#well see how strung out i feel from lack of sleep

[master-gatherer]

Well, I didn't get any sleep. But I managed to call my mechanic.

Or rather, they called me, then I had to call them back b/c my phone is stupid and sometimes need to be restarted to take calls.

So that's something.

[gothicflowers]

damn why did Kyle’s ass block us tho

Continuing this Gaz blurb

*4 months later*

Gaz still felt guilty, and even worse… he couldn’t get off without recalling the way your body moved and voice sounded that night. Gaz was ruined. The innocent pictures he had of you when you two went to the beach once were like a playboy magazine to him. He tried a few hookups from shitty pubs but none compared to how you made him feel. Loved, warm, safe… happy.

He tried going on a few dates… one he accidentally called her your name as they were making out in his car. The other looked like you but lacked personality. Needless to say karma was biting Kyle in the ass.

“So you blocked her, after you took her to the fanciest steakhouse, wine back at her place while sharing secrets… and had the best shag of your life” soap says from the other side of the aircraft. “And let’s not forget all the cute couple shit you two had been doing”

“Who we talking about” ghost questions.

“Lass that Gaz was seeing months ago, and bloody blew it after a quick shag from the sound of it” soap snickers.

“I thought you were still seeing her” ghost questions.

“I didn’t think I’d actually sleep with her, that wasn’t my goal. And no, it’s been a while” gaz defensively replied.

Soap pinches the bridge of his nose “so your original plan was essentially a break off date”.

Gaz shrugs “I didn’t want her last memory of me to be me saying see you later after our usual Sunday walk. Plus we were never technically together”.

Prices eyebrows raised “So you just strung her along for a month and you were going to ghost her regardless of how the night ended”.

“Well… yeah and it was actually more like five months” gaz sheepishly replied.

The men went silent as they gathered their thoughts. Price being the first to speak up after a painful awkward silence “five months, you bastard she probably was falling in love with you, then you decided to pull the shittiest move a man can make”

“I panicked” Gaz shrugs and diverts his eyes from his captains burning gaze.

Ghost chuckles “wrong, you premeditated disappearing from her life. Sounds like you got a fear of commitment”.

Gaz defensive responds “I do not, it’s just with what we do it’s not worth the risk. I mean what if something happens”

“Sounds exactly like something a person with commitment issues would say” ghost quickly replied.

Soap decides to add fuel to the fire “Aye didn’t you do the same thing with the last gal you liked. Maybe it’s the chase you like. Love ‘em and leave ‘em“.

“Fuck off soap” Gaz responds trying to control his irritation.

Price sighs “I didn’t realize how much of my life I wasted having that mentality when I was your age. Had some fun one night stands but the loneliness catches up real quick. Granted things are turning up for me but boy do I feel like I missed out on that young love”.

Gaz starts to think about what price said. After a plane ride home in deep thought he asks price one last question before departing base “So what should I do to get her back”

Prices brows furrowed “You want something optimistic or something realistic”

“Fuck, realistic I guess” gaz leans against the doorframe of prices base office.

Price stands next to a filing cabinet and shakes his head “Honestly I’ll be amazed if she gives you as much as a moment to explain. But if she’s does let you, be honest about why you left and apologize. No point in lying when you have everything to gain and you can’t lose what you’ve already lost Sargent” price gives him a sincere look “regardless of how it turns out you need to let this be a teaching moment. Because maybe she doesn’t take you back, maybe life sends someone else your way. But if you get that lucky you know better than to fuck it up like this ever again”.

Gaz nods “Would flowers be a nice addition to the apology”.

Price smirks “I don’t think flowers will help your cause much, but maybe it’s sweeten her up”.

Gaz nods “thanks, see you later captain”

Gaz needs a plan to get you back, forever hopefully.

*the next day*

She wasn’t even home. So Gaz decides on waiting to see if you’ll come home anytime soon by sitting on your front door steps for two hours. He has no plans to leave until he sees your pretty face.

Gaz scrolls endlessly on his phone when the sound of heels awaken his senses, only to actually look up when he hears your voice “What are you doing here” you very clearly are not happy to see him.

Gaz stands up with flowers in his hand, clearing his voice he carefully starts his plan “I came to explain, but more importantly apologize”. Gaz sheepishly said.

Your eyes look down at the flowers in his hand, appalled. “No need honestly, I’ve moved on and I think you should to”.

Shit this isn’t going well Gaz thinks. Time to take the soft puppy dog approach. He takes a step forward to you and his eyes fill with hurt “Would you at least let me explain, if you don’t want to hear it I’ll leave now but at least let me be honest as to why I ran off”

You huff defeated, hard to say no when he’s looking at you like that but you can’t give in. “Nothing you can say will change my mind”.

“My job. It’s dangerous and I was worried that it wouldn’t work out because of the demands. And I didn’t plan on sleeping with you. Honestly I just wanted you to have a nice night before I disappeared” gaz trying to reach for your hand, you move back.

“That’s great Kyle. Well my boyfriend just left his office and I’m making dinner, so I really don’t have time for this” you fumble with your keys, as they slip to the ground Gaz picks them up and unlocks to door for you.

“At least let me help carry all this in for you and I’ll be on my way” he politely asked. Praying you’ll let him in.

You sigh a defeated “Fine”. You walk in the door first as Gaz grabs the rest of the bags on the porch. He watches as your hips sway, he can feel the blood in body start to boil. Stay calm, stay fucking calm.

Your home still smells like fresh cotton and lavender. Still perfectly tidy and comfortable. He looks over at that corner sofa where you two made out. He closes the front door and walks to the kitchen and sets the groceries on the counter, he notices a silver watch with a rather large band. Must be a big fella. That’s when he hears the front door open and close. A heavy set of footsteps approaches silently.

“I think you should get going now” you say plainly avoiding Kyle’s burning gaze. He hurt you too much for you to have a moment of doubt.

A deep voice speaks as the footsteps stop at the kitchen “Sargent”.

Gaz turns around to the voice in the room and swallows hard.

“Captain”

Pt.3

[schmidtkisser]

hi there!! i just want to say that i absolutely loved your first fic, it was beautiful! regarding prompt suggestions, could you perhaps do something like the reader helping mike get a restful night's sleep following the events of the movie? no pressure ofc!!

Nightly Lullaby

pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader

word count: 1.8k

synopsis: mike has trouble sleeping due to the anxiety of dreaming the same memory he has trained his brain for over the past few years. after tucking abby into bed, you help mike finally sleep comfortably for once.

content: established relationship between you and mike, 2nd person pov, comfort, fluff, domestic fluff, love language: physical touch, insomniac mike, fnaf movie spoilers (story takes place after the events of the movie), you babysit abby, you sing them to sleep

a/n: thank u anon for the rq! this was so fun to write and was such a cute prompt to work with <3 hope i did it justice

★彡★彡★彡

It had been about a week or two since Mike resigned from being a security guard at a run-down, haunted pizzeria.

You heard all about it from Mike himself. The history of the place, the owner, animatronics possessed by the ghosts of dead children, his past with Garrett — everything. It was hard to believe at first, but the sincerity in his tone, as well as the fact that Mike wasn’t the kind of person to lie to you, led you to believe everything he claimed was true.

You could barely imagine everything he had to go through. Losing his little brother, his parents, having a difficult time finding a job, all while in the process of almost losing custody of his sister. Though he seemed to be struggling less now that it was all over, you couldn’t help but notice his struggle with sleep ever since then.

Mike always relied on a nightly routine to help him sleep up until a week ago. He told you about the dream theory, and how he’d stare at a Nebraska poster while listening to nature noises on a walkman.

The part that concerned you the most was his reliance on sleeping pills. You couldn’t even begin to describe the relief you felt when he admitted that he was ready to stop using them every night. But now, as a result of the sudden routine change and the lack of pills, he had a hard time falling asleep.

—

He leans against his sister’s doorframe, his arms folded as he watches you with half-lidded eyes. You always tuck Abby into bed after a long day, pulling the comforter over her shoulders before you give her a small forehead kiss. A little conversation exchange would occur, before she would ask a small request from you.

“Can you hum me a song again?” Abby asks, her brown eyes sparkling with anticipation. The simple routine following up to the nightly lullaby works like a charm. She’ll be asleep in no time. “They help me sleep. And you always do it better than Mike.”

You can’t help but scoff a small laugh at the stab at Mike, glancing over at him to see his reaction. He playfully rolls his eyes at you two, before continuing to observe you both.

You look back at Abby, who is hiding her obvious smile beneath the duvet covers. Your eyes soften at her, your hand reaching down to pet her head, before you begin to hum a simple, yet effective lullaby as she requested. She listens intently, her eyes beginning to flutter shut within the first minute or so of your hum.

Though, she wasn’t the only one listening to the sweet song. Mike’s ears tune into your delicate crooning, yawning quietly as he leans himself forward. He adores the soft rumble from your throat, how it strung itself together into a beautifully crafted lullaby. He thinks you sound angelic despite not singing a single word. He can feel his heart pick up a beat as he listens. He feels his eyes grow heavier, his head beginning to nod off as he feels himself begin to drift.

But the lullaby ends almost as quickly as it began. You pull away from Abby, her soft snores slipping out in purrs; she’s out like a light. Your lips curl into a little smile when you observe her, slowly lifting yourself off of her bed as your attention shifts to Mike, who is in the most exhausted state you’ve ever seen him in. The poor man looks like he’s about to fall over any second.

You make your way over to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. The sudden contact wakes him up, his eyes widening slightly in surprise as he looks at you. His cheeks flush with warmth from how close you are, not to mention the comforting feeling of your arm wrapped around him. It made him want to melt, thinking you feel much warmer compared to any blanket he’s ever used.

“Come on, Mike,” you whisper, guiding him forward. You quietly close Abby’s door as the two of you leave the room. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He nods, trying his best not to drag his feet across the floor as you walk him to his bedroom. He feels heavy as he leans against you, his exhaustion making itself present with every passing second.

Making your way inside the room, you close the door behind you with the heel of your foot. You walk him to his bed while you keep him close to you. The cold air nips at your skin, and you can feel Mike shiver against you too. You reach over to click his lamp on, the warm light illuminating the room. He murmurs your name softly as you both take a seat on his mattress with a creak.

“There, there,” you rub a hand up his back. Your eyes gaze down at him, noticing even the slightest few details about him. His furrowed brows, the little frown pursed on his lips, and most notably; the dark eye bags dusted beneath his eyes. The sight saddens you. He really hasn’t slept a wink in the past week.

He casts his eyes up at you, his arms wrapping themselves around your waist as he pulls you closer. To him, it feels like having a teddy bear in his arms — something he hadn’t really felt since the loss of his childhood. The thought gets him emotional, and he attempts to hide the sudden flood of emotions welling in his face by nuzzling himself against your neck. His fingers slowly clutch onto the fabric of your shirt.

“I don’t want to dream anymore,” he utters. “Things are fine now but, what if I dream about that again, you know? I mean, I trained my brain to think of the same memory every night.” There was a slight crack in his voice, his clutch growing tighter. “Y/N, I know it sounds stupid, but I just…”

“…It’s not stupid. None of it is.” You hush him gently. Your hand trails over to his shoulder, the other reeling him in for a warm hug. You can feel his tense body begin to calm as he takes control of his breathing. The comfort of your embrace never fails to ease him. “I can’t imagine being in your position, but sudden change is difficult. I just want you to know that I’m always here for you, Mike.”

Your tone stumbled slightly as you spoke. It came out cornier than you wanted it to, and you felt your face heat up a little in embarrassment. His silence following your words scares you into a small pit of self-doubt. Did you say the wrong thing? Was it even helpful? You nervously nibble at your lower lip, waiting for any kind of response.

Then, you feel a small, amused huff against the skin of your neck, followed by a little nod from him. The fingers clutching your shirt loosened slightly, but he still kept a grasp on you. “Thank you, Y/N.”

You let out a sigh of relief, cradling Mike in your arms. Your lips curl up into a smile, pulling away from the hug just slightly to look at him again. His brows weren’t furrowed anymore, and you can even see a hint of a smile on his face.

You cup his cheek with the palm of your hand, exchanging a sudden, yet loving kiss between you two. The kiss catches him off guard, but he eases into it quickly. You savour the tender feeling of his lips, the warmth of his cheek against your palm, how he kissed back with the same amount of love in his gesture.

Oh, how he makes you melt.

You pull away at the same time, taking a breath as you look longingly into each others’ eyes. Your thumb brushes gently against the corner of his lip, your palm feeling every inch of his stubble. He leans into your touch, and you can’t help but think that he resembles a puppy with the way he looks at you. He closes his eyes, nuzzling against your palm with a yawn. Your eyes soften, beginning to realise how tired you’ve gotten also.

“Bed time?” You whisper. He nods silently in response.

You draw back from the intimate cuddles to tuck him into bed. He feels your absence, and you feel it too, despite the fact that you were just a foot away from him.

He brings himself down onto his bed, resting his head against the feather-filled pillow. You carefully pull the comforter over his body, providing him with warmth against the cold air circulating in the room. He was just about ready to pass out, but his fingers clasp at the rim of your shirt.

“Can you sleep here, with me?” He croaks, turning his eyes away from you. “Please.”

Initially, you were planning to drive home after he went to bed, but you couldn’t help but soften at his request. You were growing too tired to drive safely anyway. You click his lamp off, the room getting swallowed in darkness, with the moonlight peaking through the slits of the blinds. “I can.”

You crawl into the empty spot on the bed next to him, sinking yourself beneath the covers. His bed was far more comfortable than you could imagine, and the faint scent of him has you sinking in deeper.

He rolls over to lie on his side, facing you as his arms snake around your waist again. You do the same, enveloping him in your embrace. He rests his face against your chest with a lazy hum. As he listens intently to the beat of your heart, he thinks of a small, though embarrassing request.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Mmm?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I won’t.”

He pulls you in closer, your bodies intertwining. “Can you hum me a song?” He murmurs. “Like you do with Abby.”

The question catches you off guard. You should’ve expected it, yet it still surprised you — but not in a bad way. Deep down, you knew he felt a bit embarrassed for asking you to sing him to sleep. He is a grown man, after all, not a child like Abby.

Yet, you carry no judgement, cradling him in your arms as you accept his request. It was better than listening to a nature tape on loop, or the dead silence of the house, after all.

You begin to hum for him, your lips pressed together as you craft a tune for him to nod off to. He pays close attention to every note, to the rise and fall of your chest when you croon, to how your voice would bounce off the walls back to you two. With every passing second, he can feel his eyes grow heavier. In the comfort of your arms and the sweet sound of your song, he finally lulls off to a deep, peaceful sleep.

You can feel his body relax against yours, and his soft breaths hit against the skin of your chest as he falls into a slumber. You slowly wrap up the song, keeping him in your hold as you nuzzle the top of his head. You smile to yourself, your heart full of tenderness and warmth, whispering for one last time tonight.

“Goodnight, Mike.”

