#phew what a bunch of tags

[hauntedppgpaints]

on the inherent impermanence of friendships in the nhl.

( x. x. x. x. x. x. x. x. x. x. x. x. x. x. x. x. )

#carey price #pk subban #travis konecny #nolan patrick #sidney crosby #marc andre fleury #tyler bertuzzi #dylan larkin #anthony beauvillier #mathew barzal #braden holtby #william nylander #rasmus sandin #philipp grubauer #evgeny kuznetsov #phew what a bunch of tags #ok now the teams wish me luck: #canadiens #flyers #golden knights #penguins #red wings #bruins #wild #islanders #canucks #maple leafs #capitals #kraken #holy SHIT this is a long one

[silverzoomies]

Alone

peter maximoff x reader fluff

warnings: fluff, humor, first meetings, pining, female reader

word count: 3,461

a/n: just a drabble i spent way too long on. based on something i used to daydream about a lot. happy late valentine's day !!

tag list: @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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Peter sits, slouched on the floor against the foot of a sofa. Glimmers of light flicker in his eyes, as he indulges in some mind numbing television. Reruns of Frasier play stereotypical laugh tracks, droning through the basement. He can’t help but follow suit. Chuckling along in quiet huffs, he shakes his head.

Upstairs, the house rests in silence. Dead quiet. Magda snores softly in her room. Lorna’s probably conked out too. And Wanda? She’s gone. Somewhere. He could never guess. She doesn’t tell anyone where she goes on weeknights. But hey, what’s it matter to him? So long as she’s playing it safe.

Peter snickers at another corny, sitcom joke. He guzzles down handfuls of Reese's pieces. The candies rustle in their small box. But with the rustle, his ears catch something else. Distant and faint. Outside the realm of television laugh tracks and candy clicks.

It’s a lyrical melody, playing with romantic cadence from outside the basement window. Peter tilts his head back, drinking a glass bottle Pepsi. Fizzy sweetness mildly irritates his throat. Raising a brow, he guides his gaze to the window. One more chug of his soda, and he snatches the remote.

The roar of sitcom television falls into stillness.

And sure enough, a tune whispers from beyond the window’s glass. Like the call of a sea siren through the neighborhood. But it’s 10pm on a Tuesday night. And the likelihood of a smokin’ hot siren crawling from the ocean - to a house in middle class suburbia - is beyond impossible. Unless Peter’s dreaming again.

In which case; wait for him, nautical dames. He'll grab his trunks and be out flash.

And the night goes by so very slow

Oh I hope that it won’t end though

Alone

Peter narrows his eyes at the window, scoffing to himself. Woah, now. Is he warped in the head? Or is the mantra of Heart crying out from beyond the shadows? Peter appears at the window in a zip. Raising himself on his toes, he launches his body upward. Through smudged glass, Peter’s black hues scan the world outside. A shadowy mass looms in the grass, imposing and somewhat terrifying.

Until he realizes, it’s someone holding a giant boombox over their head. Phew .

Til now I always got by on my own

I never really cared until I met you

And now it chills me to the bone

How do I get you alone

Peter’s silver brows furrow again.

“What the hell?” He mutters under his breath.

He unlatches the window, pushing it open. Allowing that unmistakable tune to come through much clearer. Peter watches the mysterious, boombox stranger for a moment longer. A beat passes, and Peter sighs. He could just as easily zip out there, confront the culprit, and return to his basement lickety split. Instead, he opts for the casual approach.

Peter pushes himself through the window, his bare feet scuffing the basement wall. He accidentally kicks over a set of speakers. Some he stole five years ago and forgot about. They tumble off a wall shelf and crash hard onto the floor. Knocking down a bunch of stolen street signs in their wake. If Maximoffs weren’t such deep sleepers, he’d be in for it now. Big time.

As soon as Peter’s out, he stumbles in the grass. Mumbling a hushed - Shit.

You don’t know how long I have wanted

To touch your lips and hold you tight

You don’t know how long I have waited

And I was going to tell you tonight

Crawling through the dry, winter grass, Peter finally stands. With an exhale, he wipes dirt from his grey sweatpants. The rando in his yard doesn’t react, but they lower the boombox a little. Peter waits at a distance, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Who are you? Whaddya wannnnnt?” He shouts.

Til now I always got by on my own

I never really cared until I met you

And now it chills me to the bone

How do I get you alone?

No response from the rando. With a simple gesture, they tap the speaker of the boombox. Whatever that means. Rolling his eyes, Peter strides across the cold grass. Shirtless in the brisk, February air. He raises a hand to scratch his messy, silver bedhead. As he moves in closer, the neighborhood street lights illuminate the figure’s features.

Up until now, he thought some weirdo guy snuck out to pine for Wanda’s attention. Peter’s ready to kick his ass if he needs to. Poor Wanda’s always got dudes falling to her feet on Valentine's day. But she usually does the ass kicking. More power to her.

Guess he won’t have to this time. Turns out, it’s just some weirdo girl.

How do I get you alone?

How do I get you alone?

Peter puts a stop to the song before it reaches its end. Extending a hand in a quick blur, he abruptly clicks a button on the box. The neighborhood drowns itself in late night silence all over again. Interrupted only by the occasional car passing in the distance. Peter’s vascular arms cross over his chest. Lidded eyes leer straight at the mystery woman.

“Sooooooooo…” He tilts his head to the side, “Who are you? And why are you playing Heart outside my house at, like, ass-o-clock at night?” Peter pauses, eyes narrowing in suspicious slits, “Are you tryna pick up my sister? ‘Cuz you kinda look the type. And I know she’s been ‘tryin’ new things’ lately.” He gestures with air quotes, “If you catch my drift. Not that it’s any of my business. Point is , she’s not here.”

Boombox girl lowers said boombox down into the grass. She shakes her head, reaching into the pocket of her oversized cardigan.

“Pick up your sis- hah! ” She snickers with a snort, dawning a bashful smile. Boombox girl runs her other hand through her hair, “No! Noooo, it’s not like that! Uhm…I was actually playing Alone for you, silly.”

Peter drops his arms to his sides, and his heart skips a speedy beat. Scrunching his nose, he curls his lip.

“Youplayedwhatforwhonow?” He slides his hands into his sweatpants pockets, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. The apples of his cheeks burn, and Peter clears his throat, “Uhhhh. Okay. Thanks? That’s…sweet, I guess. But, I-I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Her smile’s kind of adorable. Especially as she rubs her neck, displaying timid hesitance. Whatever confidence she had, she must’ve maxed out on 80’s romance cliches.

“Not really? I mean, I’ve seen you around. A lot. But you’ve never really noticed me, so…”

Alrighty then. That makes this interaction even weirder. But Peter’s pulled equally weird - if not more desperate stops to win some hearts in the past. And he may or may not be guilty of the same technique she’s using now.

Give him a break, okay? So what if he took a chance on it once? Back when he was eighteen and leagues more naive. It’s a little cheesy, sure. But it’s also the story of how he lost his v-card. And not the Valentine’s kind.

Case in point, it worked for him. So, he’ll bite.

“And you thought crashin’ outside my house, blastin’ some corny song while my family’s asleep - that’s a smoother move than…oh, I dunno…just talkin’ to me?”

She shrugs again, her guilty eyes looking down at the grass. Boombox girl raises a foot, tapping the ground with the tip of her boot. God, she’s obviously so nervous. And he's not gonna lie, it's a little charming. The corners of Peter’s lips turn up in a grin.

“I thought it might get your attention. You just…you move so fast all the time. And I’m really slow when it comes to these kinds of things. You were always gone before I ever got the chance.”

“How’d you know where I live?” Peter throws her a nod of his head, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

Pulling her hand from her pocket, she fixes her attention on the plastic case of a cassette tape.

“My uncle tried to arrest you once.” She grins, “He was out on patrol. Saw you steal a speed limit sign. Your mom paid him to let you off the hook.”

Peter’s brows fly up under his bangs. His cheeky smile spreads into his dimples.

“Your unc-...seriously? Whoa. No kiddin’?” He laughs, “Wish I could say I remember. But that sorta thing used to happen to me all the time.”

Not like he wasn’t asking for it back then. But to be fair, Peter’s made some drastic improvements. When it comes to his klepto compulsions, anyway. Excluding the influx of junk food and Garbage Pail Kid cards he snags on a daily basis. From nation-wide chain stores. Totally ethical.

“Yeah, I know.” She giggles, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. This way, he actually gets a good look at her. Soft lips. Pretty eyes, “You used to be the talk of the station, where he worked. Those guys never shut up about you.”

Reaching forward, she passes Peter the cassette in her hand.

“What’s this?” He gently takes it, inspecting the hand-made label inside the case. Decorated in little, lightning bolt doodles. Even some hearts. Aw. Cute. Scratched across it in messy handwriting, are the words - For the kleptomaniac. In exchange for my heart. You stole it forever ago.

Come on. Could she be any more corny?

“It’s a mixtape.” She bites her lip like she’s terrified to keep talking, “It’s cool if you don’t listen to it. I dunno if you’ll even like what’s on it. But I know you carry around that Walkman all the time.”

Uh huh. Did her uncle tell her that too? Get outta here.

“Does it have Heart on it?” Peter flips the case over in his hand, pursing his lips.

“Of course it has Heart on it.”

“Awww. Givin’ me Heart for your heart.” He snickers, turning pinker in his cheeks, “This is legit the cheesiest thing a girl’s ever done for me. I’m kinda buggin’ out right now.”

“Oh yeah? I mean, I can always take it back, if you-” She teases, like she thinks he’s being sarcastic.

She reaches for the tape. But as her fingers brush the case, Peter raises it above his head. The motion happens quickly, before she can even keep up. Boombox girl wasn’t foolin’. She is slow. Slower than a turtle on tranquilizers. As she makes another attempt, Peter drops his hand in a speedy blur.

“Hey, hey, hey. Nuh uh. No takesie-backsies.” He teases, waving a finger, “A trades a trade, babe.”

Her hands rest at her hips, and she flutters her long lashes. So shamelessly flirtatious, but still not enough to win him over. Not just yet. Even if her bedroom eyes offer a tempting invite. Like, seriously, so tempting.

Mama didn't raise him like that, though. Peter has somewhat of a delinquent track record, sure. But he's still a good hearted gentleman. He'll take her out on a few dates first. Treat her to a little arcade romance, before he tries some no pants dancing.

If she's not playing him for a complete jackass, that is. Really, it’s almost too good to be true.

No chick has ever pined for him this hard in his life. And Peter’s never had the chance to play hard to get. He bets dollars to donuts, boombox babe probably isn't a mutie either. Talk about some major role reversal. How often does a human girl beg and plead for mutant man's love? She knows he's a total shut in, right? Or did her uncle not fill her in on that?

“You still have my heart, though.” She coos, gazing at Peter with those eyes.

Those - embrace me, o’ speedster man of my dreams - eyes.

Yeah. Her uncle most definitely didn't break the news. Peter hisses, teasing her again with a click of his teeth.

“Ooooh. Yeah. Well, finders keepers. Good luck shakin’ that silver lovebug.”

He flirts back and forth with her naturally. Kinda like high school sweethearts. It goes on for a few more minutes. Until he's pestered her enough, she just up and quits. Her car's parked down the street. A Volkswagen bug. Hah. And there she goes. Peter's secret admirer stomps off. Boombox swinging at her side. A wave of guilt almost pulls him under, and Peter starts to regret teasing her so much.

She laughs as she walks away. And the call of her giggle brings him back to the surface, much like a song. Seems like the sirens really did come out tonight.

So, she likes playing games too, huh?

You don’t know how long I have waited

And I was going to tell you tonight

Peter’s not even that much of a Heart fan.

He looks down at the cassette case in his hands. Rolling a thumb over a scratch in the plastic. A beat passes. In a flash, he appears in front of her. Peter walks backwards, padding barefoot along the side of the road.

“So, are you gonna ask me out ‘er what? C'mon, don't be chicken shit. I know you got it in you!” He jokes.

Boombox girl giggles so hard, she breaks out in dorky snorts. Ah, the sexiest, siren song. Too bad that's not a track on the mixtape. He’s willing to slip her some loose change for a raw recording.

By happenstance, another car slows to a stop. Right in the middle of the empty neighborhood street. Colored a familiar shade of scarlet, the vehicle looms for a beat or two. Peter comes to halt, watching as the passenger side window rolls down. Boombox girl crashes right into him.

Shit. Peter just now realized, he doesn't know her name yet.

He grabs her hips on instinct, catching her in case she falls over or something. Her free hand clutches his arm, right over the ‘mom’ tattoo etched into his skin. Naturally, Peter radiates enough warmth to act as a heater. He’s a godsend on cold, lonesome nights. Boombox girl presses her body closer to his, seeking his heat.

Peter knows she does it without thinking, since she whimpers a soft, “ Oh god. I’m so sorry. ”

“It’s cool. You okay?” Peter’s hands linger on her hips.

“What’s going on over there?” Wanda grills playfully from her car. She flits her eyes between her doofus brother, and boombox girl. When Wanda purses her lips, she does so in a way identical to Peter, “Is he giving you any trouble?” She asks what's-her-name.

Peter zips to the passenger side door, crossing his arms over it. Leaning against Wanda’s car through the window, he makes a pfffbbbbtt noise.

“Hey, don’t sweat it, Wands. I’m just walkin’ my future wife to her car.” He raises one of his hands, waving the cassette case, “Check it out, ah? She made me a mixtape! Cute, right?”

Wanda’s knits her brows as she tilts her head. The long, scarlet locks of her hair bounce with the motion. At the side of the road, boombox girl makes an adorable squeal. She covers her blistering face with her hands, mewling silent pleas.

“Oh my god stop. I’m sorry I even said anything. Oh my god. ” What's-her-name whimpers.

Which really isn’t helping the whole suspicious sister situation. Wanda leans back in her seat, peering over Peter’s shoulder at boombox girl. Narrowing her eyes, Wanda looks back at him. And before she can call Peter out on his bullshit, he lowers his arms from the door. Peter drops his chin to it, his tapioca eyes gazing up at Wanda innocently.

He chews his lip. In that ‘ I’m obviously up to no good’ kind of way.

“Y’wanna know what that cutie over there told me?” He purrs, talking loud enough for what’s-her-name to hear, "She said I stole her-"

Boombox girl shrieks, “MAXIMOFF! Please! That was a secret! I’m serious! You’re killing me here, dude!”

Maximoff?

Ohhhhh. She doesn’t actually know his name. Seriously? Didn’t what's-her-name say she’s pined after Peter for a while now? How long is a while? Long enough to know his address, apparently. And to know he likes listening to his tunes. And to know he’s a mutant with a rep for thieving. But not long enough for anyone to drop his name? Did the feds never bother learning it? Ouch. Figures.

“Piet.” Wanda leers at Peter, holding him at gunpoint with her eyes, “Leave that poor girl alone. Look at her! She’s had enough.”

Rolling his eyes, Peter stands up straight. Lazily, he smirks, waving a hand, signaling Wanda to drive off.

“Naaaah! You shoulda seen her back at the house. She’s hopelessly in love with me. Played songs outside my window. Y'know, like they do in the movies? I’m serious! You can ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Once more, Wanda shifts her skeptical gaze to what’s-her-name. The mystery girl carries her boombox to her car. With her head dipped and a free hand over her face. She looks like she’s doing the walk of shame. As if Peter stole a little something else from her and-w hoops. That's also not helping his case at all. Wanda hums, doubtful of Peter’s unlikely story.

He cheeses a toothy grin, looking guilty.

“Really?” Wanda adjusts in her seat, reaching for the radio dial, “Well, you might wanna tell her goodnight. For a girl who’s totally in love with you , she seems in a heck of a hurry to leave.”

And with that, Wanda drives off. Peter stumbles back, his calloused heels scuffing concrete. Wanda’s car rolls all the way down the road and into the driveway. Whipping around, Peter catches what’s-her-name opening the trunk of her love bug. As she lifts the boombox into it, Peter zips up next to her. Latching his arms around the boombox, he gives her an aloof grin.

“Can I borrow this for a sec? Thanks, cutie.” He throws her a wink.

She doesn’t get the chance to ask why. Peter zips back to his spot on the side of the road, clicking a button on the boombox. He raises it over his head, letting Heart roar obnoxiously across the neighborhood. Disrupting the late night peace. Out the corner of his eye, Peter notices a few neighborhood lights come on. The song plays just as Wanda hops out of her car. She stops in the middle of her stride to the front door. Her bags hang from her arms and her keys dangle on her finger.

Wanda squints, eyebrows turned inward.

How do I get you alone?

How do I get you alone?

“I TOLD YOU! SHE’S TOTALLY IN LOVE WITH ME!” Peter yells.

A faint, red glow emanates from Wanda’s hand, as she delicately swipes it in the air. The boombox’s tape player pops open with an click, and Peter lowers the box down in front of him. He playfully pouts, muttering a soft booooooo to himself. Abrupt silence fills the entire neighborhood again, save for the local dogs barking in their yards.

“Say goodnight, Pietro.” Wanda’s voice calls from the driveway, before she disappears into the house.

Peter doesn’t even realize what’s-her-name is standing next to him, until she speaks.

“Pietro’s a beautiful name.”

Peter snickers, feeling heat rise in his cheeks again. Popping open the case she gave him, he swaps the tape for the one in the boombox. Rapidly clicking the volume button, Peter huffs a soft laugh, hooded eyes blinking.

"Thanks. I'd say the same about yours, but I don't even know it." He teases. A little shy, Peter keeps his eyes on the boombox, "I go by Peter, actually."

"Peter. Pietro. Whatever your name is, you embarrassed the shit outta me, man." What's-her-name scoffs. Peter kinda likes the sound of both names in her voice, "You're lucky you're gorgeous."

Gorgeous? Whoa. That's a helluva word. Shit, this really is too good to be true. Peter's heart skips another beat, and he shakes his head. "Y'know, if you still what your heart back, you're shit outta luck, babe." Peter clicks the play button on the boombox, only after some tension heavy beats pass, "Like I said, finders kee-"

An all too familiar melody pours from the boombox speakers, softer now.

I hear the ticking of the clock

I’m lying here the room’s pitch dark

“Seriously?” Peter laughs, slinging an arm over boombox girl's shoulders.

“Yeah, seriously. I told you it had Heart.” She blushes profusely, averting her innocent gaze.

Maybe there really is something to these 80's romance cliches. Peter's almost willing to give up his own heart. Just as compensation for hers.

#peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #txt

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

anitv Jake did WHAT

OP refers to these tags #4d chess psychological warfare#like that time in anitv jake acquires tom and successfully talks a bunch of controllers into shooting the real tom

The episode "Face/Off Pt. 3" is a classic combination of AniTV having some plot ideas with fascinating potential... and then executing those ideas so badly the show is nigh-unwatchable.

