#they’re gonna need a crane to get him down at this point

[fisheadz]

Alex being carried by moths :3

Sunil and Trots are so done with mothman. Muir is highly amused. I would’ve drawn more moths, if I wasn’t running out of moth-ivation. :D!

Yeah I’ll see myself out :p.

[wonderjanga]

Marvel and the Street Kids

Billy likes helping people. Especially people who have, and are still going through something he’s also experienced. Hunger, brokeness, homelessness, if you’ve had to go through any of those things, Billy’s probably going to favor you more than most of the other people he’s saved. I mean, after all, he knows what all of that feels like. It’s why he helps out around soup kitchens a lot. It’s why he donates a hefty bit of his paycheck to homeless shelters and charities. It’s why he works to keep drugs off the streets, and crime at a low. He doesn’t want anyone, man, woman, or child to experience what he has. So, here’s a couple instances where he’s helping some homeless kids we know. (Btw this is the same AU as the Billy and the Robins post. In that post, basically Billy knew Dick and Jason when the two were both Robins) Roy: *in Speedy costume* “Hey Robin, who do you go to whenever you need advice?”

Robin!Jason: *in Robin costume* “Batman, why?”

Roy: “Right, cool. Cool, but what if you can’t ask him a certain question?”

Robin!Jason: “Oh, then I go to Marvel!”

Roy: “Marvel? Like Captain Marvel?”

Robin!Jason: “Yeah!”

Roy: “Huh. Uh… okay then.”

Robin!Jason: “Why do you ask?”

Roy: “No reason.”

Then, a little bit after Oliver kicked Roy out, Marvel was in Star City because Green Arrow needed him for whatever. As of now, Roy was walking down the street, upset because obviously. It’s been an about three days since he was kicked out by someone he considered his dad. All because he had a wee little problem with painkillers, and wee little problem with heroin. You’re supposed to help people who’re addicted. Especially if they’re family. You don’t just kick them out… right?

Roy: *walking down the sidewalk*

Marvel: *flying when he sees him*

Roy: *not paying attention*

Marvel: *flies down in front of him*

Roy: *bumps into Marvel* “Hey, watch where you’re goooo…wha…?” *slowly looks up until he’s craning his neck to look up at him*

Marvel: “Aren’t you GA’s boy?” *looks confused* “What’re you doing out this late?”

Roy: “What?”

Marvel: “Yeah! You’re uh…” *snaps fingers a couple times, thinking* “Speedy. Right?”

Roy: “Do I know you…?” *looks Marvel up in down*

Marvel: “Oh, my bad.” *holds hand out for handshake* “I’m Captain Marvel. I don’t think we’ve properly met.”

Roy: *doesn’t shake hand* “Well you already know me. I’m Speedy.” *shrugs*

They both talk. Marvel gets Roy to open up a bit after he gets the kid a hotdog. While they’re both sitting on a bench eating their respective hotdogs, (I saw the Marvel in civvies post and he’s wearing that exact fit. He magicked up the red sweater, the yellow hat, and the jeans so they could eat in peace) the archer remembers his conversation with Jason. So, he decides he might as well bite the bullet since his friend hyped up the guy so much.

Roy: “Hey… I gotta ask something.”

Marvel: “Hm?” *mid chew*

Roy: “You wouldn’t happen to know any good struggle meals, would you?”

Marvel: *finishes hotdog* “Yeah? I do. You wanna learn some?”

Roy: *hasn’t told Marvel about him being homeless now* “Yeah.” *takes bite of his hotdog*

Marvel: “Okie doki then.”

Roy: “You aren’t gonna ask why?”

Marvel: “It’s not really my place. Unless you want me to ask?”

Roy: “Nah, not really.” *finishes his hotdog*

Marvel: “Then I won’t.” *stands up* “Alright! To the nearest Chuck E. Cheese!” *points in a random direction*

Roy: *also stands up, raising a brow at him. Moves Marvel’s arm in the correct direction* “Why are we going to a Chuck E. Cheese?”

Marvel: “You’ll see. Cmon!” *starts jogging in the direction Roy corrected him to*

Roy: “Dude, wait up!”

When they’re now outside the Chuck E. Cheese…

Marvel: “Alright. So, here’s what you’re gon— Are you good?”

Roy: *out of breath because they just ran about three blocks* “Yeah… Yeah. I’m good. Just uh— gimme a sec.”

Marvel: *gives him until he feels better*

Roy: *looking better now* “So, what were you saying?”

Marvel: “Right, so what you’re gonna be doing is, see those tables?” *gestures to the booths through the Chuck E. Cheese’s windows. Some booths have leftover pizza and chicken wings in them*

Roy: *nods head*

Marvel: “Okay, great. So you’re gonna go steal all of that.”

Roy: *blinks at him before the most befuddled, bamboozled, puzzled expression crosses his face* “What?”

Marvel: “You’re going. To steal. All of that.” *gestures to the tables again*

Roy: *looks between Marvel and the tables* “Dude, I am not stealing scraps from the fucking Chuck E. Cheese tables.”

Marvel: “How else do you expect to get food then?”

Roy: “I don’t know! I expected you to teach me some cheap recipes or something stupid like that!”

Marvel: “Oooooooh, so you don't want struggle meals then.”

Roy: “No, I do. A struggle meal is something like a ketchup sandwich. This is way worse than a goddamn struggle meal.”

Marvel: “You and I clearly have different definitions of a struggle meal, but okay. Also, chill with the cursing, man. I can teach you something cheap if that’s what you actually want.”

Roy: “Okay then, thank you, because the day I need to steal scraps from a Chuck E. Cheese, is the day I lose my dignity.”

Marvel: “Yeah, yeah, come on. Let’s just go to a grocery store.”

Then, there was Cassandra Cain. She was homeless for about nine years before she went to Gotham when she was seventeen. During her homelessness, she never really stayed in one place. One of the places she ended up in was Fawcett when she was about sixteen. There, she met Captain Marvel. She man saved her from a mugging she was about to take care of herself.

Marvel: *staring at her because Solomon’s whispering about how she’s worthy*

Cassandra: *staring right back, picking up confusion in the man’s body language*

Marvel: “What’s your name, miss?”

Cassandra: *stares blankly at him* (Guys, this is before she learned most stuff. So she has no idea what he’s saying and has to go off of body language alone.)

Marvel: *stares back* “Can… You not speak?”

Cassandra: *continues to stare blankly*

Marvel: *sighs* “I’ll take that as a no.” *reaches into pocket dimension*

Cassandra: *startled when she sees half the man’s arm disappear*

Marvel: *pulls out some money and puts it in one of her hands* “Please take this. I can tell you don’t have a home. Starving isn’t fun.”

Cassandra: *sees understanding in Marvel’s body language and looks at the money in her hand then back at Marvel*

Marvel: *hovering off the ground* “Stay safe, miss.” *gives her a little wave before flying off*

Cassandra: *watches him go*

They meet more times after that, and soon, Cassandra ends up being one of the many homeless kids he checks up on. Cassandra comes to enjoy the man’s presence, and Marvel comes to enjoy hers as well. She eventually gets a really good read on the man after a while and he gets a good read on her. She even mimicked the man’s bodily expressions sometimes with a nod here, or a shrug there. Marvel even got to learn her name after she gestured to one of the other kids who had a cast on their leg. He guessed a couple times before he got her actual name. They ended up having to charade it, Beetlejuice style.

Marvel: “Cassie?”

Cassandra: *makes a so-so motion with her hand* (something she picked up from the man) *makes a motion that was supposed to convey it was longer*

Marvel: “Longer…?” *pauses to think for a solid 20 seconds* “Cassandra?”

Cassandra: *gives him a thumbs up* (another gesture learned from him)

Marvel: “Wait that’s actually your name?” *body language shows he’s happy he got it right*

Cassandra: *blankly stares* (Again guys, she has no clue what he’s saying)

Marvel: “Oh, this is awesome!” *body language shows he gets happier. He starts yapping about stuff*

Cassandra: *listens even though it’s all gibberish to her*

Cass liked that she could depend on someone. The man was… sunny. That’s the best way to put it. She liked listening to him talk. He never expected an answer or response. She liked that. She also liked that when she did try to respond, he was patient and did his best to try and understand her. Their friendship (sort of father daughter thing) continued until she was almost seventeen, and soon, things came to an end.

Marvel: “You’re leaving?” *body language shows concern*

Cassandra: *saw him look to the backpack stuffed with things for the trip to the next town. she nods her head*

Marvel: *body language shows disappointment for a moment before acceptance* “I see.” *gives her a warm smile* “It was nice knowing you, Cassandra.” *gives her same little wave he gave her when they first met* “I hope we get to meet again.”

Cassandra: *waves back unlike the first time they met and leaves*

They actually met again, unbeknownst to Marvel, when he was in Gotham to help Bruce with something. They got paired up together to go and do something for the mission.

Marvel: “You know, you remind me of this girl I knew from a while ago.”

Cassandra: *silence and a stare because she knows he’s talking about herself*

Marvel: “Yeah, she would’ve done that same blank stare too.”

Cassandra: *wondering how he knows she’s pulling the same face as herself*

Some goons decided to interrupt them before she could figure that out.

[nohoney]

us series! reader has gotten a little lazy at riding, so keigo and touya decide to fix that (*/ω＼)

“You’re spoiling her, you know?” Touya points out one day as he and Keigo grocery shop together, “She’s getting all princess-y ‘cause of you.”

Amber eyes gloss over the selection of bread in the aisle, looking for a particular brioche that he’s been craving for the last week. The bread is found and placed into the cart, Keigo walking ahead for the next thing on the list they need to get. “I don’t know what you mean. I think we’ve been waiting hand and foot for her this entire time.”

It’s not really unusual for you to be used to the princess treatment, not really needing to get up if you need or want something for yourself.

“That’s not what I meant.” Touya sighs as he pushes the cart and lets the blond decide what’s needed for their purchases. “She’s not riding dick like she used to. It’s because when she’s on top of you, you’re doing all the work from the bottom. I’ve noticed it the last three times.”

“Okay, and? What does how we fuck have to do with how you fuck?” Keigo glances back at Touya briefly as he continues to walk towards the next aisle, “If she’s getting lazy with you, you know what to do with her.”

Opting to fuck around, the cart gets pushed into Keigo’s backside and the metal is noisy from the impact.

“You need to do it, you’re the one making her lazy when she’s on top.”

“It should occur to you that I fuck her the way I do is because I enjoy it. I like putting in the work.” Keigo points out, dropping the subject and flipping off Touya for being a menace with the cart. He really doesn't think anything of what was brought up and continues on normally.

But the point comes up in his mind the next time Keigo has sex with you. How he ended up just fucking you from the bottom, keeping your body pressed down to him and thrusting up into your pussy that he just can’t get enough of. And there’s no fight from you to try to take control of riding him. You used to sometimes at least attempt to be the one to take reigns and he’d entertain it before fucking you the way he wants.

He cums in you, your body relaxing against his and it’s like you melted. Keigo moves you like a rag doll, rolling you over to lie back on the bed so that he can fetch a towel and clean himself up. “So good Keigo… so good…” you mutter, leaning back into the pillows and reaching for your phone to start scrolling on your social media.

Not even a thank you for the dicking down you just got—Touya was right.

You are getting spoiled.

Keigo is a bit more gracious when he’s proven to be in the wrong. He goes to Touya says the magic words, “You were right, she doesn’t put in the work anymore.”

Blue eyes are full of mirth when Keigo comes with the admission, already knowing exactly what they’re going to do so that you learn a little lesson. Not that he doesn’t like spoiling you but even you are expected to put in a little bit of effort here and there. And if you’re not gonna do it willingly—

They’re just gonna make you.

“Get on Kei’s dick baby, wanna see you with him.” Touya mutters against your lips, letting you taste your own pussy after he had eaten you out. You’re eager for more kisses from him, almost too lost in the affection before he spanks your ass and directs to the blond laying back on the bed.

Crawling over to Keigo, you hold his cock as you slowly slip it in you. You let out a small gasp, the stretch of him entering you is always pleasant and when he’s fully sheathed inside, you get a dreamy smile on your face. You start to lean down to him, having gotten used to Keigo hugging you back when you move in that motion and you expect him to put in the work of fucking you that he’s been doing the last few times.

So you’re surprised when you’re pushed back by Keigo and surprised again when Touya grabs a fistful of your hair and cranes your neck back. You whimper, being unable to speak a word from the position your first boyfriend has got you in. Only little sounds are the best you can muster as you wonder what’s in store for you.

“Ride him, you’re putting in the work today.” Touya tells you, releasing your hair and spanks your ass hard that makes you yelp. It wasn’t a playful smack either—it was meant to hurt you a little.

Keigo is usually nice when Touya is mean. A comforting hand smooths over the area you were struck, his touch is soft and his gaze is soft too when you look down at him. His hand lifts and strikes you in the same spot Touya did with just as much strength.

“Agh! Hurts!” You whimper and you look down expecting to get a bit of mercy from the blond, but he’s shaking his head and tutting at you.

“You heard him baby, ride me. You can do it, yeah?” Keigo’s voice is sweet, gentle, but the hand smoothing over the spot you were hit has you a little tense. “Yeah baby bird?”

They’re being mean to you together.

You hadn’t even realized how lazy you had been lately when it comes to being on top. Keigo was having fun being the one to do it all for you whenever he had you like this so you had gotten used to it. So you think that acting a little pitiful will earn you some kindness, maybe even make the boys feel bad.

Touya doesn’t have it with you, making you assume the position as he tells you firmly, “Ride him.”

With your hands placed on either side of Keigo’s head, you clench your hands and groan unhappily. You know better than to argue back though. So you move your hips, fucking Keigo’s cock into you for the first time in a while. It feels good, it does feel good, but you don’t have the stamina that you used to.

“Tired, ‘m tired!” you whine, “Please Kei, please just do it for me?”

Touya wasted no time in spanking you again, harder than he did last time. Keigo delivers one too that’s just as mean.

“I said ride him, that was barely even five minutes.” Touya admonishes you, “C’mon brat.”

“I can’t!” you whine petulantly and pout back at Touya.

“You don’t ride him, I’m gonna lift you off his cock and you’re not gonna get fucked by either of us until you actually put in some effort.”

The threat actually makes you mildly panic, looking down at Keigo to see if they actually mean it. They wouldn’t do that, right? They’re not just gonna hold out on you all because of this, right? Right?

Keigo thrusts up once, reaching one hand up to cup your jaw in his hand. He holds you gently but firmly, his voice reflecting the tender way he touches you, “Ride me, you can do it.”

You hesitate, a noncommittal sound hummed out.

This time Keigo is the first to hit your ass and then he gestures to Touya. “Alright, take her off me. She doesn’t want to.”

You feel Touya’s hands go underneath your armpits as if you to lift you up, but you shake him off and hastily speak out, “No! No, I’ll ride Keigo! I’m sorry, I will!” So you assume the position again, moving your hips in the motion that you know how to do but no longer have the stamina for. And what’s worse is that they’re not praising you—they’re still bullying you!

“You’re such a brat, fucking ungrateful. Keigo does all the work for you all the time and that’s the best you can give him?” Touya sneers at you.

“It hasn’t even been that long and you’re that tired already? Everything I do for you and you can’t at least give me half the effort. Lazy little slut.” Keigo sighs in disappointment.

Tears prick at your eyes, sniffling a little but you know better than to stop. Even the grinding you’re doing is at least something but it’s just not enough. You want Keigo to hold you down and use you. You want him to do what he does best and just fuck you until you’re stupid.

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry!” You whine. So you muster up what little energy you have and do your best to ride Keigo until he cums. It doesn’t matter if you do at this point. What’s important is focusing everything on him. He’s good to you, so so good to you and he deserves to sit back and relax while you show him that you’re willing to meet him halfway.

Your thighs burns as you bounce up and down on Keigo’s cock, your breath is shaky and you want to collapse. But you can’t stop until he’s happy, not until he decides that you’ve done a good enough job. No asking for help from Touya either—you know that this was his idea to do this to you.

“You want Keigo to cum in you, doll?” Touya turns your head to look at him, “Think you deserve it?”

You have to be careful with your words. If you eagerly agree, they could still bully you for being desperate and still only thinking of yourself.

“Whatever Keigo wants. I want to do what he wants.” you manage to speak out and hope it was the right thing to say.

Keigo seems to be satisfied with your words. “Then make me cum.”

It disappoints you a little that he won’t take over but you should know better because Touya is here as well. Maybe if it was just the two of you, Keigo wouldn’t have been as influenced to be as mean. But still you love them and a small part of you loves when they are mean. It can be frustrating when you’re ganged up on but you also know what kind of treatment you’ll get afterwards.

This will be worth it.

You ride Keigo as hard as you can, concentrating with all the effort you have left to focus on him. Touya’s at least kind enough to play with your clit, giving you a little something in return for saying and doing the right thing.

Keigo’s eyebrows start to knit together and you recognize the expression he makes, noticing how he grabs at your hips and his body starts to flex. His muscles and his chest, they get more defined as his body tenses underneath you. So with the last shreds of strength you have left, you fuck Keigo until his eyes start to roll back and he’s gasping for breath.

Then you remember how exhilarating it is to be on top and to watch him unfold beneath you. Even when you know he’s finished cumming inside you, now all of a sudden you just can’t stop. Keigo is the one babbling as you overstimulate him, nonsensical words that can barely be strung together to form a sentence.