[pinep-ne]

Oh this tragedy... I've always wanted to write/read more of these three. It was very interesting only touching on the dynamic but at some point I'd really love to whip up something more thorough.

TW — Nightmares, implied trauma/flashbacks

(i have this fic and more posted on ao3!)

----------

It's been a month since taking the boy in, and about a week since their escape from Jackson in its blooming thaw. Town would be bustling, and the pine miles near it no longer had any snow to fall on all their heads, and Dutch deemed it urgently necessary. So they moved.

Hosea hasn't slept since. Not that the wood unsettles him, frighteningly still as it is, a dying ecosystem in the stampede of civilization. The birds played telegram and sought somewhere quieter, as does he. But, of course, Dutch believes otherwise. That was their center of gravity, a teetering thing they each teased relentlessly.

Arthur changed that.

The boy had spoken his name only a few days ago. He has dwindled since they first found him, like a network of dry kindling, compressed into a rudimentary bomb, heart thumping and desperate for ignition. Then, Hosea's lack of rest had been voluntary, on account of not fear but a paralyzing concern, that this boy would indeed shatter the strung web between them- or worse, himself.

The warmer it seemed, by climate and his distance from their bonfires, Arthur had become what Hosea can only compare to a single, fluttering aspen leaf. Not softer, but young as it should feel, as it should be. Too dampened to seek fire, but not yet enough to see him as a wet puppy, merely clinging to its only source of food and shelter.

That's how Dutch said he saw him. Whispered somewhere at Hosea's neck one night as he held him. Something Arthur never questioned. Called him "sopping with tragedy", to which Hosea had only huffed, knowingly taking part in the ridicule. Knowing too that at some point, Dutch would be right. It must be why the boy lingered so long in the town his papa was hung amongst. Knowing Dutch's ways, Hosea figures the wet puppy may as well stay a loyal dog. It is the ultimate reason why he still tries, despite his harsh opposition to taking Arthur in the first place. To give him a chance, Hosea, please.

Now, he thinks it had worked too well. All they have been left with is a frightened vessel, withholding a squirming childhood of pain and grief and anger within its marrow.

So, no. Hosea has not slept, simply for haunting things awakening. Arthur's night terrors have shaken the ground they sleep on entirely.

Most nights, it is impossible to wake him, or only impossible in fear of becoming nothing but a nuisance to the boy's terror. Still, most nights, it is only Hosea that stumbles out, swinging a dim lantern about to set at Arthur's tent. Dutch insists on letting it persist, until the outbursts has been exhausted. Hosea believes otherwise.

He reaches for the bedroll, feels for its edge to sit near, not yet touching Arthur, but close enough that the boy may grab for him, that he may anchor. He sets the lamp on the grass beside them, and looks down at Arthur's fitful self beneath him. Writhing silently, as if the fear churning within him could break free from the body, and run itself into a crazed death. His breaths are fleeting, mouth snarling in panic, patches of wet fabric clinging to his skin.

Hosea cannot help but frown. It gnaws at him.

Slowly, he reaches for Arthur's hand, ritualistically, clenched upon nothing. He wraps it with his own hands, to which the shaking begins in retaliation, as it tends to do. Odd, he thinks, how the body may respond like it's remembered it all before. It is not much different to how Arthur reacts to comfort consciously, more painful to witness how deep the wounds have truly traveled.

He circles his thumb slowly along the back of Arthur's hand, kneading it into something he can recognize, unburdened, and waits.

"Arthur," he says.

He waits.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, trickling down gunfire, Arthur jolts up, away from himself, instinctively kicking, only to be pulled back by the two hands on his fist. He nearly screams, throat too tight to convey the sheer terror, thrashes like his strings have been pulled taut, too paralyzed to escape. He shakes his head in a desperate battle, as does his body, beginning to accept entrapment hopelessly, before the light of the lantern finally registers.

The body before him is stilled, talking consistently, and it sounds familiar enough.

Arthur tenses.

It has hit him all the same as it does most nights. Panic saturating, melting into dread, ticking like a broken faucet. That he is still here, and he is still waiting to be treated as the child he is.

Shame. He thinks he must seek it in some sickened way.

Hosea watches the same journey upon Arthur's face, shifting and contorting like the features have been stifled greatly. To which, usually, he will turn from Hosea, not even recovered from the agitation, nor resuming his sleep in peace. Hosea will then stay beside him until he can hear every dragging breath, and the knot in Arthur's brows have gone slack, if even slight.

But this time, Arthur sits up further, flexing his hand in Hosea's before releasing it, and wrapping both his arms around himself. Glueing the pieces together, it collapses inevitably. He tilts forward, hesitant. Looking down shamefully, mouth limp in grief, face pale and puffy.

Hosea does not waste a second to let Arthur fall to him. Swiftly, his hand finds his boy's head, cradling, the other settled somewhere upon his shoulder. Commences their soft swaying, shushing and whispering like such nature has lived within him his whole life. It crawls from his heart, snakes from beneath his ribs. Mending. He absorbs every grating wail. Every twitch and jerk, the clench in the fabric of his shirt. Every tear and trailing wave of panic, stumbling from the ocean whom threatened suffocation, to the shore where Hosea and Dutch have waited for him

But he does not wait, as a pillar anticipates nothing, only the breeze that weaves through the pines and dries Arthur's sweat-soaked shirt, and the bouts of life sounding through the forest.

Hosea feels an easing presence behind him. Watches in the muted light, the ringed hand finding Arthur's back, muttering assurances. He locks eyes with Hosea, and for some time, he does not know whether to smile or to stay as the pillar.

It's when he feels they have all fallen asleep against each other that Arthur sits back. The same tension rested in his face that Hosea is most familiar with. He knows before Arthur speaks what he will say.

Arthur sniffles, frown deepening. "...I'm real sorry, sir—"

Hosea plants a hand on his shoulder. Pauses to watch Dutch retreat back to their tent.

He hardly hears Arthur the second time.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

Hosea meets the boy's sunken face again. "Get some rest, son," he says.

[strlingsav]

Fantasy: Two

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Warnings: None.

Requested: @dantenyhpmir 🫶🏻

Simon's fingertips traced the curve of your spine, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. Your head, buried against his chest, cradled inside the warmth of his bicep, lifted to find his eyes. They were warm, received with a loving stare that made his heart pound just a bit harder.

"You feelin' alright?" He asked, the ghost of his fingertips sending a tingle up your back.

He could feel your muscles tense when he tickled the sensitive spot below your shoulder blade- it was something he'd grown fond of, though kept secret just to watch you twist and grin lazily.

His view of you was partially obscured by the hair falling in your face; loose tendrils framing your flustered expression. He'd draw your hair back with an attempted gentleness, watching your eyes flicker to his.

You hummed, drawn out and deep with tiredness. "Tired, worn out," You grinned.

"Y'can tell me if it was too much."

You shifted your head to look at him. "It wasn't. I really enjoyed it, actually."

He nodded, digesting your words, feeling a bit of pride in making you so comfortable, feel so good.

"Glad to hear it."

He pulled the covers over you, wrapped you in his arms and kept you tucked into his side. He liked feeling your deep breaths fan over his chest, your hands lazily strung across his torso, your thigh hooked over his.

It was serene; something you wanted to seal away, keep close for the days he wasn't there. When you'd fall asleep by yourself, void of his warmth and baritone telling you goodnight, you'd love to be brought back here- where it was quiet, and warm, and peaceful.

Your ear to his chest, you'd listen for his heartbeat, try to match your breathing with his as if it would somehow prove you were meant to be. But it wasn't synchronicity, it was your touch, your eyes, your smell; it was all in the way his body was drawn to you, without fail.

He loved just how well you fit into him, latched onto his body and stayed there even when you slept. More often than not, he'd watch you sleep- study the crease between your brows, the soft snores leaving your lips.

It was moments like those that made Simon weak. The vulnerability, the way you clung to him, searched him out even in your deepest subconscious. He wondered what you did when he was gone; if you tucked a pillow between your thighs and wished it was him.

The light of your bedside lamp illuminated his face, enough that you could see his lazy blinks. Everything was slow, and sleepy, an abyss of comfort you could dive into and drown in.

"You want some water?" He asked, his voice hoarse.

You shook your head, your cheek squishing against the smooth skin of his chest. Your hand danced across his chest, your palm flattening against his abdomen.

"I'm fine," You yawned. Suddenly concerned by his lack of input, your head jolted up to look at him. "Was it too much for you?" You raised your brows.

"No," He said. "Not at all."

"Good," You offered a sheepish smile, relaxing back into your pillow of soft flesh.

"You sore?"

"Just a bit- nothing painful."

"Get you a hot bath tomorrow," He said, moving his hand to stroke more hair from your face.

"Sounds nice. Are you joining me?"

"Can if y'like. Not sure I'll fit."

You hummed, dissatisfied. "We'll make it work."

His hand drew soft circles on the small of your back, while the other left fleeting touches to your cheek, petting the hair above your temple. It was rhythmic, nearly hypnotizing as you fought to stay awake.

Your eyelids were droopy, your breathing levelling out as your heart slowed.

"Y'should sleep," He said, pulling the covers up over your shoulder.

He'd noticed the way your eyes rolled shut, the way your lips relaxed as you fell into him. He knew you were tired, fighting it off to spend more time in the relaxing oasis you'd created together, but he refused.

"I like it like this," You fought back.

"I know y'do- but you'll be tired if y'don't."

"You're not tired?"

"I am. Just like watchin' you."

You furrowed your brows, "Not much interesting happens when I sleep."

"You talk."

You furrowed your brows, "What do I say?"

"Nonsense, mostly. Not much different than when you're awake."

You scoffed, threatening to pull away when he tugged you in tighter, a deep chuckle vibrating through his chest.

"Bastard," You chided, a smile hidden from his view as you buried your face in his chest.

He rolled his head to the side, ignoring your pestering.

"Y'like it."

You drew a brow up, a facade of deliberation on your face before you exhaled a long sigh.

"Don't get cocky," Your voice was nonchalant, quickly declining to a whisper as you fought the impending tide of sleep.

"You're supposed to be goin' t'sleep," He interjected, cutting off any ideas you had of baiting him into a new conversation.

You sighed, no longer interested in fighting, undeniably exhausted beyond the ability to protest.

He squeezed you, pressing his lips to your forehead with a softness that made your eyes flutter shut.

He liked the teasing, the way you'd say exactly what was on your mind. He could never get enough, not when you could make him smile, genuinely, nor when you slotted yourself into his side and felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms.

"Goodnight," You whispered, kissing the muscle of his chest.

"Night, sweetheart. Let me know if y'need anythin'."

You hummed with appreciation, before shutting your eyes. Your mind focused in on the rhythm of his breathing, the feeling of his rough hands holding you tightly against his side, and drifted off.

[brainzzzeater]

So I just watched Fight Club. And ofc I’m relating it to spideypool, so spoilers ahead!

Au idea:

Peter’s life has been on the decline for some time now, working a dead end job at the bugle and social life painfully nonexistent with his loved ones being either dead or distanced. All he has left now is being Spider-Man. But there is something in Peter that has always been just a little bit off kilter. Ever since he was young he couldn’t help but love being Spidey, sure it was nice helping people and all, but the thrill, fighting, chasing? That was what kept him happy going out every night. An adrenaline junky at heart.

So what happens when the spark starts fading? The criminals start becoming less frequent, super villains become more mediocre. What happens when you’ve become so good at what you do you’ve accomplished everything you strived for? The lack of excitement makes Peter feel like a winded up coil under a brick. He can’t rest, he can’t think, he can’t sleep. With insomnia, he’s running on autopilot through his life watching the days tick by faster than they should be.

That is until one day he runs into a suited man decked head to toe in guns and blades. A mercenary named Deadpool. That spark comes back, he chases it, determined to stop this mercenary before he can keep spreading his violence across the streets of NYC. Yet try as he might, the man just keeps slipping right through his fingers. And if Peter lets him, that's nobodies business except his.

Peter doesn’t know when it happened but at some point there fights started turning into reluctant partnerships, then sharing a meal, and finally to seeking each other’s presence. Right when the world seemed its dullest he found color in this unlikely frienemy, and if his punches start getting sloppy with small timers, all the better to get to Deadpool faster.

Months start passing by, the thrill better than ever. Spider-Man’s reputation getting worsened with every passing day by the crime rates rising. Peter even jeopardizing his position at the bugle.

But as much fun as chasing Deadpool is, he was a hero at heart. Deadpool started crossing a line, his jobs were getting too big, he was getting involved with the worst of the worst. All his previous morals started to drift away once he himself seemed to become one of the big time crime lords.

Once he decides that enough was enough Peter just couldn’t seem to track the merc down no matter how fast he swung through the city. Every clue and lead he followed seemed to run him in circles.

He strung a goon up by his feet for an interrogation, “They say that he’s covered in these gnarly scars and sores all over his body, his skin never looks the same from the last time you saw him, if you saw his skin at all!”

When he had entered one of the many underground bars something curious happened. In his civilian clothing, trying a new undercover approach, Peter addressed the bartender who spoke without turning, “Things are still running smoothly sir, we're just waiting on the last drop.”

“Excuse me?”

The barkeep finally glanced at him, eyes widening, “Sorry I thought you— is this a test?”

Peter commanded his voice, “Who do you think I am?” The man stayed silent and Peter spoke again, “…This isn’t a test.”

“You’re not what I expected but… your Deadpool.”

Out of desperation Peter swung across the city as fast as his muscles could carry him. He scoured his phone book for a number he had secretly saved without the mercs knowledge,

“I’m busy, keep it short.”

“…Weasel?”

“Ah, it’s you. What do you need now.”

“I— when… was the last time I spoke to you?”

“Last Thursday, what, did you stop sleeping again? That weapons shipment should be arriving by tomorrow and all of the boys are ready to receive—”

“Woah, hold on. What are you talking about?”

“Not again, you’ve seriously got to see a shrink ‘pool.”

“What?”

“Well, you’ve always been a sick dude but—”

“No, what did you say? What did you call me? Say my name!”

“Deadpool? Deadpool you wack-job! Listen, I’m busy and I can’t deal with another one of your episodes. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“No! Weasel, wait!”

Peter paced around his small apartment like a madman. There had to be something more, another piece of evidence to prove what he was suspecting wasn’t true. He snatched up the newspaper clippings he had snagged from the bugle before leaving, he stared down at the killer in the picture. Deadpool's frame looked different, shorter, slightly less bulky. Peter jumped when a deep gravely voice spoke up from the corner of his room.

"You broke your promise. I told you not to find Weasel."

*insert Tyler and Narrator confrontation*

With Deadpool standing in the corner Peter runs to his closet and rips the door open. He stopped storing his suit in the hidden compartment in his closet years ago, and in the space he finds a red and black suit he's been chasing, and guns and blades that have been used to kill hundreds.

Okay I am tired of typing this out, I think its super awesome and I may or may not draw something for this AU in the far future!

