#'significantly less trouble' yeah so about that.

[distant-velleity]

Throwing Him a Bone

Summary: Main Story Book 1 - the very first scene where Ace comes to Ramshackle, but with my Yuusona. Word count: 1.4k+ A/N: Okay. Um. Once again not my finest work but it's super fun to write silly stuff like this. Yu normally puts up a nice, shy facade but Ace has managed to speedrun ticking him off, and it really shows haha. They'll get used to each other eventually. There's a slight reference to this scene but it's really not that important. Enjoy lol <3

~

In theory, Yu should’ve flopped onto his bed and been out like a light. After a long day of meeting students, getting dragged into trouble, and narrowly avoiding the consequences of mages’ actions, he should have slept like a rock until the next morning. A slightly worn mattress and thin blankets that would definitely be the death of him in the winter should have been enough to keep him sound asleep.

Instead, he finds himself waking up at an unknown time in the dead of night, his uneasy awakening triggered by a series of distressed knocks on the door. 

Yu doesn’t move. Stranger danger, and all that.

The knocks pause for a moment, waiting for a response, and then continue with more anger to them this time. They’re accompanied by shouts—“Hello? Is anyone in there? Dude, you gotta let me in!”

Even though he recognizes the voice, Yu still hesitates. Ramshackle is so structurally unsound that he can almost imagine the entire dormitory shaking; it’s probably in his best interest to go downstairs and nip the problem in the bud. At the same time, he was trying to get some beauty sleep after a long day of incidents caused by a certain someone.

A System notification opens up before him—

[ MAIN MISSION — “Sheltered Beneath the Rosebushes” 

OBJECTIVE: ACE needs to talk with you. Hear him out and make your choice. ]

Fuck. 

As the rapid knocking starts up again, Yu curses under his breath and hauls himself off the bed. He pads down the stairs barefoot, hoping to get this over with quickly. 

“I hope he at least makes this worth my time,” he mutters, and then opens the door to see Ace with what looks like a giant collar around his neck. “...What the fuck?”

Ace grimaces, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “Hey, can you let me in already? I’ve been out here for a while, you know…!”

Yu crosses his arms. “I thought you had a dorm of your own.”

“That’s why I’m here! Look—listen…” Ace places a hand against the doorframe, gesturing angrily with his other one. “I absolutely can’t go back to Heartslabyul House. It’s insane there! You gotta let me join your dorm!”

“I’m not even a student, how are you gonna—” Yu blinks. “Come again?”

“I’ll explain once I’m inside, okay?”

Seriously, Yu doesn’t know how to feel about this guy. First he pulls up with a slick, nice-guy attitude—then gets them all stuck on cafeteria cleaning duty—and then pushes Deuce’s buttons even further at the dwarves’ mine… and now this? 

You’d think he’d learn already…

Yu steps aside reluctantly. “Not gonna lie, you’re really testing my patience here…”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that,” replies Ace as he enters, not sounding very sorry. Still, he rubs his wrist as if he can still feel Yu holding it in a death grip. 

The door is closed, and Ace slumps onto the couch openly like he owns the place. Yu gives him the side-eye and sits on the armchair across from him, feeling weirdly like an underpaid therapist.

“So.” Ace, slouching and resting his arms on his knees, lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I got this collar thing from my housewarden. It’s his signature spell or something, and it stops me from using magic.”

“Okay,” Yu says, because a world where Ace can’t use magic seems like a wonderfully peaceful one. And he’s not really sure what to do with the sudden exposition.

Ace shakes his head. “Not okay! Dude, I got this for eating a tart. A tart!”

“You… ate a tart.” Yu opens his mouth, closes it because that does sound a little unfair at first, and then reconsiders. “Elaborate?”

“See, I was a little hungry…”

--

Ace tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen, holding his stomach and glancing around to make sure the coast was clear. He was, in basic terms, fucking starving after the chaotic first day he’d had, and desperately needed a snack after missing dinner entirely. 

“Nailed it,” he whispered as he snuck into the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge. “Okay, fridge. Whaddya got here…”

As soon as he opened the fridge door, his eyes widened like saucers. Three whole tarts, decorated with artistic precision, sat right in front of him. The fruit toppings shone like jewels, buried amongst snowy mountains of whipped cream.

“Whoa…” Ace couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping. “There’s so many…! No one would notice if I snagged a slice, right? Haha. ‘Course not.”

And so, with that one-track thought process, he stuffed a whole piece into his mouth. 

It was—to put it simply—delicious. He didn’t consider himself a food connoisseur of any kind, but the combination of fruit, cream, and crust was simply divine.

“My Seven,” he muttered, “I think I’m in pastry paradise right now…”

He was too busy falling in love with the tart to notice the presence behind him, brimming with anger.

“Of course they’re good,” remarked a lofty and refined but firm voice. “Trey made them. His tarts are always exceptional.”

“Yeah, no kidding! These are crazy good—I’m talking ‘so good he could sell them at’—” Ace realized, suddenly, what it meant for him that he wasn’t alone. Slowly snapping out of his reverie, he turned around. “H…Housewarden?!”