Various Animorphs are running around the yeerk pool, (Rachel is in Tobias's brain as a yeerk to defeat the Gleet Biofilter, speaking of cool ideas that got wasted) in the season finale. Jake drags Tom into a back room, and when the controllers break down the door, there are two identical copies of Tom standing there. It's kinda cool that the audience also doesn't know which one's Tom and which is Jake, because both of them immediately start shouting about how the other one is an imposter and the controllers should shoot that guy.

For the rest of the episode — which switches to focus on how Marco collapses the entire yeerk pool cavern by pulling down a single ceiling tile and throwing it against a pillar (go figure) — there are two copies of Tom running around. There's some dramatic tension when we see one of the Toms get crushed to death by falling rubble and don't know if Jake just died, as well as in a later scene where one of the Toms walks in on Cassie mid-morph. That Tom demorphs into Jake, has the honestly kinda funny line "Phew! My parents were about thirty seconds away from having a set of identical twins." Original flavor Tom is dead in the basement, but that's fine, because the Animorphs are off to a dance party. Also, Tom's back two episodes later with no explanation because Melissa Chapman needs a boyfriend. Sigh. So much potential, so badly wasted.

#animorphs #anitv #jake berenson #tom berenson #yes i know there are *glaring* plot holes and character inconsistencies in this concept #including tom not recognizing jake as jake is standing six inches away and talking directly to him #including jake casually trying to get tom killed after proving willing to let cassie maybe-die to save tom in an earlier episode #but i still think it's a really cool idea that i wish we'd seen k.a. applegate explore in animorphs canon #with good writing and coherent plotting and all

[a-cosmic-elf]

WIP Wednesday

I’m sorry for being so far behind on all the tag games, I appreciate every single tag! I’m just so tired! this is only the second week in my new job and my brain is still feeling like a fried egg.

But I’d like to share a rough snippet from my latest Starfield wip, ‘What We Leave Behind.’

“Approaching vessel, this is Freestar space. Please hold your current speed and course while we scan you for contraband.”

Sarah’s eyes refocused, and she took a moment to adjust to her new surroundings in orbit above Akila before scrambling to take back hold of the controls. She steadied the ship and dialed the engines back.

Phew, Freestar Security could still be a little jumpy following the war. Rarely would they wait long before assuming you were hostile. But could they have at least done her the courtesy of waiting for the grav drive to spin down first, and her head along with it?

She tutted to herself, aware that the Constellation registry didn’t do her any favours in Freestar space; they were treated as though they were UC Military. Still, the approval to land at Akila City took longer than expected.

“You’re good to go. Have a nice time in Akila City,” said a decidedly cheerier but forced voice over the comms.

“Thank you,” Sarah sent back through gritted teeth. What was it that Aja used to say? Kill them with kindness? Rise above! Aja, I’m trying.

The Frontier may sound like it’s falling apart just before the grav jump, but it was still a reliable ship, and it felt good to let the old girl stretch her legs. And with an experienced hand at the controls, even in Akila’s gravity, she landed light as a feather at the makeshift spaceport.

It had been a while since Sarah had visited Akila City, and she remembered why the moment the cargo bay doors opened. She disliked the state of the place intensely and wrinkled her nose in disgust.

Whyever did Solomon Coe choose Akila, anyway? Sarah mused. The oppressive gravity that made her feel like she had lead in her boots couldn’t have been ideal for a farming community that involves, you know, lots of manual labour?

The Freestar Collective consider themselves a hardy bunch, but this took the biscuit. Not to mention the local wildlife. It’s hardly an ideal planet to settle and raise a family.

At least New Atlantis was built to complement Jemison’s environment, Sarah thought to herself. Unlike the ugly wall of Akila City, surrounding what amounted to little more than a shanty town. She had always understood why Sam had dreamed of escaping this place.

“Hello Commander, can I be of assistance?” Vasco greeted her at the end of the ramp.

Sarah paused, scanning the area with her naked eyes, catching movement, a gang of local kids, perhaps? Or thieves waiting for an opportunity to steal from a ship? “No, Vasco. Protocol Blue. Wait here, guard the ship.”

“Protocol Blue, very well.” 💙

#starfield #starfield fanfiction #wip wednesday #sarah morgan #the coemancer crew #cosmic writes #a starborn coemancer fic #this will be a one shot #starborn #oc calitrix #what we leave behind

[kadextra]

I couldn’t watch the q!Bad lore stream live today and don’t feel like putting a bunch of vodblogs in the main tag, so I’m gonna try something new and put it all in one massive post

so if you missed seeing me on the dash and wanna read about me maybe losing my mind (depending on what happens as I watch) here ya go :D

WAIT WHAT??? Q!BAD IN LIMBO DEATH LIMINAL SPACE AGAIN AT THE START OF STREAM?????

MY GUY THERE IS SOMETHING SERIOUSLY WRONG WITH YOU‼️‼️‼️

oh there’s a second him that’s so trippy. he doesn’t recognize himself again, they’re walking together.

THIS IS SO COOL OH MY GOD?!?!?!? now they are digging in the sand??

ah so the corpse of… also himself is still at the deserted village, but its decomposed into a skeleton now. interesting DONT DRINK THE POISONED WATER NOT AGAIN ok good phew. good confirmation this is not a loop, there is new stuff happening that didn’t last time

dude this is so awesome he is cooking so hard. I’m gonna rewatch this whole part again later, I really love surreal stuff like this

nevermind it might actually be a loop? we went back right to where we were at the start. why does he keep sitting outside of the temple, and doesn’t go inside?

TOP FUNNEL 🕺🕺🕺

and we’re back. he can’t remember how to use the warp stone again :( the memory book is not in his hotbar uh oh.

Hi Ben o/

he doesn’t know the eggxhibition… you built this man, I’m gonna cry. NOOO HE DOESNT KNOW BOBBY IS DEAD AGAINNNNN

POMME. “MY DAUGHTER” WAAAAAHHH

“too early to put this up” <- referring to the día de los muertos decor. dude what time and day are you in

he found the egg hospital!!! oh no now he’s looking around erratically. I think he’s panicking :(((( and once again picked some flowers to self-soothe :((( god the flowers are so special to him, they seem to be like his main grounding thing. q!forever doesn’t even know the impact he made

he’s home!!!

dark matter by the vulture lab door uh? a knight armor guy sweeping??? is that a ghost??? what just happened?

oh god the vulture lab

IT WAS A GHOST THE ARMOR IS THERE AND THE BROOM IS IN THE CHEST. possessed armor that’s fun! :D

DAPPERRRRRRRRRR DAPPER MY BABY IS AWAKE AND ALIVE

dapper looks so horrible omg also her name is lowercased?

vacation. sure

“I didn’t get to keep it (the eye guy) as a pet.” yeah that’s definitely dapper.

also he doesn’t want to wear armor like the new eggs that’s weird

T E A. and q!bad’s memory is still fudged.

dapper your dad is very sick….

he remembers its been 2 months dapper has been gone! :0 DAPPER WAS NOT IN PURGATORY THE WHOLE TIME??? JUST A FEW DAYS???? EXPLAIN WHY NOW

q!bad keeps forgetting what they’re doing, and then goes off and does something else….. I don’t know if dapper fully realizes what’s going on, maybe she’s just too tired themselves to pay close attention to her dad?

“Since when did we have a farm?” Buddy.

PHILZA IS SOOOOO HAPPY TO SEE DAPPER LETS GOOO

“we hid him (dapper) underground, we weren’t sure if the island was safe” We? you and…? cucurucho?

DAPPER GOT YEETED INTO THE BOAT AHAHAHA

oh they really did get launched by the nuke and hit the boat I knew it. also I see you…. zooming into the back wound when phil said “you made it in one piece”

PRIVILEGED LOBSTER IS BACK REJOICE

chayanne was who led the eggs to leave? huh. chayanne you’ve got some explaining to do

not them talking about the eye guy’s snatched waist 💀💀💀💀 tbh they did slay

philza wants to beat up the eye guy and elquackity I support him so much

dapper hitting his dad off the top of the wall we’re so back!!!

ETOILES SEEING DAPPER and then fell off the wall LMAOOO

q!bad forgot that he forgot his memory

(I am so engrossed in the conversations I am forgetting to write things here lol)

“can we teach etoiles to cope” (with losing to the code) then they make him break a sign with 1s and 0s on it and he logs LMAO

q!bad just mentally zoned out and stared once again at flowers….. oh. the coughing :(

pomme was the leader when the eggs went surviving in the wilderness :3 that’s my girl!!!!!!

everyone just bouncing on the trampoline and chit-chatting is so sweet, I missed this <3

dapper is so based all the time

roier seeing dapper again awwwww

ough I really really missed dapper’s out of pocket jokes :(((

“I’ll get cleaned up for tomorrow, I’m sure it’ll turn out fine!” *hits F5* “I need pomme and the rest of the eggs to wake up, and I’ll probably feel right as rain…” haha stop it q!bad I don’t like this!!!!! 😃

he just said he didnt know a church was built here. now they’re at the graveyard talking about how he saw the dead eggs at día de los muertos </3 sobs sobs

Q!MAX T-T I miss you king o7

“learning how to raise the dead might come in handy” “we will worry about that later” ??? Please Stop That!

CODEBREAKERS JUMPSCARE

“I kinda won in this whole situation!” (the eggs being back) Sure bud. You aren’t dying or anything. You definitely have not entered limbo twice.

DAPPER PUTTING FLOWERS BY EACH EGG IN THE HOSPITAL. THE CROWN BY CHAYANNE GAHHHH AUGHHH GGUGHHG 💥💥💥

honey for smelly richas :3

q!bad saying dapper will like bagi and that she’s a really good friend, and will be his aunt. cries and punches a hole into the wall

More Coughing 👁️ dapper please help your father he needs serious medical attention.

BAD FORGOT ABOUT THE GHOSTIES THIS WHOLE TIME. BUT WE ARE FREE ONCE MORE!!

quit saying things are going to be okay I know you are jinxing something and it’s scary. there is a giant hole in your head and your back is turning green.

they’re going to see the prison and courtroom!!

WHAT DID HE JUST SAY

“forever for the crime of looking too handsome I sentence you to 10 years in prison!” UNPROMPTED? I know what you are 🏳️‍🌈‼️

I CANT DO THIS

FINALLY THE BIRTHDAY PARTY CELEBRATION FOR DAPPER. so many nights. so many nights where we’d watch him sit awake, crying at that table. waiting, waiting for something that would never come. but now it’s here. I’m in anguish

“once the eggs wake up we’ll have a big birthday party! a big ol birthday party. yep. a party.” why did you say that with such a weird tone sir?

DAPPER BURYING THEMSELVES WHEN HE FOUND OUT ALL THE MACHINES BROKE KKKKKKK

he reintroduced skeppy to dapper…

he is explaining the great furniture stealing to dapper. who was there when it happened and already knows. “my memory hasn’t been very good lately, I think.” Yeah You Think? I wonder q!bad forgot he’s the one who stole it all?

DAPPER IS BACK TIME

the child is locked outside

PFFT HES CHAINSAWING THE DOOR <3333 AND HAS AN ELEPHANT

yes dapper be salty at your dad for accidentally locking you out

REAL DAPPER TIME!!!!!!!

the sunshine recording omg. he played it for company the entire time they were alone… AAAAAAAAAAAAAUGHH HGHGHGHHGHGHGHGHGHHHGHGHGHGGHHGHFHFHGGFHFGHHHGHHBSBENFMFKS

dapper doesn’t know why q!bad is blue 😀 he doesn’t know…….. haha head in hands

they are going to visit Niki :3

OHHH HER REACTION TO DAPPER <333 she’s such a sweetheart. have I ever said how much I love niki? she was so great in purgatory, and earlier today I got to watch her meet empanada and bond over baking and sweets <3

nice look at the head wound from the inside

q!bad’s been so insistent on dapper going to the eye doctor, I have heard him say this so much over the last several days. even in his memory lapses he remembers it. Why? mr. colorblind YOU need to go to the eye doctor. go hospital.

yeah the alien ships from the map do look like eyes don’t they

based niki her favorite animal is elephants :3 SHUT UP Q!BAD YOU DEMON don’t eat the elephants

the hungriest little guy on the island strikes again

I’m just chilling listening rn, bad dapper and niki are so late night podcast vibes

perry the schnabeltier

TREASURE PLANET >>>>

in the dark of the night is kind of a q!bad song ngl

let’s go a washing machine in dapper’s lab :D oh that was a weird pause in the middle of your sentence bad :D

dapper is running on the ceiling!! they are so talented!

OH MY GOD.

SUNSHINE

bawling my eyes out hold on

the 3 months where q!bad has been so depressed and suffering just went flashing through my mind. every time he had sang the song in a teary broken voice, with nobody across from him listening. in the graveyard as a rainstorm raged above. but now his sunshine is back… hit me like a truck

they are gonna sleep hugging together tonight :’3

“I know it seems I’ve been out of character (since the beginning of the stream) but trust me, I haven’t. I’ve been in character this whole time…”

“Goodbye, see you tomorrow ….I’m sure everything is going to be just fine. :)”

I’m scared

—

well I guess this is the end of my vodblogging lore post!!! I hope it was fun to read jfjdjshdh it was just the thoughts I Would have posted if I was liveblogging. my eyes are still watery :’)

see you all tomorrow for whatever horrors await

#qsmp #vodblogging #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp dapper

[neon-junkie]

Why can’t this be Love? - Chpt.10

Summary: You’ve never really fit in, despite trying, despite being on the cheerleading team, despite awkwardly socialising with the popular crowd. It’s not for you - these people aren’t for you. Yet, you don’t know how to escape! Do you continue following a dead end? Or finally break away?

The answer is made for you after your ‘date,’ a boy on the basketball team, bails on you, and uninvites you from some stupid basketball after party. Whatever, that’s fine. But what’s not fine is the agonisingly long walk home. Oh, in the dark, late at night!

However, your saviour finds you, and not only does he save you from walking home alone, but the conflicting feelings that you’ve spent the last few years with.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Cheerleader Reader

Reader Description: Reader is female and uses she/her pronouns. Not much detail is given about her appearance, other than she wears heavy eyeliner, and is clearly an outcast that is trying to fit in.

Word count: 5.3k

Tags: Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Slow burn, Awkward flirting, Drinking, Angst, Comfort, Generic High School Bullying, Denial of feelings, Feelings realisation.

[Chapter 1]  [Read on AO3]  [Chapter 11]

Chapter 10 - Lava Lamp

Another huff trails from your lips as you look yourself over in the mirror, questioning your fifth outfit choice of the night. You want something casual, and perhaps a little revealing? Shit, who knows! What the fuck are you doing?!

Needless to say, you're eager to catch Eddie's attention, despite knowing that you've already done so. He's coming over to see you, for Christ's sake - of course you've caught his attention!

With bunched up fists, you sigh, and decide to roll with what you currently have on. It's almost seven anyway, and you have little time to tidy up the range of clothes thrown over your bed. You've opted for short shorts and a band tee, contrasting against the pink, fluffy socks hugging your ankles.

What? They're cute!

Your clothes are tidied away, a candle is lit and left on your desk, and you decide to begin flicking through your cassette collection, deciding what music is best fitting to cover up the sounds of yours and Eddie's laughter.

Thank the Gods that you haven't put on any music just yet, as you can clearly hear the tap! of someone throwing pebbles at your window. You pull the window up, and prop it on the latch before staring down to reveal the culprit.

Eddie is standing there with another pebble in hand, only he drops it to the grass below, and sends you a goofy smile. "Ah, my Juliet!" Eddie calls out with one hand on his chest, the other stretching out in your direction. His voice is just above a whisper, however, you're still cautious of the noise.

You bring your finger to your lips as you order, "shh!"

"But my Juliet, won't you let down your hair?" Eddie grins.

With a brow raised, you scoff as you realise what Eddie is trying to reference. "Those are two different books, you idiot! No wonder you're failing English!"

"Meh," Eddie mutters with a mindless shrug. His eyes trail from yours as he focuses on the trellis climbing along your kitchen window, finishing just below your own. Your mother's roses are currently dormant, meaning she's not going to wake up to see a handful of them in the dirt, kicked aside as Eddie makes his climb. Phew, thank fuck!

Eddie gives the fence a gentle tug to test its stability before making his climb. Thankfully, your parents are in the living room, leaving Eddie to climb past the kitchen window unnoticed, even with the curtains drawn shut.

You automatically grab onto him as he comes into your reach, worried that he's going to slip and meet the grass below. Soon, Eddie scrambles through your window, and lets out a deep breath once his feet are stably on the carpet. You decide to leave the window open, just in case Eddie needs to make a swift exit...

"So," Eddie begins as he shrugs off his backpack and jacket, leaving them on your desk chair. "This is the Princess of Darkness's room, huh?" Eddie states as he slowly paces around your room, eyeing up every element as if he's in a museum.

"Don't judge me too hard," you shrug. It's not that your room is anything to be ashamed of, but it's far from your ideal cosy cave.

Eddie's eyes light up as he comes into contact with your lava lamp, currently unlit, on your bedside table. "I've always wanted one of these," Eddie mumbles as his hands follow the cord, and flick the light on. "How long does it take?" Eddie gestures.

"For it to... do its thing? About an hour," you explain.

"Damn," Eddie curses. "It's fine, I'm a patient man!"

He continues his adventure, and before you know it, Eddie's head is tilted to the side as he browses your cassette collection. "Pick whatever you want," you shrug as you get comfortable on your bed. "I was deciding before you came."

Eddie hums to himself, his fingertips brushing over the edges of the cases as he decides. Van Halen is fished out, and Eddie pops the cassette into the player. "Is this level okay?" Eddie questions as he turns the volume up, keeping the music somewhat loud, but quiet enough to talk freely, and not disturb your family.

"Yeah," you say with a nod. You watch as Eddie springs onto your bed, kicking off his Reebok's before getting comfortable besides you. "So..." he murmurs once more whilst crossing his legs. How he's able to cross his legs in those skinny jeans is beyond you, but he does it as if it's second nature.

Your eyes meet Eddie's, and you're instantly reminded of the purple bruise covering his cheekbone. "How is it?" you ask as you gesture to the bruise. It's no longer swollen like it was yesterday, but the purple blotches still remain, and no doubt, they'll stay there for another week.

Eddie rolls his eyes, "it's fine, mom," he curses, but follows his sarcasm up with that goofy smile that never fails to make your heart melt.

You know damn-well that Eddie hasn't bothered tending to the wound, and you also know damn-well that there's an ice pack waiting in your freezer. "Stay here, let me go and get something," you order as you shuffle up from your bed, with a single task in mind.

"Okay," Eddie nods, stretching out the word. "It's not like I have anywhere else to go!"