[purefandomonium]

It's The Thought That Counts-Chapter 1

***Monday Night***

Vince had said his favorite food was lemons. Not lemon meringue pie or lemonade or lemon cake. Just... raw lemons. Rody was no chef—hell, he couldn't boil water without starting a fire. He was unfit and unqualified to be telling someone such as Vincent Charbonneau how to eat. The man obviously ate well enough to stay alive, so Rody really shouldn't have felt so obligated to stick his nose into Vince's lifestyle choices.

As he removes the fourth failed baking attempt from the oven, all smoldering char and dust, Rody starts seriously contemplating his. He lets out a tired groan as he sets the ruined baking sheet aside to let it cool so he can dump the contents into the trash with all the rest. Maybe he should just save up and buy something from a local bakery. 

The thought is dispelled immediately. The whole point would be lost if he just went out and bought the chef dessert. No. He needs to make it himself. He has to surprise Vince with something special. He wants to show the chef his appreciation with a homecooked meal. It's the least he can do, after being given the job and fancy leftovers at the end of each shift. Even if they were a bit on the bitter side. So he flips back to the start of the recipe and gathers up the necessary ingredients once more.

***Wednesday***

Rody can barely hide his irritation anymore. It's not terribly obvious to the customers, but by the end of the day any pretense of friendliness has been drained from him and he's been a tad snippy to the cooks and even Vince himself on occasion. He's stayed up late every night trying to get the hang of this whole baking thing. Cooking isn't worth it; he tried it after screwing up countless baking attempts and after two close calls with a pan fire he decided it would be best not to work with open flame. 

He wants to tear his own hair out. He's bought a bunch of cook books and supplies, learned how to use a mixer, and has put so much time and effort into this and he still can't get it right. The lack of sleep and immense frustration is really starting to catch up to him. Maybe he can pry Vince for alternative recipe ideas and try those. They might be easier than baking lemon-flavored dishes. Or maybe he should just buy a basket of lemons and slap a bow and a 'thank you' note on it.

Ugh. No, he can't do that either. He's already spent the money on the kitchen utensils and books, he might as well make the most of them. He just needs more practice, more time to get this right.

***Friday Afternoon***

Vince still can't bring himself to question Rody about his strange behavior as of late. Whatever has the waiter so high strung, it's clear he's taking it to the grave. The most he can be bothered to do is shrug and remind him he should be working when the questions become a bit too personal. So long as it doesn't affect his ability to do his job, Rody can stress about it all he wants. Even if Vince feels a little uncomfortable seeing the youthful man so restless and tired.

Locked in his office, the chef hums as he goes over this month's budget. He hates this, really he should just hire an accountant. If it weren't for his stubbornness, he'd have found one already. However, he's nothing if not meticulous, which is why the moment he sees something odd with inventory he's lighting a cigarette and cursing.

***After Closing***

"Lamoree."

Rody yelps and spins around to see his boss standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and frown looking a little deeper than usual. Unease bubbles up. "Uh, yeah?"

His voice is firm. "I need to speak with you about something."

Painfully aware of the time and bummed he can't head straight home after a long day, Rody nods and follows the chef. He's quick to realize they're the only two left in the restaurant; all of the cooks must've rushed out as soon as the last customer of the day paid. He can't blame them, both he and Vince were especially short-tempered today. If his stiff strides are anything to go by, whatever's got him so irritated is still present.

"Um... What did you wanna talk about?" Rody says as they stop at the prep counter. Several papers are laid out atop it. There are a lot of numbers and hard to read scribbles that must be Vince's writing. If this is supposed to mean something to him, Rody doesn't get it.

Vince takes note of the blank look Rody gives the papers. Uncrossing his arms, he points to one. "This is the budget for this month. I was going over it and the estimated inventory costs when I noticed something."

"...Ok?"

"It seems we've been going through certain ingredients faster than anticipated."

"Well, it has been pretty busy lately." What is he getting at? Does he expect him to help budget? Rody glances at Vince and decides that, no, that is not the face of someone looking to give a promotion.

Vince pinches the bridge of his nose and tries not to sigh too loudly. "None of the dishes this week have featured lemons, copious amounts of sugar or," he checks one of the papers, "almonds. Those are for next week's menu. As you know, we make everything fresh here. There's also quite a bit of flour missing. More than expected. It seems someone has been 'borrowing' ingredients..."

Rody hopes the heat in his face doesn't turn his cheeks too red. Awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding Vince's intense glare, he stammers, "O-oh... Funny that... M-maybe it went bad and one of the cooks... threw it out and ordered more?"

"Lamoree..."

"Or-or maybe it was rats! Yeah... We should, uh, call an exterminator."

Vince has to resist the urge to slap the idiot. The annoyance makes him momentarily choke on his words. "Y... You're not seriously going to stand there and suggest that my restaurant is full of rats and old food."

Oh... Shit. There's no way he's going to come out of this unscathed and still employed. The words begin pouring out before he can make them coherent.

Vince brings up a hand to silence Rody's panicked backpedaling. "Since it isn't obvious enough, I'm asking you about this because one of the cooks saw you shuffle off with eight pounds of lemons this past Monday. I noticed the weird discrepancy with the supplies and costs and asked around." Nevermind how in the hell he'd managed to ride his bike all the way home like that, or how or when he smuggled everything else out. It would've been more impressive if Vince weren't so annoyed at the blatant theft. Does the fool have no shame?

"I can explain!" Rody blurts out.

"I'm listening." He leans back on an adjacent counter and waits for the explanation he's sure will get the idiot fired.

Rody's face feels like the sun. "Ah... Well, it's kind of stupid now that I think..."

"Keep in mind your job is riding on this," Vince supplies, lighting the proverbial fire beneath him. He's almost amused at the way Rody sputters and trips over his own words. Almost. The faint smile vanishes in an instant.

Rody sucks in a deep breath, halts his wild thoughts, and says, "It was for a surprise for you." It's hardly above a whisper. When Vince lifts a brow and leans in with an ear turned to him, Rody curses the universe at having to repeat himself. He forces his voice to be a little louder this time. "I was trying to make something for you. Like you always do for me?" His ears are burning now. He has half a mind to drown himself in the nearby sink.

Vince blinks. Once. Twice. "I... beg your pardon?" Rody wanted to prepare something for him? He can't even remember the last time someone wished him a happy birthday, let alone made something for him. Not that he cares; no, it's just...  The fact that Rody would go through all the trouble. Still...

The awkward squeal he lets out isn't much of a reply, but the poor waiter can hardly save his words from the embarrassment. "Do I really need to say it again?" he manages, hugging his arms tightly across his chest. "I just... thought that I could return the favor. I know you're a chef and all and you don't need me to cook for you and you probably do just fine on your own and-"

"But why lemons?" The look Rody gives him make his chest feel funny.

"...You said they were your favorite."

Oh.

Oh...

OH.

That... well, it did make more sense but... Ok, it was still stealing. He should... He should... Well he should definitely not be feeling...

Why does Rody have to look at him like that?

Fuck.

Cursing, Vince throws a hand over his face at the ridiculousness of it all. He hates the way hope blossoms in his chest. "Let me get this straight," he begins, the appendage still covering his features. "You stole ingredients from the kitchen to take home, all so you could cook something for me?"

"...Yes?"

"Lamoree..." The sigh isn't angry or indignant, only mildly disappointed. Like a parent annoyed their child jumped into the mud because they thought it would be a fun idea. Somewhere beneath that, however, is a small twinge of endearment.

"I'm sorry! Please don't fire me! I promise I'll stop. It was stupid anyway, I can't cook to save my life."

Vince removes his hand to meet Rody's nervous gaze. "What did you try making?"

"I-huh?"

"Forgive me for being curious as to what one could do with eight entire pounds of lemons in the span of a single week."

"Well, burn them mostly..." Rody rubs his arm as he recalls the many molten piles of former food he's pulled out of his oven these past several days.

Vince shakes his head. "You really are something."

"Man, cooking is hard! And baking too! You have to mix everything a certain way or it just ends up gross. Not to mention lemon pies. So many steps to make sure it turns out right..."

A small chuckle comes from the chef as he shakes his head again. "It usually helps to follow the steps, you know." Knowing Rody, he likely skipped a few key parts of the process due to his impatience. 'What's the harm?' he probably thought.

"Ugh... Well you don't have to worry about me stealing anymore ingredients," Rody says with a small groan.

"No. It seems not."

The two stand across from each other, one with an unreadable expression and the other slowly growing worried.

"Wait... Are you gonna...?"

Vince thinks about it, sighs, and pushes himself off the counter. "I'm not going to fire you, Rody," he says to the other man's wide-eyed terror. "I think whatever state you left your apartment in is punishment enough."

It did smell like burnt lemons and sugar in there. He's pretty sure it's seeped into some of his clothes by now.

"However... I do have one condition in exchange for your employment." He lets himself smirk at the waiter's bewilderment.

"...What's that?" Rody questions the sudden look of mischief.

"I'd like to see something by Tuesday next week." His smirk turns into a rare smile at Rody's shocked expression.

"I... I mean, I can try?" Vince... isn't mad at him? Looking back, eight pounds of lemons, a large bag of almonds and several bags of sugar and flour smuggled out of the restaurant probably is a lot of money. And yet, Vince isn't just letting him stay; he also wants Rody to bring something in for him?"

"I think it's the least you can do after you raided the supplies, no?"

"You're not gonna be upset if it's terrible?" While he hasn't made a successful batch of anything as of yet, he can at least say he's gotten better with his failed attempts. Tuesday is a bit of a stretch but maybe he can pull a rabbit out of the hat.

Vince shakes his head. "Just... don't steal anymore ingredients, got it?'

"Yes sir!" He turns to leave.

"Lamoree?" He waits for the waiter to face him once more. "Perhaps try cookies this time. I think you'll find they're much simpler than a pie, especially with your inexperience in the kitchen." He watches Rody nod before exiting through the back door. His mind drifts back to the lemons and he imagines the young fool pedaling down the street, bicycle swaying awkwardly as he tries to keep his balance. Vince supposes he is fit enough to manage.

...The idiot.

***Tuesday Morning***

"Hey, Vince?"

Vince jumps at the sudden call, dropping the chair with a thud. He lets out an annoyed grunt in response and goes to pick it up before positioning it at the table. He'd been too lost in his thoughts to hear the door. "You're awfully early today," he says as he turns to face the waiter. He quirks a brow and glances at the small aluminum tray he's holding.

Rody chuckles uncomfortably and lifts the tray. "You wanted me to bring something, remember?" He tries to settle the shakiness in his arms so the contents stop rattling. "They're lemon cookies. You were right; it was a way easier recipe to follow once I found one." He swallows the lump in his throat as Vince approaches. "They're not the best," he blurts as a hand reaches for the foil covering them. "They're still a little burnt. And I didn't really know how much lemon you liked but I added more than the recipe called for so you could maybe taste it more."

Silencing the rest of his nervous rambling, Vincent lifts the foil off and inspects the cookies. A dozen of them are stacked neatly in the tray. On the top they look completely fine. As he picks one up, however, the bottom is an almost-black that suggests too dark a baking sheet and far too much time in the oven. Still, the consistency is fine and as he takes a bite there's the faintest tingle on his tongue. He can't tell what it tastes like but knows it's lemon because that's the only thing that's ever given him the sensation. Burnt bottom aside, the cookie is chewy and somehow the perfect level of moisture.

To think, the young waiter did all this for him.

If Rody has to stand here and wait for Vincent's thoughts a second longer, he thinks he might explode. Watching him swallow the final bite, he speaks. "Well? How is it?"

For the first time in a long while, Vince smiles warmly. "It's good, Lamoree. A little burnt, but you did very well otherwise. I'm impressed. You did this all by yourself?" Something like happiness fills his chest.

He stands a little taller at the praise. "Yeah! I bought some cookbooks and just kept trying different things. I went through a lot of failed attempts though." And a couple ruined baking sheets.

"That's to be expected. Nobody learns anything overnight and practice makes perfect." The smile doesn't fade as he grabs another treat. This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for him.

"So?" A confused hum is his answer. "The cookies, can you taste them?" He highly doubts that his miserable baking is enough to spark Vince's long-dead tastebuds, but part of him hopes it's true. He's never seen the chef actually smile before and his heart buzzes at the fact that he was the cause.

Ah, right. The entire reason to all of this. Vince's good mood deflates a bit as he contemplates how to break the news to Rody. The waiter is just so proud of himself that he feels bad about having to crush his joy. He takes his time finishing the rest of the cookie. "...Actually..." He buys himself a couple more seconds as he swallows the last bite. "I almost can. It's not entirely there but... I can discern there's something compared to the nothingness I usually get." Perhaps he doesn't need to be fully honest. As Rody's face lights up with glee, he can feel his own face grow warm.

"Really?! You mean it?"

"Yes, Rody, it seems not all hope is lost on your baking skills." A startled grunt escapes him as Rody hugs him tightly. He'd been so quick to set the tray aside and close what little distance there was that Vince had no time to react. By the time his brain catches up to what's happening, the waiter's already releasing him and gushing with excitement.

"I'm so happy you like them! I'm gonna keep practicing until I make something perfect! I'll bring in all my good attempts and maybe you can even put one on the menu!" He pauses as his brain processes what he just said. "I mean... If that's ok? I'll be buying my own ingredients, of course." He hopes he didn't upset the chef again. The look he's giving him is... indescribable.

Vince spends several seconds staring at Rody before realizing he has to respond. The gears churn as he formulates his reply. "I'd be fine with that," is the best he can come up with. Rody seems to take it fine, if a little more subdued than before. Still, he wants to see the excitement decorating his features once more. Even if it's for a moment.

Rody says nothing as Vince picks up the tray of cookies, letting him walk away. He's glad he likes them.

"I'll tell you what, Rody," Vince says as he carries the tray to his office. "If you keep practicing in the kitchen, I'll let you take a few ingredients here and there." For half a second, he debates teaching the newbie baker/cook himself. The thought of working alongside him, helping him, is alluring. But he's not so foolish as to think it would work out. 

He's thankful his back is turned so that the blush remains hidden. It seems Rody isn't the only idiot present today.

"Seriously?" To say he's stunned would be an understatement. He can't believe Vince is being so generous about it, and all because of some cookies? He can't help but wonder if there isn't more to it, but the thought is easily dismissed. Surely, Vince isn't... doesn't...

Nah. He's just happy to have something he can taste for once.

"If you've got time to stand there like a lost puppy then you have time to help get things ready," Vince says to the statue that is the waiter.

Rody snaps out of his thoughts and it's only now that he realizes they're the only two in the restaurant. They had another ten minutes before the cooks shuffled in and another thirty before opening. He should take the time to help get things in order and plan out the seating arrangements, should they get hit with more big parties like the last couple of days. The garbage probably needed to go out too; he'd forgotten last shift.

***

Vince spends most of the day in his office, no doubt gorging on cookies, while Rody spends his time between customers deciding what he should bake next.

Despite the not insignificant amount of ingredients missing, Vincent is quite happy Rody went through the trouble. If it were anyone else, he'd have half a mind to pin them to the wall with knives. But Rody isn't just anybody and the gesture is as sweet as he's sure the cookies are.