“Good girl.”

Touya is the one to lift you off Keigo, immediately setting you onto the bed and pushing your legs open. You and Keigo are catching your breath together, whimpering when Touya shoves two fingers into your pussy. The pads of his fingers stroke inside you and your body writhes a little, but you know to not try to push Touya away.

He likes this.

He’s obsessed with you having Keigo’s cum in you.

“Good girl,” he repeats after he withdraws his fingers and licks them clean, “what do you say?”

“Thank you for teaching me a lesson.” You whisper and you’re relieved when you’re rewarded with a forehead kiss. This is the best part of your boys being mean to you—they’ll be so nice afterwards. They coddle and adore you, shoving their tongues into your mouth for sloppy kisses before doting on you.

Keigo holds you in his arms, muttering little praises along the crown of your hairline.

Touya massages your legs and thighs, his hands comforting and relaxing. But he doesn’t let you forget the lesson he put on you today, “Next time when either of us say that you need to put in some work, what do you?”

“I’ll listen,” you answer, “I won’t complain.”

“Good.”

[smilingformoney]

Rickmas Day 11: Out of Reach

Character: Lionel Shabandar (Gambit), Eli Michaelson (Nobel Son) Relationship(s): Lionel/Reader, Eli/Reader Warnings: smut, teasing, rope play

Based on Sharing

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

“Please!”

Eli just laughed at you as he brought his cock tauntingly close to your face, but Lionel’s strong grip in your hair stopped you from moving.

“Is there something you want, slut?” Eli teased.

“Yes, I want your cock! Please, Daddy, please, need to taste you!”

“Hm, I’m sure you’d like that. But sluts don’t get to choose what they want. They get what they’re given.”

You whined in frustration as Eli pumped his cock in his hand, his tip so close you could almost taste it… but as soon as you reached your tongue out to try and taste him, Lionel yanked your head backwards.

“I believe the rule was no touching,” he said, his voice a purr in your ear as he knelt down behind you.

You were tied to a chair, ropes so tight you couldn’t move, and Lionel had a firm grip on your hair, keeping your head exactly where he wanted it to be. Eli was standing in front of you, not quite straddling you, not quite shoving his cock in your face, refusing to let you touch him.

All because you’d tried to tease them both with a little show of your newest lingerie, and when Eli had reached out to feel the new bra in his hand, you’d jumped out of the way and pronounced, “no touching.”

You were meant to be teasing them. Instead, Lionel had produced some rope and tied you to a chair, telling you firmly that you had to be reminded who was in control here.

They both spent an arduous amount of time exploring your scantily clad body, hands hovering mere millimetres away from your skin as they admired your new lingerie without touching you, just as you’d asked.

When you were so desperate for their touch that you were in tears begging for them, Eli pulled out his cock and started jerking off right in front of you, refusing to let you help him.

“S’not fair!” you whined. “Don’t you wanna cum in my mouth, Daddy?”

“Oh, I will,” Eli promised you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You’ll take every drop of my cum, and I won’t even have to touch you.”

You tried to wriggle in your seat as you practically drooled at the sight of Eli’s cock pointing right at you as he rubbed himself to orgasm. You didn’t even notice yourself trying to lean forward again, but you must have, because Lionel jerked your head back again.

“Be a good girl, [Y/n],” he said firmly. “If you’re good and you take Eli’s cum without trying to disobey again, we’ll let you go and we’ll all forget about this silly no touching rule. Can you do that for us?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl.”

“Mouth open, slut,” Eli growled. “Nice and wide. You gonna catch it all for me?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

You opened your mouth obediently, your tongue out too, ready to catch every drop Eli expelled for you.

“Mmm, that’s it… such a desperate, hungry slut… you want my cum, sweetheart? You’ll - fucking - get it - ughh!”

Eli cried out as he came, his seed spurting into your mouth and across your tongue, and you lapped it up happily, glad to finally have something from him.

“Mmm, you taste so good, Daddy!” you said with a grin after swallowing, proud of yourself to have caught it all just as he asked.

Eli looked at your face appraisingly, then with his thumb, he wiped away a single drop of cum that had dripped down your cheek. You happily took his thumb into your mouth and wiped it clean, humming happily as you did.

“Let’s get these ropes off you, then,” Eli said. “I want you free to writhe around as I lick your cunt.”

You squealed happily as he bent down to untie your ropes. Lionel, meanwhile, released his grip on your hair, and gave your scalp a gentle rub to calm it down after so much pulling.

“You’ll let me suck your cock, right, Daddy?” you pleaded with Lionel, craning your neck back to look up at him.

He smirked. “Oh, I’m counting on it, darling.”

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Police Dog: Bigby Wolf x Fem!Cop!Reader - Chapter 2

Contains: Dead body

It was like he knew what your eyes zeroed in on. He cleared his throat awkwardly as he scratched at the back of his neck before he cleaned off his desk a bit. He started with the large ashtray, emptying it into another trash can he had squirled away underneath his desk.

“Yeah, I’m old,” he seemingly joked. He was trying to lighten the mood as he scooted papers back into their proper files, clearing off a good piece of his desk so you both could go back and forth filling out paperwork. “We’ve been here since about the same time as the witch trials in Salem. I was made the sheriff by King Cole, especially when most of us saw refuge here in New York.”

“Why New York City of all places? You really didn’t have much privacy back then and you surely don’t now. Have you seen places like Bensenhurst? Everyone knows everyone.”

Bigby shrugged his broad shoulders before he rolled them back, his coat falling down his brawny arms. He tossed the coat carelessly onto the back of his rolling chair that had seen better days.

“It’s where those of us who could get glamorous stayed. Most of us are at The Farm upstate, not like you could go see it. It’s hidden with magic out in some field in the middle of nowhere.”

“Who all lives here? Or at least in this building?”

Bigby sat down on his chair and produced two files, both weren’t filled with a lot of paperwork. He motioned you to sit down in the rinky wooden chair you stood next to.

“A lot of the more ‘popular ones’ Mundies care for.”

“Does that mean you too?”

Bigby stopped scribbling to look at you. He was almost shocked that you said that, the pen nearly falling from him fingers. He cleared his throat and continued writing.

“I guess so. But, to answer your question; Snow, Beauty and Beast, Boy Blue- Ichabod Crane used to live here before he went missing almost forty years ago.” You didn’t miss how Bigby’s brows furrowed in annoyance at bringing up the last name. You didn’t push for more. “But yeah, it’s mostly royalty. I only live here because I work here, if I didn’t, I don’t know where I’d be. Definitely not The Farm.”

“Why’s that?”

You flinched as you asked the question and Bigby noticed. If he cared, he didn’t show it.

“A lot of the Fables at The Farm aren’t fans of… wolves- well, me at least. I did some fucked up shit before we came here.”

“So did a lot of others, but they’re probably treated better, right?” He was taken back by that statement, the pen actually falling out of his hand this time. You really hit the head of the nail straight on. “I’m sorry, I-”

“No,” he cut you off, “no, it’s fine. You’re right.”

“Do they all treat you horribly? Or is it because you’re law enforcement?”

“Both. Honestly, I’m not sure which one people are more upset about anymore.”

Bigby looked over the papers and handed you a pen, pointing at where to sign for him. It was all mostly just liability paperwork with the occasional release and contact forms. One was even a form for medical, that you would temporarily be seen by a Fable doctor called Swineheart. You handed back the files and pen to Bigby when you had finished. He was about to say something when he perked up, opening a drawer from his desk before pulling out a small gun case.

“Here, you’re gonna need this.” He pulled out a standard-issued nine-millimeter handgun that NYPD had you use during training. Bigby handed you the weapon by the nose, but as you eyed his person, you noticed he didn’t have a holster. “I don’t need it, but you will.”

You stood and thanked him softly, taking the gun from him and holstering it at your hip. As Bigby turned to properly file your paperwork, his shoulders squared and he stood up straight. There was a look of annoyance plastered on his face as he eyed his door behind you.

“You okay?”

“Not for long.”

You heard footsteps echoing down the hall, fast and heavy and set in a long stride. Whoever it was, you could sense that they were royally pissed off. You stepped out of the way just in time as the door to Bigby’s office swung open, the door hitting the doorstop and bouncing, revealing a well-dressed man with a sneer on his face. He reeked of expensive cologne, his clothes looked as though they cost more than what you made in a year, his glasses alone must be worth just as much as a car with the precious stones littering down the arms.

“Oh, you’re in. Does nobody want to come to work today?” the man huffed. “Do you have any idea as to where that blasted woman went off to?”

“No, I don’t. And why do you care? We’ve both been busy with trying to keep this place from going under.”

“And what fine work you do, sheriff.” The man quickly noticed you standing off to the side. Just the way he looked you up and down made you want to seize up and vomit. “And I see you have company.”

‘What the fuck crawled up this guy's ass?’ you wondered as he once again looked you up and down.

The stranger snorted, the laughed, his voice like a cackle you would hear from some awful B-movie.

“So, Snow was serious about this? Bringing in a Mundy cop to help keep the peace? How cute, with the badge and her little gun and all.”

Bigby stood up abruptly from his chair and rounded his desk. Although Bigby was shorter, you knew he could absolutely take the stranger down a level or two without so much as a thought.

“Bluebeard, if Snow shows up, I’ll send her your way. In the meantime- get out.”

“Fine, fine,” Bluebeard feigned innocence, even holding his hands up as a surrender. He turned as started for the door but stopped and glanced at you once again. “Oh, and Officer Mundy, I’d be careful with him. He doesn’t have a good track record with young women.”

And with that, he stalked off down the hallway, his expensive shoes creaking as he hummed a sort of shanty under his breath. You heard Bigby grumble out something under his breath as the phone on his desk suddenly screamed awake. It was one of the old rotary phones where you could take the cradle off the receiver and ignore the calls all day long. Bigby picked up the cradle and placed it to his ear.

“Sheriff’s office,” he grunted out. After about a minute or so, his entire body seized up before he quickly scribbled something down on a post-it note. “We’ll be right over.”

He slapped the cradle back into the receiver before he turning around. He looked worried, it didn’t sit well on his rugged face.

“Everything okay?”

Bigby snatched his coat off the chair and slipped his arms through, ushering you out of the office before he closed the door behind you both. You followed him down the hallway, hot on his heels.

“How did your first day start on the force?”

“Well the world didn’t end, so… It was honestly pretty boring. Why? What rabbit hole am I about to jump down?”

“A pretty fucked up one.”

You both walked up the stairs to another apartment complex, but this one was better than The Woodlands by far. It was properly gated and the front doors couldn’t be opened properly from the outside without a keycard. You both walked up the marble steps, both sides adorned by the pure white stone lions that sat at every step.

There was a woman at the door already, elderly and terrified. She stumbled with opening both the main door and the iron screen door, her breathing uneven and her hair was messy and sticking out all over the place from her bun.

“Sheriff, please, come in!” she pleaded.

Her eyes were wide and frantic, bloodshot as though she also had not seen sleep in a few days. Dried tear tracks laid sticky on her cheeks, her skin was pallid and white like she had just witnessed a haunting.

“Who discovered them?” Bigby passed the door and into the elegant foyer.

You followed quickly behind him, the old lady making sure to lock both doors behind you before she hurried you both over to the elevator. With a press of a button, the metal cage swiftly and smoothly ascended, cutting across the floors like a hot knife in butter unlike the elevator in The Woodlands.

“I did, sheriff. I heard an awful noise, and then it sounded like something heavy fell to the ground, and then another, and then silence. I thought nothing of it until this afternoon when I smelled something horrible. I was lucky I still had a spare key from when I would water their plants when they left on holiday, or else the smell would’ve gotten worse.”

Your throat tightened as you swallowed thickly. Bigby told you on the way down the elevator back at The Woodlands, but not much. ‘The walls are paper thin. We don’t need anybody causing a panic before we know more,’ he told you as you left the building.

Bodies. An entire family's worth of bodies the neighbor had found in the apartment.

“And the maid? Where is she?”

I haven’t seen Nana in a few days- Oh, you don’t think she’s been killed, do you?”

The old lady clutched nervously at her pearl necklace, twisting the strand around her fingers as she kept reliving the sight of her dead neighbors, her fellow Fables she’d lived with for centuries.

The elevator opened and the old lady led you down the hall as quickly as she could. You saw Bigby wince as he stepped off of the elevator. You knew he could smell it, you couldn’t imagine how awful it must be with a sense of smell like that.

Eventually, you came to a door at the end of the hallway. The elderly lady slid out the key from her pocket and opened the door for you both. Bigby stepped past her but the old lady gave you an odd look.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” she asked you in almost an accusatory tone.

“She’s with me,” Bigby interrupted, turning to face you both.

Just those words alone set a fire ablaze somewhere deep in your gut. Why? Why did that make you feel like this? Hell, he’s technically your boss - let alone a fairy tale creature that’s hundreds of years old.

The neighbor gave you a look as you pushed past her and stepped into the apartment. You would’ve said it was grand and beautiful had it not have been trashed with dried blood dripping all over the apartment. The long couch had been flipped over, the curtains had been yanked off the rod in the bay window, potted plants broken with the contents spilled across the very expensive rug.

Bigby’s eyes zeroed in on something as he walked right up to it as you followed right on his heels. You saw what it was between his long legs: The body of a woman on the not-so-clean tile of the kitchen floor.

[raayllum]

they said there’s gonna be pirates in s5 (during an emotionally rough episode seemingly for many of the characters) and this is all my brain could think about so here it is

The boat sways just enough Callum can’t quite rest his head against the poll they’re tied to, back to back, without knocking his head against it every other beat. And he needs to knock his head against something. He needs to figure something out.

When the tidebound pirates had boarded their ship, Callum had never expected this—their boat half sinking in the middle of the Sea of the Castout, Ez loading Soren up into a dinghy. Callum could’ve flown off at any point to join them, but Rayla hadn’t jumped yet, battling off three pirates at once with her blades, and he couldn’t just leave her—

So now they’re here in the brig, bound with rope to one of the ship’s below deck supports, the tips of his fingers brushing hers. They took his staff but don’t know he still has magic, so Callum knows it’s a useful trick up his sleeve when it comes to getting out of this alive—if he could just get his hand free enough to draw a rune. They took Rayla’s blades, too, folded them up and carried up on deck and she hasn’t stopped sniffling since she was pinned and had her pockets raided.

It’s not like her, but he supposes it’s been a pretty terrible day and her stomach must be hell right now with the waves.

“Rayla,” he says, because surely she has to know more about knots than he does. “Do you think if we both pull at the same time we can snap the rope?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she snaps, her voice hoarse.

His eyebrows raise. “Of course it matters. We have to get out of here—”

“And then what?”

“I can fly us out of here if—”

“No, Callum, I can’t go.”

He stops, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the side of her face. “What do you mean you can’t go?”

“They took my blades.”

“And probably put it in the same place as my staff.” If they can get out, they probably afford to sneak around the ship a bit and grab their things without being spotted. That, and as much as those objects are important, if they were willing to give them up to Rex Igneous, they can give them up now to get away. Even the cube the captain had taken from them. None of them are worth their lives.

But Rayla shakes her head hard enough he can see tear-stains glistening on her cheeks. “No—the c-captain took the coins and put them in her pocket—”

He remembers a flash of gold, but Ezran has a treasury full of the stuff. “We can get you more gold,” he says, wondering if the sea sickness is what’s making her irrational. 

“It’s not gold,” Rayla says, her breath hitching with a sob. “They’re my parents.”

“What?”

“Viren took them and he p-put them in coins, and I don’t know how much but they’re alive, and I lost them—I can’t leave without them—”

Callum’s mind races. He thought she’d seemed melancholic, distracted, since they came back from Umber Tor, not unlike the way she’d been with Ethari’s pendant in the Midnight Desert, but... “We’ll get them back.”

“How?” she says miserably. “There’s too many pirates. We can’t fight them all.”

“We won’t have to,” he says. “I’ll think of a plan. But we have to get these ropes undone first.” His fingers press into the tips of hers and he hears her inhale. “I promise, Rayla. But we have to work together.”

Together. His own throat dries unexpectedly. It’s been a long time—and she didn’t tell him about the coins till now, or indeed how long she’s had them, but—he forces that down. She needs him right now. And he needs her.

Rayla swallows hard. “Okay,” she says, and he feels the ropes cut into his skin as she begins to strain. “My wrists are thinner, so I’ll try to slip out, and if you can make ice, you can use it to saw through your own.” 

Aspiro frigis. Callum murmurs the rune under his breath, feeling the tip of his finger freeze and form the tiniest of icicles, and Rayla hooks one loop of her bindings over it to pull. Then she stumbles free, tripping over her knees and rounds back for him. He does his best to ignore the way her warm breath fans against the back of his neck, half covered by his scarf as she sets him free.

Callum rubs his wrists as they face each other before he hugs her on instinct, and he thinks Rayla melts into him on the same one, too. 

“I promise,” he repeats when they draw away, her eyes still glassy and vulnerable, but hopeful now too. They can do this, just the two of them, a plan already forming in his mind. He takes her by the hand. “Now come on.” 

[scribble-dee-doo]

WAHOO day two! The Doctor needs a little adjustment to daily life but he's having a good time <3 679 words, he/they pronouns for the doctor, and donna having a stressed moment when faced with a space gadget right after waking up! @doctordonnaweek

noble/party

“Doctor.”