Scurrying downstairs, you make your way into the kitchen. An ice pack is pulled from your freezer, along with two glasses of water, seeing as you haven't even offered Eddie a drink yet. Poor man, he must be dying of thirst upstairs!

Your parents pay you no mind, too engrossed in whatever bullshit the news is currently spewing out. Upon returning to your room, the first thing you see is Eddie sprawled out on your bed. His eyes are shut, mimicking being asleep, cuddling a six-pack of ciders tightly in his arms. "Moron," you playfully mutter as you place the glasses of water down on your bedside table, before crawling onto the bed.

"Huh? What?!" Eddie stutters as he pretends to wake up, giving his eyes a tired rub. "Oh, it's just you! You took so long that I fell asleep. It's okay, though, I had these ciders to cuddle me throughout the night."

"Oh, you poor, lonely thing," you laugh. Whilst Eddie remains lying on your bed, you lean against his body to press the ice pack to his cheekbone, unfazed by the sensation of your torso being pressed to his chest.

Eddie shivers, and you're uncertain if it's from the chill, or the body contact. Regardless, he keeps his persona up, and meets your eyes as you tend to his bruise. "Seriously, though, do you want a cider? I couldn't get the ones you were drinking last Friday, but I-"

"-I'd love a cider," you interrupt, knowing that Eddie is going to ramble for the rest of time if you don't silence him now. He's just like that, forever feeling the need to explain every single action that he makes. A clear sign of trauma - one that you can relate to.

With one hand propping your weight up, and the other positioning the ice pack, Eddie decides to act as your saviour; he pops open a can, and brings the rim up to your lips. The positioning is awkward, but you manage to take a tiny sip before giggling at the arrangement.

"Here," Eddie says as he removes the ice pack from your grasp, freeing up your hand to take the cider from his. Do you dare think about the warmth of his palm, only coming into contact with your chilled hand for a brief second?

No, don't you dare think about it! Don't let that minor skin contact linger in your mind, heating up your cheeks with ease, making it obvious to Eddie that you're desperately touch starved, and oh-so-giddy about him.

Relax, girl!

You open up a cider for Eddie, and before you know it, you're sitting by his side as he lies on your bed, an ice pack on his face, and a cider in hand. He looks like a hospital patient that has snuck booze into his ward, and you're the sweet nurse that he can't help but flirt with.

"Okay, I can no longer feel my face," Eddie sighs, and places the ice pack on your bedside table. He slowly shuffles up into a sitting position, ensuring that not a single drop of his cider is spilt onto your luscious bedding. Oh, what a gentleman!

"Wait, one last thing," you mutter as you place your cider on the side. You pull a tub of ointment out from your top draw, and without hesitation, you take a small blob and begin massaging it over the bruise.

Skin contact? Again? No wonder your stomach is spinning like a washing machine on its last legs. It doesn't help that Eddie flutters his eyes shut, and a calm smile appears on his lips. "Cream?" he says with a gentle laugh. "What next? A band-aid? A healing kiss?"

Oh, Jesus.

As much as you want to pull him by the scruff of his band shirt, and press your lips to his, you don't quite have that confidence. You can, however, continue your flirtatious banter, and hope that the gap will soon be bridged.

"What would you prefer?" you ask.

Eddie's eyes slowly open as he clicks his tongue, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He shakes his head softly, his eyes darting to his cider before meeting yours, full of the perfect blend of nerves and confidence. "What do you think, Sweetheart?" he throws the ball back in your court.

Thank Christ that you left your window open. Sweat forms above your brow as you swiftly plan your reply, wanting to keep the match going for a little longer. "Band-aid it is," you sarcastically reply, matching Eddie's soft laugh.

Eddie clicks his tongue once more as he shakes his head in disagreement, "oh, how you wound me!" he sighs as he clutches his chest.

With a laugh, you roll your eyes, "fine!" you pretend to look grumpy about his neediness, but the way your heart is thumping says otherwise. Tenderly, you lean forward and place a gentle kiss to Eddie's bruise, not wanting to irritate the area, or pull away with a mouthful of ointment on your lips.

Eddie grins like a child at Christmas, and the look in his eyes has you feeling lovesick. Fuck, he's adorable. How the hell can people view this cute bunny as a devil worshipper?!

"You're so sweet on lil' old me," Eddie playfully comments as he bats his lashes, and brings his free hand up to cover his shy expression with his hair. You can't help but laugh - truly, who wouldn't giggle at such a sweet sight?

"Someone has to be," you sarcastically comment, earning a chuckle from Eddie.

As his laughter trails off, Eddie takes a deep swig of his drink whilst his ears perk up at the music. He hums the melody, and his head begins to bounce, his curls rocking in time with the music, "this is one of my favourites."

You remain silent as you listen out, picking up the words with ease. "Oh, yeah!" you agree, the sound of 'Why can't this be love?' trailing around your room.

"Is this what you and your girls do when they come over? Listen to sappy, rock love songs?" Eddie grins, his feet subconsciously bouncing in time with the music.

This time, you're the one laughing. "I wish," you say with a sad shake of your head. "Misty prefers indie music," you explain. As much as you like her taste, it's not as heavy as you prefer. Then again, she probably thinks your music is too 'dark' to begin with.

"What do you do instead, then? Gossip? Talk about cute boys?" Eddie questions as he twirls one of his curls around his fingertip, batting his lashes like a cliché schoolgirl.

"Sometimes," you reply with a wink. "Especially ones with long hair, and a good taste in music."

Eddie places his fingers on his chin, clearly in deep thought. After a few moments of him rattling his brain, he shrugs, "hmm, I wouldn't know any!"

"Really?" you sarcastically sigh. "You're missing out, Eddie! He's a real catch," you chuckle. "But when we're not talking about cute boys, we're usually gossiping, or playing something silly like truth or dare."

Eddie, like the mastermind that he is, takes the opportunity to get to know you better, even if it is through a silly game. "Well, my lady. Perhaps I can tempt you into a silly game of truth or dare?"

You can't help but snort at the idea, in awe that not only has Eddie Munson 'broken' into your house, but he now wants to play such a game with you! "On one condition..." you groan.

"Go on," Eddie says with a gentle nod.

"We make it a drinking game."

Eddie literally lights up at your suggestion. "What a woman," he mutters under his breath, although you know his words are intentionally loud enough for you to hear. "Okay, how about we have to drink whenever we don't want to answer a question?"

"And when we can't think of anything to ask?" you suggest, feeling like the drinking side of the game is a little too easy.

"I like your style," Eddie grins.

After taking a swig from your drink, you ask the first of many inviting questions. "Eddie, truth or dare?"

-

The six-pack of ciders has long been finished, and you took up the liberty of sneaking into your parent's booze cabinet to fish out something that they won't miss. A cheap bottle of rum now sits on your bedside table, the taste washed down by even cheaper cola. It's painful to drink, simply because it's pure sugar and flat soda. Disgusting, really!

However, the booze has both yours and Eddie's lips loose, blabbering away as every truth or dare is cast.

"It's just a skull," Eddie explains as he brings his band shirt up over his chest, revealing his final tattoo. You had dared Eddie to show you all of his tattoos, expecting at least a crappy kiss mark on his bum. But, no, the most you're seeing of him is his lean torso, soft abs, and a decorative patch of fluff that thickens as it approaches the waistband of his jeans.

Oh, and the skull tattoo.

Yeah, you were totally looking at that!

"I like it," you nod, ensuring that your eyes are fixed on his tattoo.

Eddie brings his shirt down over his chest, and relaxes back onto your bed. He props himself up on his elbows, a half-empty drink in hand, warming up against the heat of his palm. "Your turn," Eddie smiles. "Truth or dare?"

The last time you chose dare, Eddie forced you to show him the most embarrassing item of clothing that you own. And to make matters worse, he asked to try said item on, to which you scoffed and shoved it deep within your wardrobe. "Truth," you decide.

Eddie's foot bounces subconsciously as he digs out another revealing question. "How about..." he stirs, "what are your plans for Homecoming?"

Fuck.

You let out a defeated sigh. "I've been trying to ignore that shit," you huff. Hawking High is currently plastered in posters and announcements, shoving Homecoming into the eyes of every poor student that graces their halls. It's not that you hate the event, but that you're simply not fussed about it - not excited, nor repulsed.

It's just... meh.

"You're doing a better job than me," Eddie says with a chuckle. "I'm going to eat the next Homecoming poster I see, like a goblin!" he states, followed by a keen lick of his lips.

"Eat?" you scoff. "If you're hungry, then you can chow down on the snacks that they have at Homecoming," you shrug.

Eddie chuckles before taking a sip of his drink, his lips pursing as the defeated taste of warm rum flows down his throat. "I take it you don't have any plans, then?" he innocently questions.

Gesturing to yourself, you tilt your head in amusement as you reply, "do I really look like someone who has plans for Homecoming?"

"I dunno," Eddie mindlessly shrugs. "I assumed your ex-boyfriend might have come crawling back, and asked you to be his date?"

There's a tint of disappointment to his words, as if you're about to reveal that your ex has, indeed, come crawling back. Eddie's eyes meet his drink as he awaits your reply, only for them to flick up to your expression as you scoff, "not in hell's chance."

"No?" Eddie repeats.

"God, no!" you laugh. "He hasn't spoken to me since last Friday, and even if he did, I'd shoo him away with a rolled up newspaper!"

Eddie begins to smile, but ends up chewing on his bottom lip instead. Is he trying to cover up his expression? You notice the way his shoulders drop with relief, only for his entire frame to be covered up as Eddie brings his drink up to his lips. "I'm happy to hear that," Eddie states as he sits upright. He picks the bottle of rum up off your bedside table, and silently offers you a refill.

"Please," you confirm as you stabilize both of your glasses. Eddie plays bartender as he pours your drinks, and returns to his laid back position once you're topped up.

"Your turn, Eddie. Truth or dare?" you question.

"Truth."

"What are you doing for Homecoming?" you grin.

Eddie softly shakes his head as he tuts your excitement. "You know the rules. No repeat questions, Sweetheart," Eddie scolds.

"Fine," you say with an exaggerated groan. You ponder on your wording, wanting to weave an exact answer out of his lips. You know that he's not the type to attend, yet you still need verbal confirmation - reassurance. "Who are you taking to Homecoming?" you question, the liquor speaking for you.

Eddie can't help but laugh, even more so as you press your palm to his mouth and hiss, "shush!" not wanting to alert your parents.

With a hand clutching his stomach, Eddie sits upright, chewing on his tongue in an attempt to bite back his laughter. "You're funny, you know that, right?" he snickers. Heat continues rising to Eddie's cheeks, and his curls dance as he shakes his head in disappointment. "There may be a line of people queueing up to be my date, but this guy has decided to ride solo," Eddie gestures to himself.

"Oh!" you sarcastically gasp. "Eddie, you're so desirable!"

"I know, I know," he winks. "But really, Sweetheart, I wasn't going to attend. My plans were to host a D&D session on the night as my nonconformist way of sticking it to the school, but some of the boys surprisingly want to attend. So, it looks like it'll just be me, and my right hand," Eddie explains as he raises his hand up, giving it a soft wave.

"I understand," you nod. "I tend to spend that night with the girls, but we haven't really spoken about it this year," you shrug. The magic has worn off; you used to spend weeks preparing for Homecoming, forever praying that someone will ask you out to that silly dance, only to be disappointed year after year. Why bother any more?

"Can you blame them?" Eddie shrugs. "Anyway, truth or dare?"

After taking a swig of your drink, you decide to keep the ball rolling. "Dare," you reply. You know that Eddie will probably stay on the topic of Homecoming, but you're eager to shake things up a bit, especially after your somewhat depressing confessions.

Indeed, Eddie stays on the topic of Homecoming, but his dare leaves you blushing heavier than a hopeless romantic! A warm smile appears on his lips, and you're almost certain that there are stars twinkling in his eyes. He's an angel, truly - an angel that has your stomach spinning, and your spine shivering with nothing but a simple, loving gaze.

"I dare you to go to Homecoming with me."

"W-what?" you sputter, batting your lashes like an innocent schoolgirl. You did hear that right, didn't you? Did he just...?

"You heard me, Princess," Eddie chuckles with a wicked grin. "You picked dare, so I dare you to go to Homecoming with me, or finish your drink."

You have to break eye contact. Christ, you're sweating like a sinner in a church, your cheeks feel so hot that they might explode! Your hand subconsciously moves up to cover your sappy smile, unable to stop grinning. "Shit," you curse under your breath.

Eddie's eyes widen as he gives you a silent nod, stating that he's eager for your reply. Wanting to match his cheekiness, you bring your drink up to your lips, to which Eddie sarcastically sighs in defeat.

"I'm kidding!" you laugh as you move your drink away, your lips untouched by the cheap rum and flat cola. "I'd love to go to Homecoming with you, Eddie."

"Really?" Eddie mocks with a sweet tone. He covers his expression with the wild curls of his hair, and bats his lashes like a shy child. "You really wanna be seen at Homecoming with this freak?" he jokes, yet there's seriousness beneath his words.

"Absolutely," you instantly nod, replying without any thought - not that you need it! "We're both freaks, Eddie, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

This time, Eddie is the one grinning like a child at Christmas. He lets out a nervous laugh as his eyes trail from yours, and the only way that he can calm down his flustered expression is by taking a deep gulp of his drink. "You're too sweet," Eddie states. "Gonna give me cavities."

"Coming from you," you flirt, and copy Eddie's idea by covering up your smile by gulping down your drink. "It's going to be fun, even if it is some shitty High school dance."

"Fuck," Eddie curses as he sits upright. A serious expression appears - brows furrowed, mouth blank - and Eddie confesses, "I don't know how to dance."

You bite back a laugh. You want to imitate his seriousness, but you just can't! Yet again, Eddie is turning you into a giggling mess, "neither do I," you confess.

"I mean, I don't think they allow headbanging at Homecoming, do they?" Eddie begins. He bounces upright on your bed, and outstretches his free hand to wield his air guitar. "How about we ruin Homecoming? We could put blast out heavy metal, and scare all those peppy bitches away, right?!"

"You're reading my mind!" you laugh. Eddie's eyes meet yours, and there's nothing but warmth and admiration in them. You've become used to that nervous feeling in your chest, rattling away whenever Eddie gawks at you like a lovesick puppy. Shit, you must be just as bad, seeing as he does nothing but smile when in your presence.

As excited as you are to ruin Homecoming, you still want to look somewhat presentable. "But Eddie..." you trail off, and let your mind speak without thought. "I want to look decent at Homecoming. What are you wearing? I know people tend to match colour schemes and all that, but if-"

"-What were you thinking of wearing, Princess? This is your night, so I'm happy to put something silly on just to make you smile."

Heat rises to your cheeks, laced with cheap and tacky liquor. "I, uh..." you stutter. You didn't think this far, expecting Eddie to shrug you off with some comment like, "you'll look great in anything, babe!" just like your ex did.

Instead, you spring to your feet, almost spilling your drink before putting it to rest on your beside table. "So, I was thinking..." you trail off as you crouch down against the side of your bed, and pull out a box hidden deep within your pile of mischief.

Opening up the box, you pull out an unworn, black, lacy dress, and stand to press the dress against your frame. "It was an impulse purchase, and as much as I've been dying to wear it out, I haven't yet. Parents opinion, and all that," you explain.

You're caught up in your head, engulfed in the way you look with the dress against your body, gawking at your mirror in the corner of your room. Shit, does it still fit? Does it look as good as you envision it in your mind? What shoes would you wear? And accessories? Not to mention your hair and makeup-

"Beautiful," Eddie mutters, catching your attention. "You're my Princess of Darkness, that's for sure," Eddie smiles.

All self-conscious thoughts are swiftly stripped from your mind from that look alone. Reassurance has only ever been a word for you - just a word, nothing more, nothing less - until Eddie "the freak" Munson came along, and put true meaning behind it.

Seriously, how can you doubt yourself when he's eyeing you up like his bride on his wedding day?!

"Are you sure-?"

"-Yes," Eddie cuts you off. "I mean, I don't know shit about fashion," he laughs as he gestures to his scruffy self, "but I know a Princess when I see one."

Would it be acceptable to drop to one knee, and propose to him on the spot? Who cares about gender roles! You want to marry him. Now!

"You're so sweet," you blush, and begin packing the dress away, leaving it on your desk, ready for next Friday.

"Only for you," Eddie winks, and clicks his tongue. "I'll match your style, not that I've, uh- ever done this before."

Shock floods your expression as you return to the bed, finding yourself rather cozy beside Eddie. Your sides touch, as do your fingertips, as Eddie passes you your lukewarm drink. "Never?" you innocently bat your lashes, in awe at Eddie's confession. "I always thought that... I don't know- maybe you've asked someone before? But now I think about it, I don't think I've ever seen you at any school event."

"Huh, wonder why?" Eddie sheepishly chuckles. His hand finds the back of his neck, subconsciously rubbing over the area, and his eyes fixate on the rips in his jeans, suddenly interested in the frayed fabric. "Yeah, I've never been to anything that the school has to offer. Can you blame me? I'm not exactly welcome there."

"Eddie," you pout. Without any thought, your hand finds Eddie's forearm, and you give it a little squeeze of reassurance. Eddie's eyes trail from his jeans, confirming that, yes, you are comforting him right now. "They're bullshit, honestly, but we'll make the most of it."

Warm eyes meet yours, along with a gentle smile. "Yeah," Eddie agrees with a light nod. "Who knows? Maybe the freak and the ex-cheerleader will be crowned Homecoming King and Queen?" he jokes, lightening the tense moment.

"Could you imagine?" you laugh, and move your hand from Eddie's forearm to cover your giggles. "I think they'd pretend to crown us, just so they can throw tomatoes at us!"

Eddie sits upright, and puffs his chest out as he responds, "you think so? That's fine with me. I like tomatoes!" He pretends to catch the imaginary tomatoes in his mouth, letting out an "ooh!" when one 'misses' and hits him in the chest.

Your cheek muscles begin to ache from laughter, and you have to calm Eddie before he becomes engulfed in his fantasy. "My parents," you hush, and place a hand on Eddie's chest to guide him back into his previous relaxed position.

With a cheeky grin, Eddie relaxes, and swiftly finishes the remainder of his drink, flatter than a pancake from being swirled around in his glass. "Finish up," Eddie urges as he points to your drink. "This bartender is waiting to pour you a refill!"

-

Thank fuck that it's a not a school night. Your eyes meet the clock before focusing back on Eddie, 01:29am, who is currently swinging his leg over your window.

"There it is," Eddie comments as his foot finds a comfortable starting point on the trellis, ready to climb down, and make his way home. His hands remain on the window ledge as Eddie looks up at you, leaning over the window to watch his embark.