He can't wait to see what else his waiter brings.

[scooby-review]

The Scooby Doo Show S1 E13 - 16

13. Scooby Doo, Where’s the Crew? 

Rounding out season one, we open with a cute episode following the gang getting chased by a menagerie of oceanic monsters on a cruise ship. 

In my previous review, I mentioned how perfect I felt episode twelve was at detailing a good Scooby mystery, and I think this episode does the complete opposite, instead building up a winding storyline of set pieces that boils into a single enjoyable soup. Although I prefer the more mystery oriented episodes, when these even looser plots are done well, they’re always a blast, and this is no exception. There’s still a solid through line to this episode, the characters move from beat to beat attempting to get help, it feels more oppressive to them, in contrast to most stories where the gang are actively seeking out the monsters. Rather, here, there is a real sense of danger, from the bleak ocean setting evoking a complete isolation, blended with the cramped ship with the monsters hiding around every corner. When the gang are able to call for help, you truly feel an impending sense of doom, as much as possible for Scooby at least. 

Here’s a fun fact about the gang, in this episode it is revealed that they are all trained scuba divers, so that’s something! The previous episode also had an important plot thread strung on Shaggy’s ability to scuba dive, so I guess that's just the vibe the writers were in at the time. In a similar vein, there’s a scene here where Fred gets angry at the gang for not getting to sleep on time that I absolutely adore, he’s painted as such a righteous dork and it’s so much fun. 

However the highlight of this episode is undoubtedly the villains, or one of the villains in particular. Back in my reviews of The New Scooby Doo Movies, I mentioned a lot about how overstuffed many episodes felt with monsters, how they could fit several into a single forty minute storyline and yet give none any time to shine, and when paired with fairly uninteresting designs, their inclusion felt misplaced and muddled. In contrast, this episode uses three villains perfectly, rotating between them constantly, always providing them with something new to do. All of them fit into unique archetypes, all incredibly visually interesting, and ultimately, it feels just as strong, if not stronger, than other iconic groups of Scooby villains (such as those in A Gaggle of Galloping Ghosts or Which Witch is Which?)

The Kelp Monster feels evocative of The Wax Phantom, a clumpy large mass of a character built of a single material. What elevates him is the eerie glowing effect seen on other villains such as The Spooky Space Kook and The 10,000 Volt Ghost. I adore how gloopy the design feels, with this extending to his droopy eyes and mouth, he truly feels like a hulking monster. He fits into the archetypical monstrous villain who attacks because they know nothing else, his face is thoughtless, and as such, he is void of any humanity, his size denotes his strength above humans too, and therefore, what he lacks in his humanity is doubled in his strength, crafting a theoretically scarier character, one who cannot be reasoned with, who can only do harm. 

The Ghost of Captain Pescado is a fairly simple ghostly pirate design, however unlike many Scooby villains labelled “ghost”, here we see an incredibly ghoulish design, his skin is luminous yellow, carved similarly to the 1925 Phantom (of the Opera). His grey hair and blending of a pink jacket and blue trousers create a cohesive design that pops against the backgrounds, and even if The Ghost of Redbeard will forever be the most iconic Scooby pirate, I have a soft spot for Pescado, which is Spanish for fish, a naming convention spread across this episode with Mr. Carp, Mr. McFinn and Mr. McGil obvious examples of the oceanic semantic field spread across their names. 

Finally, my favourite is The Octopus Monster. Instantly this little creature has grown on me in such a profound way, and I’d probably place the monster in my top ten villains throughout any Scooby property I’ve visited for this blog! It’s an octopus with legs, it's shaded in a blend of sea greens. In contrast to the Kelp Monster, the Octopus Monster is oozing with personality, his eyes and large eyebrows alone denote his cunningness, however moreover, the animation for the character is a delight, I adore watching him chase the gang, he’s so cool! All in all, the three blend together to be maybe my favourite group of villains in an episode so far. 

Before wrapping this one up, I want to mention a timeline issue, as in this episode, the gang refer to going to school, despite them establishing in episode one of Show, that they had graduated. Looking at the Scooby timeline is a mess anyway, with other details spread across the series meddling with what we know is true (such as Scooby Dum being labelled as Scooby’s brother in his second appearance despite us already establishing he’s his cousin). Of course, it doesn’t matter too much, but it’s always weird how they detail specific elements of continuity while then completely going against it at other points. Oh well :) 

14. The Ghost That Sacked the Quarterback

I’m not the biggest fan of sports settings, and this episode is no different, the constant American Football shenanigans prove too much for me, constantly getting in the way of me truly enjoying myself. Oh well! It’s still a good episode, but definitely the least good of the season in my eyes. 

However, the Rambling Ghost is a great monster design! Gowned in a snowy white  American football jersey, the creature has an elongated, ghoulish face, this shape complimented greatly by the large helmet atop his head. His scarlet eyes are bulging, slightly too large for his face, which once again, goes on to create a menacing appearance, only enhanced by the tattering of his sleeves. 

Other than that, I don’t have loads to say - I enjoy when Scooby transforms, it’s fun! 

15. The Ghost of the Bad Humour Man

Good going Shaggy. Crashing the mystery machine. Hope the joke was worth it. 

In this episode, we follow the gang as they crash into an ice cream factory, deciding to enter the building to use their phone, they suddenly find themselves surrounded by the three technicolour phantoms. 

This is an example of a Scooby Doo episode where everything that happens is totally the gang's fault  - they did not need to get involved! In fact, they crashed the van into this building, and proceeded to break inside! I love it! 

On the topic of Shaggy, he gets to shine here, not only in his crashing of the Mystery Machine, but also because he ends up inadvertently dressing as one of the ghosts, mistaken as one by both the gang and the ghosts themselves, and it’s a lot of fun to watch unfold. 

What is less fun is the phantoms themselves, simple recolours of the Green Ghosts from A Night of Fright is No Delight. I’m not a big fan of pointless recolours, even if the concept of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry themed ghosts is funny and ultimately wins me over. I just wish they were more unique! This is maybe my favourite recolour just because of how silly it is, but it’s a recolour nevertheless. 

To me, this setting is a better version of the one seen in The Haunted Candy Factory, which was still done well there! But placing the gang in a food factory will always be fun to me, the jokes write themselves, and I appreciate how here they fixate on Shaggy in a unique way - of course he does like the food, but there are more facets to him as a character, and his mix up is truly the highlight of this episode. 

16. The Spirits of ‘76

Rounding out what might be my favourite season of any series I’ve watched for the blog so far, is The Spirits of ‘76, the year the episode was released. 

Unfortunately this is one of the weaker episodes! We follow the gang getting locked inside the Splitsonian Institute overnight to investigate a group of alleged ghosts haunting the building. 

I enjoy a museum setting for Scooby, even if I don’t think this is the best use of one we’ve seen so far, although a classic trope I always adore is the fake out statue. 

This group of villains do very little for me - I think they’re my least favourite of the season. The Ghosts of William Demont, Benedict Arnold and Major Andre are a group of old men wearing American Revolutionary costumes, and that's pretty much it! They’re all named after real people from the war (I believe, there’s some muddy information online) and I don’t particularly find any all too interesting to discuss! 

Velma is definitely the stand out character of this episode, and I think ending here shouldn’t understate just how strong this season has been! Even this episode was good, although not interesting for me to discuss. 

Thank you for reading this review! I'm having a lot of fun going through this series! Following on from New Movies, I was worried some of these seasons would be frustrating to wade through, but truly I am having just as much fun, if not more, watching Show as I did Where are You. I'm hoping to get a bonus review out this Friday! So keep an eye out for that :)

Also! I wanted to share my Letterboxd and my Serializd! I don't tend to add any reviews, but I might do soon!

Socials - My debut novel is now available! Any support is hugely appreciated :)

Next Review: [Bonus!] The Scooby Doo Show and Dynomutt Crossovers

Previous Review: The Scooby Doo Show Season 1 Episodes 9-12

[augment-techs]

Alphabet prompts (because I wanna see how it works-) Javelia + Orchid and Cactus 👀

I have no idea how these work, but let's take a crack at it~ Refined Beauty: Amelia standing in the light of the glorious summer sun at the dawn of a new day, robed in a blazing red silk sleep kimono--black sparrows and pink cherry blossoms stitched along the hem--as she slips a boar bristle brush through her long hair. The stray lock slipping along her neck to rest at the groove of her breastbone or the tip of a peaked nipple that can be seen lined through the fabric. Sleep is still being shrugged off, but with a gentle wish to greet the day rather than return to bed. Javi asleep in a hammock strung up in the middle of the veranda as the sun slowly travels across the sky alight with startling blue dotted with fluffy white clouds high, high, so high up that their shadows spot the earth. No shirt, metal arm put away in the bedroom to let the skin scorched with scars breathe; trousers not so different from a marauding pirate being scratched at absently each time a butterfly or ladybug flutters around to rest on the fabric. Hair lacking its usual attentions from spray and gel also attracting the attention of Monarchs, Cabbage Whites, and Pipeline Swallowtails--but his hair is a lot thicker than the trouser fabric, so the impulse to swat does not register. Passionate Love: Here is the truth of the matter--the only way these two could love is with passion and absolutes and the burning of a thousand suns. Anything less and they just feel as if their wires are crossed or they're reading the signs the other gives off entirely wrong. Kisses in the aftermath of a fight that could have gone very badly; all tongue and teeth and hands clutching tight to clothes and shoulders so the other cannot get away. Chasing the other through the streets or rolling down a hill like children, breathless and laughing ridiculously, and covered in grass or bits of dirt and dandelions. The kind of physical, all out graphic sexual escapades that would put extremely well paid adult movie workers to shame--especially since it takes a special kind of talent to get to the finish line together in a little nook under a roller coaster with hundreds of people passing by and NOT being seen or heard or arrested for indecent exposure~

[wol-taleal-desharn]

Ficlet below the cut. :3

Momentos

The Exarch studied Taleal carefully, from under his hood where she could not see.

With some little caution, he reached out with his good hand, fingertips brushing against the beads in her hair.

The hour was late, yet the soft glow of lantern light he spied coming from Taleals tent.

Curious, he made his way over.

“Can't sleep either?”

The young au ra woman looked up from the bead-tray in her lap, shaking her head.

“No. You?”

“Not a wink. May I?” She waved him in, returning to his work as he situated himself.

“I oft find sleep difficult, so I find something to occupy myself with.”

He tilted his head curiously towards the blue and red gems in her hands. “Those are nice. What are you making, then?”

She smiled - a true, happy gesture that reflected in her stormy blue eyes. Taleal held the piece out to him.

“For you. For luck and good fortune.”

The gems twinkle in the soft light, a larger blue the shade if the crystal tower in the center, flanked on either side by two smaller red gems.

“For me? Truly?”

“Yes. Unless you don't-”

He shushed her, a playful glint in his eye as he latched the necklace on. “What do you think?”

She nodded, giggling. “It suits you.”

He gestured to the beads. “Would you show me? I might like to make something for you.”

The pair laughed, and talked, and strung beads into the night.

“What are these, if you do not mind my asking?”

Taleal side eyed him, his hand, and then jerked her head, the beads clicking as they slipped his fingers.

“I do mind your asking, Exarch, and you would do well not to ask again.”

The Exarch, ever seemingly unfazed, simply inclined his head, hand dropping to his lap.

“I apologize. No offense was meant.”

Taleal simply stood, stalking out and away from the Crystal Exarch.

How different she had become. Hardened by trials and loss.

Alisaie and Alphinaud, however, simply cast their gazes downward, so he turned to them.

“Tis a momento, from someone she lost.” Alphinaud supplied.

“I see.”

Alisaie shook her head. “She only spoke of him the once, and refuses to do so again. She keeps such things close to her heart. Thancred pushed her to far on it, once, and she near slapped him for the trouble. After that - well, we don’t ask about that one anymore.”

“Why? Clearly you both love her dearly. And the two of you are as family to her, yes?”

Alisaie shrugged. “It is certainly not for lack of trying to get her to talk. She just - she carries the weight of so many losses she blames herself for, and things she shares with no one. The ones she could not save. Tis a burden she refuses to share, but will bear for others instead.”

“Hm.”

~ * ~

Later, Urianger approached the Exarch, who stood upon a balcony, overlooking the lobby of the apartments.

“I would bid thee, nay, I do beg thee - please, tell her the truth.”

The Exarch did not turn, nor make any physical motion to acknowledge what was said.

“No. She needn’t know. I would not cause her such pain again. She already bears so much. - I would not add more than I already have."

Urianger grimaced, bowing his head low.

The Exarch turned his hidden gaze back below, where Taleal and the twins sat at a table. For a mercy, she seemed more relaxed than she had when he was present. Happy , even, laughing as the twins looked appalled.

“Would it not be better, to have the end of one’s time as happy memories? If not for thine own sake, than for the sake of those thou doth hold dearest in your heart?”

“No. Do not make me say it again.”

The elezen sighed. “Nay, I will not. I would only urge thee to think upon my words, instead.”

“Noted.”

Urianger turned to leave, feeling the weight of his own burdens.

“Fate may yet take the choice out of thine hands.”

The Exarch cast his gaze back down to the plaza, where the twins departed. The happiness fell away from his Warrior of Darkness, shoulders slumping ever-so-slightly under the weight of saving not one but two stars.

He hated himself for putting that on her. The only consolation he could give himself was that it was also to save her own life as well. At least he could give her the chance at life.

Taleal had fallen asleep at some point, G’raha had noted when he looked up from the beads she had offered him. A smile both amused and warm graced his lips, the sight of the au ra fast asleep. Gingerly did he shift the work tray from her lap, easing the younger adventurer to her bedroll.

A quick search through the small mix of jewelry making supplies she had obtained in Mor Dhona revealed a simple silver hairclip, small holes drilled down into the sides for attaching strings of beads. It was quick work to finish up what he’d made - it was no masterwork, certainly, but he allowed himself a moment to feel it was not terrible, either.

The miqo’te archer felt a yawn escape, suddenly hitting him with how tired he was. The hairclip he set near Tally, that she might find it when she awoke.

The memory brought the smallest hint of a sad smile to the Exarch’s lips, recalling when they’d met the next day, and she’d been wearing the clip of beads. Without realizing it, the Exarch had reached up, still flesh fingers finding the blue gem on the necklace he wore, hidden under layers of robes.

The au ra offered a rare, sweet grin - the kind that reached her eyes, lighting her whole face. "Raha, what do you think?"

There's a jolt of something he dare not yet name course through him at the sight of her. Reaching out, the beads clink together as they run over his fingers.

"Very pretty. I dare say the look suits you,"

It had been the first time she'd called him by name as such.

Down below, almost as if sensing his thoughts, Taleal jerked her head up, her impassive gaze meeting the Exarch’s hooded one.

He only offered her the smallest hint of a nod before turning and vacating the overlook.

Simpler days they had been, and simpler, younger people, without the weight of worlds riding on their shoulders.