The Doctor looks up from Rose’s ten-minute explanation of the pros and cons of flanking, craned over his own shoulder, to properly see the extent of the exasperation showing on Donna’s face. It’s extensive. She’s leaning on the doorframe into the kitchen with her arms crossed. Time to step carefully.

“Yyyyyyyyyyes?”

She uncrosses her arms to let something dangle from her forefinger, one eyebrow raised. They leverage themself off the floor a little to squint at it…

“The…toaster?”

Donna pushes off the doorframe so she can come over and gesture the toaster in his face, almost clipping his nose.

“Does this look,” she asks, “like a toaster? Like something that can contain bread? It’s just –” She waggles it again, clawing the air for words. “It’s just! It’s a little squiggle!”

“Oh, it’s very simple –” he says, reaching up to take it and explain that it’s actually his personal design of a clever little breakfast invention called a toasting wand, but she yanks it out of his reach. 

“Simple! I’ll tell you what’s simple! Leaving my bloody toaster alone on the morning that I have to get the house ready for a birthday party!”

Ah, this is not about the wonderful new updated toaster he came up with (it toasts both sides to perfection and adds the toppings in one swipe!), it’s another Doing Things When Things Are Happening. The Doctor’s life has almost always been doing things when things are happening, usually in layers deeper than Earth’s fossil record, but they’re trying to slow down for the sake of this “living life one day at a time” business and to avoid Donna strangling them with their own necktie.

“You know I’ve been tearing my hair out about where to put all of Grandad’s mates with the weather like it is!” Donna starts, and he can tell she’s just winding up. “I was up half the night wondering if I should just bung them all into the TARDIS, or put them in the attic, and you certainly haven’t been helpful with those decorations that almost buried the garden.”

The Doctor pops up to get his feet underneath himself, ruffles Rose’s hair in vengeance for her laughing at his plight, and hops upright.

“I just wanted to get my coffee and have my toast while I’m thinking where we’re gonna find space for everyone to eat so the wheelchairs can still get around, and you know what I find when I get to the kitchen? No toaster! Just this…this…gadget!”

Almost losing an eye to Donna’s gesturing – he should maybe add a few extra safety features, he wasn’t expecting it to be pointed at people – gives him the chance to fold his hands around hers. She’s mutinous, but lets them take the toasting wand. The wand goes in their pocket, their hands on Donna’s shoulders. Oh, she’s all kinds of tense.

“Donna,” he says, taking off his glasses to properly look her in the eye, “I’m sorry I changed the kitchen around when you’re so busy. I’ve already made coffee and everything. Let me make you a cup, ey?”

Under their hands, Donna softens, then slumps, leaning forward until her forehead bumps their chest. He folds her up in a hug, and they both heave a big sigh.

“Cold milk?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she mumbles into his collar. “Sorry.”

“Mm. And maybe I can rig something up for space?”

She chuckles. “What, are you gonna make my sitting room bigger on the inside?”

He leans back, looking down his nose at her cheeky grin.

“Are you doubting my abilities?” he demands.

Donna tucks herself under their arm, bumping hips, all warm life and laughter with her hair not yet done. The kitchen door is a little too narrow, but they manage to squeeze through it together.

“Just so long as you leave us all here, on Earth, and you leave my kitchen alone.”

“What? But you’ve been complaining about not having enough freezer space! I was gonna fix it.”

“Like you fixed the bath? Mom almost drowned.”

“I fixed that too!!”

[basilone]

Would you ever... write the Form and Void 'verse for Darlene? Juno xx

Short answer: yes, I would. Longer-than-short answer: your ask sent me to actually write it. Because apparently this was begging to get out at some point, hence this reply being a lil late. 💚 (Can't thank you enough for letting me revisit this 'verse!) Y'all only need to know one thing about this to be able to read it: this is set in my AU in which some soldiers are chosen by specific gods and sometimes take pills to suppress their god's massive influence on the world. And if you're looking for more on Darlene, this very E-rated fic is probably the best intro you're gonna get.

thin ice

“The Black Swan says this is shit for morale.”

“Ain’t never heard Sobel say shit,” corrects McNally, glowering at Mann out of the corner of his eye. “You’re making that up as you go.”

“He was out there, wasn’t he, pontificating,” gestures Mann, hands fluttering over his pint so callously he almost knocks it over. “Telling Speirs here about some sorta club for officers, right, and casting one of his most swan-ish glowers at the rest of us?”

Ron Speirs heaves a sigh as the attention at the table turns to him. “Apparently officers should not mingle with the common soldier too much,” he says, voice almost airquoting the common soldier. “There was indeed a question of morale.”

“Hope you told him where he could shove it, sir.”

“I told him to worry a little more about Easy’s supply of suppressants”– which is a rightful concern, given its many god-chosen –“and a little less about what dogs of war do in their free time.”

“Bet he loved that, sir.”

“The LT dry-swallowed a suppressant for emphasis,” snorts Charlie Hammond. Even from beside him, it’s difficult to ignore his broad grin. “You should’ve seen Sobel’s fucking face, McNally. Like somebody just canceled spaghetti hour.”

“Don’t you fookin’ remind me of the spaghetti,” groans McNally, looking increasingly queasy at the mere thought of it. “Did he ever get written up for costing the Airborne suppressants, what with half of Easy puking their guts out after that?”

Ron shrugs. “Sink wasn’t pleased. They shoved Talbert into quarantine real fast.” He nods at a table in the far end corner of the room, where sergeant Talbert is trying his hardest to live up to his Love-chosen status. “And they had a real bad time getting the Trickster-chosen back under, apparently.”

“They don’t like to be under, do they?”

“Mann,” says Ron, eyeballing the too-quick way the reedy man downs his drink, “you will be under in the next hour if you keep pretending that’s water in your glass.” He shakes his head a little as Mann offers him a quick salute in reply. “I don’t think any of us like to be on the suppressants, no.” He certainly does not, but the alternative in his case might be a little too much for the Airborne to bear. “At least they’re skipping the cost of them on some soldiers with more, ah, tolerable gods than mine.”

“Tolerable like that, sir?” asks McNally, nodding at something taking place behind Ron that’s inviting a fair few shouts over the din.

“Travers is experiencing a new way of becoming airborne,” snorts Charlie beside him, craning his neck and practically leaning on Ron’s shoulder to be able to see better. “Fox Co is looking harrassed as all get-out, sir, it’s brilliant”– and of course Charlie would think so, given how often Fox has messed up orders in recent weeks –“look at him go!”

Fox Company’s Travers, really only memorable because his one eyebrow soaks up almost every scrap of space on his forehead, has indeed become airborne in a rather undignified manner. The rest of his men – whoever thought it was a good idea to give Travers men to lord his sergeantship over needs to be stripped of all company rights, in Ron’s opinion – seem to be arguing rather incessantly among themselves about the best way to drag their sergeant back down. Nobody seems to want to try taking on the very blonde, very unimpressed-looking woman who is currently glaring up at Travers as though he owes her either money or an apology.

Ron turns back to his drink. “Only a fool’s gonna mess with that.”

“I wouldn’t mind messin’ with that, sir,” grins McNally, eyes shining. “Heard that them air-chosen are a ride to bed.”

“Aren’t air-chosen a rarity, huh?” Mann’s shoving McNally’s beer toward Charlie like the lack of it is going to fix McNally’s death wish any. His finger wags in front of McNally’s face in clear warning. “You can’t keep up with that, brother.”

“She’s in a pilot’s jacket,” hums Charlie as he, too, turns back to the table. “Air-chosen ain’t so rare. Seen plenty of them with the bomber crews.”

“Since when have you seen those?”

“Relax, sir, I was on leave when I saw them. They’re big game. Lots of chatter with them, like with Easy too. Hard to tune that sorta thing out.”

Ron chances a glance sideways. There are moments, going as far back as the earliest days of training, when he’s convinced Charlie isn’t god-chosen only because he’s too stubborn to say yes to whichever god is offering. He’s heard Wisdom-chosen like Winters and Nixon refer to chatter, sure enough, and back home there was a Trickster-chosen who referred to their many impressions as such too. He can’t shake the thought that Charlie – dark-eyed, good-humored, secretive Charlie – might know a thing or two about it. Might be chosen by something, except Ron can’t identify which god has its eyes set on the kid.

There are days when it bothers him. He can identify most chosen, even though many of them are on suppressants like him. There’s something in their eyes, something in their countenance, that always trips up the game and reveals the cards. He’s seen it in Charlie, too, though it is usually so tied to tactics that it’s easy to chalk it up to the kid’s intelligence and nothing else.

“Well, would ya look at that,” sniggers McNally, then, and Ron looks up from his drink to see the man’s wide grin broaden even further. “She just rocketed that Travers fuck to the ceiling and back down again without so much as a gesture. I gotta get me one of those.”

“You’re not,” says Ron archly, glancing back at the air-chosen woman just to witness Travers flattened like a pancake, “stealing a pilot.” Not even one with that much sway to her, he almost says, seeing how she’s surrounded by a ragtag protective crowd immediately upon releasing a crumpled heap of Travers. “You’re welcome to pray to Air when we jump next, though, McNally, maybe that’ll…”

He pauses mid-speech. Doesn’t mean to. Doesn’t think he can form the rest of the sentence if he tried.

There’s a new woman at the heart of that pilot-filled crowd. A riot waiting to happen. He sees it spooling at her fingertips – the flicker of flames, dancing between long and slender fingers. Watches it spark at the ends of her red mane of hair until it looks like fire’s dancing between her curly locks. Observes it brightening her face, all grand smile and the flicker of amusement curling in her eyes, until he’s no longer sure why nobody’s answering that infectious grin of hers.

Fox Company bends away from her when the light catches her.

“– seen the like of this before!”

“What?” snaps Ron, louder than he means to.

“I said,” laughs Charlie, “I thought fire-chosen were all pent-up brews like Easy’s Joe Toye. Don’t think I’ve seen the like of this before. Have you, sir?”

Ron can only shake his head as he sees the air-chosen grasp the red-headed woman’s hand without even flinching at the fire. It earns the air-chosen a kiss to the cheek, so close to her mouth that it’s got some of the crowd around them hooting in warning, and one of the most dazzling smiles Ron’s ever seen.

“I heard they burn through their suppressants, yeah? Look at that,” muses Mann, “she’s practically glowing with power.”

“It’s not power,” says Ron, because he knows real power drapes itself around the body like a shroud. “It’s life itself. You can’t mimic that. Not even a Trickster could.” He’s seen them try, sometimes. Seen them fail, always. “That’s unique to them. To her.”

To this woman, fire-chosen in a way that sucks all air out of his lungs and leaves him feeling like he’s adrift in the desert. To her, casting a light of her own that almost dwarfs the lamplight in the whole pub. To this one, kissed by fire, so beloved by it that she could never belong to any other.

“I thought we weren’t stealin’ women, sir.”

Ron tears himself away from looking at her long enough to cast a rather unimpressed glare at McNally. “We’re not,” he repeats, even though there’s a heat unfurling in his belly that he fears might only answer to her now. “We are going to take whatever war gives us”– oh, how War will laugh at him once he’s off these damn suppressants and able to think clearly again –“and you are not going to give the Air Force reason to lodge a formal complaint against our conduct.”

“I won’t if you won’t.” McNally barely acknowledges Ron’s raised eyebrow. “Sir.”

“That one’s not Air Force, though,” comments Charlie.

“Kid”– heaves Mann, looking queasier by the minute –“you ain’t helping the LT get lucid.”

“Fresh air for him, bedtime for you,” decides Ron swiftly, nodding at Mann and Charlie, “and the next one to talk about stealing women is getting a liaison position with Easy.”

“Not with the Black Swan and his fookin’ spaghetti, sir…”

Ron feels rather light-headed as he chances a feral grin at McNally. Feels an answering flame flicker to life inside of him when a rather throaty, spitfire-in-the-belly laugh in the crowd behind him earns a crowd’s cry of “give it a rest, Darlene!” even as he pulls Charlie to his feet.

Darlene. He knows that’s her. Thinks he’d know her blind now that he’s seen her.

“How’s that liaison position lookin’, LT?”

“McNally. Thin ice.”

“Thin fookin’ ice, sir,” agrees his sergeant, clapping Ron’s shoulder and leading the way out of the pub. “Very thin indeed, with the likes of her around.”

Ron can’t very well argue with that.

[vinbee631]

10 - Intermission: How Would You Like a Friendly Competition? (Let’s Take On the Song) 

Prodigal Sons and Daughters Alike

“Remus!” The art student in question jumped out of his skin as his twin burst into his room one afternoon. “Jesus, who died?! Or, is it good news? I can tell from just- screaming.”

(The school van in question later in the fic, they're good for wheelchair transport, but riding in the ones they convert to hold 14 students for field trips is my personal hell)

Chapter title from Me Against the Music - LP Version by Madonna and Britney Spears, the better version to me :) Also, cw, they do play laser tag, so like- gun violence? But for high schoolers? Nobody gets hurt but it's a pretty in depth description if that bothers you

“Remus!” The art student in question jumped out of his skin as his twin burst into his room one afternoon. “Jesus, who died?! Or, is it good news? I can tell from just- screaming.”

“Quit teasing, this is important!” Roman declared, hopping on Remus’ bed and crossing his legs.

“Sure, just make yourself comfortable, I guess,” he joked, “but go on. What is it that you’re dragging me into this time?” 

“You say as if you don’t regularly drag me into shit all the time. You dragged me into this school,” he pointed out helpfully.

“Alright, I get it, just cut to the chase! I’m invested now,” Remus urged with a smile.

“Okay, okay! Soo, I found another poster, and it’s even better than the hike one! There are these, like, mini field trips they’re gonna start doing tomorrow, and they go to all kinds of cool places! I was gonna invite the others, too, but I wanted to bring it up to you first!” 

“Uh, yeah sure!” Remus agreed instantly with a smile that didn’t quite reach is eyes. “We inviting Virgil, too?” 

Roman started, starting at his brother as he processed the statement. Something was… off about him. And he could tell exactly what, and who, it was related to.

“You know what? No, we’re not doing this. The others can go as a group of three, or four if they wanna open that can of worms, but this is gonna be a sibling day. You’re so- keyed up over this Virgil situation, and I am not going to watch as you wear yourself to the ground! We’re taking a break, and we’re doing it twin style!”

“And you’ve just… decided this for me? Bet, I guess, where are we going?” Remus chuckled, though Roman was relieved to see some of the tension leak out of his shoulders and frown lines.

And then, he grinned brightly, tugging his flustered twin out the door. “Well, we gotta sign up first! That’s what I was trying to tell you! There are a couple of different places, and initially, I was gonna get everyone’s opinions but starting with you, but now we can just decide together, c’mon!” 

Remus hopped along behind him, haphazardly tugging on his shoes and slamming the door shut behind him. “Jeez, okay, okay! I’m coming, slow down!”

Roman laughed, racing down the hall with his brother in tow. They skidded to a stop in the lobby, where a small group of freshmen they didn’t know were gathered around a clipboard. 

“So, there are different clipboards for different grade levels, so we might have to wait a bit, but…” Roman paused, craning his neck to read the announcement, “We can choose from a trip to a little shopping center in Gainesville… an- I think that says laser tag? And a ‘nature hike’ at the one nature center that we drove past on the way here. But, I mean, we kinda already did that.” 

Remus perked up. “I dunno about you, but if we don’t do the laser tag, I might lose it,” he decided. Roman quickly nodded in agreement and they rushed to fill out the paperwork they needed. 

“At least we don’t have to convince Mom and Pops this time,” Roman huffed, making his brother laugh. 

“Exactly! All we have to worry about is having fun! Oh, and me kicking your ass at laser tag.”

Roman huffed. “Says you! I believe it will be me doing the ass-kicking here!” 

The whole walk back to their dorms, the boys bickered halfheartedly about supposed asses being kicked, but Roman wasn’t all too worried about that anyway, when his brother was smiling bigger than he’d seen in days.

…

Remus was happy he loved his classes so much, otherwise the waiting for them to be over would have been torturous. 

The field trips here didn’t work the same way as in other schools. The laser tag trip wouldn’t get them out of class. Instead, it gave them something to do in the afternoon.

It didn’t make waiting for it particularly easy, but Remus did appreciate that he didn’t have to miss out on the best class schedule he ever had to hang out with his brother. 

That was, arguably, the best part, having some (somewhat) private time to bond with his brother. Roman was the reason he’d been brave enough to come to this crazy place, anyway, and they’d barely had time to hang out alone since they got there!

And then, of course, the whole Virgil thing had been happening, so Remus had been a bit too distracted to think about quality time with Roman. 

Now, there was nothing stopping him from that time! He wiggled excitedly at the thought as the bell rang for the end of his last class. 

He met up with Roman less than a minute after the bell at the front of the school. There were a few other kids coming, but Remus didn’t recognize any of them and Roman was too excited about brother bonding time to worry about any of them. 

The twins easily recognized the school van they were giong to be taking on this trip, considering it was shockingly similar to public school vans. It briefly made Remus wonder where you could even buy one of these things, not that he wanted one. They were the kind of ugly only a school transporation vehicle could be.