"Thank you for tonight," you smile. Without hesitation, your lips find Eddie's cheek, and you plant a gentle kiss on the area. His curls brush against your jawline as you move away, and you're met by that sappy grin - the one that never fails to leave your stomach spinning. "And thank you for asking me to Homecoming," you add.

"Heh," Eddie chuckles. "I'm the one who should be thanking you!"

"You don't need to," you shake your head. "Now go on, before you break my mother's fence," you urge with a sweet laugh.

"Yes, Ma'am!" Eddie winks, and begins his careful climb down the trellis, begrudgingly freeing himself from your company.

Once Eddie's feet are on the ground, he gawks up at you, and casts you a salute as he calls out, "sleep tight, Princess!"

"I'll see you on Monday," you wave, and watch as Eddie bounces across your front lawn, soon disappearing down the street to begin his journey home.

After letting out a deep, lovestruck sigh, you move away from your window. You can't bring yourself to close it shut, praying that Eddie will come running back and sneak in once more. Instead, you accept the chilly autumn air seeping into your room - your room that is almost spinning in your dazed, drunken state.

You get yourself ready for bed, and snuggle under the covers. There's still warmth from where you and Eddie have been sitting, chewing each other's ears off throughout the night. The music fell silent ages ago, but neither of you noticed, engulfed in what each other had to offer.

Your hand finds the lava lamp on your bedside table, and you trail along the cord to find the switch. Even once you flick it off, you can still feel heat radiating from it, the dimmed lava psychedelically bubbling away - a sight that Eddie was rather keen on when it finally began 'doing its thing.'

Hm, maybe you'll buy him one of his own. You can envision it now, red and yellow, the same colours as the demon on his Hellfire shirt. Eddie would quite literally light up at the present, and probably gush something along the lines of, "awh, you didn't have to, Princess!"

You make a mental note to buy one whenever you're in town next, which, no doubt, will probably be in Eddie's company. As you go to finally shut your eyes, you look at the box on your desk, filled with the dress that you're going to wear to Homecoming.

Fuck, is this really happening? You have a date, none other than Hawkins High's spawn of the devil. Sure, he's a total weirdo, with his puppy dog eyes, soft curls, and tender pet names for you, and you alone.

You're excited, you can't wait! What a sight you're going to be, hand in hand with Eddie Munson. Maybe Jason was right? Maybe Eddie has corrupted you - ruined the star cheerleader, not that you've ever felt like one.

Regardless, you're already fluttering with excitement as you shut your eyes - or maybe that's the liquor flowing through your system? Either way, you fall asleep with a smile on your lips, and the faint scent of Eddie still lingering on your covers.

Tag list: @bubblegumcat229 @buckys2thicc @livthelonleyfish @bubblebuttwade @sergeantbuckybarnes @kik51199 @preciousbabypeter @rosaline-black​ @boundtomyfate @be-the-spark-bitch @summerofsnowflakesfics @fi-chanwrites @reveller-upon-opium @official-clint-barton​ @clzt4​ @chipster-21​ @dragon-ash13​ @carliuxima​ @eddiemattress​ @8ether @oddityhag @laurykat23 @ghostkit @dovahkiin-19

If you would like to be added to the tag list, then please drop me a message!

#why cant this be love #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie the banished #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #st #st4 #st s4 #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #f!reader #female reader

[jacobsneed]

WIP WHENEVER + LAST LINE TAG!

Thank you sm lovelies @8bitpizzacoupons @josephseedismyfather and @poisonedtruth for the tags! 💙 °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

PHEW! So I actually have some stuff to post! ( ´ ▿ ` ) Still having a hard time coping with my health declining, but the best serotonin boost is always drawing your OCs, so here's another doodle of my New Vegas courier, Joey! ⸜(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)⸝ one day I'll reinstall fnv and figure out how to mod it jsdjskfhkj Still also doing a bunch of quizzes and picrews, might make new character+ship/otp banners too :P

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND, the last line of my rewrite of the gtaiv mission, 'that special someone'

The question festered in Niko's marrow: "Because of what?!" Their two beings shared damnation, intertwined like tortured seraphim. The grim shadow of falsehood spat on Niko's visage in response: "Because of shit!" A bitter song demanding acknowledgement from the unforgiving heavens, "Lies! Fucking lies!" Darko continued to howl, now turning and spitting in Roman's face, who defensively raised his hands while taking a few paces back from the crazed man. Outrage surged through Niko like an inferno untamed, "So that makes it okay?!" desperately seeking sense in Darko's perfidy. In pitiful and feeble bewilderment, "To stab your friends in the back?!" Darko sighed out a nihilistic proclamation: "When everything you believe is shown to be shit, you make strange choices, I guess." Anguish-laden curses escaped Niko's lips as futility gnawed at his sanity like a starving beast. "Fuck you!"

Taglist (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ | @socially-awkward-skeleton@cassietrn@inafieldofdaisies@voidika@afarcry5fromstraight@vampireninjabunnies-blog@captastra@v0idbuggy@derelictheretic@poisonedtruth@florbelles@detectivelokis@beeutifulllov3r@fly-amanitaa@oreo-orca (Like this post to be added to the taglist! 💙 )

#david's ramblings #tagged #wip #david's art #david writes #oc: joey

[54bpm]

Hi there, say I want to post a bunch of images and some of them are nsfw, how do i tag this, just tag nsfw at the bottom, or is there something to do with the individual images, thank you for your advice.

OH this reminds me of something I meant to mention earlier, it's more of an observation than like Hard Fact but art does better when it's split up on multiple posts unless it like, goes together.

That's just like what I've noticed over time, people like it when you only got one big art! Plus thats more content to throw in the queue so win/win.

Moving onto your actual question, there's layers to it:

Step 1: Is it lewds or porn.

Straight up porn is technically banned and I advise NOT putting it on your main blog since it could get the account put into adult mode (which puts a lot of limits on the account like hidden for some users, not searchable, no proper blog only the logged in dashboard mode) If its tasteful lewds, continue.

Step 2: Is there a lot of liquid happening

From what I've heard the dividing line on if a post is flagged or not lately is how much liquid is happening, if not much then continue

Step 3: Tags & Labels.

Okay now for what you actually asked lol. The tag "NSFW" is shadow banned. It will get your post flagged. There ARE alternatives though, I've seen NSFT (not safe for tumblr) as the main one but I'm sure you can also find more if you get specific in your searches.

THE THING IS: using just tags can get you reported. Because we have a brand new feature too. If you're using the BETA post editor there's a button by the post button that says "Everyone" in there is a menu for labeling the post with mature themes.

It's up in the air if this will effect your post getting into searches, I've seen them in the wild of searches but you'll find that on tumblr it's not always consistent. But what it will do is make sure people under 18 do not see it!! Oh and you can still put tags on it to reach people.

Wait what, gimme a TLDR

Yeah fair, basically if you think you fit within the vague constraints outlined here you can post with the mature label and be fine (probably) you can also try to post without it at risk of being reported. You can use tags either way and you should still come up in searches, just not for kiddies (and not for users that haven't turned off the filter in the settings, thats on them though, people who don't check their settings regularly deserve horny jail to me) ALSO super don't use tags that don't apply, you'll get mega reported. Nobody wants an ass jumpscare.

If your post does get flagged you probably have too much liquid or used tags that tumblr did not like. You can edit the post and contest it or just make a new post. If you're worried about your whole account getting flagged then experiment on a side, (sides can be flagged without hurting your main) but you can also contest this status too.

Phew, okay, hope that helps! Good luck with the titties!

#vtuber #vtuber uprising #livs words #gonna properly tag this for searches bc im sure more people have the same worry #you have to be posting like despicable shit to get all the way banned #so dont worry about your like #body pillow art thats soft core #resource #tutorial #livs answers

[kaluxsims]

I’ll be honest right up front...these aren’t perfect, but they’re cute and I like them, so here they are. I’ve tweaked and tinkered with the textures as much as I can bear, so slight wavy texture goofs around the shoulders are what they are. I hope you like them anyway.

I liked the idea of these overalls, but the colors EA chose...not s’much. And I wanted them to have the slip-ons I keep adding to everything. (I’m not done yet!) So this is (deep breath) my recolor of my no rip edit of @platinumaspiration’s 4t2 BG overalls, with a shoeswap to my conversion of the TS4 BG slip-ons. Phew. Please swat me with a newspaper next time I decide to try to recolor something where the parts are all mapped together like this. It was a beast.

They’re CU Everyday, with a fat morph. They come in ten color combos, with coordinated shoes, some of which are my recolors.

Swatch:

Download - SFS or MediaFire

Credits - @platinumaspiration​ for the 4t2 overalls conversion, @mdpthatsme​ for the conversion database

As much as I want more recolors of these...I’m either gonna make a PSD of the layers separated and fixed up (which...why the hell didn’t I?) or I’m just not gonna. Time will tell. I love that EAxis switched to mapping all the little fiddly bits as their own parts on the texture, but it makes me resent the times they didn’t do that. In other words, the tee, straps, bib, metal findings, tags, etc are all exactly as you see them, so I split them apart, recolored, hated the result, redrew a bunch of it by hand, smoothed, grimaced....it was a whole thing. Grr. But they’re done and I can stop thinking about them now. Grr again for good measure. Grr.

#ts2cc #sims 4t2 #sims 2 custom content #sims 2 cc #sims 2 clothes #sims 2 download

[redheadbigshoes]

hii so for context i recently figured out i was a lesbian and comphet has been completely destroying my ass so i’ll just cut straight to the point because this might be long.. i had a dream recently where i was taking care of this kid?? and there was this boy who was around my age (18-20) and we were just like getting along fine but somewhere in the dream, i vividly remember saying to him "i’m a lesbian but for some reason i want to kiss you" and then we didn’t because i woke up but phew. this brings me to this point that when it comes to men, i don’t feel romantic attraction. like i genuinely feel like it’s impossible for me to truly connect with a man in the way that i could with women. romantically. and during my childhood i always knew i didn’t want to marry a man because it just "wasn’t for me",, but when it came to marrying a woman (i thought of this during my early teen years) i was all for it. yet, whenever i see a man who i deem attractive, i always kind of "test" myself and see how far i would go with them. usually with celebrities because men irl just … yeah.. anyways, the farthest i would ever go even in my head is making out. sex with men genuinely makes me uncomfortable to think about and just isn’t interesting to me in the slightest. so i guess i’m wondering if that means in not a lesbian or if it’s just comphet. [extra note: i guess if i see making out as something that leads to sex it completely loses my interest but if it’s just kissing i would be ‘up’ for it (not with a real man though but you get the idea).] anyways sooooorry this was so long but your blog has helped me come to terms with a lot about myself so i thank you for that.

First is that dreams don’t exactly mean what they’re showing.

From what you said those men you test yourself are always celebrities, right? You wouldn’t do that with men in real life. The difference between a lesbian and someone who’s attracted to men is that if those celebrities were actually attainable, if they were part of your life, you wouldn’t want to do anything with them (lesbians). So when it comes to lesbians comphet makes us imagine those situations, but if we got to the point of actually doing that we wouldn’t want to. Someone who’s attracted to men would still want to be intimate (in any way) with those men.

Something you can also think about (and this part may be hard to understand, because it’s easier if you actually tested kissing a guy) is that when it’s about someone you’re attracted to, kissing, being intimate with them gives you positive feelings, when you do that with someone you’re not attracted to it doesn’t mean you will feel something negative. As someone who has made out with guys I remember I wouldn’t feel absolutely anything when doing that with them, but that is not attraction. Attraction makes you feel something positive, not negative, not neutral. So I guess the difference here is actually wanting something with them vs not minding doing something with them, because not minding to kiss them you’d probably not feel anything when doing it.

You should check out the tik toks I posted here on the #tik toks tag if you haven’t. There’s a bunch of videos about comphet. Also try reading the lesbian masterdoc (link on my pinned post), it could help you .

#stephanie answers #anon #long post

[boolger]

i was tagged by the sweet @rosieblogstuff !!<3 anyone who wants to answer this too, consider this your tag 🫡💖

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 53! Somehow, haha. Once I'm done w thesis, it will grow for sure!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

608,326 words! 😳 i stresswrite

3. What fandoms do you write for?

right now its only Macgyver(2016) and Call of Duty! I've made a marvel crossover, but not anything else. Once I'm done with uni and actually have the time to write and see shows without feeling like I should be doing other stuff, I will definitely write for more! I want to write something for stuff like Knives out, Phantom of the Opera, Star wars -- but mainly a ton of Macgyver and call of duty, lol

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? well, they've changed quite recently, since i jumped headfirst into the COD fandom and was welcomed very nicely! So, right now, theyre:

Adventures of 141's bunny (1,502 kudos😳😳)- Call of Duty

Mami's omega (448 kudos) - Call of Duty

The Heron Club (363 kudos) - Call of Duty

Warm water (150 kudos) - Macgyver

A pregnant night (144 kudos) - Macgyver

Im very grateful for each single kudos !!💖🥰

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, or I try now! It was easier when I was only in the macgyver fandom, since it is much smaller, but now in the Call of Duty fandom, i'm afraid I simply cannot keep up! So if I don’t reply to your comment, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude or anything!👉👈

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

phew, that is one good question, because I honestly don't know. I have a tendency to end things either happy and hopeful like, or dark and like, with the vibe of things just being uncertain but not necersarily angsty? Lmk if im wrong lmao. I think the closest is in A dog needs a garden, but then again, its not really angsty - at least not to the characters. just... dark.🤷‍♀️

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

hm. I mean, in my two fics Sir and his good boy and my baby’s got a gun (that I struggle to read myself now bc while I do have a soft spot for them, I hate my writing lol.) I make poor Mac go through a lot of shit, and they both end up on a happy or hopeful note- so those two, I guess? For now, heh.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

mmm, not really. When I do get some questionable comments, I either just answer in a jokingly manner or ignore it. I think I've only deleted one comment, lol. 💀

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

hah, YES. what don't I write. Despite being ace and not really being interested in sex irl, I sure do write a lot of smutty smut. I mostly write kinky stuff, a lot of BDSM ones. A lot of darker stuff too. I mean, out of 53 fics I think maybe 13 ish of them doesn’t have smut in them? So yeah, I write a bunch of smut.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Well, I've only written three (so far) lol. Two of them was just... Angus Macgyver and Jack Dalton having a threesome with a character from a different fandom, LMAO. I've written them having a threesome with Bucky Barnes from marvel and then one with Simon Ghost Riley from Call of Duty. The craziest one technically isn’t a crossover lmao, more just the fact that I made twilight vampires canon in a Macgyver fic I wrote once 💀😂 it’s called this is the skin of a killer, Jack and yes, I find it funny and stupid myself.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not, lol. So no, at least not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Uh, no, again, not that I know of, lmao.👀

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Mmm, not technically, no. I don't talk often with a lot of fanfic writers, (im shy and idk how to become friends with people) but I do have 2 wonderful sweet friends I met through the macgyver fandom, whom i'm very grateful for and love lots. (They adopted my imposter ass who hadn’t even seen the show) They have managed to deal w my annoying ass for like... almost 2 years, I think and somehow isn't scared away yet. So, what I was going with that is, no, i've not co-written anything, but they do spar a lot with me and we discuss ideas and such, hehe. They've def helped me with a lot of fics.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

That is one good question that I honestly don't know the answer of. I'm pretty open to most ships, as long as they're written well in the fic or the show. (and legal. and not *ncest or pseudo *ncest.)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

don't call me out like this, I have a lot of WIPS. But honestly? Probably Wet footprints on the wooden floor (Macgyver). A part of me wants to, but its been like 1,5year or so, i think. At this point I would probably just delete it, then rewrite the entire thing and post it again, lol, because I do like the concept.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I don't know, actually. I like to think I write somewhat interesting plots whenever I'm trying not to just write pure smut. But eh, idk. I think I have an okay sense of humor too? but I am also biased.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Weird sentences! English isn't my first language, Danish is! and the structure of a sentence can be very different in Danish, so sometimes my English sentences ends up weird bc they're translated, lol. I'm working on it and I have definitely become better ver since writing my first fanfic, lol.🤷‍♀️

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I like to read it, but I struggle with writing it! It's hard, especially when you dont speak a certain language. I sometimes go with google translate, but I've tried just writing it like this when its in another language, lol. so ye, fun but hard.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Eh, i mean, I wrote a fanfic or two when I was like 15 or something, but I cannot, for the life of me, remember what for. probably marvel or twilight or something😂

If we go with the boolger account time-line, then it's Macgyver!

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

don't make me choose between my babies. So I shall cheat the system and mention some of my fav.

The many deaths of a phoenix(macgyver), since I like the plot ideas lol, even though I feel stuck with it atm.

Lovers in the garden of Eden (macgyver) (dead dove dont eat) which is def fucked up, not the worst kind I've written but still. It has a special place in my dark, f'ed up heart. 🖤

Do you think I'm broken? (macgyver) bc I tried to voice a lot of my own gender struggles through it lol.

and finally, i am a lil proud of So long as I'm your favorite toy(COD) heh.

#my writing #about me

[guesswhattimeitis]

N A O L I C E + Q T

OH MY GOD I FORGOT I QUEUED THIS ASK THING WHILE ON A TRAIN

Uh anyways, thanks lol

N- Name three things you wish you saw more of in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice): So for this one(and later questions) I’d say I don’t have a “main fandom” but I think in general all of my fandoms need 3 things more: more femslash, more midsized fic, and more art of the shorter one being the top. It can be portal, or sailor moon, or star wars it all needs more. I need to see more girls kiss, I need more fics longer than 500 words and less than 50000 words, and I need the short one to pick up her tall girlfriend and show her how it’s done

A- Ships that you currently like a lot. (They don’t have to be OTPs because not everyone has OTPs.) Friendships, pairings, threesomes, etc. are allowed: So I still haven’t seen Ahsoka at all but um I love the wolfwren I’ve seen, I’ve weirdly been working on a bunch of original stories recently which has had my brain in a chokehold including a throuple I’ll probably make a post about at some point

O- Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of?: I put my longest playlist on shuffle and got Used To Be Mine from Waitress and this song recently reminded me a lot of Bo Katan, especially in her most recent arc, realizing she’s changed and not sure if she’s ready for that or if she likes the change

L- Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves. (Characters you’re neutral about are fair game, as are characters you merely dislike. Characters that you absolutely loathe with the fire of ten thousand suns are exempt, as there is no point in giving yourself an aneurysm over a character that you hate.): I’m going to jump to portal here; Wheatley is a deeply effective and enjoyable villain to face off against. The build up to his takeover, everything falling apart; it really solidified portal 2 as a great sequel. I don’t hate him, but wow I don’t like the way the fandom treats him

I- Has Tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why? I’ve been here since 2013, so. Many. Many many many. My blocked tags list includes dozens, so I’ll spare the list, but the most ironic is one piece, considering tumblr’s recent ad campaign

C- A ship you have never liked and probably never will: I don’t dislike many ships generally, I usually keep it to myself and just avoid ships I don’t like, but I genuinely dislike when Aloy is shipped with that one guy from HZD, I don’t even remember his name but he just personally annoyed me and gave me bad vibes. And also I think of her as a lesbian so.

