be for you to decide. He should have a say.” “Jheselbraum…” Leaf pinched the bridge of her nose as though praying for patience. “He is not healing! Whatever is happening to him, whatever Bill did to him, he’s not healing from his injuries.” “Don’t you think I know that?” “Then you know that severing the connection is the only way to save him. He can’t keep living off of your drops of potential forever.” “For fuck’s sake, you are not putting a metal plate in that man’s skull!” “It’s the only way to block his influence!” “It’s the only way you know, and we've both seen the limitations of your visions. You are not to meddle-” “This is not your choice to make!” Jheselbraum’s fingers had curled into fists. “Ford should have the final say.” Leaf took a deep breath as her rage flared up. Outrage, annoyance and, yes, envy frothed like a cauldron about to boil over. She had to take a moment to get a handle on the surge of negative emotions or she was going to say something incredibly cruel. Did you give him that choice when you manipulated his timeline until he was up on that roof? You couldn’t even be bothered to soften his fall, but now, after eleven times, now you’ve decided to care about a variant’s free will? Now it suddenly matters what he wants! “Listen, you vapid little fool, I will be leaving until the end of the week, maybe more,” Leaf's voice became ice cold, and her murderous eyes bore into the taller woman, “If I come back and find that you have cracked open that poor man's head, I will personally gouge out every single-” Before she could finish her graphic threat, Fiddleford walked in looking mildly irritated. “If you ladies are gonna fight, can you keep it down? I could hear you all the way down the hall,” he eyed them both before walking between them towards the coffee pot. His meaning was clear. If he could hear them, so could Ford.

[shhtickerbook]

Iced Chocolate

chapter four

very quick messy sketch heh. chapter 4 is up under the cut and AO3 c:

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

Noodle had been up at dawn as usual. Unlike the other staff of the washhouse who got to have an extra hour of rest before beginning a shift, she had to be up just before sunrise to start deliveries of the previous day’s laundry. Whilst they had been able to slip away unnoticed during the day, Noodle still had to upkeep her morning deliveries regardless. Unless they somehow managed to train Tiddles to go out make deliveries himself.

After drudging through the show with the now empty cart, she tiredly dragged it behind her and through the doors into the washhouse. Noodle was surprised to see only Larry and Lottie at work, her other three friends visibly missing. Lottie smiled kindly at her arrival, holding up a steaming mug.

“Noodle! I made your usual for you.”

She presented the mug, which was filled with a hot malt drink, perfect for coming back in from the cold. Lottie always made her a fresh cup of something hot when she returned from deliveries. Noodle warmed her hands against the mug before taking a deep swig. The girl surveyed the room again, frowning.

“Where is everybody? And how’s Willy-?”

She’d been fretting all night about him, still unable to believe just how stupid he was in the first place to walk across thin ice. Even with the assurance from Abacus the night before, she couldn’t help but worry. Lottie laid a hand on the girls shoulder reassuringly, interrupting her spiral.

“Abacus and Piper are upstairs with him, now don’t panic. But Mr Wonka is a bit poorly, the icy water must’ve shot his immune system pretty hard. He had quite a high fever.”

Lottie explained, sitting down to rest her arm over Noodle. Who seemed more concerned for her friend, draining the rest of the mug quickly before rising up. The idea of someone such as Willy Wonka being sick just seemed completely outrageous, he was just the kind of person you couldn’t imagine being frail and unwell.

“I’m gonna go see him-“

Larry looked over at Lottie, who had forgotten one important detail about the chocolatiers current state of mind. The telephonist catching up to the girl before she raced up the stairs. Noodle had been made aware of Willys headspace situation beforehand, but only really once briefly. At first she hadn’t exactly understood it, finding it a rather strange. But after a long talk with Abacus, he managed to wrap her head around the whole situation.

“Noodle wait- before you head up. Willy is feeling a little younger than usual. Yknow like how we explained?”

Noodle paused for a moment upon hearing it, but then shrugged her shoulders. Noodle hadn’t been with Willy that often when he was “small” as they said. But from the sounds of things, he was probably feeling pretty sick right now and likely needed the support.

“That’s Okay, don’t worry”

She smiled before turning on heel to ascend the staircase. Determined to check on her closest friend and brother figure.

-

With the help from Piper yet again, Willy had been successfully delivered back up to his room. The bed had been completely stripped of its soiled sheets and replaced with fresh white linen. Poking its head from underneath the sheet, sat the orange knitted beak of Chester. Willy quickly picking him up to hold close, his glass eyes pressing an imprint onto his cheek.