What he would give to turn the wheel of time once more, and return to such days.

[puff-mmd]

4/30/23

thought about a character from kaisei's past. someone he used to sleep with from time to time, his name is yakumo.

he was one of the most....consistent? partners that kaisei had. often after being rejected by someone he was trying to get with, he would wind up with yakumo.

The thing is, yakumo didnt want a relationship (kaisei had tried pursuing that topic early on, only to be met with rejection.)

"Not because it's you asking, but because the answer would be the same no matter the person."

For whatever reason, he's adverse to the idea of being with anyone at all. And well....that whole situation isnt great for kaisei's head. Especially because yakumo believes kaisei wants to be used. He can't understand why he would come back to him if not because he finds some comfort in doing things with no strings attached.

So at some point after kaisei finds out about ciro's ex (which he doesnt know they broke up), he does end up in yakumo's bed again.

It's a night where he's feeling particularly lonely, and ciro had messaged him about meeting with him and yoai that weekend.

Well, he had been talking with his roommates about what happened, and they suggeatrd just cutting things off if that were the case. Kaisei insited he coulsnt completely shut him out, his was still working with them after all.

So they compromised - no contact unless its about work.

--

Kaisei looked down at the glowing screen giving off the only light in the room, his eyes already strained from the lack of decent sleep.

"Yoai and I are going out this Saturday, do you want to join us?"

'Why does he insist on keeping me around like this?' He thought as he looked over the text.

He couldn't understand what Ciro was thinking. It would be one thing if this were only a friendly invite, but whenever he went out with those two, Ciro was always hanging on to him. If they were at a restaurant, he would choose to sit with Kaisei. If they were seeing a movie, they insisted he be in the middle, and the blonde man would make a point of "accidentally" brushing their hands together.

It was all fine, even making Kaisei hopeful for a while, but it was all a lie, wasn't it?

He was being strung along once again - his hopes crushed by that one truth.

Ciro already had someone else.

So why would he do those things? To play with his heart? Because he didn't realize what those actions could mean? Was it only to get him to stay and work with them?

He'd heard so many excuses and explanations over the years, and he was too tired to think about what Ciro's could possibly be. It didn't matter the reason anyways, all that mattered to him is that he had been let down by his own expectations again. No matter how many times he told himself that his love would only ever be met with consequences, he still couldn't stop from hoping.

And it was that stupid lie of hope that made pressing "send" so hard.

"No. And please, stop contacting me outside of work."

Kaisei dropped the phone on his bed, laid back and sighed.

It didn't matter how many times he'd been hurt, things never felt any easier.

--

Again i swear i had posted this but nope. I just started talking about yakumo on main like everyone knew who he was lmao

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Hello :D

Diary entry from the wips? 👀 (i always love those sections)

Hiii This journal entry corresponds to chapter eleven. Josh writes to try and figure out what he saw down in the Redoran Canton, whilst also realising he's gone and developed a minor crush on one of Cosades' informants that he's been sleeping with. He decides to ask her out for dinner. Poor Josh, if you know how most of these liaisons go for him. ( I do write the entries right before I post, so you may have already read it.)

6th of Frostfall, 3E 427

I still don’t know what the fuck happened back there, but it’s been keeping me awake thinking about it. Fuck! All I see when I close my eyes are grotesque, rotting faces whispering my name. How is it that only I heard that thing? It was speaking clear as day! Then there’s these fucking dreams I keep having! That golden-masked fuck taunting me constantly. It’s all so damn real feeling too. Like I’m actually there in that cave with that fuck and all his faceless… what even are they meant to be? I…I hadn’t really gotten a good look at them outside the ones that I think are meant to be some twisted version of myself. I keep waking up wondering if it's all meant to mean something or if my mind’s just replaying every horrible thing that’s happened to me and then mixing it with everything I fear in a maddening slurry. I feel like I’m losing it from lack of sleep alone…

What I do know is that I’ve seen enough of this Sixth House Cult guarshit to last me a lifetime. Fuck I think I’ve seen enough of Vivec City to last me as well. I got myself even more banged up after that last encounter down in the Redoran Canton Underworks. Sure, follow Addhiranirr down into another sewer so she can show me this ‘Sixth House’ thing. Gods damn place was crawling with undead! At least that’s what they looked like. Rotting where they stood. Only thing is that these ones had weird growths all over them…

And there I go freaking myself the fuck out again!

I managed to down them all, I think I can better conserve my magicka if I use the surroundings to my advantage. That sewer had enough gas to blow that damn canton out of the water, I only used what I had to my advantage. Blast was so powerful it yanked my right arm out. Not happy with that, managed to rebreak my arm too. Still, I guess it's better than having one of those fucks sneaking up on me whilst I recorded their weird little shrine thing for Cosades.

And now I just feel sick thinking about it. It’s all so fucked up, like was that skooma-guzzling fuck expecting this? Is this what the Emperor was talking about? I want no part in any of this insanity! Besides, I’m beginning to suspect this is all gonna end with someone getting strung up on the gallows and it’s not going to be Caius Cosades I can fucking assure you!

I guess it’s not all bad. That shrine had a damn fine dagger lying next to it which is mine now and Cosades’ informant was a nice bonus.

Is this a really fucking stupid thing to do? Yes. Do I care? No. What I do in my free time is my own fucking business. Got nothing to do with Blades crap! It seems that Addhiranirr feels the same about that sort of thing. I mean she came onto me after the explosion after all!

I um… I kinda like her. I have my mind swimming hoping that she at least likes me a little bit too. She’s been here for the last few nights.

Might ask her out for something to eat. I’m fucking starving and I’m a bit over being cooped up in this suite. Raril Giral’s cooking is fucking awful and I long for something that’s seasoned.

[the-witchhunter]

Urban Jungle for the Nintendo DS

It’s a side scrolling bullet hell style game that next to nobody actually played. The game did not do very well and was considered a bit of a failure. Its creation was inspired by the success of the ultimate enemy game which is a game I do remember playing when it came out

As you can imagine it’s not exactly canon compliant. Its plot is just a thinly veiled excuse to make Danny fight a bunch of the more notable ghosts and things happen very differently in the game as opposed to the show

That being said undergrowth is shown to have a core, more like a seed that he can regenerate from that is unique to him. Other ghosts don’t have one and seems to be solely because undergrowth’s regenerative powers, something other ghosts lack. It also seems to be because they don’t actually use the Fenton thermos to catch ghosts, just hit them until they’re knocked out

So technically speaking, we have something called a core that is character specific from a non canonical game that not a lot of people played

And yes, I watch an entire play through to see all the dialogue to verify this

The game also includes undergrowth and lunchlady teaming up and transforming Tucker into a meat monster and then fusing all while Danny has to shoot a bunch of other ghosts, which also means ghosts can fuse, which I guess is kind of canon since Technus and Skulker did that in the Dark Danny timeline from ultimate enemy but also that’s specifically Technus using his powers to possess skulker’s robot suit so that’s a bit different?

So strictly speaking a single ghost core is canon to a somewhat obscure game where the watsonian explanation is he has it because of his regenerative powers, the doylist explanation is they needed a plot device to work in more ghosts to fight. I could go on about this plot and how strung together it is just for the sake of fighting more ghosts, it’s all function and no form, about the only actually interesting dialogue is Technus who has his icon early appearance before he switched to Technus 2.0

Like I’m definitely getting sidetracked but I’m obsessed with how whack the writing is in this game that was definitely just cheaply made cash grab trying to get in on the success of the show

Like, I wasn’t expecting high literature from this game but Sam’s dialogue feels really off, Tucker is better, and it starts with “hey, remember when I fought the lunch lady” just to work in another fight.

Admittedly the writing in the main show had its moments but god this is just bad. I’m imagining turning this into someone like my high school creative writing teacher and her tearing it apart. God, imagining turning this into my college creative writing class and that would be the entire class tearing that apart

This tangent was brought to you by ADHD and sleep deprivation I apologize because I’m pretty sure this is incoherent but I spent too much time not sleeping to not post this

TO CLARIFY ON WHAT I MEAN WHEN I SAY GHOST CORES BEING NOT CANON

This distinction takes authorial intent into consideration. What are we as an audience supposed to take away from the scene.

This image is the inspiration behind the fanon of ghost cores, but contextually the intent is not for us to take away the existence of ghost cores. The fact that it’s inspired by this image retroactively make it canon? Not really.

And not to be “Donte cite the deep magic to me” I was around when cores as a thing appeared in phandom, someone came up with them years after the show. It’s actually a relatively recent phenomenon for people to interpret this as proof as opposed to the inspiration

Is this a statement on the quality of ghost cores as a thing? No, I like ghost cores.

This is a statement about whether ghost cores exist in the show as presented and that’s a no

Of course we could death of the author this in which case all interpretations are canon, but that muddies the water when actually discussing canon

This comes down to, who do you give credit to? who actually came up with the idea? The writers or the fans? In this case, the fans. They took an image and misused medical jargon and made actual lore around it. That’s really cool and fans should be given credit

We’re just Wes Weston-ing ourselves

This is the inspiration behind Wes, fandom saw this gave him a name from the line “who’s Wes?” It’s highly unlikely you’d interpret this as a person named Wes Weston if you only watched the show, but he’s so prominent in fandom a lot of people forget he’s not canon.

So

Strictly speaking, are ghost cores canon? No. The fans came up with them and stop giving Butch Fartman credit for the cool stuff fans came up with

[celestialrry]

stood up

3.5k

hello everyone!!!! I've been awol for literally weeks because i had absolutely NO motivation to write but i finally finished this piece ˊᗜˋ so YAY. ALSOO thank you for following me, liking, and reblogging my pieces (it encourages me somuchsothankyouireallyappreciateit-- and remember reblogging really helps us writers :))) )  here’s a hug for all ur patience and feel free to send me asks or requests i love talking to you guys! ε(♡'-')з

summary: Harry keeps standing Y/N up. (request from @ballerinrry! thank u love)

warnings: cursing, mentions of alcohol and sex, angsty but with a happy ending cause for some reason i can never let them end on a bad note

Y/N was excited.

It had been a while since Harry had asked her to go on a date, it was always the other way around recently. She couldn’t blame him though, Y/N knew just how busy Harry always was, and it wasn’t like he was purposefully not asking her to go do things, he just had a lot on his plate.

That’s what she kept telling herself anyways. 

It’s what she told herself when it had been 2 weeks since they had even eaten a meal together, and given the fact that just a few months ago Harry had come back to London for a while, that was rare. So, Y/N asked him to grab lunch on a Saturday while they were lying in bed together, and when he agreed, but failed to show up, leaving Y/N sitting at the cafe, her lips morphed into a frown and her eyes not focusing on the phone in front of her, she told herself he was simply booked up with meetings and studio time and such. 

Thats what he told her when he got into bed that night to apologize for accidentally standing her up. She forgave him, of course, and suggested they could just get dinner the next week. He agreed, even walked around to his calander her to show her he was marking the date off in his calendar with a heart, her first initial, and 7:00 PM etched into the little box with red sharpie. 

So, the week passed with quick kisses of good mornings and good nights, and while Harry was gone Y/N had on a black dress she had been excited to wear for a while now, with those little mini silver heels and a coat strung over her shoulders as she sat on her couch waiting for Harry to swing by to pick her up. She shot him a text that simply asked “You otw? xx”

He was not.

It took about 30 minutes of waiting on their couch to realize he was standing her up, again. And it took until the next morning for Harry to see her text (his phone had been on do not disturb while he was at the studio and he ended up spending the night at Sarah and Mitch’s after a few beers), and for the guilt to seep through his veins. 

He apologized, again. And Y/N forgave him, again. 

Only until it got to the point where Y/N no longer remembered the amount of times Harry had stood her up, for being at the studio, or sleeping after a meeting, or simply just not paying attention to his phone, she knew there was a problem. 

Harry was fully aware of the problem too. He knew that this was no way to ever treat a partner, and if someone was doing this to him, he’d dump them— well, he’s never been one to end a relationship unless it was necessary, so that’s an exaggeration, but it’s the principle of the thing. 

Which is why when he got home one day around 11 PM, gave her a kiss to the forehead after she sat up in their bed to give him a hug, and a soft  “Can we talk?” escaped her lips, he knew he had to fix this. So he asked her if they could talk over dinner the next night, he just wanted to sleep but also wanted to fix things with his girl, asking her if she was free of course, before telling her he’s gonna make a reservation at that nice restaurant the two of them used to go to quite often, because “it’s been a while since I’ve taken my favorite girl out”.

A grin broke out on her face because he had asked her! And if Harry was planning it, there’s no way he’d cancel or stand her up. 

 So yeah, Y/N was excited.

She woke up that morning with a smile on her face, and something akin to a what she thinks a rainbow would feel like running through her veins. It had only been a few months since she’d last been on a date with her boyfriend of almost 2 years and a half in person, and she was going to make the most of it. Because after this date, things would change. They’d spend more time together again and it would be like this little bump (that neither had acknowledged) never happened.

Y/N did, well, everything to prepare. Took a long shower, shaved, put on that coconut lotion Harry likes— he tended to dig his face in her neck when he smelled it while holding her—, brushed her teeth more than 3 times, dug in her closet to find that one patterned soft purple dress she bought ages ago but never had a change to wear it, until now, put on those really cute heels Harry said he liked once (“Looks like something you’d wear on a runway pet, I love ‘em.”), and even styled her hair differently than normal.

He had told her he would swing by at 8 on the dot after the studio, and soon enough, it was 8, with no sign from the man who made the promise himself. Y/N thought maybe there was traffic, he was just running late, texted him a quick, “Can’t wait to see you!! xxx” and put her phone on the coffee table, waiting on their couch. 

8 turned to 9, 9 turned to 10, 10 turned to 11, and soon it was midnight. Y/N doesn’t think she’d ever felt more empty than how she felt then, walking to their shared room of a year, slipping off her heels and tossing them towards the closet, as well as pulling her dress over herself and letting it fall to the floor behind her, grabbing that one t-shirt she always wears when she needs comfort (which just happened to an extra 2018 Live on Tour shirt Harry had laying around that she snatched just 3 months into them dating), and flopping into bed.  

She couldn’t fall asleep, and instead spent her time curled up in their bedsheets, a steady flow of tears making their way down her blush covered cheeks.

。:°ஐ

Harry usually didn’t make mistakes.

Sure, he had his moments, grabbing the wrong coffee off the counter when his name was called at the cafe, forgetting to text Jeff that he actually couldn’t make it to a meeting that was scheduled in a few hours. Just little things, things that didn’t matter that much, and could always be fixed. He didn’t usually make mistakes that weren’t easy to fix. He just wasn’t that kind of guy.

Until, he was.

Harry loved Y/N. He loved having her around, loved spending time with her, loved loving on her, loved kissing her, loved touching her, loved the way she went about almost everything. He was so in love with her, that hurting her was out of the question. He never wanted to be the one to make her cry, make her bottom lip quiver before the tears rushed out like he’d seen many times before, due to movies, his songs (which as sadistic as it sounds was an ego builder to have someone so close to him so affected by the music he wrote), her school work, or even her friends that weren’t being so nice.