E- Have you added anything cracky/hilarious to your fandom? If so, what? I don’t think I’m “big” in any fandoms so I don’t think I’m responsible for any like, crack headcanons being spread around, and even on like a personal level I’m not usually one to jump down a crackship so much as I love rarepairs (yes I consider them different so sue me) but I did recently like Yue/Azula as a wild au kind of situation lol

Q- A fandom you’ve abandoned and why: I don’t abandon fandoms so much as they lie dormant until I return to them, sometimes years later. Even adventure time, the fandom that got me on tumblr, has lain dormant for a long time only to resurface now and again, especially with new releases

T- Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending? I love “Chell is deaf” and/or “Chell is mute”as something to read and see in fanart, but I will die by the idea that she simply chooses not to say shit. That’s so much funnier.

Phew! So many, ahhh I will send you some too btw I just literally forgot I did this 😵‍💫

#lot of portal talk for someone that hasn’t been active with portal for a while #anyways I have waaaaay too many fandoms and I’m too tired to think of them all #plus recently I’ve been doing more original stuff tbh so I had to dig deep #anyways thanks!

[jobean12-blog]

Hi, could you write something like Torres flirting with the reader and Bucky getting mad and grumpy about it. So, Sam starts teasing him about his infatuation and making kissing noises.

Make a Move!

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 1,425

Summary: Bucky likes you but he's shy and grumpy. Torres is a total cutie and thinks you are too...will Bucky grow some balls and make a move?!?! No one knows....BUT SAM.

Author's Note: Thanks so much for this request lovely! Love grumpy Bucky with my whole heart and I also wanna add that Torres is amazing and so deserving of all the love too! Hope you enjoy this! Have a great night! HUGS! 🥰 Thanks all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️ Divider by my lovely friend @firefly-graphics thanks so much!

Warnings: fluff and funnies, flirting, some back and forth banter, little teasing, it's all good natured...grumpy Bucky :)

Gif NOT MINE: Credit goes to @mcavoys thank you bunches! 🥰

“Shit,” Bucky mutters when you walk into the room.

Your dress flutters around your thighs and a bright smile graces your features.

“You know you could just tell her,” Sam says from beside Bucky.

Bucky visibly stiffens and slowly turns to Sam.

“Tell her what?” Bucky asks, glaring.

“That you think she looks great,” Sam answers with a smirk.

“She doesn’t look great, she looks gorgeous and I’m not saying anything about it,” Bucky grinds out.

“I think I will then,” Sam chirps and saunters over to you.

“Hey sweetheart,” Sam says as you and he make eye contact. “You look great today. Where are you headed?”

You give Sam your best smile. “Thanks Sam! That’s sweet! I’m just going to meet a friend for some drinks.”

You grab your keys and head toward the door.

“Have a good time,” Sam says, waving when you start to walk out.

“Thank you!” you sing. “Bye Bucky!”

Bucky watches you, the sway of your hips making his mind wander and his cheeks heat.

“See. That wasn’t so hard,” Sam croons, slapping Bucky on the back.

Bucky ignores Sam’s jab and gets up, walking to the counter and picking up your phone.

“She left her phone,” Bucky states, looking at Sam.

The words have barely left Bucky’s mouth when you fly back into the room.

“Have either of you seen my phone?” you pant. “I got all the way downstairs and realized I don’t have it.”

“Here it is doll face,” Bucky says, holding it out for you.

“Bucky! Thank you so much! Phew. I’m always putting it down and forgetting where,” you explain.

You take it from his hands and your fingers brush, making you smile.

“Have fun,” Bucky says quietly.

You lean up and kiss his cheek. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

With a spin you rush back out.

“You look beautiful…” Bucky murmurs quietly, the sound of Sam’s chuckle the only thing that follows.

“Next time tell her that,” Sam teases.

Your giggles are the first thing Bucky hears while he’s sitting up reading. His ears perk up and he shuffles to the door and looks out. He can see your shadow dance against the wall as you pillage through the cabinets but you’re not alone.

“Where the hell are they?” you grumble.

“Where are what?” Torres asks.

“My cookies!” you harrumph. “I want more dessert.”

“I’m sure we can find something sweet for you babe,” Torres purrs.

Bucky stalks quietly out the door.

“I know where your cookies are doll,” Bucky says.

You let out a loud shriek and fall back toward Torres.

Bucky holds his hands up in surrender.

“OH MY GOD BUCK! You scared me to death,” you screech.

You stare at him, your face scrunched up. He stares back, suddenly feeling much more nervous than before.

“Oh my god,” you say again, this time in a breathy whisper as your eyes trail down his naked chest.

Your gaze lingers along the V of his hips and the light patch of hair that disappears below the waistband of his sweats. You take a step closer, your hand held out in front of you until your palm flattens against his broad chest and your fingers tangle in his dog tags.

“Why do you ever wear shirts?” you ask him, finally dragging your eyes away from the dips and curves of muscle that line his skin.

He drops his head with a chuckle.

“I mean it,” you say again, ghosting your fingers along his skin until they rest under his chin and you lift his eyes to yours.

“Barnes,” Torres interrupts. “You said you knew where the cookies were?”

Bucky’s eyes dart toward Torres and narrow slightly. He moves to the cabinet and reaches up to the top shelf, causing his sweats fall lower on his hips.

“I hid them all the way up here because Sam is always eating them,” Bucky snickers. “Sorry I forgot to tell you.”

“What?” you start, clearly distracted by the view.

“Sam eats all your cookies,” Bucky states, his smile growing. “So, I hid them up here.”

“Oh…OH! Thanks for looking out for me and my cookies,” you whisper, still recovering.

“Who said cookies?” Sam asks as he walks in smiling.

All pairs of eyes turn to him.

“So, you’re the one who’s been eating my cookies Wilson,” you mutter with a raised brow.

Sam gives you a sideways smirk.

“I was looking for those yesterday,” Sam says. “You hid them on me didn’t you Barnes?”

Bucky shrugs nonchalantly and takes a sip of water. “She loves them and you’re always eatin’ ‘em all!”

“Yea, yea. I always buy more though,” Sam says defensively. “But I get it. Gotta take care of your girl.”

Your eyes widen and Bucky’s jaw clenches.

Your mouth opens to question Sam’s statement but Torres looks between the three of you and blurts out, “I’d like a cookie.”

Your head spins around and you’re pulled from the moment. Bucky lets out an audible breath before glaring dangerously at Sam.

“Sure Torres. Help yourself,” you say, holding out the box.

Torres starts up a new conversation with you, hoping to keep your attention and Bucky elbows Sam hard when he passes by.

“I’m just trying to help you out dude,” Sam mumbles. “If you want her you’re gonna have to do something other than grump around…looks like Torres is pulling out all the stops.”

Bucky lifts his head and watches as Torres wipes a stray crumb from your bottom lip with his thumb. Bucky instantly tenses at the sight. His face darkens and he crosses his arms over his chest, a low rumble of disapproval leaving his chest.

“Come on Barnes. Make a move,” Sam prods.

As Bucky continues to watch you talk with Torres his mouths dips into a frown.

“You’re looking extra grumpy right now. You might want to fix that before you do anything,” Sam teases.

Bucky huffs and fiddles with his dog tags as they lay against his bare chest. Your head turns toward him at the sound. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and let your eyes wander from the top of his head down to his feet before Torres directs your attention back to him.

“Ok, forget it. Seems like she likes your grumpy look,” Sam scoffs.

Bucky rolls his eyes before he rubs the back of his head and slides his hand down to his jaw to trace the dark scruff with his fingers.

“I can see the gears turning,” Sam smirks. “What’s going on in that big cyborg brain of yours?”

“It’s computing,” Bucky deadpans.

You move away from Torres and get the milk, pouring yourself a glass and dipping your cookie into it. Just before it hits your lips Bucky slides up next to you, plucking it from your fingers and shoving it in his mouth.

Your mouth hangs open in shock.

“You ate my cookie,” you gasp.

“And it was delicious,” Bucky simpers after he swallows.

Bucky rests his metal hand on the wall next to your head and reaches over with the other to grab another cookie and dip it in the milk. He soaks it then brings it to your lips. You keep your gaze locked on his while you take a bite, a small moan leaving the back of your throat when the sweetness hits your tongue.

“Mmm,” you hum and grab Bucky’s wrist.

You finish off the cookie in his hand and then proceed to lick the crumbs from his fingers. Bucky’s metal fingers dig into the wall and you lower your lashes.

“What’s wrong Buck?” you ask demurely, sliding your fingertips along the chain of his dog tags.

“I bet you taste better than that cookie,” he murmurs, letting his hand drop from the wall.

It settles on your cheek and he traces your jaw with his thumb, tilting your head before he drags you into his chest and presses his lips to yours. You moan into the kiss, sliding your arms up and around his neck.

Bucky’s flesh hand slides down your back and he presses you closer, lining your body up with his. Your fingers comb through his hair and you whimper when he rolls his hips.

Torres walks over to Sam with a shake of his head.

“What the hell just happened?” Torres asks Sam.

“He made a move,” Sam says proudly.

“But he’s so…grumpy…all the time,” Torres declares.

“Tell me about it,” Sam answers. “Although…he might be feeling a little less grumpy now.”

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x female!reader #tfatws!bucky #grumpy!bucky #shy!bucky #bucky x you

[starfirette]

Spider-Man & His Amazing Friend | mcu! peter parker x firestar! reader

✽ masterlist | requests are closed | DID ANYONE ELSE WATCH THE SPIDER-MAN CARTOON WITH FIRESTAR AND ICEMAN?!?!? AND DID ANYONE ELSE MASSIVELY SHIP FIRESTAR WITH SPIDER-MAN??? it was literally called Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends, I lived for that shit 😫 anyways I might consider making this a very causal series, like a bunch of firestar! Reader fics that can also be stand alone!!! If that seems interesting then let me know!

✽ if you like this fic, or want more like it, take the 2022 revamp survey!!

✽ tags: @thelovehashira143

✽ here are your warnings: fem pronouns + some angsty moments + found friendship + awkward tension + there's only one bed + cuddling because the radiator breaks and it's freezing + y'all almost kiss

"Angelica Jones. You're my mother. No, no, that's...phew, I'm your daughter. No!"

With a groan, you punched yourself in the thigh. What a load of malarkey. At this rate, she'll shut the door in my face.

Looking intently at the mirror, you attempted again. "Angelica Jones, you're my mother," you tell your reflection.

Despite the importance of the situation, you couldn't help but notice that the mirrors in the Residence Inn did wonders for your figure.

You pinched the sensitive skin of your thigh, trying to summon up tears. It didn't work, so you turned on the faucet and splashed some water over your face. "You're my mother," you sniveled as best as you could. This is stupid. Now you felt like you were auditioning for Broadway. And failing for that matter!

You wiped your face and gave your reflection a dirty gesture, as if for some reason the glass was the one to blame for your pathetic acting skills.

You shuffled across the hotel room and slid your feet into your ballet flats. Toes wiggled inside. You could feel that shoes falling apart. The shoes trailed bits of foam behind them. You tapped the toes against the floor; excess shoe sprinkled around and you cringed at the sight. Perhaps new shoes should become a priority.

You opened your wallet to count the cash left inside, and you decided that at least twenty dollars could be spared for a new pair of sneakers. They didn't have to be fancy. They just had to be better than what you were currently wearing. Twenty subtracted from seven fifty. That leaves seven hundred and thirty dollars left in your wallet, rubber bound together suspiciously, like the main characters in the mobster movies.

You'd come to New York City with one thousand dollars left in your pocket, all in hopes of finding Angelica Jones, the woman you suspected to be your biological mother. To say that you had some questions for this woman was a stark understatement. Angelica Jones had left you behind as a baby. With that, you had no qualms. You'd found a family, Mandy Gwilym and her little sister, Megan. Mandy raised you like any mother would, and she came into custody of her little sister when you were just around twelve. Megan was just like a sister or a cousin to you. Mandy's efforts were appreciated. You were always loved and always comfortable. Always fed and clothed, warm and snug. But now that you've turned twenty one, you made it a goal for yourself to at least find Angelica, if not the other answers to the questions you had.

You dug in your jacket pocket for your lighter. The blue bic tube lit with a flame and you held it up to your tongue for comfort. Other people smoked cigarettes or vaped to keep their stress away. You, however, liked to light the tip of your tongue with the flame of a lighter or a match. It didn't hurt or scar you. It felt nice. It offered a catharsis that you suspected would be similar to actual smoking.

This was one question you had for Angelica Jones: What's up with the flame retardancy?

Yes, you are indeed flame retardant. You're a lot of things. That opens to gateway to all of your other questions, which have to do with your unique abilities.

You muted the flame on your lighter and place it back in your jacket pocket. You patted yourself, mentally tallying your lighter, your wallet, and your hotel key.

The address that you found for Angelica Jones is in Queens. As you left the hotel, your hands buried in your jacket for warmth, you prayed that this Angelica Jones was the real one. You had found at least four so far, met them all, and was let down at the fact that they were just random women with your mother's name.

The cold sliced against you when you left the hotel lobby, snow flurries landing on your skin. You struggled to breathe for a split second. Your body needed a minute to adjust. Winter sucks for a warm blooded creature as yourself. Warm blooded, though, doesn't seem accurate. Hot blooded.

Your blood always simmers.

You trekked along the sidewalk for ten minutes before giving up and hailing a taxi.

You shivered in the back seat, sitting on your hands to warm them up.

"Address?" the driver asked.

"Uhm..." You struggled. "Thirty sixth street, Astoria, please?" Did you say that right? You'd never actually taken a taxi before.

You must have said it right because he nodded silently and merged back into the main road. You watched out the window as the snow flurried to the city below. It'd be nice to live here. So much to do. So much to see.

You didn't have a cell phone, so you watched the snowflakes flurry down the side of the window. You put your flat palm against the pane. The precipitation on the other side melted, drizzling down the sides of the car, leaving a clear patch for you to look through. The city certainly bustled with life. Mortality teemed at the edges of every place and corner around you, be it a mother with her child on the main road or a rat scurrying to a warm hole in the walls.

Flickering your eyes over every person, you let your senses roll back, and you could see the thermal signatures of the bodies moving about. This ability only worked on living things, which usually happened to be people, animals, and plants. It worked with bacteria, in the event you were viewing it beneath a microscope. This talent never proved to be particularly useful because you never had a reason to actually use it.

It was more of a bad habit then anything else.

Twenty minutes of self reflection seemed like a nightmare in theory but you managed to survive the drive. You felt like a proper adult when you passed the money through the acrylic divider. "Thank you," you said before slipping out of the car. You looked up at the apartment complex before you. Snowflakes drifted down, sticking to your eyelashes and sizzling away.

You could feel your muscles twitching around both of your kneecaps. Anxiety. It's a bitch, you think as you dig around your pocket for your bic lighter.

You lit the flame on the tip of your tongue, trying to focus on the mission ahead of you.

"Damn," someone called out to you, a guy your age, walking past. "You that freaky in bed?"

You quickly shoved your lighter in your pocket. "Fuck around and find out the hard way," you replied. He howled with laughter but moved on.

People in New York sure are bold!

You approached the complex gates, your fist tight around the lighter. The sign posted on the stone walls showed the names of the current tenants.

"Blah, blah, blah," you said, counting the names down the list.

Angie Jones was posted! You punched the buzzer, ringing apartment thirteen.

You waited for an answer which ultimately never came. You pressed the buzzer again, holding it for a couple seconds too long, just to be annoying. Maybe she'd realize you weren't going to leave without an answer.

Your disappointment was beyond measure. All this way, just for her to not even be home? You sighed, resigning yourself to pathetically kick the gate.

Once more, you decided. You pressed the buzzer.

Nothing.

Your mouth twisted into a deep frown as you played with your lighter. I'll have to come back tomorrow, you think. You flickered the lighter's flame over the tip of your fingers as you looked up to the apartment building, trying to guess which window belonged to Angelica "Angie" Jones.

You didn't see anyone so you walked away. You didn't notice that Angelica Jones watched as you did.

Walking back down the street, you thought bitterly about the lack of information you'd gotten today. You considered today's mission a bust. Although, you'd only been hoping to have found her. There was no real factor assuring you that this would immediately work. You'd simply gotten your hopes up. Perhaps that's why you were so disappointed.

As you walked, the sky grew cloudy. Snow started to fall harshly, stinging your bare skin as you walked against it and the wind. You were gasping for air. Your chest ached with every breath and you finally decided to duck into the first place that you could.

The little coffee shop had a handful of other visitors. There was an electric fireplace humming in the center of the shop, pluming heat outwards. You tried not to moan in delight when you felt the waves flickering over you.

The tables were free for you to choose from, so naturally you tried to sit as close to the fireplace as possible.

Behind the counter were three workers, all looking bored with nothing to do. No one wanted to be out in this weather. But you weren't the only one seeking solace from the snow.

A few other patrons were loitering at the tables.

You approached the order counter, looking across the menu for something warm and sweet to keep you going. You were in desperate need of a pick-me up. Your failure with Angelica Jones today hadn't been your first. You'd traveled across Canada, England, and most of America to find your Angelica Jones. Not every woman with that name had given up a baby. You often felt as though you were looking for a needle in a haystack. There are too many women with that name.

"Can I have a large white chocolate mocha, please," you asked as you dug for your wallet. You pulled a twenty dollar bill from your rubberband stack.

"You mean venti?"

Your brows pulled in confusion. "A what?"

"A venti," the girl responded, smacking her gum as she stared you down. "We don't serve larges here. Only venti."

"Fine. Give me a 'venti'," you said, using your hands to add some dramatic flair to the phrase.

She didn't look pleased as you passed her the bill. Despite her attitude, you left some of the change in the tip jar. Kill her with kindness. Hopefully.

She made your mocha with a flat line posted on her mouth, so you weren't exactly counting on tasting the love and care she'd put into it, like the cafe's motto assured you she would. Maybe you should take down the framed set of words.

You were able to snag a seat right beside the cafe's fireplace, as you'd so hoped. You took a long gulp of the mocha. Perk of being a weirdo was that it's virtually impossible to burn yourself. Hot showers and freshly made pizza rolls did nothing to you.

You played idly with your lighter as you entertained yourself with scenarios. A smartphone would be really handy right now. You flashed your lighter and stuck the flame against your open palm. This habit proved to be your downfall because there was a young man, probably your age, staring at you. Embarrassed, you quickly shoved the lighter in your pocket.