Although the bath certainly made him feel fresher, his head still felt as if it was stuffed with cotton wool. Standing up just made him feel woozy. When climbing back into the bed, he noticed that a towel had been tucked over the mattress tactfully. At first feeling mortified at what it’s presence clearly implied, but realistically it was probably for the best. The combination of the cool silk pyjamas and clean sheets felt heavenly when he lay back down, Abacus folding the blanket over him once settled.

“There we go lad, much more comfortable i’d say”

Willy dozily nodded, realising he was feeling much smaller now that he was tucked in. Outside the weather had become even fiercer, the blizzard building stronger. The thin glass pane of his window rattling from the wind, Abacus sighing at the poor stability of everything in this terrible excuse for accommodation. Maybe Wonka’s mad ideas of his dream store could truly happen, get them all out of this dreaded place.

Willy smacked his lips for a moment, realising how thirsty he felt. His sore throat still left that foul taste in his mouth, and he was eager to get rid of it. Although in the time it had taken for him to be delivered back up into the room, his headspace had slipped even smaller. The words he wanted to say were there, but it felt as if they were far away, too distant to try and verbalise them.

So instead he weakly pointed towards the sink in his room, grunting a little bit to get attention.

“Hm? What’s the matter?”

Abacus queried, watching in mild amusement as the boy pointed towards the basin. Willy making a grabbing motion with his hands, miming holding something. Thankfully Abacus quickly connected the dots of his request.

“Oh you’re thirsty, of course”

The man got up to fill up a glass, before offering it to the boy. Yet again similarly to the night before, Willys hold on the glass was shaky as best. Willy held it in both hands as he took a sip, but with his quivering grasp the water spilled down the sides and onto his chest. The cold water feeling very uncomfortable as he very nearly dropped it all over himself.

“Oh dear, allow me”

So once more Abacus reached out to hold the cup in place, whilst Willy eagerly gulped down the liquid. Although it didn’t taste very good, as it had quite a strong metallic aftertaste to it. The accountant couldn’t help but chuckle at his expression as he drained the glass.

“I think we’re going to have to consider some alternatives to this lad, certainly a bit too wobbly for a glass just yet”

He spoke fondly, Willy feeling a little embarrassed. He wasn’t wrong though, all his motor functions seemed to be playing against him at the moment. So he just shrugged with a mumble, lying back into the bed once satisfied. Abacus gently laid a hand to his forehead to check his temperature, which was still pretty warm. Wonka certainly seemed very quiet, Abacus noticing how he was choosing to gesture and mumble rather than speak. As he was the person whom Willy was most often regressed around, Abacus had taken many a mental note on his different mannerisms depending on just how little he was feeling.

The combination of illness seemed to slip him even younger it seemed, as this was the first time he’d gone so nonverbal.

“Still a little hot, I may nip down into town and pick up some medicine if it doesn’t come down soon.”

Willy frowned at the idea, highly doubting the idea that this medicine would taste very good. A knock then arrived at the door, Willy lifting his head up from the pillow in interest, before thumping it back down in exhaustion.

“Hey it’s just me, can I come in?”

It was Noodle, her voice sounding kind but concerned. She’s bumped into Piper on the way up, who had filled her in on how crappy he was feeling right now. On the other side of the door, Abacus turned to Willy to check on him.

“Is that alright?”

Willy thought for a moment, he knew that Noodle was aware of his headspace now. But there still was that mild anxiety, Noodle was like his little sister. He kept her safe, looked out for her. He wasn’t sure if it was okay for that role to swap over, especially when she relied on him.

But after a long conversation with Abacus and himself, she assured him that it was okay. She wanted to be there for him. So Willy gave Abacus the nod, who called out to her.

“Come on in Noodle.”

The door creaked open and Noodle stepped inside, smiling fondly when seeing Willy tucked inside the bed. It was funny how his tall lanky frame managed to look so tiny in that bed. Willy tried to sit up straight in bed, although it made his head throb again. He tucked his stuffed toucan under the sheet self consciously, poor Chester giving a silent imaginary squawk of indignity.

Even though he felt dreadfully small, there was still that anxious part of him that wanted to seem big for Noodles sake. The girl in question just scoffed at his weak attempt to seem fine when it was extremely evident he wasn’t, perching on the end of his bed with a grin.