He hadn’t noticed, but while he was lost in thought, they had started moving, and Roman had started talking. He tried to zone back into the conversation, but being zoned out in the first place tended to open up his mind to wandering- very far away… and now he was thinking about Virgil.

It probably wasn’t fair to be upset with him, and Remus wasn’t really. He was simply… frustrated about the hoops he had to jump through to talk to him. Virgil was excruciatingly closed off, and if only Remus knew why. That would certainly help him figure out a better way to ease him into communicating. 

But that was also kind of exhausting, and he had plenty of other things he should be putting that energy into instead. It was totally worth it to put energy into caring about his friends! But when that energy wasn’t being reciprocated, it was going to get to a point where this wasn’t a healthy exhange.

Remus really didn’t want to give up on him, but it was starting to look like he might have to eventually. 

He zoned back in to see Roman leaned very into his personal space, making eye contact to try and break him out of his brain. His twin smiled when Remus met that gaze. 

“So, you’ve obviously still got something on your mind,” Roman stated, leaning back to sit next to him once more, “and you’re gonna talk about it. Right now, preferably.”

“I… yeah. I’m still stuck on the Virgil thing, I guess. Like… I’m not upset about it, but I… I’m just confused. Being shy is one thing, and not liking me as a person is another, but we’ve barely talked! And he wouldn’t even tell me he was uncomfortable until I’d already done something wrong! I just… really don’t get him, y’know? And I want to get him, in a healthy way, but I can’t!” 

Roman frowned, shifting a bit closer to him. “Well, it might not be a bad time to talk to Dr. Picani about it. You don’t even have to tell him it’s Virgil, but I mean, from what I’ve heard, he gives pretty good advice, maybe even better than mine!”

Remus didn’t fall for the bait of the tease, but he did smile a little. “I- yeah, maybe I will. It’s something to consider, at least. I just wish it was… easier. Being a teenager with emotional problems is hard enough, and when they involve another person, it’s just… ugh, anyway, thanks, Ro. I’ll think about it.” 

“Anytime, Re. And yeah, I get it. Just… don’t wear yourself out worrying about someone else, and honestly? I think it’s gonna work out, anyway.” Roman smiled at his brother as they got comfortable for the rest of the ride home. Maybe he couldn’t help his brother fix all his problems, but he could certainly be there for him everytime. 

And then, their fond moment was swiftly interrupted by their excitement of reaching their destination. 

The boys practically dragged each other out of the back of the van abomanation, only stopping to pay attention to when they had to leave and where they were supposed to meet their chaperone at the end of the day.

And then, they, along with the rest of the group of course, were off. 

They were allowed to play five rounds if they wanted, and they could take breaks in between for snacks, or to check out some of the games nearby as the laser tag place doubled as an arcade.

The twins weren’t really focused on those parts at the moment. They were focused on the fastest way possible to decimate each other in a little friendly competition.

It took a minute to get suited up, and to request being on different teams, and then they had to wait for a full room of other players, which took another five minutes. Then, finally, they were released into the dim space, obstacles speckled with glow-in-the-dark paint flecks and tainted with a distinctly ‘arcade-y smell.

The countdown ended, and they were off.

Remus glanced at the infrared camera in his corner, watching another person on his go sprinting past. No sign of Roman yet, so he turned past one of the odd foam towers and turned to the edge of the space, trying to map out the area in his head.

Roman had started in the opposite corner. If he was strategizing like he normally did, he was most likely searching for other people that were easier to snipe than his brother, to get himself on the leaderboard before finding his actual target. 

He broke out of his momentary brainstorm to jump past another opposing team member, zapping the back of their vest in the process.

One point, Remus. 

A glance up at the scoreboard confirmed he needed to be faster than that, though. He zipped past someone crawling on the floor, jumping over them and scoring another point along the way.

There was a set of kids standing back to back. Remus used two hits in the same spot where their vests touched. 

He was up to four points, Roman was only at three.

Where was he?

Remus turned, flattening himself against a wall and listening to the room. He’d almost done a full lap already, and no Roman? Almost like, his twin was circling at the same time-

*ZAP*

“Oh, you motherfucker!” Remus laughed, squinting at the bright red light pulsing from beneath him on his vest. He had been followed the whole time! 

He shot out in the dark when the red pulsing finally faded, managing to hit someone running past a gap in two obstacles, but not Roman. 

Sensing his twin had made himself scarce for the time being, he took another lap, darting around, and accidentally running into a wall to avoid running into a stranger.

Roman had six points, and so did he.

They were halfway through the round already, only five minutes left to get his brother back. He just needed to find him first.

It was risky, but he took a chance with one of the raised platforms, climbing up and laying on his stomach at first. He took a breath, then jumped up to see who he could find Two…four… five people, he ducked back down. No Roman, but at least he hadn’t been hit.

He jumped down and took another, much more cautious lap.

And there it was, a glint of white in the corner of his eye. He feigned the other direction, and when Roman’s vest popped out, he turned around and shot him right in the chest.

…Yeah, if this wasn’t laser tag, that would have been kind of grim.

He shot away from the pusling red with a gleeful laugh, despite the attention it was probably going to attract. He was one point ahead, but he was tied with his brother in spirit.

Three minutes left.

They ended up circling each other, lasers ringing out and point totals ticking up as the time ticked down. With thirty seconds left, Remus was a point ahead. But that wasn’t enough.

Roman was on his tail, he could feel his eyes. He crouched low to the floor and listened. 

Dumb idea.

Being crouched slowed down his escape, and when his brother pounced, turning a corner and firing his laser, Remus’ only option was to flatten to the ground and try to roll away.

His vest turned red as he lay prone, and the lights turned on

“ROUND OVER. CONGRATULATIONS, TEAM RED.”

Remus groaned, keeping his face pressed to the floor to avoid Roman’s gaze. His twin laughed, offering a hand to help him stand.

“I almost found you, and we tied, anyway!” He complained, jumping up and walking in step with his giggling brother. “Yeah, but ya didn’t, and my team won! Close though, wanna go again?”

“Uh, of course, I wanna go again, I have to win back my honor!”

Roman laughed again, and Remus found that, despite the little disappointment he had and how he was slightly out of breath from running around, he was still able to laugh along.

[bettysupremacy]

Who could be a more doting boyfriend?

Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader

Based off this request

Summary: 10 times Eddie Munson showed just how down bad he was.

Warnings: mentions of weed, food is brought up too, very very fluffy, Eddie down bad, sick! Reader for one, reader only in towel at one point, reader eats bacon in one, fem! Reader, tell me if I’ve forgotten any.

3.7k words because I luv u

Saccharine kisses were her favorite. The kind of kisses where he would ghost his lips over her skin, hovering, before planting a long sweet kiss to wherever he deemed most kissable at the moment.

She loved the way it never failed to make her stomach flip. The way it never failed to make her dizzy in the head and weak in the knees.

She loved that when it made her exhale wonky he’d look at her with this lovesick smile, before pressing more kisses around the area. Quicker, but non less full of love.

That’s why now, laying in bed, sick as a dog, she doesn’t have the strength to push him away. Thats why pawing at him uselessly, the only strength she’d managed earlier, had ceased.

“I’m gonna get you sick.” She whines.

They’re laying in her bed, intertwined like these are her last moments, like Eddie needs to get the most out of them.

Like a sad Victorian painting.

“I don’t care, Juliet, this world is a place I cannot live in without you.”

She scoffs, it coming out more like a cough than anything else. He pats her back as she coughs, letting her sit up to cover her mouth, and frowning when she shakes her head at the Gatorade he holds up for her.

“I’ve got the flu, you dolt. I’m not dying.” He pulls her back down, rubbing at the arm she’s wrapped around his stomach.

She didn’t know wether she was cold or hot, but the goosebumps that rose on her arms, from his fingers dancing over her skin, chilled her deliciously.

“He says that though, right?” He asks.

“Romeo?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never read the play.”

He ponders this for a moment, tilting his head up, further into the faded grey of his old pillow case.

“What are you think-“

“Shh.”

She gives him an incredulous look, she could be dying for gods sake! Treat her with a little respect-

“O Romeo, Romeo, where..fore art thou Romeo?”

She looks up at him, head not lifting from its position on his chest, but a confused smile is playing on her lips.

“You’ve read it?”

“Well when you take senior year three times..”

“Oh, right.” She tilts her head back down, ear press into the warm skin above his steadily beating heart, as she curls around him.

He stops his fingers dance over her arms, only letting her frown momentarily, before they card their way through her wet hair. They work out small knots and kinks they hadn’t brushed out. He cranes his neck to press a long kiss on the top of her head.

“Did the shower make you feel better?” He murmurs against her hair.

“I don’t know.”

He sighs, knowing her too well to think that she’d admit his suggestion didn’t work. “I’ll go get the tv from the living room and wheel it in here, Kay?”

She nods, nasally voice making him frown. “Mkay.”

He gently removes himself from under her, making sure to pull the blankets back up before completely retracting.

“And the vapor rub. I’ll grab the vapor rub too.” His palms dig into his mattress as he hovers over her.

“God bless.”

He smiles at her, lips coming down to kiss hers affectionally. She kisses back before she realizes what she’s done.

“Do not kiss me, Edward, I know you’re not vaccinated.”

A deep groan leaves his lips as he walks away, into the living room for the TV and vapor rub.

“What is a desperate man to do?”

She can’t help but smile as she tucks herself into his freshly clean, for the first time in 2 years, sheets.

—

She rummages through his drawers, fingers making quick work of the unfolded clothes thrown in them.

“Eddie?” her voice drifts through his bedroom door, and into the kitchen, where he’s staring intently at the microwave.

He pushes his door open, weary as to where to put his eyes while his girlfriend is in nothing but a towel.

“Yes?”

“Do you know where my clothes are? I thought I left them in this drawer but..”

“Oh! Hold on!”

He goes back though his door, returning with a basket of laundry. It’s not fresh, nor warm to the touch, but it was definitely recently that it had been washed.

“You washed my clothes?”

“It was after you got sick,” he shrugs nonchalantly, cheeks tinging a shade, due to the way she smiles at him.

The smell of them wafting up into her face only deepens her already bright smile. She picks up her shirt, bringing it to her nose and inhaling.

“And you used-?”

The look on his face is downright bashful. “I remembered it was your favorite, so I picked you up some when I went shopping with Wayne.” He scratched his neck, “S’no big deal really.”

Her arms wrap around his neck, towel hanging on for its life.

“No, it is. Thank you, baby.”

Her fingers scratch his scalp lightly, digging into his curls and tugging gently. He feels like a dog being pet. Is this what they feel like? Lucky bastards.

He fears his leg may start kicking.

“You’re welcome.” He muffles into her neck, arms wrapped around her waist so that the towel doesn’t fall, “I’m glad you’re happy.”

—

She had called him from work, voice full of tears.

“My sweet girl, can’t you come home early?”

“Janie was supposed to come in today, but she flaked, so now I’m alone.”

“Come home, leave Austin and Marie to close today. No baby, we don’t need that money for the rent, enough cars needed fixing this week. I promise, come home- my home.”

So she did.

But trudging through Eddie and Wayne’s front door, he was nowhere to be found. His van was outside where it normally was, his shoes were haphazardly thrown in the direction of the front door - like they normally were, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Each shoe is toed off quietly, as she softly calls his name, not wanting to disturb Wayne’s weird sleep schedule. “Eddie?”

She’s scrubbing at her face, trying to get the tear tracks off.

“Eddie?”

She pads through the hall, into the bathroom where she can hear water running.

“What’s this?”

He looks up, panic stricken through his face.

“No, no, no. Go sit on the couch real quick.”

Nothing but hurt is read on her face. “What, why?”

He rushes up, cupping the back of her neck with his wet hand, while the other slides around her waist, pulling her closer.

“I did something for you.”

“You did?”

She peaks behind him into the dingy bathroom. He’s got the water running and her favorite soaps out displayed on the tub.

“No peaking!”

He uses the hand around her neck to push her face in his chest.

“You ran me a bath?” It’s muffled in his Megadeth shirt.

“Do you like it?”

“Is that your way of telling me I’m dirty?”

“What? No, no, no. I just thought that you might- uh, I thought that you might like it-?”

She laughs and he basks in it. Letting it cleanse and settle over him.

“I was joking, honey.”

He smiles, teeth poking through has he lets out breathless - relieved laughs.

“Go,” he skews his head toward the bathroom.

“But-“

“Go, I’m making dinner.”

“You’re making dinner? Baby.”

“I’m ordering from that Chinese place, the one across the street from the library,” He lets out another breathless laugh. “Go.”

“Oh, okay then.”

—

Something is stirring inside of her chest. Something warm and light. It muddles around, making her heart flutter and palms sweaty.

She’s never gotten a love letter before.

It’s not the most put together thing she’s ever seen, but it’s got to be her favorite. It’s small, but pink, and she could tell Eddie used his best handwriting for this. At the very end he signed it off with -E and a poorly drawn version of his guitar.

Where did he get pink paper?

She holds it in her hands like it’s gold, like it could tear at any moment, but two fingers pluck it out before she has the chance to read it a third time.

“Who wrote you up?” Rob asks suspiciously, eyeing the pink referral slip between her index and middle finger.

“No one-?”

Oh, that’s where he got it.

She tugs it from Robins fingers, flipping it so she could see the back - or what is actually known as the front of the paper.

Eddie Munson Grade 12 10/3/86

REASON FOR REFERRAL

-Cutting Class

-Lack of Cooperation

-Restless, Inattentive

ACTIONS TAKEN PRIOR TO REFERRAL

-Detained Student After School

PRESENT ACTION AND RECOMMENDATION(S)

-Student Regrets Incident, Cooperative

Robin reads the back as Y/N reads the front. He wrote her a love letter on the back of a referral slip?

“He wrote you a love letter on the back of a referral slip? What’s next? A receipt from a drug deal?” She ignores the instant, drug deals don’t have receipts dipshit, thought that pops up.

“That’s so sweet! He wrote me a love letter on pink paper!” Robin can’t help the twitch of a smile on her lips. “You think he’ll write me more?”

“If he doesn’t I’ll jeopardize his business.” She slings her arm around Y/N’s shoulder.

“What are best friends for?”

—

“It’s too early, it’s too early.” She whines as Eddie pushes back her hair, pressing light kisses into it, while she wraps her arms tighter around his chest.

“I know, I know.”

The sun shines in through Eddie’s open windows, the red sheet nailed above the larger one casting a crimson hue over them.

They tangle in the bed sheets, languidly and lethargic, similar to the way they held each other when she had the flu.

“C’mon, baby you gotta wake up.”

She grumbles, hands snaking under his back, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin as his box fan blows on them. They settle and he smiles as she opens her eyes.

“Why’s your shirt on?” Her sleep raspy voice tugs multiple strings in his heart.

Eddie always slept shirtless.

“I’ve already been up, sweetheart.”

“You’ve already been up?”

He smiles down at her, pushing some hair from where it sticks to her forehead. “Mhm.”

She pushes up, arms caging Eddie’s chest, as she hovers over him.

“You’re wearing your kiss the mechanic apron.” she points out, like he wouldn’t have known.

“I am.”

“Did you make breakfast?”

He shrugs, “Get up and see.”

She whines, shaking her head, laying back down on him. “Carry me?”

He thinks about it for a moment, looking down at her droopy eyes and tapping her thigh. She wraps her legs around him and he sits up, letting her be carried in his arms to the kitchen.

She smiles, resting her head on his shoulder, as he murmurs “Needy, needy, girl.”, shuffling to get a better grip on her.

“You hungry?” He softly asks.

“I’m tired.”

“Oh, I know.”

The counter is cold against her thighs as he sets her down. She squirms sadly, and he can do nothing but smile affectionately at her.

The plate he hands her is paper and warm. He sets a napkin on her lap, before the plate, so it doesn’t burn her poor thighs. Though, her eyes are closed as he does this, hands messily wiping the sleep from her eyes, so she doesn’t see the food.

“Warm.”

“Very warm,” He nods. “Eat, baby.”

Pressing a fork into her hands, he gently tugs her hands away from the cruel work they were doing to her eyes.

“Bacon? You got me bacon?”

“Benny was giving slabs away for free, down at the diner.” He bends over and kisses her jaw.

“I love bacon.”

“I know.” His voice is nothing but teasing, though, she doesn’t mind.

“You cooked the bacon by yourself?” She sets her fork down, grabbing his hands, and inspecting his arms. “And you didn’t get popped by the oil?”

He flushes, “Wayne helped me. But I made everything else by myself!”

She looks down at the food fondly. Eggs cooked like she taught him when they first started dating. Toast unburnt. Wayne’s bacon.

Wayne’s bacon was so good.

“Go get a plate, I’m not eating without you.”

“On it.”

—

“Okay, hands like this.” He grips her fingers, smiling as she lets him bend them in the right places. “Yeah! Okay, now pluck the third string.”

She plucks it, and it comes out sounding significantly better then 10 minutes ago. “You’re doing it! I’m so proud of you.”

He attacks her cheek with kisses and she scrunches her nose, pulling away in feigned annoyance.

“Teach me to play I Have a Dream.”

“What?” He pulls back agast. “I’m teaching you to play guitar on sweetheart, and you want me to teach you to play ABBA?”

She giggles, laying her head in his neck. “Yes, please.”

“No, baby, I’m teaching you to play 2 Minutes to Midnight.”