"I smoke crack," you told him.

He blinked, the surprise on his face evident, then laughed. "You're joking," he finally noticed. "It's a cool magic trick."

You wanted to smack yourself. That would have been a better excuse.

"Yeah, thanks," you said. Cue an awkward sip of your drink. Dirty habits kicked in, and you immediately side eyed the guy to take a small glance at his thermal image.

For a moment, you saw something strange. You feigned dirt in your eyes so that you could rub them, let them readjust, before taking another examination. Something in his Thermo was flickering, like a flashlight stuck in the bottom of a pool. You could hardly sense it was even there. Only fragments of its image was available for you to see.

You willed his Thermo away. You couldn't tell what it was, but you also didn't care.

You drank the rest of your coffee in a gulp. The hot drink flowing through your chest, into your belly, felt like a boost of energy. Others would acquaint it to cold water on a summer's day. Though you do like cold things, be it water or ice cream or a dip in a freezing pool, such things weren't as satisfying or refreshing as someone else could think.

You didn't glance at the guy beside you as you gathered your things, all of which being your wallet and your old coffee cup. Again, no phone, so that meant no entertainment like that guy apparently had. But as you tossed your cup into the trash can, he watched.

Out the door, into the cold, you buried your hands into your jackets to attempt to brave it. The weather was bitter and strong, and it was so close to killing you. Not literally, but it certainly seemed like it took a physical toll on you. This hadn't ever happened before. Although you had noticed an increased strength in your abilities over the past few weeks, even months. Perhaps your powers progress with your age.

You raised an arm towards the street and waved it, trying to track down a taxi that would stop for you. There were hardly any. The drive from the hotel to here had been twenty minutes. How long would the walk be?!

Finally seeing no other way out, you ducked into an alleyway. As you shut the large, metal gate behind you, you realized this could actually be the perfect place for a recharge. No one could see you, here, you thought. You'd been caught twice today. Twice. The guy outside the apartment, and then the guy in the coffee shop. You were getting sloppy.

You huddled in the corner of the alley, which had already accumulated a good few centimeters of snow. You felt like a stray cat as you huddled for warmth, squatting so you wouldn't ruin your pants. You took your lighter and sniffed the flame through your nostrils, then puffed the flames back out your mouth. The smokey flavor ran through you like a comforting embrace. The only embrace you'd have, now. You left Megan and Mandy behind. You weren't sure you'd be able to go back to them after this trip. The seven hundred dollars in your pocket wouldn't last another two days. Not in New York City.

You'd downgrade to a motel or something tomorrow.

But after that?

You might have to stay here. You had no way of contacting Megan aside from letters, but it wasn't as if she could send mail to public addresses.

You continued to snort then huff the flames like a lonely dragon.

From a bird's view, your actions were blatant and clear.

Peter Parker could see you from the roof's edge. He followed you from the coffee shop down the street, all because that sixth sense was ringing in his ears. Something about you had been off, and now he knew why. You weren't just a magician, nor were you even a crackhead like you'd dumbly excused. You were something like him. Something on the brink of inhuman, but not quite there. Peter initially figured you were a threat. But then he watched you cry.

And then, he knew better.

You did end up checking out of your "fancy" hotel, which was really only $120 a night. You figured for someone who had an actual bank account and a salary would fine that just fine, perhaps even a good deal.

You hauled your suitcase behind you, the small thing on wheels acting as your treasure chest. Everything you owned was currently in said treasure chest, like your money, now depleted to a heart breaking five hundred. You don't have much time. With heavy shoulders, you hauled yourself back to the cafe from yesterday.

Today had no snow, which was great, but it was still cold enough that everything remained frozen. Your shoes were slipping over the ice, the damn flats remaining to be your biggest enemy. A still, you hadn't gotten a pair of shoes. You figured that it wasn't really a big deal. You had to save the money for real emergencies. Sliding over the icy sidewalk didn't constitute emergency use.

Going back to the cafe was more or less an excuse to get another one of those yummy mocha things, and the woman at the counter today was a lot nicer than the other. She didn't berate you over the terminology as you ordered white chocolate mocha. When you got it, you inhaled the steam, feeling dreamy, and thanked her. You stuffed spare change in the jar and you were suddenly struck with heartache. You wanted to give her more.

If you lived here, you'd visit everyday. You'd even be a regular. You'd make friends, even maybe meet someone, like a bad boy who wears leather jackets and speeds on a motorcycle, or a preppy girl with strawberry lip gloss and a nursing degree. But these were all archetyped characters you'd seen on TV. They likely didn't exist in real life.

You dragged your suitcase back to the table, near the fireplace, that was open. Today, the cafe was bustling with customers, and you felt lucky to have snagged such a nice spot.

You took a long drink of your mocha and you hummed in delight.

"Isn't that a little hot?" someone asked.

You looked to your side, then up at the face of the tall, though fit, figure who was now looming by you.

Your delight immediately dropped, and you could imagine your emotional meter now read 'nervous.'

It was the guy from yesterday! The guy from the cafe, to be exact, who had seen you lighting up your tongue like a crackhead.

He simply smiled at you. He was cute, you realized with horror. You'd actually embarrassed yourself in front of someone so cute.

He must have just come inside because his Thermo was steadily rising. He was growing warmer as he stood by you, his hands clenched in his pockets.

"You running away from someone?" he asked, his voice layered with humor as he toed your suitcase. You glanced at it, then back to him. "I'm a crack dealer," you said. Dammit! All your excuses somehow involve the use of crack, and one day it was going to get you in trouble.

His Thermo showed his cheeks lighting up as he laughed, the blood rushing to his face with genuine humor and affection. You felt yourself wanting to cringe. Seeing a person's emotions, the way you literally could, was always much too intimate. Watching the way he literally lit up in amusement was just too jarring.

"Is that the only response you can give?" he asked, jamming his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Looking him up and down, you could gather some idea about the sort of person he is. He dresses nicely, with bootcut jeans and a thinly knit sweater, with a flannel collar poking out. His hair wasn't slicked back today like it had been yesterday. He had curly brown hair that looked so fun to just run your hand through. He was cute, he really was.

"I'm Peter Parker," he introduced himself, holding a hand out. You reminded yourself to be wary as you accepted the handshake. "I'm Y/n," you said in turn.

"I'm also not a crack dealer," you added. "Or a crackhead."

"No worries," he said with a grin. "Where are you heading to?" he asked. He was smooth, you had to admit, and that was strange, given that his Thermo showed him to be extra flushed, especially in the face.

"I'm visiting my mom," you replied. Not a lie, technically. You were going to visit her, eventually. You'd try to make a few pitstops along the way, like hopefully at a cheap motel. Your personal safety was a factor you had to consider, but given your abilities, you were allowed cut a few corners. You were sure you could hold your own against at least two attackers, maybe three. You did practice enough to do that, at least.

"Sounds fun. She a magician, too?"

You opened your mouth to respond before closing it. You pressed your anterior teeth against your tongue in an attempt to contain any outburst of emotion or thought. He's interrogating you, a voice whispered in the back of your mind. Though without any real identity, that voice was your confidant.

"No," you said with a teasing smile. Throwing him off would be easy.

"She's a teacher in Long Island. I just figured I'd stop in the city on my way. So much to do and see here, you know?"

Peter nodded in agreement, but you couldn't tell if it was working. His friendly demeanor hadn't yet changed. How the hell could you throw this guy off?

Perhaps you're just being paranoid, you think as you take a casual sip of your mocha. The warmth of it going down helped you to calm down. There's a strong possibility he just thinks you're hot. Right?

You looked down at your outfit. Your shoes, falling apart. Your jeans, stained and ripped, even at the crotch. Your shirt, once was white, but now yellow. And your jacket was irritatingly thin. A simple hoodie at most, but you'd survive if you could just keep drinking hot coffee and regenerate heat with your lighter. Flames were the easiest way to regenerate that energy, but smoke worked too. You called it your 'dragon breathing', the way you could blow fire out of your mouth. Though that's just one way to regenerate heat.

Reflecting on yourself, you decided that, no, he doesn't think you're hot. He's definitely interrogating you.

The conversation went along well following that. His idle chatter made a good front for flirting, but he just wouldn't leave you be. There had to be an ulterior motive somewhere, right? Those doe, brown eyes couldn't be as innocent as they seemed. His Bambi looks aside, what else could be a give away?

Your Thermo continued to flash in and out so you could keep check of his signature. The hotter he became, the faster his heart would beat. Perhaps if you made him nervous enough, he'd-

SHIT!

Peter's entire body flashed. His temp had taken a skyrocket, his whole body glowing with something you couldn't discern. Fear? Anger? Something was going on beneath that mop of curls.

You tensed, waiting for something to happen. Would he lunge?

"Obviously the Met museum is a great tourist spot," he continued to prattle. Strange, you thought. He was acting normal. Too strange. What is he trying to do?

There was a very sudden wave of madness enacting outside the cafe, right on the street.

Everyone within the cafe clamored to get a glimpse of what was happening, yourself and Peter included. You reactivated Thermo and found that his body was definitely on high alert. Soon, everyone else was too. There was a building outside, from the looks of it, an apartment complex, that had caught fire. The flames were licking high and people were scrambling to get out.

Peter's signature now matched all others. He'd been on high alert before anyone else.

People slipped out of the cafe, phones out to either call authorities or film the disaster as it happened before them. Peter used this opportunity to leave, too, sneaking out the door without so much as a goodbye. You'd be offended if you didn't think he was a freak. He's a freak that also happens to know you're a freak, and he'd likely followed you today to the cafe. Who knows what else he's seen.

With your suitcase in tow, you pushed past the thick throng of onlookers. Something about disaster just enthralled humanity, for some unknown reason. People these days like to watch something horrifying go down.

You were tempted to just head down the street. But damn it all, if that fire wasn't currently singing your name. Its energy called out to you.

Not only that, you realized, but there were people still inside.

Panic started to well up in your chest as you looked around: no fire, no rescue. No one on the scene. It's too soon, you realized. You were here too soon.

Peter Parker was now forgotten as you threw caution to the wind. You pushed your suitcase behind a nearby dumpster before running across the street. All traffic had now ceased as the fire was growing.

You pushed past the invisible barrier that people dared not to cross. You knocked against the heavy doors to the complex, pushing against the wave of victims that attempted to flee.

"Ma'am! What are you doing?!" a voice cried. You looked around, trying to pinpoint the booming voice that seemed to call out to you.

You couldn't see anything outside the blur of the people running past, shots of faces and noses, or punches to the arm. You maneuvered into the building. The heat hadn't precipitated towards the main levels, but you could sense it above your head. You sprinted towards the staircases, not wanting to risk getting trapped in the elevator.

"Y/n! Stop!"

You turned around.

A figured, clad in red and blue, was struggling to follow in the thick smoke that was leaking through the staircases. It was hard to see in, but the smell didn't bother you. You knew you'd be fine, but this guy?

"Get the hell out of here," you shouted.

He approached, and you saw an emblem of a spider on his chest.

"We should get out of here, you... Spider-Guy,," you informed him, waving an ignorant hand as you tried not to become too irritated.

He pulled off his mask.

"Peter?!"

Irritated was now a little dot in the distance. You were beyond pissed, and you couldn't help but secrete smoke out your ears.

Indeed, it was Peter Parker in that red-and-blue spandex suit, which, while making him look wonderful, didn't seem too comfortable. Or practical, now that you think about it.

"Get the fuck out of here, creep," you yelled at him, making him flinch.

"It's not like that," Peter said, arguing against the streams of curses that you spewed his way. You threatened to punch him. "Chill out," Peter shouted.

His Thermo was flashing again, like he was trying to get your attention. You blinked, your eyes being strained under all the blaring his figure sent out. He didn't seem to know he was even doing it.

"I'm like you," Peter said the moment he could get a word in.

You stared, incredulous. The dumbass in front of you was getting on your nerves, now, and you were simply willing to turn away.

"I'm being serious," Peter told you, grabbing you by the shoulders. You looked at his hand touching you and you shook it off, sending Peter a glare so vile it made his Thermo blanch.

"How do you even know-?"

"I can't explain right now," he said uneasily.

"Bullshit! Explain right now," you demanded, pointing a finger at him viciously.

Peter looked up at to the stairwells above, and his Thermo started to blare again. You rubbed your temples. "Stop doing that," you shout.

"Doing what?" Peter shouted back. He resigned to pull his mask back over his face as he gestured for you to get out of his way. "Just follow me or get out of here." He prepared to walk within the belly of danger.

You put a hand over his chest to stop him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I have to save these people!" Peter angrily stammered, waving an arm out towards the stairwell. He sounded like he was on the verge of possibly slapping you. You supposed you couldn't really blame him. Had you met yourself, you'd want to slap her, too.

With a raised brow, you looked him up and down. "Seriously? You think you have powers? Deadass?"

"Yes, deadass," Peter shouted, finally becoming exasperated. "Listen, I cannot explain this to you right now, but I know you have, like, powers. Or whatever. Maybe not exactly like me but somewhat."

"You don't have powers," you chided him as you followed him up the stairs, both of you breaking into a sprint. Your footsteps slapped against the stony steps.

"I do, though," he argued.

At the door, which proclaimed "LEVEL TWO", there was a surge of heat rolling beyond the surface. You could feel the waves of flames dancing too and fro, licking at every surface it could find.

"Easy there, bug boy," you said, pushing an arm in front of him. "There's fire on the other side."

He turned to stare at you. Though his mask could make no expression you could still sense the apprehensive "Are you kidding me" beneath it. "That's not my name."

"There's fire that way," you tried to explain.

"No shit."

He shook his head as if he were rolling his eyes, and his hands went for the doorknob. He immediately yelled out in pain and brought his hand back, cursing like a sailor.

You sighed and elbowed him away. "Told you," you sang as you turned the handle for him.

The heat wave that blasted over you both made him cry out one more time.

"Get behind me," you said, pushing yourself in front of him. The extreme temperatures glossed over you like wind in your hair. It was like a dip in the ocean for you. Spider-Dude stayed behind you, one hand on your shoulder, as you pushed through the debris.

"What's the goal, exactly?" you asked as you kicked past the burning walls that toppled down.

Spider-Boy shot something out his wrist, making you look back at him in surprise. It was like some sort of cable tie or rope. It caught the toppling debris and it was thrown away from you. Your heart had caught in your throat when it fell through a patch in the floor, making you realize just how real and daring this situation is.

"Thanks, uh, Mr Spider?"

"Not even close. The goal is to get as many people out as we can. That's our job."

You were half tempted to tell him you weren't trying to get a gig as a superhero, but before you could, a pillar crashed through the ceiling. Your breath caught in your throat, like the start of a scream, and you couldn't move. You waited for the pillar to land on top of you, crush you to bits, and-

Peter threw himself over you. Pinned to the floor, all you could do was watch in horror as the pillar fell over Peter's back, making him yell out in pain.

No!

You pushed the hot metal off of him, struggling with the weight of it. The material of his suit had singed against his skin and you were horrified to look at such an injury. You clasped a hand over the injury before pulling back, realizing at the last minute you'd hurt him even more.

"Get out of here," you begged him. You dragged him to his feet, gripping his gloved hands. "I'll clear the building, I can do it."

But...could you?

His brute strength and tendency to sense 'things' before they happen couldn't completely match your 'resistance.' Really, what are you even doing here? What did you think you could accomplish?

"Breathe," Peter informed you, sounding slightly harsh. "You can do this but you have to work with me."

You clutched his hand tight, the way a knight might do with his trusted friend before going on an extravagant mission across England. You ignored the Crusades part as Peter nodded to you. You both ran across the debris, trying to work together to get across the hallway.

You scanned through the building with your Thermo, but there was too much debris around. The building was going to come down on you and it was going to very likely kill you. But, what better way to die than as a hero?

Ha! Hero, you think as Peter leads you to an apartment already engulfed in flames. You scanned across the room and found, beyond the licks of fire, two small figures huddling close together. You rolled up your sleeves, hoping they wouldn't be singed off of you as you dove straight into the fire.

Peter, not used to such displays, gasped and called out for you. He stumbled over his words, struggling not to reveal your name. Why? You weren't sure. Maybe he really did think he was a hero. Some kind of super vigilante, like, a human spider or something. Human Spider. That's a good name, you think as you kneel down. The flames licked high over your head. It crawled over your skin, stretching over you like it was trying to kiss and cuddle you as much as it could. Your hair burst into flames that defied all gravity, and every time you turned your head, you could feel the fire trailing behind you, like the tail of a comet. The flames soaked into your skin so that you were glowing, the insides of you bursting with what felt like the energy of a star.

Peter (Human Spider) busted into the room as soon as the way was clear. You fell against the door, taking a deep breath as you struggled to adjust to how much of that fire you'd just absorbed. It was the most you'd ever taken at once.

Peter scooped up both of the children that were inside, both of whom were sobbing and shrieking for Spider-Man to take them to their mother.

Spider-Man...Spider...Man?

You guffawed and then laughed, wisps of smoke coming out of your mouth as you pointed at Peter. "You're not a man," you said as you two ran out. You absorbed the flame patches as Peter escorted both of them to safety.

"Don't listen to the silly lady," Peter told the kids, sounding only slightly irritated.

Out of the apartment, you all approached more silent patches of danger. You absorbed them. For every ounce of flame, your heart beat faster and faster.

"Are you a fairy?" the little girl asked you.

You brought your hand to your lips. "Don't tell anyone, okay? Are you kids alone in here?" you asked them as you escorted all three. "Is your momma safe outside? Do you know?"

"She was at the store," the little boy of the pair sniveled as she buried her head into 'Spider-Man's' neck.

"Your momma's okay," Peter (Spider-Man, oh my GOD, yeah right!) assured them. You both burst out of the building, released the kids, who instantly found their mother, who had been watching on, crying, before trying to sprint back inside. The door ways were blocked this time. Peter scooped you into his arms and slung out what you realized was a web.

The fire that burned on you, and in you, did not hurt Peter. You could contain it well enough so that to him you were like any other person. Your energy was literally burning the flames out, by now, and you were worried about what would happen once there were no more to give.

But as Peter swung you up, and crashed through the windows, you realized there was a plethora of free energy all around you. You inhaled all the flames you could in a feeble attempt to put the fires out. Whatever progress you made felt like a lot until you looked around and realized there was more than you could have ever dreamed of.

You were abuzz with energy as you bound down the hallway, moving faster and faster as Peter swept behind you, grabbing anyone he could see.

"We make a good team," you said, your voice breathless as Peter threw an old woman out of a window.

She was completely fine, though, all wrapped up and secure with whatever sort of webbing material Peter had coming out of his hands. You want to know what that is. You'd ask as soon as this was over.