“Willy, you don’t need to pretend. I know you’re a baby right now”

Even Abacus couldn’t hold back a chuckle at the blunt comment, before attempting to cover it up with a very fake sounding cough. Willy looked up in complete outrage, scowling at them both rather adorably.

“Nuh a baby..”

He mumbled, still struggling with his words. But Noodles comment had pulled him from his silence, who just laughed in response. Finding his face truly priceless.

“Really? Coulda fooled me.”

Willy frowned at her teasing before giving her a small smile, it was relieving that she still treated him like usual. One thing he was worried about with Noodle knowing, was if it changed the way she saw him, treated him awkwardly or acted unnaturally. But it was clear she was still the same old snarky teenager he loved.

Abacus decided to take the opportunity to get up, deciding to allow the two some quality time whilst he attempted to sneak into town to pick up some things. Not before gently stroking back Willys damp curls tenderly.

“I best head out and pick you up some medicine young man, but I trust Noodle to keep you in check. I don’t suppose that Benz may come check up soon too.”

Willy nodded, only feeling a little apprehensive. Abacus had been caring for him all morning and him leaving did make him feel a little anxious. But when Noodle reached out and squeezed his hand, he couldn’t feel any safer.

“I’m usually the one keeping him out of trouble regardless Abacus, if it weren’t for me he’d be inside a tigers belly right now- or frozen in the bottom of that lake”

She pointed out knowingly, eyebrow raised cheekily, Wonkas cheeks burning scarlet. Nearly got eaten by a tiger actually. The accountant closed the door gently behind him as he left, knowing that Noodle would keep a good eye on him. Noodle scooted further up the bed, lifting a hand to feel his forehead. Abacus wasn’t wrong, he certainly had a temperature.

“You’re such an idiot y’know, you’re lucky you got away with just a bad fever. If you weren’t careful you could’ve added to the number of skeletons at the bottom of that lake.”

She wriggled her fingers in a spooky way, Willys eyes widening in alarm. Noodle having momentarily forgotten that he was feeling younger than usual. Probably not the best time to make jokes in that manner, backtracking her statement.

“Hey but uh- you’re okay! I was just joking about the skeletons- I think. You’re just lucky you had your sis Noodle looking after ya, as always.”

The word slipped from her mouth without realising, although the pair shared an obvious sibling-like connection with eachother. Neither of them had verbalised it yet, until of course that very moment. Noodle felt her cheeks burning, panicking incase she’d overstepped. Yet Willys eyes shone like stars at the sentence, weakly reaching out to hold her hand with a small grin.

“Sister…”

He mumbled , squeezing her hand in his. Noodle met his eyes and smiled too, there was something different about him like this. Even through his obvious illness, his eyes sparkled with a childlike optimism, innocence. For the first time she really understood and saw the younger headspace he was in.

“Yeah, but more like big sister i think at the moment. Figures though, how many times have I saved your butt now?”

She chuckled, wondering what on earth would’ve happened to the poor chocolatier if she hadn’t met him. She noticed how his eyelids were beginning to flutter, the boy yawning as he rubbed his eyes sleepily. He’d only been awake a few hours but was somehow just as exhausted as when he spent all day out in town selling chocolate.

“You need some sleep.”

She firmly stated, Willy feeling too weak to argue on the matter. Noodle pulled the blanket further up his frame, finding the small knitted Toucan sprawled out and tangled in the mattress.

“Cant forget this lil guy.”

She manipulated his floppy wings up and down to mimic flight as she handed him over. Willy accepting the little bird and tucking him under his chin like always did, breathing in his faint cocoa scent. As noodle lifted the blanket to tuck it over his shoulder, he turned over before she could fold it, holding it open.

“Stay?”

He looked up with the most manipulative puppy dog eyes, mot wanting to be alone right now. Especially with how little he was feeling. Noodle chuffed in amusement, biting her lip as she considered it. She’d been up since dawn and was in-fact feeling pretty beat herself.

In defeat with a shrug and a chuckle, she began to unlace her boots. Willy managing one of his signature grins, soon enough he felt Noodle join him under the sheets in the small single bed. But somehow they managed to fit inside comfortably, Noodle linking her free hand with his once tucked underneath the sheets. Both holding onto eachother for warmth in the chilly room.

Cuddled up beside her brother, Noodle couldn’t quite remember the last time she felt so safe, as did Willy. Both pseudosiblings embracing close before they soon both fell fast asleep in each other’s hold.