“No,” There’s a whiny edge to her voice. “That song is so hard.”

“You could do it.”

“Only if you helped me.”

“Deal.”

He lifts the guitar back up, twisting her fingers to the right frets.

“This is going to be so metal.”

He laughs out loud.

—

“-and I told Robs to go to the front of the class and tell the teacher, but she didn’t wanna embarrass herself In front of the Nancy.”

Eddie nods along, leaning against the lockers. This isn’t a conversation he’s particularly interested in, but-

“I think they’d make a good couple, don’t you?”

“Who?”

“Robin and Nancy!”

“Rob and Nance? Totally.” He waves his hand, as if dismissing any thought that they wouldn’t be.

“I knew you’d think so.”

The halls are almost empty, dismissal bell rang 5 minutes ago, but when you don’t have a bus to catch you always have a little extra time to put your stuff away.

“Are you ready?” Eddie asks, watching her shove books in her locker that she refuses to take home.

“Almost,” She turns to Eddie, looking behind him. “I just thought I heard Rob and Nances voice. I guess I’m going cra-“

She stumbles, having slipped on something, even though she could’ve sworn there was nothing on the ground a minute ago.

“Woah baby, woah baby.” Eddie grips her arms tightly, but not cruelly. Just tight enough to keep her upright. “What was that?”

“Slipped on,” She looks down at the floor “My shoelace, I guess.”

“You guess? Baby, you gotta be careful.” He bends down to one knee, patting it lightly for her to put her foot on.

Her left hand is flat against the lockers for balance as he ties her shoe for her.

“You can’t have untied shoes, sweetheart. Y’could trip and hurt yourself.” She watches fondly as he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine, I just don’t want an injured girlfriend.” He finishes, patting her foot in approval.

“You wouldn’t love me if I was injured?”

He stands up, “Who said that?”

“You did!”

“I love you so much I wouldn’t be able to look at you, cause seeing you injured would make me so sad.”

“You wouldn’t take care of me?”

“I’d call mama Steve, I can’t stand to see you hurt.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He grabs her cheeks and presses a hard kiss to her mouth. “You’re welcome.”

—

Eddie’s room is dark like it normally is. His bong is next to him and his guitar is on his knee resting.

He loves nights like these.

He taps his knee rhythmically, slow, unlike his other songs. A power ballad if you will.

He’s been at this for hours. Strumming, tapping, and scribbling lyrics into a blank page of his math notebook.

Just as he pulls his pick out of his mouth again he hears a soft knock on his door. It’s probably just Wayne.

“Hey, boy.” Wayne cracks the door open, checking to see if Eddie is decent. “I’m leavin now.”

Eddie checks his watch, humming in confirmation.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

Wayne nods. “You writing a new song?”

Eddie smiles at his uncles effort to make conversation.

“Yeah, for Y/N.”

Now it’s Wayne’s turn to smile. “She’ll like it.”

He could hear it through the walls? Eddie flushes.

“You think?”

“Yup.” Wayne puts a baseball cap on. “I like ‘er.”

He turns to leave, closing the door behind him, leaving Eddie in shock.

“I’m out!” He hears Wayne yell, before locking the door behind him.

“Bye!”

That was.. strange.

—

Her eyes hurt from reading, her back hurts from hunching over her bedroom desk, and her heart hurts from not accepting Eddie’s kisses.

This is one of the rare nights that she isn’t sleeping at Eddie’s, having to study for the math test tomorrow, but 20 minutes ago Eddie came in through the window, and she’s gotten no work done since.

It doesn’t really matter, due to the three hours of studying she got in before he came, but it’s still stressful nonetheless.

“Cmon baby, let’s go to bed.” Eddie’s Laying on her bed, flipping through a magazine.

“I can’t, I’ve gotta study.”

“Baby, you‘ve been studying since 9:30.”

“So? What time is it now?” She doesn’t look up from the equation.

“12:43? You gotta sleep at some point.”

Startled, she checks her watch, eyes widening when she realizes he’s right.

He’s getting up, tossing the magazine, and pulling her up outta the chair. He wraps his arms around her neck, kissing the top of her head a generous amount of times.

She whines pulling away, causing him to gasp in offense.

“What could I have possibly have done?”

“Want it on my lips.”

“Only if you promise to go to bed with me.” He bargains.

“Fine.”

He grabs her face and kisses her just the way she likes. Saccharine and sweet.

“Will you come to bed now?”

“Only because I love you.” She nods glumly.

He smiles playfully down at her. “Oh, but I love you more.”

—

They had been watching a movie.

A newer one, starring Micheal J. fox. It wasn’t wasn’t usually Eddie’s thing, but he had agreed for Steve.

He’d insisted that they watch it. “No! You don’t understand! He goes back in time to-“

“Don’t spoil it for them!” Robin rasps.

“I’m not, Rob, I’ve just gotta get them hooked.”

“You don’t hook someone by spoiling a major plot point?”

So here they were, under warm covers, watching a movie that neither of them particularly wanted to watch.

Candy was splayed out In front of them. Red vines, runts, nerds, and sour patch kids, getting dug into every couple minutes. And though Eddie had whined about Steve making them choose this, after the first opening scene he was hooked.

“Goddamn, did you see the way he flung into the wall?”

She had, but she also had seen the rope tied to his stomach.

“Did you see the rope around his stomach?”

Eddie laughs, his chest shaking under her as he looks away from the tv. “No, can we rewind?”

She was content with this. Even though she didn’t particularly enjoy the movie, Eddie did, and that was enough for her.

“Damn,” Eddie mumbles, staring intently at the screen. He’s got one arm hanging off the couch, joint between fingers, and the other rubbing up and down her spine.

They’d been in this position since the movie started, utterly comfortable.

Eddie’s trailer had the worst insulation, and even worse ac and heating, so this was nice. Eddie was always warm, a natural heater, so this was always nice.

Nothing strikes in his head as unusual, they lay like this every night, but something about the way her breathing was so even gave it away.

“Hey doc, you better back up, we don’t have any road to get up 88.” The pretty Lea Thompson is perched on Micheals lap as he gives his line.

“Roads? Where we’re going we don’t need roads.” He drops his aluminum glasses over his eyes, starting the car.

Eddie’s hand lazily rises from her back and up to her head, hovering. “Sweetheart?” No answer, “Are you sleepy? Are you asleep?” still, no answer.

He cranes his neck to the side, trying to get any glimpse of his tired girl sleeping, stuffing out his joint in the process.

“The movie ended,” He whispers. “I think there’ll be a second one.”

No reaction. He sighs, letting his hand move back down and continue the work it was doing to her back. He can’t move or wake her, it would do too much to his poor heart.

She shuffles in her sleep, head leaning up towards Eddie. He holds his breath until she’s done, then he lets his nimble fingers work over her hairline. Brushing away stray hairs gently, letting his middle finger swoop down her nose, cupping her face gently, just to look at her.

He loves moments like these. Moments where he gets to stare at her so unapologetically. Moments where he gets to memorize every detail about her face, without her looking over and asking What are you looking at baby?

The slope of her nose, the way her eyelashes curl, the tilt of her mouth, the way her eyebrows furrow at something in her dream.

“You’re so pretty.” Is whispered from his mouth absentmindedly.

She can’t hear him, stuck in dreamland slaying monsters dutifully, traveling the world with Eddie, shopping with Max, or swinging bats with Steve.

He knows she can’t hear him, but it still feels necessary to say. It’s something he needs to say.

Her breathing intakes, it’s something sharp and shallow. For a moment he thinks she’s woken, but her pretty eyes haven’t opened.

“Sweetheart?” He whispers, but the quick breathing doesn’t stop. “Bad dream, hmm?”

He bends his neck down, holding her in his arms, and scattering multiple kisses over her hairline, trying to calm her.

Slowly her breathing calms again, and he lets sweet relief wash over him. He needs to get them to their bed.

Once he’s fixed her in his arms, he carry’s her to the room, gently setting her down in her spot and pulling up the covers.

He gets up to take his shirt off, but a warm hand stops him.

“Don’t leave.”

He frowns, ache dwelling in his chest at the thought. Climbing under the covers with her, he lets her cling onto him, “I’m not.”

Guess he’s sleeping with his shirt on tonight

[dycefic]

The Trolley Problem

Again, sorry about the slow updates, but long Covid aside, as followers of my main Tumblr will have heard, my laptop keyboard is on its way out and typing is getting increasingly difficult. I've ordered a new wireless keyboard, but it hasn't arrived yet. 🙄

Anyway, back to the superhero universe! warnings for death, police, attempted murder, supervillainy, and ethical dilemmas. Also swearing.

#

“Choose,” the villain purred. She didn’t know his name. She was new, she hadn’t learned them all yet. “Who lives? Who dies? Who will you save, little hero?”

Flitter trembled. “I’m not making a choice,” she said, and her voice wasn’t as firm as she wanted it to be, even through the voice-changer. You’re gonna let both those cages down, nice and easy.” One cage full of nurses. One cage full of juvenile offenders. He’d said so, and she could see the scrubs and the jumpsuits for herself. He really wanted this to be a dilemma, and she didn’t know what to do, aside from telling him not to do it, and when did that ever work?

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He laughed at her, hands caressing the controls that suspended the two cages over the street forty floors below. She couldn’t remember his name! She recognized the costume, the jagged streaks of green and white and vivid yellow. This was a dangerous villain, the same guy who’d cut off both of Player One’s legs with some machine just a month ago, and she’d only been a cape for a couple of weeks, she wasn’t up to this guy’s weight in any way even with powers, and she couldn’t remember his name -

And then the villain’s head exploded. She saw it burst before she heard the sound of the gunshots, so they’d come from some distance away. There was red… stuff… all over the wall behind him, and as the body toppled she jumped forward to grab at the handles he’d been toying with - but it wasn’t necessary. Neither cage had moved.

She moved closer and wondered if she should check the body, but… the whole top two-thirds of the head was gone. Trying to take a pulse at this point would just be creepy and weird.

She was still trying to figure out the controls - and trying not to throw up, which was a terrible idea in a full-face mask - when she heard footsteps approaching. Boots. Not trying to be sneaky. The little sounds of clothing, including a creak of leather. When she looked up, she saw an older woman - maybe forty-five, maybe fifty. Not a costume, she was wearing regular clothes.

And, when she stepped into the light, Flitter saw the rifle slung on her back. “Did you…” Her voice quavered, and she cleared her throat a couple of times. “Did you shoot him?”

“Yup.” The woman didn’t sound concerned about it. “Move over.” With casual expertise, the older woman started pressing buttons and moving handles. The two cranes swung out, and the people in them made some noise, but in a few seconds, the cages were over the next roof and being lowered carefully until they hit the gravel with a crunch. “Never bring them down on the same roof, if you can help it, and don’t let them out right away. Useful tip. They’re going to freak out and you don’t need to deal with that. That’s what emergency responders are for.”

Flitter was shaking. “You… you killed him.”

The woman paused, then gave her a sort of sympathetic look. “First time seeing someone die up close?”

Flitter nodded, swallowing hard.

“You’ll get used to it.” The woman sighed. “They all do.” Then her eyes shifted, looking past Flitter, and she raised her voice. “Day late and a dollar short, Box.”

The Boxer was an old, old-school hero. He’d been active for more than eighty years and still looked exactly the same. Right now, his customary faint scowl had become a lot more pronounced. “God fucking damnit, you’re supposed to be in Delaware!”

“I came back to visit some old friends.” It was strange - the woman looked like a civilian, but she was talking to the Boxer like she knew him. Usually only capes did that. “Just happened to be in the area.”

“Bullshit you happened to be in the area!” The Boxer’s fists were clenching and unclenching. “How the hell did you… no, forget it, I know you’re not gonna tell me. How the hell do you still have a fucking sniper rifle?!”

“I don’t. This is for hunting.”

“How do you still have an open carry permit!?”

“I haven’t committed any crimes.”

The Boxer made an incoherent angry noise kind of like a dog growling, and Flitter pointed a shaking hand at the body of the villain whose name she still didn’t know. “You have now!”

The woman looked down at the body, then back up at the two heroes, and shrugged. “No, I haven’t.”

Flitter stared at her. The Boxer turned away to put his fist through the nearest wall. It was a brick wall. That didn’t seem to worry him.

“But… murder?” It came out like a question, and Flitter’s face felt hot under her mask.

“Not here in Vermont it’s not. In Vermont, which has a robust approach to self-defence laws since Dilemma went active thirty years ago here in Burlington, as long as my use of deadly force ‘was reasonably necessary to repel the perceived threat’, to myself or to a person or persons unable to defend themselves, it qualifies as self-defence and is not criminal.” The woman shrugged, smiling in a way that was more rueful than smug, despite her words. “In addition, the statutes regarding capes, super-powered persons, etcetera, article three stipulates that when a known and identified villain is threatening civilian persons, no non-powered person can be held to have used excessive force.”

“Article three was meant to cover the actions of police and military, and you know it!” The Boxer had moved up beside Flitter, and though he still sounded angry, the hand he laid on her shoulder was very gentle. “You okay, kid?”

“Yeah, mostly.”

“Shock. You might wanna get her a hot drink or something.” The woman gestured at the cages on the next roof. “And let them out, since you’re such a good guy.” She unslung the gun, laid it on the ground, and sat down on the edge of the roof a few feet away from it. “I’ve already called the cops. They should be here soon.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you still don’t prepare them for the trolley problem.”

“She’s been active for two weeks, and I’ve been busy!” The Boxer sounded a little angry… and, under it, guilty. “Player One got… retired… last month.”

“I heard.”

His voice softened. “Is that why you’re here?”

Hers didn’t. “Maybe.”

Flitter cleared her throat, half-raising one hand. “Uh…. What’s the trolley problem?”

“It’s a philosophical thing.” The Boxer shrugged. “One of those ethics word problems.”

“It’s also a go-to for the bad guys,” the woman said grimly. “They love it. ‘Choose between saving the kid or saving the world’, or ‘let me kill you and I’ll let the civilians go’, or ‘choose who lives and who dies’ like this one. They just love the idea of forcing a cape to get blood on their hands.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “See, in the trolley problem, you’re on a trolley, and you’re coming up to a fork in the tracks. On one side, one person’s tied to the tracks, trapped in a car, or otherwise unable to escape, on the other, five people are likewise unable to avoid certain death. You have to decide who dies.”

Flitter swallowed a couple more times. She really wanted to throw up again. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah. Especially when it stops being a thought experiment and actually happens to you.” The woman jerked her thumb at the cages again, then reached into her pocket and pulled out something small and flat - a plastic card, it looked like. Maybe two together. She fiddled with them while she talked. “The idea is that the ethical thing to do is save the greatest number of lives, right? But the trolley problem is a con.”

The Boxer groaned. “Sometimes an ethical choice is an ethical fucking choice, R… Lou.”

“Not debating that. But the trolley problem, specifically, is a con. The person placed in the position of making the ‘choice’ is told that they have to choose who lives and who dies, and bear the moral consequences, but that’s not true. No matter what the kid had chosen, she wouldn’t have been responsible for any deaths.”

Flitter felt a little better. “I wouldn’t?”

“No. The trolley problem forces a false choice. If you’re trapped in a trolley and about to kill one or several people who are tied to train tracks, and no other options exist, you’re not actually being allowed a free choice. The trolley problem’s ostensible protagonist is actually one of its victims.” She gestured at the mostly-headless body. “The real culprit is the person who put all those people on the tracks and shoved you into the brakeless trolley.”

“That doesn’t mean that the ethical answer to the trolley problem is to kill the person who posed the problem!” The Boxer sounded like he’d said that a lot of times before.

“Of course it is. Shit like this doesn’t happen in a vacuum, Box. In any situation in which a villain is going to kill one of two groups of people, there’s almost zero probability that this is the first and last time they’ll attempt murder. Ergo, the answer that saves the greatest number of lives is always to kill the person who posited the problem.” The woman folded her arms. “You know it’s true.”

“But it’s not right,” the Boxer almost wailed. Flitter suddenly felt kind of sorry for him. He cared about people. Nobody could do this job for more than eighty years if they didn’t. The idea that shooting someone in the head without warning wasn’t a bad thing to do was an idea that was just the wrong shape for his brain.

“Maybe not. But ‘right’ and ‘necessary’ aren’t always the same thing.”

The door onto the roof opened, and several cops came through with their weapons up. Flitter tensed, and tried to pretend she hadn’t. They couldn’t tell she was black under the costume. This was fine. It was fine. Law and order was theoretically on her side in this situation.

The Boxer’s hand was on her shoulder again, and he squeezed slightly. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “They play by the rules when I’m around.”

“Drop your weapon!” one of them shouted, and even Flitter managed to look at him like he was insane.

“I’m sitting down three feet away from the weapon, which is on the ground,” the woman said very dryly. “It’s as dropped as it’s gonna get.”

The guy started to yell again, but the oldest one smacked him across the back of the head. “Don’t make a bigger fool of yourself, dumbass.” He holstered his gun, and glared at the woman. “Ms Harmer, you moved to Delaware. We checked. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Visiting old friends.” She held out the thing she’d been fiddling with. “Here’s my driver’s license and my open carry permit. There’s the gun, which is still loaded so be careful. There’s the body of the supervillain calling himself, if I recall correctly, Inferno. I killed him in defence of two groups of civilians who you’ll find on the roof over there, in accordance with -“

“With Vermont state law regarding self-defence and the statute exempting non-powered persons from excessive force against supervillains. I know, I know,” the cop said, frustration dripping off the words. He barely glanced at the cards before handing them back.