In fact, he was so in love with her, even being so afraid of commitment (it took him over a year of them dating to ask her to move in), all he wanted to do was blurt out those 4 dreaded words. “Will you marry me?” It was a bond for life, and he was terrified of that, but with Y/N all he wanted to do was spend the rest of his living days with her.

When Harry had come back from being in L.A. for so long and finally being in the same city as his girlfriend back at their home, all they did was spend time together. Every time he saw Y/N all he wanted to do was say those 4 words that he hadn’t even fully come to terms with himself. It was dangerous, and Harry’s self control when it came to Y/N was lacking, so he simply did was every normal person would do in his situation.

He stood her up. 

Many more times than he could count, and of course he felt like the shittiest person in the world— shittiest boyfriend in the world—but at least now she can’t possibly be under the impression that he wanted to marry her, which is what he wanted. Or thought he wanted, until Sarah called him up one day after he had stood Y/N up for dinner the night before and told him off. Told Harry just how fucking terrible he made Y/N feel, how unwanted she thought she was, how she felt like they were loosing their relationship, and Harry didn’t know what to do with himself. (Of course Y/N had sobbed to Sarah about it over the phone while she was drunk off the wine she opened 40 minutes after Harry said he would be there, so she really didn’t even remember the conversation).

And later that day Harry had come home, heard her wavering voice asking if they could talk, and decided in his head he would tell her how he felt, how sorry he was, and how he wanted to be with her forever and love her forever if she allowed him. He had a few expectations for their dinner, that Y/N would probably tell him how he’s made her feel, and Harry would apologize, tell her why he did it, explain he thought it was no excuse, then tell her he plans on marrying her (obviously not proposing just yet, but finally bringing up the conversation they had never had even though they were in a serious committed relationship) and they’d go back home, have the most amazing sex ever, and forget about the whole thing. 

What Harry didn’t expect was to get a call from Jeff around 5 asking him to come to the studio to fix few vocals, then end up nailing down 2 songs in one night, go to a bar with the band to celebrate, get drunk, then pass out at Mitch and Sarahs flat. 

But that’s what happened, according to Mitch, who woke Harry up the very next morning. 

“Good morning man, wakey wakey,” Mitch’s teasing tone echoed through Harry’s (what felt like full of vodka) brain as he groaned and squinted his eyes. “Why are you waking me up at this hour in the morning?” Harry asked drearily, sighing and simultaneously regretting last night as a whole because the last thing he wanted to do while hungover was be up before at least 9 AM.

“We’ve gotta go to meet with Jeff about tour in like a hour, H” Mitch stated .

At Mitch’s words Harry sat up on their couch, eyes wide in fear. “Wait mate, I thought tha’ meeting was on Wednesday.”

“It is Wednesday H, god how drunk did we let you get last night…” Mitch said, beginning to recount some of Harry’s antics the night before. Harry however, couldn’t hear a thing with the blood pumping through his ears. If today was Wednesday, that meant yesterday was Tuesday, and he went and got trashed at a bar with his friends Tuesday night when— when he was supposed to be on a date with Y/N, when he was supposed to confess his intentions, when he was supposed to apologize for standing her up over and over, yet instead he went and did it again.

Now this, this was a mistake.

“…H. H. Harry? Are you there?” Mitch’s voice came back into focus and Harry shook his head. “I- fuck, I was supposed to take Y/N out last night.” Harry said, his voice trembling.

‘I’m sure she’ll forgive you, it’s just one night.” Mitch tried to make Harry feel better. He knew Y/N was a very forgiving person, she would get over this in no time.

“No, she won’t. I-I’ve stood her up for the past month and a half, Mitch.”

At these words, Mitch stands straight up  making pained eye contact with Sarah in the kitchen who was overhearing most of this conversation with her eyes wide. She had no idea it was this bad. “Month and a half? I thought it was just that one time a few weeks ago, Harry what the hell is wrong with you?” Harry simply shook his head and didn’t reply. He had absolutely no idea how to make it up to her. “I-fuck, I don’t know Mitch!” Harry raised his voice. “I need to see her and apologize, now.” Harry said, standing up and rushing over to the front door and slipping on his shoes. 

“This meeting is mandatory Harry, as much as I want you to see her too, she’d probably still asleep, and I don’t think this can be solved in under an hour.” Mitch said calmly, already knowing Harry was close to walking out his door. Harry stayed silent for a moment, weighing the options. Either go apologize to his girlfriend, or prioritize himself over her again. 

“We can do it another day, I’m sorry, but I have to go see her, tell Jeff I feel sick.” And he walked out without another word.

。:°ஐ

The morning after Harry stood Y/N up again was brutal. 

She stayed up all night, replaying moments with Harry in her head, analyzing if he wanted to be there with her, wondering if maybe he felt like he had to stay with her out of pity. It was torture, and the pain seemed to turn into numbness as time went by, and eventually the sun came up, and she stayed in bed, her motivation lost.

A loud crash and “Fuck!” woke her up, swollen eyes fluttering open to the invasive noise. Y/N furrowed her brows, her mind connecting everything that happened yesterday and unfortunately reminding her of the unbearable pain she went through the night before. A groan escaped her lips as she sat up and flung her legs out of her bed sheets that had been flung off the bed in the middle of the night.  She began grumbling to herself as she made her way downstairs, ready to tell Harry off for making so much noise.

Her mouth stopped moving, and instead remained in limbo as her eyes met Harry’s. His mouth opened to speak, but his words were caught in his throat as he saw the state she was in. It was when her mouth pressed into a line that he could begin talking. “Y/N, baby, please I know you don’t wanna see me or talk t’me right now but I’m so fuckin’ sorry, love. So so sorry, it was an accident, I went t’ the studio to fix a few things then got hung up on the songs and by the time we went to celebrate I completely lost track of time, and I was too drunk to drive home so I crashed at Mitch’s.”

Her mouth fell open at his words. Everything was happening too fast. Hearing that he stood her up to drink at a fucking bar to celebrate himself, then coming home and accidentally knocking over a glass in their kitchen (which she put together was the crash earlier after seeing the shards of broken glass on the floor) frustrated her to no end. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him any longer, and Harry had stopped talking after realizing what he just admitted to her. Without another glance, instead of looking at Y/N’s tear stained face, all he saw was her back, walking up the stairs to their room. 

“Fuck,” He said to himself before following her up the pink stairs. “Y/N, love wait-please, I’m so sorry, I just need to talk to you, I need to explain myself, please.” He begged as she shut their bedroom door in his face, his voice turning into a desperate whine at the end. 

。:°ஐ

It’s been 3 days since then, and she hasn’t spoken to him. He would leave in the mornings, kissing her forehead and mumbling an “I love you” and telling her exactly what time he’d be home, before leaving and coming back on time to find an empty plate in the sink and her lying in their bed, whether it be reading, scrolling on her phone, or typing on her laptop. He would apologize many times, reaching his hand out for hers and she would simply situate herself in their bed and lay down, back turned to him. 

Harry just couldn’t take it anymore. 

It was when she had finally let him kiss her forehead goodnight that he decided to take his chance. “Y/N.” He spoke softly, with no response or anything to indicate she heard him. “Baby, can we please talk- or I’ll talk and you listen, I just- I really need to say some things.” 

She was still faced away from him when he leaned against their headboard and he decided to keep going. 

“I- um. I’m sure you know how sorry I am, but I really am- sorry I mean. Not just for tonight but for every other time I’ve stood you up. I’m so sorry for not showing you how much you matter to me, and how much the things you do matter to me.”

It was then that she slowly sat up next to him and looked at him, eyes begging him to continue. He blushed at her intense eye-contact that he had barely gotten over the past few days and took a breath, opting to look at his hands fidgeting in his lap.

“We’ve been together for 2 and almost a half years, which is the longest relationship I’ve been in, and it’s no excuse to treat you this way, but I had just been thinking about how things progress even further than now,” He coughs. “Which is marriage, and when I finally came home, all I wanted to do was ask you to marry me- I don’t- m’not proposing right now, I just- I got really scared because wanting to spend the rest of your life with someone is crazy to me,

I’ve never thought that way about anyone else until you, I didn’t even really want to get married before you, and I started to distance myself before I ended up telling you this, but obviously that blew up in my face.” He chuckled a bit, locking eyes with her unreadable ones for a moment and lifting a hand to run through his hair. “What I’m trying to say, is that I love you, so so much, and I plan on marrying you— obviously if you want to too, of course— and I’m so sorry for trying to make you think that I didn’t care about you anymore or love you any less, because it’s the complete opposite of that.”

His eyes were watery now, as he started down at his interlocked fingers, and his eyes widened when her hand was gently placed over his own. “Harry,” Y/N began. “Look at me, please.” 

His head lifted to see her facing him, her brows knitted and a small smile on her face. “I forgive you, okay? I could tell you were kind of scared of commitment when we first started dating, and I wish I could say your reason for standing me up is surprising but it’s not.” They both chuckled a bit at this. “I- I’m still upset at you, I need you to know that, because 2 months of thinking the love of your life is avoiding you doesn’t feel all too great, so you suck for that,” she said, planting a quick kiss to his cheek which quickly turned pink. “But Harry, even if you asked me to marry you a year ago I would have said yes. I love you, so much, and I plan on spending the rest of my life with you as well. I’m sorry for giving you the silent treatment, it was… unnecessary and immature. So, thank you for apologizing. I love you.” She confessed again.

“S’okay, I deserved it, and I love you too. Maybe even more. So um, we’re okay?” Harry asked, a hopeful smile on his face. 

She nodded with a smile and pulled him into a much needed hug and pulled away only for him to bring her into an even more needed kiss. “If you ever try to pull that shit again, I’m breaking up with you.” She laughed and he tackled her into the sheets hiding his face in her neck.

“Duly noted, love. Duly noted.”

[nn1895]

AU August Fic 24

Childhood Best Friend

Notes: This feels simultaneously like the most romantic thing I’ve ever written, and also like I’ve ripped my heart out of my chest and rubbed it on the page.

Prowl had been forced to come to terms with his failures.  He’d accepted many of his faults and was working on finding contentment.  His life was nothing like how he’d imagined it.

He was not the Chief of the Enforcers.  He was not even an Enforcer.

He did not own his own habsuite.

He was not bonded.

He had no honors for the walls, no proudly displayed awards or certificates.

He was a faceless no one on the street and he was going to have to be okay with that.

He was not okay with his sparklinghood best friend finding out.

0-0-0

Jazz had arrived at worse than rock-bottom - he wasn’t even a has-been.  He was inching towards middle age, firmly set for being a never-was.  Mediocre.  

He had no record contract. 

He had no gigs.

He wasn’t famous.

He wasn’t rich.

There was no ‘wall of fame’ with his music on it.

He was a failed musician working odd jobs to get by and he had been able to mostly ignore the gnawing sense of shame in his spark.

He wasn’t sure he would be able to if the most important person from his sparklinghood found out.

0-0-0

It was chance that they ran across each other - an old teacher had contacted them both, looking for pictures of their classmates for a reunion.  He’d been surprised they hadn’t kept in touch and given each the other’s comm code.  Meeting up was unavoidable.

They decided to meet at a small cafe by Jazz’s habsuite.  

Prowl had sprung for a polish, but it wasn’t enough to hide the cheapness of his paint or the lack of Enforcer decals.

He’d driven most of the way himself, fueling on the cheapest energon he could find to save a few credits and now he was lost.

“Excuse me.”  He was walking through a residential area - apartment buildings, tiny front gardens, a shabby well-loved sparkling park.  He stopped to ask an older mech repairing the fence for directions.

“Do you know where Gravity Cafe is?”  The mech stood up, creaking slightly, and brushed curls of aluminum from his knees.  He was the muddy brown-green that older bots tended to favor and he wore two small metals of distinction on his left shoulder for service in the Space Academy.  

“Out of towner?  You’re in the right area, keep goin’ up tha’ way,” he pointed ahead, “an’ take a right at the mega-credit station.  You here for the festival?” he asked hopefully.

“Festival?”

The mech pointed towards a banner strung between two light posts down the road.

“Music and Light Festival, every town in Polyhex does it. Ours is just local - the one in the central town is huge an’ that’s where bots usually are heading.”

“No.”  Something warmed in his spark - Jazz was probably going to be playing on one of those central town stages soon.  “I’m visiting a friend - Jazz - but it might be interesting to see.”

The mech’s optics brightened.

“You’re a friend of Jazzy’s?”  

“Yes, you know him?”

The mech bounced in place.

“He’s the bot that walked my grand-sparklings to school every day when their creators left them wit’ me!  Used ta come over and play ‘em ta sleep too.  He’s the kindest bot in the whole city.  I was jus’ wishin’ he was here ta help me wit’ this, but if he’s meetin’ a good friend, I think that’s better.  Tell him I said, hi, yeah?”

“Of course.”

The mech wasn’t the last to talk up Jazz.  The femme at the mega-credit station raved about how Jazz donated his time to the local school and taught music lessons cheap enough for bots to afford them.  Another said that no matter how sad he felt, when he walked by Jazz when he was playing at night, he felt happier.  Prowl stopped to help a couple of younglings hang a banner and mentioned Jazz again.  He was apparently “the cooooolest” and they’d been to one of his concerts in the park.

Prowl dreaded Jazz finding out about his own life, but he couldn’t stop smiling, thinking about his best friend being so well loved.

0-0-0

Jazz had given in and looked Prowl up on the net.  He’d expected a few articles about him, maybe some pictures.

He hadn’t expected how many forums would be talking about how he saved their lives.

“I’d be dead by now, if it wasn’t for Prowl,” one post read in a neighborhood forum.

“He helped me keep my sparklings safe,” said another in a forum for abused bondmates.

“He was an aft, but he was right, and he got me out of trouble,” was a most liked post on a finance forum talking about people who needed advice.

Jazz wondered what branch of the enforcers Prowl was in that brought him into contact with such a wide range of bots and problems.  

It sounded just like him though.  Stupidly brave, mechling was not a stupidly brave mech. 

At least one of them had gotten their dream.  

Jazz saw the Iacon Hall stage in his processor, the screaming fans, himself playing something brilliant and new and complicated.  Endless hotel rooms and money to burn.

Frag.

Jazz stared down into his cube and tried not to imagine Prowl’s face when he realized what Jazz was doing with his life.  He traced pictures in the fluffy foam top with the tip of a digit.

The door opened.

0-0-0

It was Jazz.  Dear, Primus.  For some reason, Prowl hadn’t expected the mech to look the same - that smug grin, those sparkling optics, he even still had the same visor, now out of date and out of fashion.

“Jazz,” he breathed, a smile breaking across his face.  “Jazz.”

“Prowler.”  Then he was standing and they were both caught in a crushing embrace, not sure who had started it.

“Let me order ya a cube,” Jazz said, reluctantly breaking away from the embrace.