You were in the midst of total euphoria; but the floor crumbled beneath your feet. You were close to falling straight through, likely to your death, but Peter wrapped his arms around your waist and swung you to safety. Looking back down, you could see all the way through to the stair well. You were in awe at the movement.

Smoke bellowed out of your hair as you two landed on the other side, tumbling over the hall's creaking floors. There was darkness there, as if the fire hadn't yet reached this part of the building. But you knew better. This fire had been smothered out by some other force, some force stronger than your element, and force that you were suddenly afraid of.

Don't put us out, a voice within you shrieked. Don't let the water snuff us out.

Clutching your chest, you recognized the voice was the same as the little one that came from your bic lighter.

It's fine, you assured them. Burn within me and you'll live on.

"Peter," you whispered. "I think it's over."

You two staggered, walking around the debris in the darkness, but your hair, your body, and even your veins, were like a torch of scorching light. Peter led you carefully around the complex, searching for any other victims while you heard some commotion.

"That sounds like-"

"Authorities," he interrupts. "We should give them a statement. Maybe even help them look for others."

You looked at Spider-Peter, aghast. "They'll see me," you said, your flames flickering blue just for a moment. You didn't notice this, but Peter did, and he stared at your features behind his unreadable mask. You were a scientific breakthrough. But even despite Peter's nerdy wonder, he did realize that you were knew here. You would be questioned and pressed for answers about things like your identity, or your powers. A scientific breakthrough. You might even be caught and taken in for some brutal experimentation.

"Come with me," he said. He pulled a pane of glass out of a tall window, the material crunching and dissolving under the torque of the webby material. He held a hand out for you, the silent beckoning making you cringe. The flaming glow on your hand flickered with hesitance. You feared the cold. But that was your fire talking. Not your real self.

Isn't it? a voice murmured. You hate the cold. You belong with us. You belong to the flames. Your inner battle raged as you hooked your arms around Peter. You looked back towards the apartment as Peter stepped out to the edge, looking over the entire street. This was the very top floor, after all, you think as you feel dizzy. You tucked your face into Peter's neck, nausea sweeping over you as Peter took a confident jump.

You felt the entire realm of reality fall from beneath your feet. Your stomach lurched, your heart stopped, and for a moment, all you could do was take a large breath of the cold, winter air as you and Peter plunged against it.

Onlookers were screaming below. Screaming Spider-Man's name and pointing at you. You couldn't tell if such noises were out of excitement or fear. What did the people think of Spider-Man and his new sidekick?

The fire of your hair sizzled out as Peter swung away from the building, and towards a more reclusive area of the city. Your glow was fading. Though you still burned bright, like lights were stuck under your skin, the warmth was being smothered. Smoke trickled out of your nose as you yelled in Peter's ear, "I'm going out! Stop! Stop!"

Your voice was filled with fear as you looked at the city below. Cars abuzz and pedestrians walking along the snow. The cloudy sky felt like a suffocating weight pushing on your chest.

No! a voice inside you cried, though the sounds grew smaller and smaller.

And then, you were just Y/n. You were shivering, your clothes singed and half burned off. Left into only jeans and old-granny bra, you were clinging onto Peter, hoping no one could see you from below. That would be a sight, wouldn't it?

Peter twisted the angle of his trajection and then landed easily on a rooftop. It was completely baren, empty, and though the pavement beneath you was steady, your mind was swimming.

Peter set you down and you immediately fell on your ass.

"Are you okay?!" Peter cried through his mask. His floundering, though appreciated, was really killing you. "I don't know what to do!"

You coughed out ashes and Peter clutched his head. He made a sound that was half a shout, half a scream of shock. You waved a hand. "I'm fine," you said. You tucked your knees to your chest. "That's normal."

"Are you dying?" he demanded and you glared at your new acquaintance.

"No, I'm not dying," you snapped. "I'm fucking freezing!"

Peter looked around for something to cover you. "Where can we go? Your place?"

You gestured around sharply. "This is my place at the moment. Come on in, make yourself at home." Your words weren't as angry as you would have liked given the chattering of your teeth. Your scare factor had gone down considerably, since Peter wasn't flinching anymore.

Peter cocked his head down at you, as if he were trying to convey a sense of annoyance. "What should I do?" he asked again, urging you for a response.

You shivered and hugged your knees, trying to regenerate some sort of heat. Nothing was working. You were burned out, literally. You couldn't even flash your eyes to view Peter's Thermo, as you had called it since you were a child.

"I have a suitcase somewhere," you explained. You could only hope it was still safely tucked away behind that dumpster. Someone could have easily found it and taken it.

"Like, a magic suitcase? Is it bigger on the inside? Like, the Tardis? Or Newt Scamander's suitcase?" Judging from the tone of his voice, his eyebrows had shot up and his eyes went wide. He sounded eager to discover the secrets of the apparently magic suitcase.

"Who the fuck is Newton Salamander?" you barked. "No, it's not 'bigger on the inside.' It's a suitcase, with my clothes and, like, a little bit of money. It's all I have in the world."

"Are you being sarcastic?" Peter asked tediously.

"Does it look like I'm being sarcastic right now?" you shouted. "No! That suitcase literally has every single one of my belongings. Clothes and my lighter, even. I need it. I hid it behind the dumpster near the cafe we were at. Right next to it."

Peter nodded energetically and flashed two thumbs up. "I'll be right back," he assured you. "Don't die. I'll be right back!"

"Yeah, I heard you the first time," you muttered as Peter leapt off the rooftop.

So fucking strange.

So fucking annoying.

You brought your hands to your mouth, trying to blow warm air. You were pretty convinced that you were actually going to die. The cold was so bitter, so harsh, and you couldn't focus on anything other than the feeling of your nerves being pricked with a thousand needles.

The tingle of lingering tears made you scoff. Why cry? Why now?

You waited for the tears to fall, but they never did. Maybe crying's impossible now. Maybe you're body was permanently damaged from the escapade in that burning building.

You couldn't warm up. You felt hopeless.

Before, you were glowing; alight with power and energy, and it felt endless. It felt like forever.

Now? You're shivering, in a bra and jeans, and you'd lost your shoes somewhere along the way. You didn't notice until you curled your toes under, trying to shield them from the biting cold.

How did other people survive this?

You felt miserable. Your fingers hurt, your face hurt; even the tips of your ears hurt.

Your attempts to recharge remained ever thwarted by the wind chill.

When Peter reappeared, spring through the sky, you felt so glad to see him. How quickly he had changed to you. How quickly he had become so important.

Peter pulled his mask off as he approached your stiff figure. You could hardly move, so he came towards you and unzipped the suitcase.

"Come 'ere," he muttered as he pulled you under his arm. It would have been awkward if you hadn't just experience life and death with him. Just a few hours ago, Peter was a stranger that you felt you must remain wary of. Now he was dressing you in layers of your own, old clothes. A tank top, a shirt, and a sweatshirt later, you were digging around for socks.

"You're barefoot," Peter noticed.

You sent him a biting glare.

He held his hands out in defense of whatever attacks he was expecting. Unfortunately for you, it's too freezing to bother telling him to shut his little mouth.

You pushed yourself to your feet. You had found your lighter and your bundle of cash. The world wasn't ending after all, you realized as you snapped the wheel of your blue, bic tube. You mediated a flare of fire, blowing it up in your face.

Peter stared at you, precarious of the sight. You pressed your nostril over the tail of fire and took a deep inhale.

Maybe you are a crackhead, Peter thought to himself.

As you inhaled, a quick glitter of light passed through your veins.but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, making Peter doubt he'd even seen it.

You shivered in content and stretched your arms out.

"Better?" Peter asked, cautious.

"Tons better," you moaned. You redirected the new abundance of energy to your feet. You faced Peter now, stuffing your hands in the pouch of your sweatshirt.

"So," you said as you started to circle him. "Spider-Man?"

"Long story," he says bashfully.

"You're like a superhero," you added. "Got a costume, and a fanbase, and everything."

Peter shrugged. "You've never heard of Spider-Man?"

"I've heard of the Avengers," you noted. You stroked your chin. "Never a Spider man, though. Spider-Man. Huh. Did you come up with that name yourself?" You asked, and this made Peter frown deeply. He shrugged. With a palm scraping the back of his neck, he sharply muttered, "Perhaps."

You looked him up and down once more. You finally lifted your nose high. "I could tell you had powers," you said wisely, folding your arms across your chest. "You're very hot."

Peter stared.

"I meant your heat signature," you revised. You felt like screaming into the void. "Because my powers. Like, my eyes. I can just tell. You know what? Nevermind."

Peter looked interested. He pointed at you. "Heat signature?" He repeated. "What exactly are your abilities?"

Puzzled, you gave him a side eye. "Uhm." No one has ever asked such a question. What's more, you'd never openly told anyone about your abilities. Mandy and Megan didn't really count. They were family. They were trusted sources.

Upon explaining your abilities to Peter, he lit up into a fascinated grin. "And you were born that way?" he asked.

You shrugged.

You felt embarrassed, suddenly. "I mean, yeah," you mumbled. "I said I was visiting my mom. It wasn't a total lie. She's not a teacher in Long Island. In fact, I don't know what she is. She gave me up for adoption. I came here to track her down, and to maybe even get some answers about what I am. Lately I've been getting stronger. I just want to know if she can help me. I have been searching for nearly a year now. I'm at the end of my rope, here! I just...I'm starting to lose hope."

Peter nodded, looking sympathetic to your cause. He appeared genuine. It was a nice feeling, you realized, to have someone on your side. Support.

Weird.

"And you don't have a place to stay?" he asked you then. He didn't press on anything else, which made you shrug. "Nope. I've gotta try and find somewhere. I'm running out of money. I won't last another week, here. New York is fucking expensive, you know."

"Don't say that like it's may fault," Peter said as he pulled his mask over his face, flattening the brown curly mop on his head. "You can stay with me."

"No," you told him. "Thanks, but no."

"Fine," Peter said with a shrug. "Then enjoy camping out in the snow."

You blanched. "The what?"

"Yep," Peter nodded. "It's due to snow again tonight, and all day tomorrow."

Your jaw went slack. Snow? The word sent chills down your spine. The attempt to keep the shock and sneer off your face didn't go unnoticed. Such a pathetic attempt made Peter snicker.

Swallowing your pride, you raised your chin and shrugged. "Since you're offering," you said, "then why not."

"Yeah, sure," he said. "You're welcome."

You muttered 'thank you' under your breath.

Peter lifted a hand to his ear. "What was that?" His voice was lilt with amusement. It really rubbed you the wrong way, and for no real reason.

A clenched fist threatened to punch Peter, and he seemed to take it somewhat seriously, because he took hold of your suitcase. "We going or what?" he asked.

You took another quick inhale of your lighter before shrugging at him. "Fine," you scowled. You gripped your lighter tight in your hand before begrudgingly entering Peter's grasp. With your arms wrapped round his neck, and his own around you, you wondered how he could possibly be comfortable. He was even carrying your suitcase, although it wasn't that big enough to be a great feat.

You closed your eyes as Peter swept off the roof. The sensation of total loss caught you by surprise one more time. You weren't sure how Peter could be used to it. How long had he been acting as this figure? Spider-Man was clearly well known. He had fans, and the little boy from the building knew his name. Besides. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

His navigation skills were on par with a GPS. Not to mention he wasn't the least bit out of breath.

Upon arriving to his own apartment, which took about five minutes of swinging over the city, Peter ushered you through the window. He put his hand politely over your back as he pushed you into the little room. He entered next, setting your suitcase down with ease. He shut the window, locked it, then drew all the curtains. When he was sure that it was safe, he pulled his mask off.

"This is where a superhero lives?" you asked as you looked around. It was tiny, to say the least. Somewhat dismal. But it had a bed, a desk, and one, little living area and bathroom. The lumpy couch faced a small TV, the size of a monitor even, that had the paused screen of a Star Wars movie.

"Shut up," Peter sniped as he dragged your suitcase around. "As far as you're concerned, this is a five star bed and breakfast. So deal with it."

You imitated a cat's rough meow. "Touchy subject?" you asked.

Peter rolled his brown eyes. "Don't be a bitch," he grumbled as he dug through his closet for clothes. "I'm going to get changed. Make yourself comfortable."

You wondered how Peter could be so trusting. He'd revealed his identity to you within two days of knowing you. Less than that, even. This was technically your second encounter with the bug boy.

You took a seat on the twin mattress and looked around. His desk was littered with a Singer sewing machine and fabric swatches, a few heavy textbooks, and a chromebook. There was a stack of spiral notebooks on the floor, likely filled with notes for whatever crazy shit he was studying.

Quantum theory, biochemistry, calculus III.

"Damn, Parker," you whistled as you grazed the textbooks with a finger.

You couldn't begin to imagine how hard those subjects were.

You had just barely graduated with a GED. Unlike Peter, apparently, who likely graduated as valedictorian! Judging from his place, as well as is face, and voice, you assumed he was your age, if not a few years younger or older.

Overall, his little apartment was a cozy corner, tucked away from the rest of the world. You peaked out the window, fingers carefully edging past the blackout curtains. Snow was drifting down the sky. You sighed. How long would you have to stay here?

No offense to Peter, but his place wasn't exactly equipped for visitors.

You took a seat on the edge of the bed, noticing that he at least had a comfortable mattress. You cast your eyes towards the small living room. Hopefully the couch was as comfortable.

You ventured out to take a closer look at the living room, careful not to knock over the little monitor propped on a TV tray. Peter had a fold up table set in the corner, with a hot plate, toaster oven, and microwave. No coffee maker? Maybe you'd splurge and buy him one, as a gift. Afterall, he was definitely going out on a limb for you. You wondered if he could even afford to host you.

His pantry was a pathetic array of blueberry poptarts and dry cereal. Not even any food to make with his mini kitchen.

You frowned.

"Don't be so judgmental," Peter's voice rang. "I can feel your thoughts."

"I'm not judging," you informed him. "You sure you even want me here?"

Peter shrugged. "You don't have to. But it's better than a hotel, right? This way you can stay as long as you need."

You took a seat on the sofa. It was small, not very comfortable, but you would make due with it. You weren't in any position to be complaining.

"No way, you can take the bed," Peter informed you when he watched you curl onto the sofa.

You stared, flabbergasted that he'd even known what you were thinking. "Is mind reading one of your spider tricks?" you asked.

"No, I'm just intuitive. Take the bed."

"You're, like, at least five-seven," you estimated. "You'll be dangling off this thing all night."

Peter looked from side to side. He evaluated your words but just shrugged them off. "And?"

"And?" God, he's irritating. "Just sleep in the damn bed, dude, I'm not going to kick you out of it."

"What's with your attitude?" Peter asked with a toothy grin. He ventured to the makeshift kitchen and searched for a poptart. "Hungry?"

"I prefer strawberry," you informed him. "Like a normal person."

"Suit yourself," Peter sighed as he tore the foil. He stuck both pastries in the toaster, making you cringe. "And you toast them? Where the hell am I? Alternate dimension?"

Peter sent you a pointed glare. "You don't toast your poptarts?" he asked in a low voice.

"Of course not," you said, sticking your nose in the air. "They get all mushy and warm-too gooey."

Peter's brows pulled together. "Since when do you have an issue with things being warm," he scoffed as he pulled his pastries out of the toaster. "Seriously. You should eat something. Help yourself. It's not exactly a sushi buffet but...just eat."

You looked at him, shocked at the sudden soft lure of his voice. You quietly nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

Peter grinned. "That's the nicest you've been to me all day," he noticed as he took a large bite of his snack.

You shuffled to the table. The dry cereal came in mini boxes, like the sort a hotel breakfast would serve. Cinnamon toast crunch. Now that was calling your name. You pulled the small bag open and dug in, your mouth watering as you munched on the sugary wafers.

You followed Peter into his bedroom. He sat at his desk, opening up his chromebook. Perching on the edge of his bed, you watched him go to his bank account. He did some calculations, scribbling numbers on a piece of paper and muttering under his breath. You watched in silence.

He finally shut the laptop and looked at you. "Want to order pizza?" he said decidedly.

You shrugged. "Whatever," you said, acting as if your heart didn't race at the prospect of cheesy bread and garlic knots.

After a thoughtful chew of a cereal handful, you set the box down on Peter's desk and went searching for your suitcase. You dug around for the rubberbound roll of cash and pulled out three twenties.

You stalked to Peter's chair.

He looked up at you, confused. "Can I help you?" he asked.

You just stared in silence. You shot your hand out, forcing the money in his face. Peter sighed. "Isn't that yours?" he then sighed. "Keep it."

"No way," you said. "You need it. Besides, you're letting me stay the night. I was already planning on paying for a motel room. Let's just pretend you're the motel. Take the fucking cash, Parker," you finally snapped when Peter opened his mouth to complain. Peter frowned. His nose wrinkled with distaste as he snatched the sixty dollars from your hand. "Thanks, I guess," he mumbled as he tucked the money in a little drawer. "Groceries on you, then."

A malicious smirk captured your mouth. "That money is for you!" you informed him in the tone of a happy chirp. Peter started to argue again.

You silenced him by holding out a finger. "I'm going to buy groceries, too. Use that shit for something good," you commanded. Peter rolled his doe eyes.

"All of a sudden we're best friends?" he teased.

You waved a hand. You reached for your cereal again, digging around for the little pieces of cinnamon goodness. "Please," you grinned ,"you'd be lucky to have a friend like me. Spider-Man included."

Leaning back in his rolling chair, Peter strapped his muscular arms over his chest. You realized you hadn't stopped to examine him in his pajamas.

His sleeves were on the brink of busting at the seams. Peter had some huge biceps, and a broad, muscular chest.

To see someone like him wearing sweatpants should have been illegal. But you were good at containing yourself. Besides: Peter's too annoying to be attractive. He'd also stalked you, you reminded yourself.

Some part of your mind realized, however, that every reason you gave yourself to not like Peter were simply excuses. He was sort of amazing. Despite having known him for seven hours.

"Say, why don't you become my sidekick?" Peter suggested. He burst into laughter when your face fell flat.

"That's really funny. Give my money back."

Peter quickly apologized. You smirked, feeling like you were in total control of your emotions.

Now that you'd settled down, you started to realize you had no idea what to do next.

Tomorrow you would go back to the apartment complex to search for Angie Jones. No matter what side quests you'd gotten yourself into, your main objective hadn't changed. Angelica Jones was your top priority. Finding her could change life as you know it. Any information on your background and powers would be greatly appreciated. You could sense yourself growing stronger, like a fire on the brink of going out of control.

That scared you.

Peter did, in fact, order pizza and drinks while you took a shower under scalding water. You wanted to laze in the tiled sanctuary all night and relish in the steam and scorching water, but you knew better than to rack up extra zeroes on Peter's water bill.