Flitter blinked. “She’s done this before!?”

“Nine times in the state of Vermont, to my knowledge, counting this one.” The cop glared at Ms Harmer. “It was four in Delaware last time I checked, but it’s been a while.”

“And not a single charge laid.” Ms Harmer stood up. “Do you want to take me in now, Phil, or would it be more convenient for me to stop by in the morning to make my statement?”

“You - “ the overenthusiastic cop said, pulling out his cuffs.

“Forget it!” the older one snapped at him. “Just… forget it. Harmer, be at the station at nine.”

“I know the drill.”

“Sir, you’re not just gonna let her walk away - “

“Flynn, she’s done this thirteen times, weren’t you listening? She shot a known supervillain while he was in the commission of a major crime! She was sitting here waiting for us with the gun on the ground and her ID out! She confessed! She’s not a flight risk!” ‘Phil’ glared at Ms Harmer, then at the two superheroes. “Next time, at least try to stop her… not that that’s easy,” he added grudgingly. “Just… get lost, all of you. We’ll take it from here.”

When Flitter tried to move, she nearly fell over. The Boxer grabbed her and held her steady until her knees stopped buckling. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay, kid. First time you see a head explode shakes everyone.” He patted her back gently, and took her arm and guided her towards the stairs. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”

After a moment, an equally gentle hand gripped her other elbow. “You’ll be fine, kid.” Ms Harmer’s voice was still as calm and level as ever. “And if there’s no-one around to help next time, remember that nothing that happens is your fault. The only murderer in the trolley problem is the one who poses it.”

“Unless I kill him,” Flitter said quietly. “Then it’s me.”

“Well, yeah,” Ms Harmer admitted. “Self-defense laws don’t apply to capes. You probably wouldn’t serve time over something this clear-cut, but the other capes’d push you out if you crossed that line, even if the cops didn’t put you away.”

“There are rules.” The Boxer still sounded upset.

“Yup. There are rules for capes, and rules for cops, and rules for civilians, and the important thing to remember is that they’re not the same rules.” The woman’s hand was steady. “Sometimes you have to choose.”

The Boxer snorted. “Like you did, Ray?”

Ms Harmer stopped on the stairs, and turned to look at him. “Rachel Zimmerman is dead, old man,” she said, and her voice was very cold. “You know she is. She died on your watch. An idealistic young lawyer who moonlighted as a superhero called Scale, and died in one of Dilemma’s deathtraps more than twenty years ago. You attended the funeral. You attested to her death when the body couldn’t be identified.”

“And then you turned up,” the Boxer said, and Flitter saw what might be tears in the hard old eyes. “And I knew I was wrong.”

“You heard a voice that sounded like hers and got sentimental.”

“You know things only Ray could know.”

She leaned in close, and her whisper was as bitter as ice. “Prove it.” Then she turned away, hopping the railing to land with a thud on the next flight of stairs. Flitter heard her boots moving fast on the stairs.

The Boxer just stood there, his shoulders slumped. “I can’t prove it,” he muttered, so quiet that he might be talking to himself. “But I know.”

Tentatively, Flitter put her hand on the big, muscular shoulder, like he had for her. “It was a trolley problem?” she said quietly.

He nodded. “I always told her not to kill. Never to kill. Then we went up against Dilemma, and… they were kids. Little kids. Dilemma…”

“He made her choose?”

The Boxer’s head bowed lower. “No,” he said, even more quietly. “He made me choose.”

Flitter nodded slowly. No wonder he was so upset. “She said it wasn’t your fault,” she reminded him, knowing it probably wouldn’t help but not knowing what else to say. “She said that the person given the choice is another victim.”

“Yeah, I know. She always does.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “She was a good person, she never woulda wanted me to save her and let a bunch of little kids die. That she ain’t mad about. But she knows, and I know, that I coulda killed him. I coulda saved both, and I didn’t, because I wanted to be the good guy… and good guys don’t kill.”

Flitter felt the chill of that all down her spine. “I… hadn’t thought of that yet.” But now it was all she could think about. About this happening again, looking at some other monster playing with human lives, and realizing that even though the trolley problem wasn’t a real choice, she did have a choice… and what the consequences of that choice would be.

“Yeah. That’s why she does it. So kids like you don’t have to make either choice.” He sighed again, then shook his head. “But you don’t gotta deal with that right now. Come on, kid, let’s get that coffee. Maybe talk.”

Flitter nodded. “I’d… definitely like to talk.”

She didn’t look around for Ms Harmer when they left the building. But she wondered. Player One had been around for more than twenty years, she was pretty sure. Visiting friends, she’d said…

[kshira]

— when they’re interrupted by their child!

ft. chifuyu, kazutora, mitsuya, baji

tw. fem!reader, children, domestic things, pregnancy mentions, very very suggestive, super fluffy and sweet

an. part one here! i’ll probably end up making these a series as tr dads! <3

꒰ CHIFUYU ꒱

chifuyu slides in behind you in the bed, draping his arms around your form and pulling you flush to his chest, you can feel the heat pouring from his body amongst another thing rubbing on your backside.

“you’re so warm and soft” chifuyu coos, running his hands down your bottom and gripping the flesh, “wonder what else is warm” he mumbles, nuzzling his nose into your neck and inhaling the soft scent of your shampoo lingering.

“you’re so needy” you sigh, feeling your husbands hips start grinding behind you, hands roaming to your stomach before they slowly crawl under your shirt, chifuyu’s hot breath whispers on your skin.

“mommy?” a little voice beams through the room, chifuyu cranes his head out from the covers to see his son gripping the door, “daddy is here too” chifuyu smiles as his son releases a squeal tumbling over to the bed and tackling him.

“didnt know you were here daddy” his son climbs over your shared bodies and shoves his face into chifuyu’s chest, your husband holds him harder pressing a kiss against his blonde locks.

“daddy’s here, daddy will always be here” chifuyu holds his son harder, your body flipping over to wipe the stray tear running down chifuyu’s face and he raises his eyes to meet yours “i love you so much angel.”

꒰ KAZUTORA ꒱

“tummy getting big” kazutora speaks up behind you, watching your body meekly bend over to pick up the toys your son left from earlier. your stomach hanging lower everyday and it was getting difficult to chase after your son and husband.

“wonder who’s fault that is” you bend back up and walk over to kazutora, his hand rubbing against your swollen stomach as the other grips your chin and presses his lips against yours.

“you know i can’t stop after just one load, princess” he mumbles in your mouth, lingering his lips to your neck and leaving a wet trail of kisses in the wake, his fingers trace smooth circles over your stomach till they reach your shorts, snapping at the fabrics, “take these off and let me show you” kazutora flickers his eyes down where his hand begins creeping between your legs.

kazutora stills his movements when a small weight clings to his leg, “what’re you doing awake?” he coos, golden eyes mickming the glimmering gaze to kazutora, his son babbles throwing grabby hands and kazutora picks him up, hoisting him on his hip.

“baby” his son grunts, pointing to your protruding stomach and clapping his little hands, “yeah it’s a baby, gonna have another one right after this one too” kazutora grins, bouncing his son when he starts giggling.

“how many are we having?” you squeak, a sly smile spreading over your husbands face when he leans down to press a kiss on your cheek, “now that i finally have a family with you, never want anything else” kazutora places a kiss on his sons face while he bends down to leave one on your swollen stomach, “i’ve never been happier.”

꒰ MITSUYA ꒱

“are you still working?” you walk into your husband's work space, crawling on his lap as he sits in front of a desk, mitsuya pulls his glasses from his face and lays a pencil down as his hands wrap around your body.

“i’ll take a break for you” he whispers, pulling you harder in his lap and the slightest friction makes him groan, shooting your eyes at him mitsuya’s cheeks flash red, “been awhile angel” he murmurs, gripping at your hips and grinding you down.

“let’s change that takashi—wanna make you feel good” you coo, running a finger down his chest and crashing your lips against his. mitsuya groans again in your mouth, and you feel something so hard and prominent throbbing under you with every roll of your hips.

“god, i need you now” mitsuya starts tugging at your bottoms, beginning to roll them off your thighs when you stop him, “she’s crying again” you hold his hand and mitsuya softens, “let me take care of her, go to bed and i’ll meet you there.”

“i’ll finish what i started too, pretty girl” mitsuya drops a kiss on your head before shifting to his feet and heading to his daughter's crib. he gently grabs the sobbing infant, rocking her against his chest while he sits down in the chair by the corner.

“my little princess” mitsuya shushes at his child, her starry eyes blistering tears while her booming cries dig into his ears, “i hate when you cry, it hurts so much” he wipes the tears from her chubby cheeks, leaning down to pepper kisses on her soft skin and finally her crying had stopped.

“i promise i’ll always make you happy” mitsuya begins rocking the chair, smiling when his daughter starts fluttering her eyes close while he hums a soft melody and holding his daughter tighter against his chest.

꒰ BAJI ꒱

“baby come on—just ride me” baji whines, slithering his hands around your body and fake crying when you shove him away, “keisuke you wanted to watch this movie” you scold him, pushing your husbands hands away.

“just a little taste, please?” baji crawls back to you leaving a long strip of his tongue across your ear, his breath cooling over the wetness. the tv casts a blue sheet across the darkness but as you drag your eyes to baji you can see the way his pupils are blown out in subtle desire, a smile spreading across his face.

“you know just a little taste turns into you wanting more and more” you taunt, grabbing his hands and placing them on your chest, baji grins squeezing the mound “yeah? just can’t get enough of that pretty littl—” baji stops, ears perked up when he hears small feet padding at the wooden floors.

“daddy!” his daughter squeals, baji eyes contorts to stars when he hears her voice, “my baby! what’re you doing?” baji shoves you away this time, bending over to open his for his screaming daughter jumping in his arms.

“looking for you, wanna do what you’re doing” she exclaims, settling in his lap and grabbing the remote to press play. baji presses a kiss on her cheek while he shuffles into the couch, holding his daughter close while the movie draws their attention fully, “we’ll do whatever my angel wants.”

you sigh leaning into his shoulder, you want to be jealous with how much your daughter has baji wrapped around her little finger but you can’t deny how happy it makes you when he treats her like she’s hung the moon and stars.

tagging!! — @dukina @toyomitsus @yunxbin @misinfe @my-tasteful-muses @mvkimas @shinichirosupremacy @satmitsuplanet @yut-aa-a @manjirosdoll @passionateuchiha @meena-in-a-nutshell @liquefied-cat @notsocoolnana @obitology @sanzuswh0re @wakasa-wifey @manjiroscum @ranilingus @hirwishin @azazelkim @etheralyonn @benibabe @snoopysxng @angeltani @purrienee @haitanihime @bakugosgrenade @thesimpsclub @miytsuya @rindous-housewife @4k0taro @winterv-black @hoebirama7 @izanasqueen @movhiiii @aathenax @inoopie @yukihime-mikeys-girl @somerandompipzsxh

[bump1nthen1ght]

Searching for Redemption (Chapter 3/5) (Male!Forest Spirit/Reader)

Pairing: Male!Forest Spirit/Gender Neutral!Reader

Genre: Slow Burn, Fluff, Domestic

Warnings: Slight descriptions of blood and animal death

Word Count: 3515 words

Summary: You hold the broom in hand, remembering the pattern the maids followed as they swept the long corridors. It shouldn’t be too difficult, this place isn’t nearly the size of the palace, and it only took the maids 30 minutes to do that!

Turns out, size isn’t the problem.

A/N: Aaaah domesticity. You'll see that my slow burn philosophy is "love is stored in rearing animals together", if that wasn't already obvious by every other fic I right lol.

A thicc chapter to make up for the long wait. Our final chapter is also gonna be extra thicc (If I don't end up splitting it into two chapters), so there might be a wait. Either way, enjoy!!!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

It’s slightly odd, hearing the footsteps of someone else behind him. Cernon had so many years of routine, of habits, that even your small presence was enough to change his home’s usual feeling. Sure, he had invited you here, but as interesting as you were, you were still unknown. The unknown, the human unknown especially, was unpredictable.

The three girls are waiting at the entrance of the barn, oinking wildly as he approaches. He reaches down with one hand and pats Betty on the bum, his new spouse not too far behind. He unlatches the door clasp and the pigs rush in, squealing with excitement. Three feed buckets lay on a high shelf, which he grabs with ease. His partner holds out their hand for one.

“I can carry all of them, it’s fine.”

“I know that, but wouldn’t it be better if I learned directly? I’m kind of a tactile learner.”

Cernon looks at their hands, clean and unbruised. Dirt has been meticulously picked out from under their short fingernails and the skin looks freshly lotioned. Yet they make grabby motions with their fingers, looking up at him stubbornly.

Heh, it’s kind of cute.

He rolls his eyes, dropping the bucket with little care. They struggle with the weight, needing both of their hands to carry it, taking in a deep breath. With a huff of their shoulders, they look to him for guidance. They have to look rather fair up, their neck craned at an awkward angle.

“We just need to pour it into the troughs. Sheila can get a little food-aggressive so I try to feed her away from Betty and Delilah.” Cernon steps inside the pen, hay and mud pressed in between his padded toes. He finds his third eye drifting to his spouse's fancy boots, with its shiny laces and decorated heel. They look like they’ve been meticulously shined every week for any occasion, not a stain on them. That’s until his partner follows in his steps, paying no mind to the muck and the mud.

Full of surprises, aren’t they?

He chuckles, wondering how long it will take to get used to his spouse's peculiarities.

“And,”—They catch their breath, adjusting their grip on the bucket— “which one is Sheila?”

“There, in that corner.” Cernon points with a free hand. “She likes to bring flowers in and put them there, for decoration. She’s also got a big splotch on her belly, that’s how you can recognize her.”

“She decorates? I didn’t know pigs did that.” His spouse giggles. “That’s really cute.”

And I didn’t know you lot could giggle, either.

They struggle with the bucket all the way to the trough, using the side as a leverage to pour the heavy bucket. Sheila squeals and nearly barrels them over to get to the food, but they just laugh and watch her munch away.

He drops the two buckets into the other trough, giving Delilah a quick scratch behind the ears, before turning back to his spouse.

They’re crouched, hay and mud flecked against their pants, tentatively petting Sheila’s back. Sheila pays them no mind, devouring her dinner, but he can hear his spouse whisper.

“Oh my god you’re so adorable.”

Cernon smiles before he can stop himself.

Maybe this won’t be too terrible after all.

—-----

Cernon lets you go inside early, throwing out feed for the chickens with several flicks of his hands. After a helping of smoked fish as a last minute dinner, you and Cernon clean up in his side bathroom. Goat milk and honey soap washes away the pungent smell from your fingers. You toss your mudded pants into a basket Cernon vaguely guestrued to as “Laundry”, rushing into the bathroom with your night clothes.

There’s still a bit of trepidation on sleeping beside your Husband, even with your extra layered pajamas. That feeling only exacerbates when you see Cernon lounging on the bed, legs spread open and only wearing a pair of shorts.

His eyes up there, his eyes are up there, but his thighs are down there-

You crinkle your nose; Maybe you’ll ask for a drop off of some of your spicier romance novels tomorrow in secret, it seems you need an outlet for all…this.

“Are those really comfortable to sleep in?”

Cernon says, gesturing to your many layers.

“Weren’t you the one that says it gets cold at night? This is the most efficient way.”

“Technically, your majesty, skin-to-skin contact is the most efficient way to exchange body heat. But, as you wish.” Cernon snickers, eyebrows rising at your flustered face.

“I g-guess that's true.” You half-heartedly mutter to yourself, crawling into bed. The middle of it sinks under Cernons weight, almost pulling you into his side. You may have done this just last night, but cuddling against Cernon’s bare chest still feels very intimate.

He may chide and give you shit, but Cernon doesn’t force you to get closer, wrapping his arm around your shoulders but not pulling you towards him. He snuggles his head into his pillow, his long white hair draped over his shoulders like a lace curtain. It’s so soft looking, despite spending all it’s time wrapped in a bun or caked in dirt.

A spare strand falls over his face, Cernon’s eyes now closed as he settles into sleep. He almost looks like one of those handsome princes in your novels, cursed to eternal sleep until true love’s kiss.

It’s so shiny, I wonder what it feels like.

Curiosity compels you to reach out your hand and touch the strand. It threads through your fingers as you gently brush your thumb over the hair, trying not to wake Cernon up.

“Your majesty, what are you doing?”

You yank your hand back, squeaking from shock as Cernons third eye looks down at you, unamused.

“I-I-uhhhh.”

Yeah, you really don’t have a good excuse for this.

“I wanted to see if your hair was as soft as it looks.”

So the truth will have to do.

For the second time in the crazy past 48 hours, Cernon seems shocked.

His other two eyes open, but his third eye darts around, away from your eyeline. His cheeks darken a miniscule shade. Is he… blushing?

“We’re married, your majesty.” Cernon says, confidence returning to his voice. “You just had to ask.”

Cernon takes your outstretched hand, and gently runs it against his scalp. Your eyes widen.

Wow, it really is that soft.

Your eyes widen, examining the silkiness in your hands. You run a large bunch of hair through your palm, eyeing the glistening color.