“Okay.”  Prowl slid into the booth and discretely wiped his optics.  Jazz bounced up to the counter and waved over the mech.  They spoke and the barista turned to Prowl, smiling.  He said something to Jazz and then turned to make whatever concoction Jazz had ordered him.  

The mech turned with an extremely purple cube in his servo and instead of giving it to Jazz, walked around the counter and headed towards their table.

“Orion!  Hey - !”  Jazz grabbed for the mech.  He walked faster, slopping a bit of purple over his servos, a giant grin on his face.

“One Gravity special!,” he said, placing it before Prowl.  “On the house for a ‘friend’ of Jazzy’s!”  Then he winked and spun around, walk - sauntering back to his station.

“What was -” Prowl stared, but Jazz waved it away.

“Jus’ a friend who thinks he’s funny.  It’s good though, the special.”  Jazz sat and Prowl took a sip.  It was good.

They fell silent and Prowl felt something in him ease.  He’d missed Jazz.

0-0-0

“So,” Jazz said, as he licked the last of the foam from the rim of the cube, “how’ve ya been doin’?”

Prowl twitched and his optics dropped to the table.

“I am…well.  There is nothing exciting going on in my life.”

“Ya went inta the Enforcers’ Academy after university, right?”  Jazz hadn’t seen Prowl since secondary school when they had both been awkward younglings, still growing into their new frames.

“I…no, I was not accepted.”

Jazz felt his mouth drop open and hurried to hide the surprise from his face.  All those people on the data net -

“What did you do instead?” he asked quickly.  He wanted to know - but he wasn’t going to ask.

Prowl answered the silent question anyways, his voice flat and low.

“They said my psych eval indicated instability in highly emotional situations.  I was offered a desk position in one of the political offices, but I declined.  My tactical processor was not designed for…politics.”

“That’s - that sucks, mech,” Jazz said.  He leaned back and vented deeply.  Poor Prowl.  The news must have devastated him.  “But, ya doin’ good now, right?  I mean -”

“I share a habsuite with two others and we’re saving up to buy it.  Credits are not plentiful right now.”

That explained the cheap paint.

“Is it a nice neighborhood?” Jazz asked, trying to steer the conversation to something positive.

“It is not bad,” Prowl admitted.  “It is close to work -”  He fell silent.

“Ya don’ have ta talk ‘bout it if ya don’ wanna,” Jazz offered.  “If -”

Prowl folded his servos neatly on the sticky table in front of him.

“I am a financial advisor and I run a small private security firm.”

“Oh.”

“I usually do small things - I work mostly with non-profit organizations.  We help mechs and femmes get financial independence.  Bots that have fallen below the poverty line.  My company only has three bots - me, Bulkhead, and Cliffjumper - and we only do piece work.”  Prowl was staring out the window, keeping Jazz out of view.

“You do events or -”

“Whoever needs some…security.”

“And you advise -”

“I was just hired by the Bonded Protection Home - financial abuse is very common.”

“I hadn’t thought about that.”

“It is not…what I had imagined for myself,” Prowl said softly, looking down at his servos, shoulder hunched to make himself smaller.

It was the opposite of the sparkling Jazz had known.  That Prowl had always stood up, doorwings flared out, jumping in the middle of fights to defend whatever poor bitlet the bullies had decided to target.

He’d lost most of the fights.

“Ya mean all that hero business we talked about?  Running inta burnin’ buildings and saving people?  Going up against gangs and stuff?”

Prowl nodded.

“I…have had to accept that I am not a hero.”  He said it softly and Jazz saw his own shame mirrored in Prowl’s face, in his dim optics, in the twisting of his servos.

Frag that.

“Of course you’re a hero, dumbaft!”  Jazz slammed his servos on the table and the cubes rattled.  “Those bots save what - a couple dozen sparks a vorn?  Some showy heroics and a couple of traffic stops?  Ya using ya processor ta give people back their lives, Prowler.  Ya save lives every week - more than any a’ the enforcers could.  Ya special, Prowl.”  He reached out and took Prowl’s servo, squeezing hard.

Prowl was staring at him.  Jazz got the feeling that his enormously powerful processor was spinning in circles.

“That - you don’t understand - what?” he finally said, servos clutching at Jazz’s just as hard now.

“I think that’s amazing, Prowl, that you help people in so many different ways.  Jus’ like when we were bitlets.”

“Oh.”

Looking at it like that made everything seem…like something he could be proud of.

0-0-0

Jazz’s barista friend, Orion, came over under the guise of ‘cleaning’ to see if they were alright.  He smeared some of the spills around the table and then walked away, leaving the dirty rag and both their empty cubes.

“He must care about you,” Prowl remarked.

“He’s a nosey fragger that can’t stay outta any bot’s business,” Jazz grumbled.  He stacked the cubes and wiped the table probably.

“Is he a fan?” Prowl asked, letting his smile just peek out.  “The bitlets told me that everyone goes to your concerts.”

Jazz tensed and Prowl knew he’d said something wrong.

“Jazz?”

“I ah…they ain’t exactly concerts.  Not like tha’.  I jus’ drag my fiddle out ta the park every few months an’ play a few hours.  ‘S nothin’ big.  I - I don’ actually play professionally.  At all.”

That was…not what Prowl had been expecting.

“But you still play?” he asked.  Jazz’s optics were avoid his, darting over the small cafe.  A small, false smile was fixed on his face.

“Yeah.  Just…not as a career.”

“You chose something else?”  Jazz had lived for music when they’d been young.  Even as back when they’d met as toddling sparklings in preschool.

“Wasn’t really a choice.  I mostly do odd jobs.  I - well, it started as a way ta pay bills while I was workin’ on becomin’ a risin’ star and then, when I didn’t, it was all I really knew how ta do and -”  He laughed but it had a rough edge.  “I’ve got some steady gigs - jobs, I mean - like music lessons at the community center and they always hire me for the festivals.  I help some of the bots wit’ house and yard work that they can’t do.  Doesn’t make a lot, but the rent here is cheap.  I got my own habsuite - but it’s the size of a datapad.”  He laughed again.  “Not what I’d thought I’d be doing when I graduated.  Thought I’d be out, building up my name, getting contracts -”

“You’ve still made quite a name for yourself -” Prowl interrupted.  He couldn’t bear to hear that note of loss in Jazz’s voice.  The shame Prowl was only too familiar with.  Jazz was amazing - a brilliant musician and the kindest mech he’d ever known.

“I ain’t famous.”

“Yet every bot I spoke to on the way here knew of you,” he countered.  “They talked about hearing your music and how it helped them when they were sad.  You made them feel happy and the sparklings were excited to hear you again at this festival that’s going on.  A mech told me you helped him take care of his grand-sparklings when their parents abandoned them.  Bots love you Jazz.”  He couldn’t hold back a laugh.  “They always do.”

0-0-0

Jazz blinked.  That was how they’d met, two sparklings in school, grumpy Prowl and Jazz who could chatter to anyone.  People had insisted that if Jazz could make Prowl his friend, he could make friends with everyone.  Bots loved him.

Jazz had loved Prowl.  He stared at him now, the best friend he’d ever had, and he could feel his world shifting.  Something was coming loose from the moorings.  Something was changing.

Prowl, who thought he wasn’t important and spent his days saving lives, was looking at him as if he was important, his optics soft, warm.  He spoke, quietly, love in his optics.

“I would love to hear you play.  I know it’s not the Iacon Hall, but -”

“Nah, I’d love ta play for ya, mech.”  Strangely enough, for the first time in years, that vision of himself, playing on that stage, seemed fuzzy and, well, silly.  It was just a stage.  He couldn’t even picture the crowd anymore - just a sea of strange faces.

He imagined playing to Prowl, sitting on his beat up couch, the upstairs neighbors calling down their favorites.  He imagined Prowl’s optics as he played their favorite tunes from their bitlet days.  He imagined a future with Prowl in it, visiting on the weekends, talking about their days.

It was…bright.

[joonsdragoneyes]

We’re live [Gamer!Jungkook x Reader][M]

Pairing: Jungkook x female!reader

Warnings: Smut, profanity, semi-public sex, protected sex (reader is on birth control), mentions of reader needing reading glasses, oral m receiving, drooling, handjobs, orgasms male and female, f and m orgasm denial/edging, big dicks, body worship (kinda), tattoos/piercing's, mentions of sex in other locations, minor hair pulling, mentions of disapproving families/hiding things from parents, mentions/descriptions of reader having a large chest, reader is kind of bratty, usage of the word cock, voice kink if you squint

Genre: Smut, some angst, streamer/youtuber au, college au if you turn on a blacklight

Word count: 4.7k

Summary: You and Jungkook have been living together for a little over a year now, a big decision after your previous several years of dating. He, of course, brought his job with him- a full gaming set up, which you happily let him set up in a spare room. Your boyfriend was a pro-gamer. This job usually kept him busy, his focus on his screen rather than you for a majority of the day. You normally didn’t mind this at all, since you were usually out during that time anyway. Today, however, was different. You were home, attempting to study as he worked in order to give him the space he needed. Except, you were missing him in a way you hadn’t in a while, and the only way to get rid of this frustration would be to get him away from his work. 

{A/N: This work is completely unedited, so apologies for any typos.}

----

You could hear him yelling through the door.

The laptop sitting in front of you was beginning to dim from lack of use, the loud shouts from the room a bit down the hall further ruining your already destroyed concentration. Your glasses slid down your face as you lifted, the feeling causing you to pull them off. Flopping tiredly against the back of the chair, you took one final look at the multiple windows you had open on the screen as the screen finally went black, leaving you with nothing but your reflection on the screen. Your hair was messily tied back, strands and chunks falling around everywhere from where they escaped from your hair tie. You looked away from the sight of your own face, burying your face in your hands as your elbows came to rest on the shiny, hardwood table; you slamming the device shut as your hand lowered, your fingers pulling the skin down along with it. You sighed in frustration, letting your head flop back against the chair as you slid down, your butt now hanging off of the seat.

His voice practically bounced off the walls, each full-concentration shout of sudden frustration ringing through the house. Each time caught your attention, snatching you quickly from your exhausted daze. He seemed to be having fun in-between moments of what you assumed was either interacting with the chat or moments where it sounded like he lost- or rather, almost lost. You could already hear him coming out in a few hours, bragging about he remained undefeated in a game you couldn't remember the name of, a large, bright grin present on his face, his own pulled back hair messily sprawled in every possible direction.

You sometimes watched his streams and videos while you worked, at least you used to. It always ruined your concentration when you did, as it was now, but they were admittedly entertaining. He never knew you did, you showed little interest in his job, and you'd rather keep it that way.

Sitting up, you lifted your hands to adjust the straps dangling uncomfortably down your shoulders, adjusting the rest of your top in the process, pulling it up from where it slid down, at this point revealing almost everything. It appeared to have shrunk given how tight it was and how easily it slid down, but it wasn't like it would be anything your boyfriend hadn't seen before in the instance you failed to notice and flashed him. The tank top you had on usually did well with covering everything, but knowing that lately, for some reason, it wasn't, made you frown. It was comfortable and nice to wear around the house; you just felt irritated adjusting it constantly.

You stood up, moving toward the various loud sounds coming from the room. The door clicked as you turned the knob, pushing the large wooden object open, the many lights strung on the walls greeting you as you stepped inside the large room. The whiteboard he had hanging on the wall was full of writing and multiple expressive doodles- a few piles on the floor from a few other random activities. It was dark aside from the many lights hanging from the walls and ceiling, your boyfriend well illuminated by the glow from the multiple monitors sprawled in front of him.

Turning to face him fully, you closed the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as you paused. He hadn't noticed you yet. You felt odd about walking in like this. You had never interrupted him while he was working unless he needed something, in which case he usually just came to get you. You honestly didn't even know if any of his fanbase knew he was in a relationship at all-; you both usually just kept to yourselves. Aside from him eventually coming upstairs to meet you in bed to sleep, coming out to eat, or the occasional 'date'- which was just running errands together or him coming with you to watch a movie you were pretty much already leaving for- you both didn't really spend a lot of time together. At least you hadn't recently.

The sight of his wide eyes and pouty expression made your heart melt, and you couldn't help but smile. He was sitting in his much-bigger-than-him gaming chair, his legs crossed with his knees near his chest as he leaned forward, his expression serious despite the generally cute nature of everything else about him. His way too big shirt swallowed him easily, and it was only at this moment that you realized he had borrowed one of your hair-ties. The pale purple band was more than familiar, and there it was, tightly holding his long black hair neatly in place.

"Jungkook-" You started as you moved close, his head instantly lifting in order to meet you, his serious expression quickly growing soft. He seemed a little confused seeing you in here but still happy about it nonetheless.

You suddenly panicked slightly, watching the screen nervously in the hope you didn't appear in the camera too much, mostly attempting to keep your face out of frame. Gently, you leaned against the back of the chair, his teeth quickly appearing in a wide, excited grin. "Do you need anything?" He asked, his bright, wide eyes meeting yours. You could feel the excitement radiating from him, his lips and cheeks pink in the light from the lamp as he spoke. "Just missed you." You admitted, crossing your arms against the back of the chair as you leaned slightly forward.

The chat on one of the monitors suddenly sped up, you noticing it from the corner of your eyes. A loud mix of emotes and words in all caps filled the screen, zooming by before you could read any of them. You watched Jungkook slide his headphones off, letting them rest on his neck as his legs uncrossed, his socked feet flopping against the carpet. "Here, you can sit with me and watch." He chirped, quickly pausing whatever game he was playing and scooting over to make as much room as he could. You shook your head.

"No, I..." You trailed off, pouting a bit as you lift your arms, moving your hands around your face in a way you hoped emphasized your unwillingness to be on camera. You knew they could see your body just fine, but you were on your computer all day and hadn't slept well, so showing your face was definitely out of the equation. Jungkook simply let his head fall slightly to the side in confusion, letting out a small "But you look fine.".

You pouted, watching as he quickly stood up, the chair rocking slightly as he slid out of it. "Here, I know just the thing." He quickly shuffled near the back of the room and over to the closet doors, pulling them open. You watched quietly as he began to shuffle through a box, the already present pout on your face growing stronger. You recognized that box. That box was from your senior prom. You already knew what he was looking for.

He quickly pulled out a black mask, the very one you had worn years ago. Why he had kept it this long, you didn't know, but you still found yourself sighing as you realized it would still work. You didn't really want to remember that masquerade themed prom, especially considering neither you nor Jungkook had fun during a majority of it. It had its moments, but you had hoped you wouldn't have to go near that specific costume again.

"Sorry, it's all I've got." He whispered, gently placing it in your not-very-eagerly awaiting hands. Taking a deep breath, you slid the mask onto your face as Jungkook scoot past, flopping once again into the large chair, his voice loudly sounding as he began to interact with the apparently very excited chat.

Once again adjusting your top, you moved over to where your boyfriend was sitting, plopping down next to him as one of his muscular arms wrapped around your waist as you settled against him, your thighs touching. You shuffled, wrapping your arm around his waist as well, your legs bouncing from where they hung off the seat as Jungkook pulled the chair forward. You felt the tension in your crossed legs relax as you realized you'd only be seen from slightly above your waist.