As you pat yourself dry, you wondered how Peter even made his money. It wasn't as if his vigilante gig was a job. You doubted the city was sending Spider-Man biweekly checks.

Now clad in pajamas, you shuffled out to the living room. Peter was already sitting and scarfing down a slice of pizza with gooey cheese and greasy pepperoni. Your mouth watered at the sight. You very carefully got yourself a slice, and kept yourself restrained as you ate it.

The escapade with the fire had certainly used up a lot of your energy. But you were feeling better. You could see Peter's Thermo again, which made you feel tons better.

"What are your powers?" You asked finally. You took another large bite as Peter began to recount his own story. Not everyone is born with such gifts, you realized. Peter had been thrust into such a world by pure accident.

Learning about his sixth sense made a few things click into place. You explained to him the way Thermos work. You could see his body's change in temperature when he actively used a power, such as his weird, spider-y sense. The flickering of his thermal image simply marked the usage of it.

Peter asked you lots of questions. He asked if you were a fire bender and you told him, with a heavy heart, that you could control fire. You could redirect it, you could absorb it, but control? No. Fire could not be controlled. Fire is mindless and hungry, seeking to consume and takeover. Control? Not possible. Not even for you.

As the night progressed, you and Peter learned more about each other. He gave you the last slice of pizza.

"Why would you tell me about...you know, your identity? We've just met. What makes you think you can trust me?" You asked this all before taking a large bite of the last slice. You'd definitely needed the carbs.

Peter thought about that. His face conveyed his thought progression as he finally said, "I had a feeling that you needed me. Needed some kind of help."

"Is that apart of your spider sense?" You asked as you nibbled on the pizza like a mouse.

Peter's shoulders shrugged dramatically. "I dunno," he admitted. He scratched the back of his neck with some apprehension. "I'll find out."

"That's dangerous," you pointed out. "Super hero 101 always says keep your identity a secret."

Peter's gaze averted to the floorboards, the dirt, old wood that was faded and creaky. "I don't have anything to lose," he admitted. "There's no one in my life. I have nothing. Some days I feel like nothing. So I guess that was my way of being adventurous."

His sad, doey, brown eyes dragged to meet yours. Pain struck you in the chest, a devastating blow that sent an ache all inside. Nothing to lose.

You lost your appetite. "I know what you mean," you whispered. You threw out the pizza crust, which generally was your favorite part.

"You have someone," Peter said sympathetically. "Your mother is out there. You should find her."

You grimaced. "While that's technically correct, there's no actual guarantee that she'll accept me. Hell. Maybe this isn't the right woman. Maybe I've reached another dead end. And on the other hand...what if it is her? What if she rejects me? I don't know how I could recover from that. My whole life, I've told myself I don't need a mother. I don't need anyone. I was fine with what I had, but looking back at if, now? I realize I have barely been keeping myself together. I'm lonely. And all I want is to have someone. A small part of me is still a child waiting for her mother to come home."

Though your words had become suddenly passionate and emotional, Peter didn't seem to be criticizing you. He nodded like he actually understood or even gave a damn. Did he?

You couldn't tell. You didn't want to tell.

"I'm tired," you said casually. "Uhm. I guess I'll just lay down, here, then?" You pat the surface of the sofa.

"No," Peter said firmly. "Stop being stubborn and take the damn bed. After today, you need the rest."

You frowned. You were tempted to tell him Don't tell me what to do, but with the way his eye caught yours, you couldn't muster the words. Your heart felt like it was clogged in your throat.

"Okay," you said quietly. "Thanks."

Peter raised his eyebrows, and you saw a flash of his Thermo.

"Stop studying me," you quipped as you brushed past him, being very careful not to make physical contact.

"I'm not studying you," Peter defended.

"You forget that I can tell when you're using your weird little bug powers," you called from the bedroom. You aimed the spaceheater towards the bed, turning the heat on high.

Peter made a small sound of disagreement. "You're not supposed to put those things on full blast," he said. "It's a safety hazard."

You stared. "Are you joking?" You couldn't tell. Peter, having become bashful, ruffled his hair and muttered something to himself as he walked to his closet. He pulled out a set of lame, flat pillows and a threadbare quilt. You frowned and Peter groaned. "What's up with you always making that face?" he asked as he carried his things to the sofa. On your way after him, you unplugged the space heater and cradled it in your arms, the singe of the metal going unnoticed.

You propped it by the couch. "Use this," you said.

Peter raised a brow. "Don't you have to sleep with it?" he asked cautiously.

You shook your head with a long eye roll. "No. I don't need heat to live. It's just heavily preferred."

Peter scoffed. "So that stunt earlier was just you being dramatic? I thought you would die in the cold! What do you think normal people have to go through, huh?" He looked much too amused by your plight as you adjusted the spaceheater with a scowl engrained on your mouth. "I swear, all you can do is frown, frown, frown. You're so grumpy."

"I am not grumpy," you griped. "Go to sleep. Don't be worrying about fires, either."

"Whatever," Peter groaned as he rolled onto the couch. His bundle of long limbs and hair looked awkward, confined to the lumpy cushions that couldn't even hold a golden retriever. You caught yourself frowning again. You shook your head, trying to get the sullied expression off your face. Peter was right, you sourly realized.

With a terse, "Good night," you lurched back into the bedroom. It was foreign. It smelled like Peter.

You laid in his bed, awkwardly trying not to rest against the pillow, because again, all of your senses were filled with Peter. It was vey weird. There was a mild tension filling the air. You could feel it. Did Peter?

It's to be expected. He's a boy, you're a girl-could it be anymore obvious?

Given the current circumstance, however, you had no intentions on pursuing any sort of relation with Peter. He could be your friend.

That's it.

Besides, you don't even know him. He could really be crazy, like you suspected earlier. But he seemed like you: lonely. He needed someone, perhaps, to relate to. Given his sorrowful tale, which included magic and spells (you took this with a grain of salt), you figured he really had no one. His loss was indescribable. You; born with no one, who has no one, meeting the young man who had been born with everything but fell to rock bottom.

It sounded like a good show premise. Maybe a reality show about vigilantes.

Would you be a guest star? Or a recurring character? That depended.

You clutched your lighter, playing with the flame. You ran it over your fingers as you stared at Peter's popcorn ceiling.

"Y/n!" Peter's voice called from the adjacent room.

You put out the lighter and tucked it underneath the blanket. "Nothing!"

"...What?"

You wanted to smack yourself. "Nothing. What's up?"

"We're on the news," he responded cheerfully. "You've been introduced to New York City as Spider-Man's Amazing Friend, The Human Star."

You swung out of the bed, your feet padding across the creaky floor. You went to Peter's side and held out your hand, silently demanding his smartphone.

Peter tucked it close to his chest. "Why are you standing over me like a sleep paralysis figure?"

You snatched the phone from him, making him swear. "Bitchy, much?"

You didn't bother to respond to that. Your eyes scanned the article. Unknown figure! "Hey," you said with a small smile. "I'm an 'unknown figure.'"

You zoomed in on the attached photograph. It was of you, and Spider-Man, both unrecognizable. You didn't look like yourself. You were like a humanoid figure drenched in fire and light.

"The new hero, dubbed The Human Star by the people of Superhero FandomTwitter, was spotted this afternoon by onlookers. Witnesses who interacted with the new vigilante first hand claimed she could absorb flames, resist heat, and fly." You poured. "I wish I could fly!"

Peter held a hand out for his device. You reluctantly relinquished the phone, taking one last look at the image of yourself. Or rather the blur of light.

Peter shooed you away with a hand, as if you were dust on his shoulder. "Alright, don't get such a big head. I just wanted to show you that. Go to sleep before I got steal my bed back."

You put your hands on your hips, radiating with attitude. "I told you that you could sleep there anyways."

"Nah," Peter groaned as he fluffed his pillow. He rolled to his other side, leaving his back to you. "You need to rest. You had your first real hero day."

Blushing in the darkness, you muttered, "Well, I couldn't have done it without you."

"What?" Peter asked, sounding genuine.

"You're annoying," you said. You journey back to the bedroom, unaware that Peter had heard you just fine. He nuzzled his own pillow with a victorious grin on his face.

Sometime during the night, Peter was digging through his closet like a raccoon in a trash can. You sat up, your hair a mess and your voice thick. "What are you doing?" You asked. You weren't completely aware of your surroundings, still half asleep as Peter responded, "Powers out. Snow storm. It's cold."

You curled back down to the covers and huffed a breath through your nose. Warmth billowed over your body.

"Come lay with me," you said. You moved to the side of the mattress and pulled the covers aside, gesturing for him to get in.

Peter looked wary. "I-"

"Parker, would you lay the fuck down?" you suddenly snapped. You rubbed your eyeswuth a fist. You palmed around the bed, searching for your bic lighter. You lit it up and took a deep breath to prepare for your new role as a human furnace. "Now I'm awake. Happy? Just lay down and I'll warm you up."

Peter, caught by surprise, shook his head to himself as he succumbed to your orders. He carefully crawled beside you. "Don't tell anyone about this," you warned him as you rolled over, pulling Peter closer to your body. You released a slow, heavy breath, out your nose, and expelled a strong wave of heat. Peter shivered. He could see his breath, and he wondered how you hadn't been bothered. He also wondered how this apartment was up to code.

You adjusted, struggling to get comfortable. Peter tried to move in an attempt to help, but his nose brushed yours.

You both paused.

Peter's eyes caught yours, flickered to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

You stopped breathing.

"I'm going to turn around," Peter muttered.

He rolled, his back facing you once more.

"I'm still...cold," he mumbled, his voice faint.

Your limbs felt heavy as you wrapped an arm over Peter's waist. His muscles were warm and tough beneath his thin, cotton shirt. Your stomach leapt.

The sensation was exactly like that of swinging around New York.

"Don't tell anyone about this," you warned him again as he rolled his hips back into yours. Was he trying to fucking kill you? Or did he have a death wish?

Peter scoffed. His body went tense for a split second. It was enough for you to notice. "I don't have any friends to tell."

The saddness in his voice was evident whether he'd been joking or not.

You frowned upon his back; you're well aware he couldn't see it but if he had, he'd have made a snide remark. You tucked yourself closer to Peter as he shivered, and you rolled out more expulsions of heat. Your energy had been depleted earlier, but after a few hours of sleep, you were stable and once more able to supply warmth; so long as you could stay still and calm, you could keep Peter warm all night.

"I'll be your friend," you told him. Your words did not get a response for a few moments. You felt worried that you'd overstepped a boundary.

But finally, Peter's agreed. "Alright," he said, sounding decided. "As my friend, can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

He turned back to look at you, readjusting his pillow as he prepared for gossip. "There's this girl I met today, and she's totally looking for excuses to feel me up," he said.

He burst into a fit of laughter when your ears started steaming. You punched him as hard as your tired body could allow, right in the shoukder. "I'm joking! I'm joking! I'm sorry!" He exclaimed, wheezing with unbridled amusement.

"You're hilarious," you said as you reluctantly ceased your attempts to push him off the bed. "I could scald the hell out of you. You know that?"

"Sure I know that," Peter agreed happily. "You're big, bad, and tough. I get it."

"Mhmm," you scoffed.

Peter pulled you closer to his chest, cradling you with strange intimacy. With your head tilted to his chest, your mind started to black out. Intervals of consciousness had numbed your mind and body to the fact that you and Peter were cuddling on his bed.

Strangely enough, you thought as you drifted back to sleep, I think I could get used to this.

Though tomorrow you'd continue your search for Angelica Jones, you would rest easy tonight. You didn't want to think about the next steps to take after that. What other leads could you find?

How long would Peter be willing to play host? Tonight, sure, the power was out and he needed to keep warm somehow. But what about when summer rolls around? Would he even be able to stand staying with you for that long?

A childish part of you was trying to imagine the life you could build here, being roommates with another person like you. Another person who could understand the struggles and frustrations you encountered day to day.

Spider-Man and the Human Star. Hmm. Maybe they'd make a good team.

#peter parker x reader #starfirette writes #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfic #spider man x reader #spider-man x reader #spider-man imagine #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #Tom Holland #spider man: no way home #sm: no way home #spider man #spider-man #Peter Parker x Firestar! reader #Peter Parker x vigilante! reader #Peter Parker x superhero! reader #spider man and his amazing friends #fluff #x reader fluff #angst #x reader angst

[mandoalorian]

Look After You [Joel Miller x F!Reader] SMUT

Summary: Joel Miller goes out of his way every single day to take care of you and protect you. So, naturally, when he joins you during your first shower in weeks, you decide it’s your turn to look after him and show him just how much you appreciate him.

Warnings: 18+ Explicit, male receiving oral, handjob, body worship, shower seggs

Word count: 1,2k

Summary: I’m still in Tumblr jail guys! The only way people will be able to see this fic is if you reblog it. As always, reblogs mean so much to me but now more than ever, I really really would appreciate them. Without reblogs, my fics are going to get ZERO reach because my blog is flagged and my works won’t show up in the tags! And reach gives me motivation. I hope you all understand and enjoy this little ficlet. I’ve been playing TLOU and phew, Joel Miller has my heart.

gif by: @hunterschafer

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It was your first shower in weeks, and there was simply no feeling comparable to the steamy hot water splashing against your skin. Your response was immediate. You wanted to cry with happiness as it washed away the extensive amount of dirt that you’d accumulated over the past month or so. The pressure was amazing too. You turned around, letting the water hit right between your shoulder blades. It felt ethereal.

You were so lost in your own thoughts, you didn’t even realise Joel had stepped in the shower and was standing behind you, watching you shamelessly as you twirled around underneath the stream of water. His big hands steadied on your hips and he squeezed at the soft flesh. You gasped at first, shocked by his presence, but your body quickly curled into his chest as he extended his strong arms and wrapped them around your torso.

“Feels good?” Joel drawled out with a light chuckle, his Southern accent thick and delicious.

You moaned out something incoherent but judging from the smile on your face and the way your eyes were closed with delight, Joel assumed you were having the time of your life. He hadn’t seen you this relaxed... ever.

“You don’t mind that I’m here?” Joel asked, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. Sure, you two had been sleeping together, but he didn’t want to intrude on your first shower in weeks. If you wanted alone time, he wouldn’t be mad at you for that. You leaned your head into the crook of his neck and pulled him under the stream of water, illustrating that you were more than happy that he was here, with you.

Your hands palmed his body as you tried to wipe away the dirt. Your fingers gently brushed against the scars he had, crossing his chest and stomach. Joel swallowed thickly as you touched him.

“I have something,” he told you, reluctantly swatting your hands away and turning around to grab a bottle of 3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner and shower gel. He presented it to you with a charming grin. A smile that could break hearts.

You couldn’t help but gasp, taking the bottle from his hands and examining it closely.

“Joel!” you exclaimed. “Did you find this in the pharmacy raid?” Joel nodded proudly. “But how?”

“It was the last bottle and it was just laying on the floor. Looked like someone must’ve dropped it and not turned back to pick it up.”

You shook your head in disbelief and laughed ecstatically, popping open the cap and squirting the teal blue liquid into the palms of your hands. It smelled like fresh mint.

“May I?” you asked Joel, curling your fingers and gesturing to his torso. He nodded his head and you began to work the soap into a foam, rubbing it into his tensed up body.

His eyes snapped shut and your hands moved like magic. You pulled him so he stood under the stream of hot, steamy water, and worked the soap into his body for a good few minutes, not wanting to miss any inch of skin. The 3-in-1 soap probably retailed at around two dollars, but this felt like the first genuine luxury you’d had in years.

Joel opened his eyes briefly, watching you as you bathed him. Your lips were curled into the most adorable smile and you were humming a sweet melody. He recognised it as the song you nursed Ellie to when she struggled to sleep.

“You’re so beautiful.” Joel admitted with a huff, and he instantly felt his cheeks blush a warm rosy colour at the admission. You were shocked too, judging by the way your eyes widened and you looked down at your feet. Neither you nor Joel ever got romantic, per se. Meaningful words of affirmation were never really Joel’s forte.

You reached up and pressed your naked body into his. He brought his hands to the curve of your ass and held you as you maneuvered your own hands to his dark locks of hair. You ran the shampoo through your fingers and massaged it into his scalp, doing your best to ignore his erection that was now pressing into your thigh.

You kissed him softly along his collarbones and you dragged your tongue to the column of his neck, where the skin was soft and damp. You removed your hands from his hair and let the water rinse away the soap.

“Your turn.” Joel announced, his voice having dropped an octave or two.

Joel copied your movements, squirting the soap into his hands and rubbing it into your skin. He paid extra attention to your breasts though, palming at the soft flesh and rubbing his thumbs over your hardening nipples.

“So perfect.” he murmured, alongside other words of appraisal. You curled your body into him on instinct, loving the way he caressed you under the steaming hot water.

Joel loved your body. He loved to touch it and worship it.

You dropped your hand to his already hard cock and began to pump it, living for the way gasps and whimpers fell from his lips. He gently pushed you down to your knees and applied the shampoo to your hair, rubbing it in as you peppered kisses along his thick length.

You started by kitten-licking his slit, relishing the beads of precum that had gathered there and adoring the salty taste on your tongue. You spent some time massaging his balls before finally settling and wrapping your lips around his head.

He was big. Bigger than you’d ever taken before. You pushed your mouth onto him, as deep as you could, and began to suck. Joel tossed his head back and moaned lewdly, tugging on your wet hair as you sucked him off.

“F-fuck, f-feels so good,” he gasped out and you couldn’t help but smile around him. “Keep doing that and I won’t— I won’t last.” he warned.

Joel tried to concentrate on washing the rest of your hair but as you increased your speed, your hair became bunched up in his fists.

You pulled off him with a pop, your saliva trailing from the tip off his cock to your soft lips. You gasped for breath and battered your eyelashes, looking up at him with the most innocent doe eyes. The water was still splashing against you and the hot condensation in the room was working wonders.

“You work too hard Joel,” you told him, still pumping his cock with your hand. “Taking care of us all. Protecting us. Just relax and let me look after you.”

Joel opened his mouth to protest but before he could argue, you reattached your lips and continued blowing him.

It wasn’t long before you felt his manhood twitching in your mouth. A loud gasp and a buck of his hips had him cumming down your throat. When he finished, you slowly pulled away from him and rose to your feet.

You placed your hands on either side of his face and lovingly nudged your nose against his.

“You’re so good to me,” he sighed. “So good.”

“It’s what you deserve.” You promised him before gently pressing your lips against his. He held you tight as you kissed him and he cradled your body, not wanting to lose you like he’s lost everyone else he’s ever cared for.

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#help me pedro tumblr #reblogs are my only hope #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #tlou #idek why i’m tagging this when i’m in jail and it’s not even gonna show