It’s why you miss the way Cernon’s expression softens, the way he relaxes into your touch.

It only takes a minute before you get embarrassed again, taking your hand away and laying back down. Cernon smirks, resting his eyes until-

“Can I ask something of you?”

Cernon huffs a breath, opening his once again.

“Yes?”

“Can you not call me ‘your majesty’?” His eyebrows raise, Cernon sitting up on his forearms. You fiddle with the end of your night shirt. “It’s like you said, we’re married now, this is my home.” A heat blooms on the back of your neck, itchy embarrassment making you scratch, trying to fight away the feeling. “I know it’s silly but, I’d prefer if my husband were to call me by my name, y’know?”

Cernon’s quite, his gaze is pensive. It bores into that nervous feeling in your bgut and ttriples it tenfold.

“Alright then. I will call you….” You look up at him, realizing he’s gesturing for you to say your name.

My gods, two days gone by and you haven’t even told him your name.

“I-its ____. I’m ____.” You stick out your hand for a stiff hand shake.

Cernon chuckles, sliding his hand into yours. His fingers are long, the tips nearly touching your wrist. His palm is calloused, but warm; Comforting.

“Hello, _____. I’m Cernon.”

—-----

You wish you could say you woke up refreshed, ready to hop into a new routine and face the morning. Alas, Cernon’s internal alarm clock is set to the sunset, and it’s unforgiving on your sleep schedule.

You’re still in a haze as Cernon hands you some shredded pork along-

side a bowl of boiled oats with honey, eyes rolled over as you both sit in front of a morning fire. A hot cup of herbal tea slowly brings your brain back to you but it's the next moment that Cernon starts with chores.

You start with the barn, dumping buckets of feed into the troughs and filling up the pig’s water. Cernon then asks you to spread some feed for the chickens as he gets the eggs. He collects the eggs rather quickly, only to see you surrounded by squeaking hens trying to get the feed poured directly into their open beaks. They barely come up to your ankle, but you seem frozen in anxiety. Do you just let them eat out of your hand? The floor seems so dirty to put the food in!

Cernon comes to your rescue with an imitated squawk, scaring the ladies away with a flick of his hand. You get flustered at how easily 5 chickens were able to overtake you.

By the time you finish filling the water and feeding, mud speckles the bottom of your pants and cakes your boots. You rub away the small beads of sweat at your brow, the morning heat already creeping up on you.

“I can finish up with the yard work, if you want to get started on the house.”

“Yes, I can do that.” You mutter, struggling to feign confidence in your cleaning abilities. “The castle is supposed to drop off a delivery of goods today,should we get that together?”

“The trees will get it for us, so there’s no need.”

“Oh.”

You’d been so hung up on mundane chores, you’d forgotten you now live in a magic forest.

“The broom is in the corner of the living room, I think that’s probably a good place to get started.” Cernon scratches the back of his neck. “I haven’t done a proper sweeping in a while, so…good luck.”

“I’ll do my best!” Your thumbs up is meant to convey eagerness, but Cernon just chuckles at the display.

“I believe it.”

With that, you scuttle back to the house. Cernon watches you go, a new feeling beginning to bloom.

———

You hold the broom in hand, remembering the pattern the maids followed as they swept the long corridors. It shouldn’t be too difficult, this place isn’t nearly the size of the palace, and it only took the maids 30 minutes to do that!

Turns out, size isn’t the problem.

Despite its tiny size, you seem to notice a new bit of dust everywhere. You have to use a half-cleaned rag for the smaller area and bend over at an awkward angle to get the corners of the roof. The broom is made of sandy wood and the movement of sweeping works tiny calluses into your palm, making you pause and shake out your hands every couple of minutes.

You think you’d prefer to clean the halls, so you could just move in straight lines, the dust staying exactly where it needs to be. But then you remember those high vaulted ceilings, the number of artifacts shining bright every day, and think otherwise.

You’re finally able to cajole most of the dirt into one spot, proud with your finished product. The dirt is dumped into the trash can tucked away in a corner of the kitchen, filled with discarded animal bones and ripped work clothes. As it falls, you peer out the window.

Despite the general stuffiness of the summer, the weather outside is beautiful. The sun doesn’t overwhelm you under the canopy and occasionally a light breeze will blow over. Cernon is still hard at work, deweeding the area around a newly constructed plantar bed. He sits on his haunches, digging away at the ground with a trowel.

Even sitting, Cernon’s height is imminent, his horns into adding to the effect. The sheer largeness of his back is stifling, muscles shifting and flexing as he digs into the hard ground, grunting only slightly as he pulls the weeds out with his long fingernails. He’s sweaty, dirty, but just so deli-oh my god it’s happening again.

You slap your cheeks. It’s only 8 in the morning! You should not be thinking about things like this!

You avert your eyes, tapping the edge of the dust pan on the trash to get rid of the last bits of dirt, when you hear the familiar sounds of birds tweeting.

Looking out the window once more, you see Cernon still hunched over, his hair pulled back in a ponytail, with several birds perched on his horns. They chirp at him expectantly, shuffling up and down with their sweet songs. Instead of shooing them away Cernon just continues with his work, pulling at the weeds as normal.

My gods, my heart just might explode.

At one point he pauses his digging, stretching out his lower back and cracking his neck. The birds flutter their wings but don’t move from their perch, as Cernon lifts one of his hands up, his pointer finger outstretched. A particularly brave bluebird hops down, turning to him with curious eyes. With a kind of gentle touch you would think impossible, Cernon gives the bluebird some scratches on its neck, the bird chirping sweetly.

You can only see his profile, but with the way the corners of his lips curl up you can tell Cernon is smiling.

“Hello friend, how are you?”

The bird tweets a little bit and Cernon nods.

“I see, that’s good. Maybe they’ll be ready to fly in a couple weeks.”

The bird sings again before flying back up to Cernon’s horns.

Cernon resumes his work, bending over with a groan and digging the trowel into the ground. You remain in the kitchen, chores unattended as you try and not die from cuteness.

———-

By the end of the day, the house is certainly in better shape. Not quite as clean as the castle, but definitely better. All the food has found a more suitable place where they couldn’t stink up the kitchen. The fish smell still lingered, but you were hoping the fresh flowers and incense sticks you put on the window sill would do the trick.

You had also tried your best to dust and sweep all over the house, no more dirt getting stuffed up your nose or clinging to the bottoms of your feet. With little furniture to move around and dirt to collect, you had been able to at least get the first layer of dirt off almost every surface. There had been an attempt made with the windows, but after your experiment with just water had made them streaky with dirt, you figured soap was a needed component.

Your market list only grew longer and longer as you noted every missing pots and pans and most cleaning supplies. Not to mention all the hair and skin products from the castle which you still needed to pick up; Cernon may be able maintain a silky mane with just soap, but you were not gonna take that chance.

All in all, not too terrible of a start. You didn’t tremendously fuck up on a task yet, which you considered a success for your first time keeping house. The only issue now was-

Growl

Food.

Most of your food during the day had been figs and the bread from your morning delivery (Which was given to you via a tree branch through a window. You’re still getting used to this magic forest thing), but nothing substantial. You thought of grabbing some salted pork from the barrels, but were nervous about how strict Cernon was with his rations.

Speaking of Cernon, he had left not too long ago to ‘collect’, whatever that means. Leaving you and your empty stomach wondering what he normally did for dinner.

“I’m back.” Your questions are answered as Cernon walks through the door, several rabbits and two geese hung over his shoulder. “And I have dinner.”

He throws his prey onto the counter after noticing the surprisingly amount of space it has. “It looks good in here.”

You’ll take that as a compliment! A small one, at least.

“Where’d you get all”—you gesture towards the dead animals—“this?”

“Rabbits are from the traps in the woods. I’ll need to show you them one day, the trees only part for me.” Cernon pats the fat belly of one of the geese. “But these I was able to catch off guard. They can be a bitch to fight, but less so when you strike from behind.” He flips over the bird, his lower set of hands beginning to pluck away the feathers. “I’ll get them prepped right now, along with dinner, if you want to wait in the living room.”

His other set unsheathes their claws, running up the goose's long neck before settling in the belly. Two beady eyes stare right at you, lifeless and judging as the hooded head stays flopped over on the table. The tangy smell of blood fills the air, although you can’t bring yourself to look away from its gaze.

Dead eyes. Ripped open stomachs. Snapped necks and rigored skin.

You’ve seen it all before.

Your backpedal into the living room without a second thought, falling into Cernon’s big seat. It feels all consuming, reminding you of your size, your place.

Cernon whistles a tune and you just stare in the fire; Wondering how the pieces fit together.

———-

After washing your face in the bathroom, you want nothing more but to collapse into bed.

Your arms are sore and so are the soles of your feet, the palm of your hand rubbed red. A full belly of potatoes and pork doesn’t help, nor does the anxiety running through your mind. You wonder if this is how everyday will end, if it’s normal to be so tired you can barely make the bed.

Wait, why is the bed naked?

“Oh yeah, I did laundry today. I forgot to remake the bed.” Cernon says, throwing a laundry bag full of linens on top. “Hate it when I do that.”

Cernon throws aside blankets and empty pillows into the now-empty hamper, shaking out the sheets before stretching them to the corners. “I’ll do the sheets if you want to put on the pillow cases.”

You wander to the side, holding the pillow cases by the corner. You side eye Cernon, hoping he doesn’t feel how much you don’t know what you're doing.

Alright, putting on pillow cases, shouldn’t be so difficult.

You grab a make pillow with one hand and hold open the pillow case with another, trying to shove it in with a flimsy wrist movement. It seems so simple, but every time you get one corner of the pillow inside, the other one falls out, the case falling limp in your hand. Your frustration and embarrassment is getting to you, so much so you don’t notice Cernon’s stopped moving behind you.

“Here, lemme show you.” Cernon remarks, jolting you out of your skin as he sidles up behind you. He guides your other hand to hold the pillow case taught as he grabs the pillow. The fur of his chest brushes against the back of your neck, his scent all around you. “You gotta stuff the corners in one at a time, or else the pillow will just fall right out as you try.” Cernon explains as he does the movement, his bottom pair of hands holding your wrists steady as he shoves the pillow inside. You feel that familiar brush glowing across your face as his chest bumps against your back, eyes wandering to his thick biceps as they push. “Also helps if you set the pillowcase down, so gravity isn’t working against you.”

The pillow settles in the case with a final pull upwards from Cernon. “Did that help?” Cernon says, peering down with his arms still wrapped around you. With hair falling over his ears and his horns casting a shadow over your form, you’re reminded of just how big your husband is. So large, and yet his eyes show no malice, just understanding.

How did we get here?

His eyes are pools of gold you want to fall into, warm and so unlike the finery back at the castle.

“Y-yeah, that makes a lot of sense, thank you.”

Cernon hums, his arms unfurling as he moves to your side, grabbing another pillow and it’s case. He stuffs it in fluid motion no although you still struggle a bit, you’re able to stuff your own as well.

“Hey, not too shabby, eh?”

You expect a snarky remark, maybe even a playful dig at such simple successes, but when you turn to Cernon he’s smiling. It’s tiny, you can’t even see those fearsome teeth of his, but it’s there.

“Yeah, you got it.”

[sobsicles]

claire's not expecting them to be at the door. she blinks at the sight of four men all huddled on the stoop with flowers and what appears to be bags of food flowing from their arms. jack is peeking above a bouquet, beaming at her.

"who's at the door?!" jody calls from the kitchen, her voice muffled by the sound of grease popping and the clanking of pans and spatulas meeting over and over.

"god," claire calls back, because she likes to think she's funny.

there's a beat of silence, and then jody's sticking her head out the kitchen. the moment she sees them, she breaks out into a grin and saunters over, shoving the spatula in claire's hand as she chatters away.

"what's going on out there?" donna asks as claire escapes back to the kitchen to poke at food jody is apparently willing to burn just because the winchesters decided to show their faces today of all days.

"judgement day," claire says dryly.

donna shares a look with patience. "haven't we dealt with that already a few times?"

"only by association," claire admits, "but i wouldn't put it past them to bring it along with 'em now. the boys are here."

"oh, isn't that nice?" donna chirps, already popping up from her chair. "i didn't know they were stopping by today."

"wonder how sam's doing," patience agrees, wandering out the kitchen right along with donna. claire can hear everyone cracking up and talking in the living room.

trust the winchesters to shake things up just by showing up. can't have one goddamn day, can they? well, that's not true. in their case, as far as claire is concerned, they're shitty for showing up and shitty for not. someone has to knock 'em all down a peg or two, so she might as well be the one.

"what did that chicken ever do to you?" kaia asks teasingly as she sidles into the kitchen and stops by the stove, hip-checking claire out of the way to take over.

"the boys are here," claire informs her.

kaia raises her eyebrows. "like, the boys as in the winchesters, or is this a milkshake pun?"

"i can only be so gay, sweetheart," claire says, shooting her a flat look.

"raise the bar a little. could be gayer. you can always be gayer," kaia teases, reaching out to sneak her hand around claire's hip, her eyes bright with amusement.

"you know what? you're right," claire agrees and immediately tries to cop a feel while kaia laughs and dances out of range.

jack appears in the doorway. "hello," he says, whispering for some reason. "claire, i need your help."

"no," claire says, not even glancing at him. she continues to try and put her hand up kaia's shirt, just to see her laugh.

"can i borrow twenty dollars?" jack asks.

"no. aren't you god?"

"yes, but i don't get paid to be."

"well, sucks for you. borrow money from cas," claire mutters, settling in behind kaia as she focuses on the food on the stove, swatting lazily at claire's roaming hands.

"he'll just borrow money from dean."

"borrow from sam."

"he'll just borrow money from dean."

"borrow from—wait, why does it matter if it's from dean? just borrow from him."

jack huffs. "i can't. i need the money for dean. i have a card, and i read online it's customary to give money with a card. also, will you sign it?"

"you got dean a card?" claire asks, craning her head around to stare at jack skeptically.

"yes."

"don't tell me it's for what i think it is."

"mother's day," jack confirms unironically.

claire wheezes out a laugh. "oh my god."

"there's a pen in the catty on the fridge," kaia says, clearly amused.

"yeah. yeah, this is—yeah." claire chokes on more laughter and stumbles towards the group of pens in the magnet container on the fridge. she waggles her fingers at jack, clearing her throat, lips twitching. "hand it over, beanstalk. you're a fucking genius."

"oh! thank you," jack declares cheerfully, passing over the card. "so, can i borrow twenty dollars?"

"hell no," claire says. she braces the card against the fridge and swallows down a laugh. sam has already signed it. this just gets better and better. happy mother's day, old man, aka the secondary source of my mommy and daddy issues. you're going for gold with this double-whammy, she writes.

"but i need it," jack insists, staring at her with wide eyes.

claire shrugs. "tough break, kid. what, cas doesn't give you an allowance? is it just me, or are dads getting stricter these days?"

"i didn't think about it in advance," jack admits sadly. "i want to do it right for the holiday. it's mother's day, claire."

"i'm well aware. sorry to break it to you, kid, but last I checked, your mom's as dead as mine," claire tells him, her voice flat. he frowns and she forces herself not to feel bad. everything that sucks for him sucked for her first, so her sympathy levels are a little drained. "father's day will roll around eventually, and you've got a long line of those, so wait your turn."

"i've already done something for my mother today," jack says slowly, his eyebrows furrowed. "i visited her in heaven."

claire snorts derisively and passes the card back over. "must be nice."

"it was," jack agrees, completely missing the point. "i really can't borrow twenty dollars? i'll pay you back."

"nah," claire says. "who cares anyway? wait, why is dean the mom?"

"well, castiel is my father."

"ah, so it's about them having the hots for each other, then? really, kid, you coulda just made dean your step-dad."

jack blinks. "they have the...hots for each other? you mean sex. they have sex?"

"you know what?" claire points at him with her free hand. "i'm not gonna burst your bubble on that one. you've got enough issues on your own without wondering if mommy and daddy still have a spark, so I'm gonna leave that alone. i've got five dollars. take it or leave it."

"deal," jack says immediately.

money is exchanged, and jack looks like he's on cloud nine. claire's just stoked to see the expression on dean's face when he gets the card. it's a homemade card and everything, nothing like the two claire, kaia, patience, and alex got for jody and donna.

claire helps kaia finish up the chicken, which promptly gets set aside to wait on the rest of the food in the oven. sam wanders in at some point to drop off the food they brought. dessert, by the looks of it. pies and cakes that go in the fridge. it's kind of them, but claire would shoot herself in the foot before she ever admits it.

she lets kaia tug her into the living room where everyone is already at, rolling her eyes at how cheered everyone seems just because the winchesters happened to grace their doorstep. really, they all suck.

but also—and claire will never admit this, not even to save her own life—it's nice to see 'em again. it's nice that they've come to celebrate the day in jody and donna's name, giving them flowers and such. it's nice that they hang around for a bit and don't bring the world crashing down on everyone for the duration of their stay.

and, well, it's nice to see cas, too.

he perches up next to the couch that claire is squeezed on with alex, donna, kaia, and jack. kaia is practically in her lap, but claire is secretly glad for the excuse. while everyone talks and has conversations across one another, cas focuses entirely on her.

another thing claire will never admit is how reluctantly pleased by that she is. it warms her. stupidly, it turns soft and gooey in her chest that he automatically gives her his undivided attention over everyone else, even jack. but, then again, it's not cas' day, so she doesn't have to look too close to that feeling. it's mother's day, so it's not about him.

when the food is ready, they reconvene in the kitchen, and that's when they crack out the cards and gifts. claire is practically vibrating with laughter before jack has even brought his card out. before that, though, she smiles softly and strokes kaia's thigh under the table as jody and donna read their cards and chuckle at the messages, their gazes warm and their smiles sweet. they look happy. they deserve to be.