His hand slid around you, grabbing onto the controller resting on his thighs. Your arms flopped to the side, resting against your boyfriend's thighs in an attempt to keep them out of the way. Your fingers gripped tightly onto his sweatpants, your head coming to rest gently on his shoulder. Jungkook grinned, his teeth shining through his lips the more comfortable you became.

You could feel his voice vibrating against you as he spoke, the sound making you feel warm inside, a soft tingle running from your head to your thighs. "What're you playing?" You questioned, leaning against his strong shoulder, enjoying his warmth. His face slowly contorted slightly in thought, a pout forming on his lips as he noticeably racked his brain for the answer. "Astrotech." He finally responded, his expression moving quickly back to the way it was, his cheeks noticeably a bit pink.

Various loud booms and screeches flooded from the headphones around his neck, which he had turned up for you to hear. You didn't know what was going on it, but the sight of him expertly doing whatever objectives or maneuvering the obstacles in the game was somewhat fascinating to you.

He suddenly squirmed under you as you adjusted yourself, the sudden movement surprising until you realized your hand had just accidentally rubbed along his thigh in the process. Your lips pressed together in thought, realizing just how sensitive he seemed to be. Deciding to see if that was truly why, you cautiously ran your hand along his thighs, feeling him once again squirm under you. The barely audible groan of protest as you slightly ruined his concentration made something in your brain just click.

You knew why you were so distracted earlier.

Slowly, your hand moved along his leg before sliding inwards towards the warmth where they met. Before he could squirm again, you gave a soft squeeze to his strong thighs, enjoying the slightly surprised noise that escaped. He seemed annoyed that you were attempting to distract him, but his lack of any indication for you to stop or any sort of 'no' from him gave you the willingness to continue.

Your hands moved further up, sliding along the space between his legs and up towards his stomach. He had stopped moving aside from the slight tremble of his thighs as you made your way along. His legs slightly parted, allowing you to continue on your way, the outline of the package you were searching for soon starting to appear in his sweat pants. You licked your lips gently, tracing the outline with your fingers, enjoying the sighs you heard from his weak attempts to keep quiet.

"Alright, well, I guess I'll see you when you're done." You suddenly spoke. "I just came to visit because I missed you, but you seem pretty busy with work." You added, pulling your hand away as you stood, sliding out of the chair as you moved quickly towards the door. Thoughts ran through your brain as your hand grabbed the doorknob, opening it before gently shutting it immediately after. You turned to look at your boyfriend still sat behind you, biting your bottom lip in thought.

Slowly and quietly, you dropped down to your knees, crawling on the ground over to the desk as you swiftly slid under it. Leaning forward, you grabbed the tops of his pants, slowly pulling them down as you felt your eyes grow wide at the sight. You had seen it before, but it was still a pleasant surprise each time.

Your hands moved along his legs, swiftly grabbing the still mostly soft length, pumping them quickly as Jungkook once again squirmed under you, his legs spreading. You could feel him continuously growing under you as you moved, the sight and feeling causing your thighs to tingle.

Licking your lips, you moved forward, licking the tip of his eagerly awaiting cock, listening as he tried to stifle a pleased hum. Before he could fully react, you took the full length in your mouth before sliding down, bobbing your head with vigor, enjoying the soft noises that escaped as a result of your movements. Your hands continued to slide quickly, making up for what you couldn't reach.

Your boyfriend sighed above you, doing his very best to act as normal as he possibly could. The soft clicking and tapping from his controller continued, you only drooling as your head continued to lower, taking in as much of the steadily hardening length as you possibly could. Pawing at him for the bit you had the chance to seemed to work, not quite in the way you had hoped, but you were fixing that just fine. A soft slurp sounded as you suddenly lifted your head, the noise causing you to pause as you hoped no one had heard the sinful action going on under the desk. The conversation between him and the on-going chat seemed to be normal despite his occasional deep sighs. His fingers ran through your hair, giving a slight tug as you continued, closing your eyes as you attempted to savor the moment- still being careful to make as little noise as possible.

A sharp tug to your thick hair pulled you upwards, your breasts practically in his lap as your arms lifted, grabbing onto his thick black hoodie in an attempt to keep yourself steady. You hummed a bit in surprise, the action causing his strong hands to increase their grip on you as your head only continued to bob. He was gasping now. Loud pings and sound effects rang from the screen from what you assumed was possibly the hundredth donation of the night. You increased your speed, enjoying the strong but more gentle tug that followed with each movement of your salivating mouth.

You were only wondering how he was managing to hide this so well.

Your gaze slowly moved upwards, checking his expression. His face was flushed, his teeth on display as he bit his lower lip in a last attempt to keep quiet. His expression was otherwise unchanged aside from his noticeably dilated pupils, his face still stern with concentration.

With a loud pop, you finally pulled away, quickly using your knuckles to wipe away the strand of saliva that followed. Swiftly pulling his pants back up, you shuffled from under the desk and over to the door. That would be enough for now. After all, you didn't actually want to get caught.

You could feel him watching you as you stood up and quietly opened the door. How upset he was that you didn't finish could be felt from where you stood, but you knew he'd get you back later. He always did. It didn't matter if you just ate his food or if you pulled a small prank, he always got you back, and this time you could say you looked forward to it.

---

The door flew open with a loud bang, you jumping with surprise at the sound, nearly dropping your phone in the process. Your head lifted to meet the sight of your boyfriend standing in the doorway, his hair messy as he loomed over you. "What was that about?" He questioned, his eyes darting to take in your form.

"What was what about?"

"You know what."

You felt your cheeks warm but decided to continue pretending you didn't have a clue what he meant. "No, Jungkook, I don't know what."

His lips pressed together, his eyes narrowing. He stepped forward, closing the door behind him, a soft click sounding as he slowly locked it. You watched quietly, biting your lip as you knew what would happen next. He wasn't usually this quiet.

"Thankfully, I was able to continue normally without much issue." He plopped on the bed next to you, the weight of his larger form causing the mattress to sink under him. The force was almost enough to cause you to slide along with it.

"But you must think I'm a fool if you think you'll get away with sneaking under the desk like that."

By then, he had leaned close, his voice low as he spoke. His tattoos could be seen poking from under the dropped neck of his shirt, your eyes slipping down the closer he leaned. You flopped forward, your gaze meeting his as your hands came to rest on top of his own. "And what are you gonna do about it?" You teased. This wouldn't at all be your first time with each other, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"You're not even ready. I could hear you taking care of it yourself before you came up; you're not as quiet as you think."

His hand lifted quietly, curling under your chin as he held your head still. "Alright, smartie, what're you gonna do about that?"

"You're usually the horndog in this situation. What am I gonna do about it?"

You were suddenly shoved against the bed below, the thick blanket warm under your body. He placed a soft kiss on your lips, his hair draping around his face as he leaned over you. "You'll have to wait to find out, huh?"

"Damn, you must really be upset." You teased without even a second of hesitation. "Man, I really wonder what you'll do. Oh, how long must I wait? Forever? Years; Centuries of waiting just to punished in the end! Just end me, as waiting is its own punishment." You whined dramatically under him, your arms lifting as your hand sprawled against your forehead, your eyes closing as your head flopped back in exasperation against the mattress below.

Jungkook laughed. "No, you won't have to wait very long. You know I wouldn't do that to you." He grinned, his teeth bright and shiny behind his lips. "Remember when we were younger, and I still lived with my parents, and you came over to study?" He asked, his noticeably strong hands trailing over your body, their attention quickly focused on your chest. You opened your mouth to speak, only to get interrupted as he continued.

"We waited until they left to run some errands, and we decided to try and be super quick." He paused to laugh to himself, you barely listening as you bit your lip, your nipples beginning to poke through the fabric his hands continued to glide over. "We started getting way too loud near the end and almost got caught because we didn't hear them pull in. The only reason we were able to clean up and everything was because you happened to finish before they walked in and could hear what we were doing. Man, what an adrenaline rush that one minute was as we scrambled around listening to them slowly come up the stairs."

By then, you were moaning under him, the fabric rough against your extremely sensitive chest. His strong fingers continued running along, teasing the hardened nubs as he moved on with another story, seemingly unaware of what he was doing. His hands snuck under your shirt, his hands warm as he grabbed as much of your breasts in his large hands as he could. "Sorry, I was talking." He apologized, taking the moment before you responded to swiftly yank your shirt over your head.

In your moment of distraction, you had become so hot and bothered that you hadn’t even noticed how long he had been rambling. You could hardly hear his reminiscing over your increasingly more desperate moans. The feeling of the cold air hitting your already erect nipples made you squirm slightly, you only coming back to reality to a soft warmth on your neck. Your hands lifted, gripping with white knuckles tightly onto his thick hoodie.

You lowered your gaze, the sight of his face resting on your chest greeting you. His hair messily covered his eyes, the deep brown underneath shining in the light of your bedroom. His lips were pressed softly together into a pout, his tattooed arms lifted to lay across your shoulders, wrapping under your head. “You’re not paying attention!” He whined, continuing to pout as he shuffled to lean over you, the mattress squeaking ever so slightly as his knees rested on the bed.

He paused to pull the thick fabric free from his body, letting it thump to the ground as he leaned over you once again, the thick ink on his arms dancing as his muscles flexed in the process. Your eyes widened as his face approached yours, your noses quickly touching, the pout still present. “You didn’t hear my story.” He whined again, softer this time, the shine still present in his wide eyes despite the shadow he was casting over you. “You weren’t even listening.”

“Honey, you were rambling.” You responded, hoping he couldn’t feel your racing heart. He flopped down, his hips straddling your own as he sat up, his strong arms causing the bed to sink in as he continued to lean over you, your thighs tingling at the slight bounce that followed as he grew comfortable on your hips. 

“I was telling a story.”

He lowered himself, his lips coming into contact with your own, your hands lifting to grab on the thin white t-shirt that remained. His teeth ran softly over your lips as he pulled away, his hands once again moving to slide under your head. Your thighs burned and tingled with each movement he made. 

You were beginning to sweat as you continued gripping him tightly, your hips wiggling to wrap your legs around him. His lips once again moved into a pout, the shine is his eyes disappearing as his head came to rest on your chest once again. He definitely felt you move.

His legs slid around you, his knees moving under your hips to lift them up, pressing his now noticeably tight sweatpants against your shorts. He once again lowered to kiss you, more gentle this time as his hands lowered to remove his sweat pants, leaving nothing between you but your shorts- which already barely covered anything. Your own hands lowered, grabbing onto the hard length poking between your legs, pumping slowly as he sighed into the kiss. Your shoulders ached as his hands pressed against your shoulders, pressing you into the mattress. You sped up your wrist movements, listening as he groaned into the continued kiss.

Suddenly, his hands shot down, levering your legs open and lifting his hips to practically rip your shorts free of your body as he finally broke the kiss. His legs slipped off the bed and onto the floor with a loud thud, swiftly yanking you close to the edge. His fully flexed arms caged you in, his lips coming into contact with your exposed neck, his breathing soft and warm against your skin. 

“Roll over.” He huffed, moving to kiss along your chest and shoulders. His face was now a soft pink, lifting to watch you intently as you rolled onto your stomach, letting out a noise of surprise as you were yanked yet further off of the bed, your feet now touching the floor. Kisses once again returned to your neck, an occasional moment of cold causing you to shiver with delight as his tongue traced over your warm skin with each mark he left behind. Your still erect nipples dragged softly over the sheets under you, the cool mixture of the sheets and his tongue piercing causing you to moan loudly under him.

Your face slammed softly against the mattress below, his strong arms pressing against your shoulders to hold you in place, your hips lifting in the process. Of all the times you’ve done this, he wasn’t usually this rough, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t exciting. 

“Fu-” You moaned, burying your face in the mattress at the stretch that followed. “-ck.” Your hands gripped onto the sheets, the feeling of his teeth and tongue reaching every inch of your neck making you whimper. He had always been taller, but it wasn’t until now that you realized just how much stronger- and bigger than you he was. You could hardly move with the grip he had on your shoulders, your head the only thing able to move freely. He had you where he wanted you, and it’d probably be a while before he’d free you.

Each thrust ruined your hopes of being quiet, drool beginning to fall from your lips as he continued- each thrust more intense than the last. Your eyes were soon rolled back, your mouth open as saliva dripped from your parted lips, the sharp tugs to your hair adding to the overall ache. Your legs, hips and shoulders were growing more pained with each lewd slam into you, each second bringing you closer to the edge. You were silent, the ache taking your breath away, a loud gasp escaping as he freed your shoulders, yanking you upright by your hair.

His arms wrapped under your chest, freeing you from the bed entirely as he held you in place, your arms contorting behind you to hold onto his now moist t-shirt. You were trembling, your chest burning as you gasped for air. “Jungkook...” You managed, your voice hoarse as your head flopped backwards against his muscular shoulders. You could feel the mess you were already making in your excitement, awaiting the finish you were mere seconds away from, only to groan as you felt him stop, your chest bouncing as he adjusted you. 

“No...” You whined in complaint, taking the time to catch your breath only to catch yourself moaning with each exhale. You continued shaking as he kissed along the back of your shoulders. “Don’t stop...” You continued, wiggling your legs slightly to get him to continue. He groaned with your wiggles, grabbing your thighs to keep you in place. “Stop moving.” His voice was soft and gentle, your head rolling around on his shoulder as he placed another kiss on your aching neck.

“You’re so pretty.” He complimented, letting you fall forward with your hands hitting the mattress, his arms firmly gripping your thighs to stop your hips from moving from their position. The little eyeliner you had on had started to run, your hands gripping the sheets in anticipation as you wondered what about you with messy makeup was pretty.

You cried out, your voice still hoarse as the edge approached faster than before. After a minute you were trembling under him again, the ache returning as you tipped closer and closer to the edge. You were reduced to a shaking, squealing, moaning mess in a little over a minute, your legs struggling to hold onto him as they shook. 

Your face once again slammed into the mattress, a loud groan felt against your back as his hips sputtered slightly, his large hands grabbing onto your hair once again as he attempted to keep himself steady as he finally tipped over the edge. His breaths were rough and quick against your back, you too busy attempting to catch your own breath to notice his hands had lowered. 

You gasped, pleasure coursing through you once again as his fingers moved with renewed vigor. “Ju-Jungkoo-” You pleaded, struggling to even get his name out as his strong hands made quick work of your clit, you finally reaching your release with a sudden, violent shake. He pulled away, the emptiness that followed allowing you to fully fall against the bed, your legs weak as you attempted to stand. His arms wrapped around you, gently laying you down. 

“Too much?” He questioned, taking in your exhausted form, his voice dripping with concern. His eyes widened slightly at the black smeared along your cheeks, pouting as he gently wiped it off, not seeming to notice his still wet fingers. “Too much.” He lowered to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, running his fingers through your messy hair. “Definitely too much.”

---

[A/N: Sorry that this came out so much later than I promised. Hopefully it was worth the wait.]