"okay, last one," claire announces, grinning at jack. she's starting to think she likes this kid if he's an agent of chaos like this.

and okay, maybe she hates him a little in abstract, but in detail, she finds that she does actually like him. you kinda just wanna put him in your pocket without meaning to, she's learned. there's too much to explore with the whole psuedo sibling thing and parents that aren't parents, as well as parents that are but didn't choose to be, only he did choose one of them, and it wasn't her. it's complicated, but underneath it all, there's a vibrant love there that she can't look directly at. sometimes, she despises that she's included in it; yet, just the same, she's thankful that she is.

"oh hell," dean mutters, swinging his gaze between alex and patience. "one of you...ya know? did we miss something?"

claire snorts.

"what? no," alex replies, grimacing. "i have no idea what claire's talking about. claire, what the hell are you talking about?"

"jack?" claire prompts in a wheeze.

"here you go," jack chirps, holding out the card to dean, beaming. "happy mother's day."

the expression on dean's face is somehow even better than claire imagined. she howls with laughter while sam buries his face in his hands, his shoulders jerking. cas squints at jack, and jody's eyebrows fly up at the same exact time that donna grins.

"is this a joke?" dean sputters.

"no, no, nope," claire chokes out, nearly fucking crying with laughter. "happy mother's day, dean."

"you gotta take it, man," sam agrees, clearing his throat and biting back a smile as he bobs his head dutifully towards the card.

dean fixes sam with a flat look and snatches the card. "you're all so fucking—sam, you signed it?!"

"happy mother's day," sam says, his mouth pinched, visibly trying not to laugh.

"do you like it?" jack asks earnestly. "i made the card, sam signed it first, and claire provided the money."

"i—" dean stares down at the card, then heaves a sigh and looks up at jack. it's clear to him that—out of everyone—jack is clearly taking this very seriously. he offers him a weak smile, then swallows. "yeah, s'great, kid. thank you. sam, you are dead to me. claire, i will be spending this on something you hate. cas, this is somehow your fault."

"yup, sounds like a mother to me," jody declares, holding up her beer with a smile.

"welcome to the club," donna agrees, holding hers up as well. "everyone else annoys the shit out of you, but you love 'em anyway."

dean sighs and clinks his beer to theirs.

[storiesforallfandoms]

hard day ~ pete davidson

word count: 2057

request?: yes!

“Hey can I request a Pete Davidson imagine where the reader has had a long hard day at set and dealing with papparazzi and Pete pampers her. Maybe ending in smut to make her feel special?”

description: after a hard day of filming, followed by an overwhelming run in with paparazzi, he decides to help her relax

pairing: pete davidson x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut

masterlist (one, two)

The sound of the door slamming alerted Pete that his girlfriend was finally arriving home. She had texted him a few hours earlier to say she was being kept late on set, but neither one of them thought that she meant she’d be this late.

Pete craned his neck to peak around the doorway of the living room as he watched (Y/N) stomp up the stairs towards their shared room. He cringed as he heard that door slam shut as well. He knew this meant that (Y/N) wanted to be left alone, but he hated to leave her alone while she was so angry. So, he paused his show and got up to make his way to their room.

Instead of barging in, Pete stood outside their shared bedroom door and knocked. When there was no answer, he tried again.

“Fuck off,” came a groan.

“Hard day baby?” Pete asked her.

“Fuck off for a bit, Pete. I don’t wanna snap at you.”

Pete sighed and decided to leave her be. He knew it was best to let her blow off steam however she felt she had to, but it was hard when all he wanted was to take her in his arms and hold her until the bad went away.

An idea popped into his head. He moved from their bedroom to the bathroom down the hall. He began to run the bath and put some of (Y/N)’s favorite bubble bath in. He watched as the bubble rose so high that she would definitely disappear into them. While waiting for the hot water to cool down just enough that she could get in comfortably, Pete went down to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Once his de-stressing scene was all set up, he went back to their bedroom. Instead of knocking, Pete just walked in. He found his girlfriend laying face down on the bed. She was still completely dressed in her clothes from the day, which made him feel a slight twinge of sadness for her.

(Y/N) lifted her head just enough to look at Pete before letting it drop back down to the bed. “Go away.”

“I have a bath ready for you.”

(Y/N) rolled over onto her back and looked over at him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I think I did, actually. You seem very upset, and we both know how much you love a good bath to help calm down.”

(Y/N) looked at him for a moment longer. She had to admit he was right on that front. She loved to take a nice hot bath after a long, stressful day in order to calm down. But tonight she just felt extra stressed and frustrated to a point where it felt like even a bath wasn’t going to help her.

She couldn’t hold back her giggles as Pete lifted her into his arms and started carrying her towards the bathroom. He played her on the counter and began to strip her of her clothes.

“I think I know how to get undressed, Pete,” she joked.

“But it’s my favorite thing to do!” Pete responded, a goofy smile on her face as he pulled her pants and panties down her legs at the same time, leaving her completely naked in front of him.

“You do light up like a child on Christmas when I take my bra off,” she teased him, noticing his eyes lingering on her chest.

“Your tits are my favorite gifts,” he agreed, tweaking her nipple just once to satisfy the urge inside of him. (Y/N)’s legs tightened a little at the gesture. Pete noticed, but decided not to say anything just yet.

He helped her into the tub and poured her a glass of the wine.

“Aren’t you joining me?” she asked as she took the glass from him.

“I’ll join you in a nice glass of this expensive wine we have,” he said. “But this is your de-stressing bath. I’ll just sit here and watch and drink for a while.”

“That’s romantic,” she said, sarcastically. “I take a nice hot bubble bath all by myself, while my boyfriend sits on the toilet.”

“Hey, could be worse. I could also be naked while I’m sitting here. Imagine how weird that would be.”

(Y/N) crinkled her nose before she started to giggle. Pete smiled as well, feeling a sense of pride in making her laugh.

They both sat together for a while, just sipping their wine. (Y/N) felt her body relaxing in the hot water as she laid her head back against the wall behind her. This really was what she needed after such a long day, whether her more frustrated self wanted to admit it or not.

“What had you so worked up in the first place, babe?” Pete asked as he filled her wine glass.

(Y/N) groaned. “You’re ruining the mood, Pete.”

He chuckled. “Okay, sorry. Just asking is all.”

(Y/N) sighed and lifted her head again to look at him. “Remember how I texted you to tell you I was asked to stay a bit later in order to finish a scene? Well, that ‘a bit later’ turned into three hours later because the director kept making me film the scene over and over and over until he finally decided it was okay. Not perfect, not even great! Just okay. He put us through hours of reshooting just to decide he was going to go with the okay take! Fucking bastard!”

“What was his problem?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Beats me! Apparently nothing was good enough for him. Wasted three fucking hours filming just to get an okay scene. Then, when I left, I was tired but I wanted to spend at least an hour with you, so I decided to go get coffee. The minute I stepped out of my vehicle I was swarmed by paparazzi. I don’t know how they figured out where I went, but they would not leave me alone. I ended up not even going into the coffee place cause I could not get around at all.”

Pete reached out and took hold of one of (Y/N) bubbly, wet hands. “I’m so sorry, babe. I do get how much the paparazzi shit sucks, but on top of an already bad day? That fucking sucks so much?”

(Y/N) sighed and ran her thumb over Pete’s knuckles. “It does suck. I have to go back to set tomorrow morning and I’m dreading it so much. How am I supposed to go back there after spending so long filming that last scene today? I’ll kill the director the moment I see him.”

“You wouldn’t even hurt a fly baby, let’s not pretend here.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “You’re right, I can’t.”

The silence washed over them again. (Y/N)’s eyes trailed to Pete’s hand. She looked at it for a while, just lost in her own world as she absentmindedly ran her thumb over his knuckles. Then, she started thinking about his long fingers inside of her, curling just right to hit that spot inside of her that drove her over the edge every time. She felt a heat growing between her legs, and if she wasn’t in the bath already she was certain she’d be soaked.

“What are you thinking?” Pete asked, breaking her out of her trance. She looked up at him suddenly, eyes wide with the shock of being caught.

“Uh...” she said, trying to think of something to say. She didn’t want to tell Pete she had been having sexual daydreams, but then she realized what was the harm of telling him? They had been together for quite some time, it’s not like she’d scare him off by telling him anything. “I was thinking about your fingers inside of me.”

Pete’s pants grew a bit tighter at this. “Really? Pretty specific thing to be thinking about.”

“Well, I’m here holding your hand. I’m thinking about things that relax me. Your fingers definitely cause me to relax a lot when they’re down there.”

Pete placed his wine glass on the counter next to him and pulled his shirt over his head. (Y/N) watched in slight confusion, before realization washed over her when Pete’s hand disappeared under the water. He nudged her legs open and slowly ran two fingers up and down her slit, teasingly.

“You feel so wet already baby,” he joked, a smile on his face.

(Y/N) couldn’t contain her own smile and giggles. “You’re such a fucking do - ”

Her playful insult was silenced as Pete pushed two fingers deep inside of her. (Y/N) gasped, her head falling back against the wall behind her again. Pete started pumping in and out of her very slowly, making sure he wasn’t hurting her with what he was doing.

“Is this what you were thinking about baby?” he asked her.

“Fuck Pete,” she breathed. “Fuck yes this feels so good.”

Pete curled his fingers in a way that made it easier for him to hit the right spots. (Y/N) let out a moan and tried to buck her hips against his fingers, but he used his other hand to ease her back down.

“Just sit back and let me take care of you baby,” he said. “I’ll take all your stress away.”

Pete’s erection was becoming nearly unbearable as he watched (Y/N) coming undone in front of him, and felt her warmth wrapped around his fingers. He wanted nothing more than to take her right there, to really fuck any stress left out of her. But at the same time, he didn’t want that. He just wanted to make her feel good, to wipe the memories of he day away.

(Y/N)’s free hand wrapped around Pete’s bicep. Her nails dug so deep into his arm that Pete knew there would be marks there once she pulled away, maybe even full on scratches or blood, but he’d wear the marks with pride. He usually did whenever she left them on him.

He began to speed up his pumping. He felt (Y/N)’s thighs clenching around his hand, as if she were trying to hold him there. Breathy moans were escaping from her lips as he body began to tremble.

“Fuck Pete,” she breathed. “Fuck, I’m starting to feel close.”

“Yeah?” Pete asked. “Are you gonna cum all over my fingers baby?”

In response, (Y/N) moaned again. Pete picked up his pace a little more, causing her moans to become screams of pleasure. He could feel the tension building up in her as he body prepared to let go.

Pete leaned forward to kiss (Y/N) gently on her lips. “Cum for me, princess. Let me feel you.”

With those words, (Y/N) came completely undone. She screamed Pete’s name so loud he was sure the neighbors would hear her. He felt her clenching around his fingers and he wished he could actually feel her wetness and not just that of the water in the tub.

(Y/N) was breathing heavily when Pete was finally able to pull away from her. He stood and grabbed a nearby hand towel to begin drying his hands. (Y/N) watched him, a cloud of lustful fog still blocking her as she tried to recover from her high. Her eyes shifted down to Pete’s crotch area, where she noticed the evergrowing buldge.

“Do you want me to return the favor?” she asked, a lazy smile on her face.

Pete smiled back at her and leaned down to kiss her again. “That’s okay babe. You enjoy your bath until it gets cold.”

(Y/N)’s brows furrowed together. “You don’t want me to do anything for you?”

“Well I didn’t say that,” Pete said. “But for now I just want you to unwind. We can fuck later on. I’ll make you forget your entire day then, maybe even your own name if you’re lucky.”

(Y/N) giggled. “I hope I’ll be lucky then.”

She smiled as she watched Pete leave the room to change his clothes. Despite her teasing words, she felt like she was already the luckiest girl in the world to have such an amazing man by her side.

[misasimagines]

playing crane games with jjk characters

included characters: Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, Maki, Gojo rating: sfw warnings: none!

i may be watching all of Minori’s videos on youtube about the crane game place oops!

Yuji:

He’s actually pretty good at them, but sometimes even when they’re very obviously rigged, he doesn’t stop trying to get the prize. He’ll just stand there and spend all of his money desperately trying to get that weirdly shaped alarm clock he probably won’t even use.

He also really wants to win something for you so he’ll be constantly asking you “do you want that one? what about that? you like that character, right?” Just let him win something for you before he implodes.

If you win something for him it’s now a prized possession even if it’s just a teeny little keychain or something. Like that’s a gift you worked so hard to get for him, of course he’s going to cherish it. But he also now has to win you a matching gift so step away from the crane game machine and be very patient...

he is not immune to physically shaking the entire machine or trying to fit his arm up the shoot to try to get something because “I basically had it, you saw that right?!” or just because like, it’s difficult and he REALLY wants that stuffed cow... he can’t walk away after sinking all that money into it and he doesn’t have enough to keep trying so... Keep watch, okay?

you and yuji are forcibly removed from the premises

Megumi:

he knows they’re rigged, he knows the prizes are probably not worth the money you’re going to spend on them, and yet he still finds himself trying to win you that gigantic stuffed dog because you saw it and got that lovestruck look in your eyes. It’s just so stupid that it keeps dropping the damn thing when he’s so close to getting it. And now he’s been dragged in and can’t leave until the stuffed animal is in your arms.

Win something for him and he’s very quiet and reserved with his thanks but his cheeks are a little pink, he’s avoiding eye contact, and he obviously appreciates your gift.

If you’re struggling to try to win something for a while and you REALLY want it, he’s not above cheating. The store is already cheating as it is with the rigged machines, he’s just making things fair- and then there’s a frog in the crane game machine shoving the themed lunchbox down the shoot. Congrats on your prize! He’s not doing that for every prize, just that once, okay? Do Not give him the puppy dog eyes he’ll make an excuse to have to leave because now he’s flustered.

Also, uh, stop hugging that big stuffed dog he won for you when he’s Right There in Hugging Distance and slowly getting huffy about the lack of attention.

Nobara:

She claims to be so good at these, basically a pro, and then the crane drops and misses the stuffed cat by a mile and she’s speechless. It’s cheating her, she had it. Now she’s leaning around the sides of the machine to look in from all angles before letting the crane drop. And...she missed again. You’re gonna be here for a while.

Prefers the capsule machines after losing to the crane games for a while, at least she’s guaranteed a prize at those. She won’t spend a crazy amount of money on them, and probably gets decently lucky by getting her first or second choices on her first attempt. When she tries to win something that you want though, her luck runs out.

If you’re trying to win something, she’s cheering you on and giving you (bad) advice that you definitely should(n’t) listen to. If you’re good at them, you’re now the chosen crane game player and she’ll start pointing out the things she wants.

Win her something and her competitive side makes her need to win something for you, but she’s also still not good at them, so convince her to just buy you lunch or a smoothie or boba or something instead. You guys are already out, might as well make a full date of it!

Maki:

She prefers things that are more skill based than luck based, so crane games are a weird middle ground for her. When she wins easily, she’s like yes I fucking love these games. When she can’t win, she’s like these are horrible, bad, rigged, not even fun- really though, she’s just enjoying spending time with you!

Most of what she goes for is going to be for you or for her other friends rather than herself. She’s not so interested in stuffed toys or keychains or novelty items. But maybe if you were to find a tiny sword replica or something, she’ll think it’s funny enough to want.

Win something silly for her, like a Minecraft diamond sword toy and she’s like this is so dumb I’m treasuring it forever. She’s going to intermittently smack you on the ass with it for the rest of the day though.

She will challenge you to a competition: first to win a prize gets treated to dinner by the other. She takes it seriously and will do her best to beat you, but she’s not upset about losing because hey, she still gets to go to dinner with you and that’s a win.

Gojo:

He boasts about being sooo good at crane games, wins every time, and then he plays a few and does win every time. You can’t tell if he’s cheating, but he probably is and definitely won’t admit to it. In fact, he’s offended you think he would cheat, didn’t he already tell you he’s the strongest and the best at everything? Is it so shocking that he won this Hatsune Miku figure in only five attempts? But he’s grinning the entire time he’s pretending to be offended.

he does the ol’ “I could win at this blindfolded with one hand behind my back” and then he does but, really, he walked in here blindfolded and he didn’t really need both hands to press a button, so this isn’t the boast he’s pretending it is. Cheer for him anyway because people are already staring and he needs his turn to bow dramatically with his souvenir anime spoons.

If you insist on winning something for him, fair, no cheating, he will not intervene. Not to help you, at least. He wanders around the machine making faces at you through the glass and making different sound effects when the crane arm drops your prize just short of winning it. His “come on, you can do it this time!” sounds a lot less like praise and more like a taunt.

You walk out with a new hat, sunglasses, a full set of themed silverware, three gigantic stuffed animals, an inflatable chair, etc and he’s just as bogged down with stuff as you are. Where to put all of this stuff when you get home....?