Cold grey eyes burned holes into his soul. “You dare touch something of mine… If nothing else, you certainly have an abundance of audacity.” Although he was still in sleepwear, he pulled out his magic pen, and it extended into his signature heart-topped scepter immediately. “But the Queen of Hearts’ rule 89 leaves no room for exceptions: ‘Never eat a tart without the Queen’s permission.’ The theft of tarts is a serious crime, do you understand?”

Ace knew what was going to happen immediately, stomach sinking with dread. “Wait, wait—c’mon, Housewarden, hear me out—”

“ 『Off With Your Head』 !” 

“BWAAAAAH!!!”

--

“—and now we’re here,” grumbles Ace. He looks up and winces at Yu’s unimpressed expression.

“You literally told me earlier this afternoon that the Queen of Hearts places a heavy emphasis on rules,” Yu recalls, “and then—not even a day later—you go ahead and break the simplest one?”

“It was one slice, Yu. One slice! I lost my magic over a slice of tart! From three whole tarts that he couldn’t have eaten by himself!”

Yu frowns. “I think the main takeaway is that you’re both awful. Did you even apologize?”

Ace pauses, and then deflates. “No, but… c’mon, I was expecting you to be more sympathetic. I’m a victim of injustice!”

“Um. Right. I think the situation will blow over if you just… apologize. Not right now, obviously, but tomorrow.” When he gets a look, he rolls his eyes. “I’ve yet to hear you give anyone a proper apology. At least be the bigger person and make things right.”

“Alright, alright. Fine, I should probably apologize,” Ace concedes. “But you’re coming with me, got it? Since it was your idea.”

“I can’t believe you need a chaperone,” mutters Yu. “Okay, whatever.”

“Anyway, back to my original point, can I crash here for the night?”

Yu stares at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Pretty please, with a cherry on top?” Ace clasps his hands together. “There’s no way I can go back to my dorm tonight wearing the collar of shame. You wouldn’t let me sleep outside in the cold, would you?”

Unfortunately, that’s true. Yu would feel bad, even if he did it out of spite; and he’s far too familiar with the embarrassing feeling of having to crawl back ‘home’ after being punished. “Crewel cleaned up the lounge and my bedroom, but didn’t put as much effort in the other sleepable areas,” he points out. “Your options are kinda limited.”

Ace pulls out the puppy-dog eyes. “Won’t you just let me stay with you? I’m real slim, Yu—I won’t take up a whole lotta space. Pleeease?”

“Wh—” Yu cannot express the visceral disgust that shoots through him. “Dude, we just met. Keep it in your pants.” 

“Huh—?”

“The couch,” Yu says plainly, standing up. “You’re sleeping on the couch. And you’d better stay there—no funny business, or I’m gonna beat you up now that you can’t threaten me with magic.”

Ace huffs. “Geez, you’re so harsh on me… Guess I gotta pick the lesser of two evils, though. Sofa it is.” He starts shrugging off his blazer. “G’night.”

“Uh-huh. See you in the morning.”

With that over with, Yu trudges back up the stairs—hoping that he’ll actually get some sleep this time around, and hoping that the morning will bring significantly less trouble to his doorstep.

[diamonddaze01]

baby, darling, light of my entire life

pairing: csc x fem!reader genre: tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, slice of life | wc: 2.4k au: married au! warning: alcohol consumption (by the reader) | rating: e for everyone

summary: it's laughable how much you forget when you drink.

a/n: one day when i say i’m writing a drabble i will actually write a drabble. one day. that day is not today. // the cheol angst is taking forever so here have some fluff as a precursor // flashbacks in italics!

“WOW,” you shout (very loudly, he thinks) in Seungcheol’s ear. “YOU’RE LIKE, REALLY PRETTY!” 

Seungcheol flinches, rubbing his ear as your voice cuts through the pounding bass of the club. The flashing lights reflect off the crowd around you, turning everything into a blur of motion, but all Seungcheol can focus on is you—his overly drunk wife—looking up at him with wide, dazzled eyes like he’s some stranger you’ve just met.

He had known this would happen. Letting you go out with Jeonghan, Joshua, and their girlfriends without him was practically inviting chaos into the night. He would’ve joined you if work hadn’t held him back, and guilt had gnawed at him all evening for canceling plans yet again (was it guilt, or fear of retribution from Jeonghan? He’d never tell). He’d figured he could catch up with you at the club before things got too crazy.

Clearly, he’d been wrong.

When Seungcheol finally arrives, the table your group has reserved is a mess of empty glasses, and the dance floor is packed with bodies swaying to the beat. It isn’t hard to spot Jeonghan trying to keep you out of trouble—tall and exasperated, attempting to pull you away from a guy you seem hellbent on kicking in the balls.

“I’LL LET YOU KNOW THAT I HAVE A BOYFRIEND,” you screech, words slurring together and voice so loud Seungcheol can hear it on the other side of the dance floor. “AND HE’S THE BESTESTEST - LET GO OF ME!”

Jeonghan, bless his soul, is no match for your drunken ferocity, and lets out a startled yelp as you yank your hands free from his grip and stalk away in a huff. Seungcheol watches with growing amusement as you stumble toward where he stands on the dance floor, eyes lighting up the second you spot him.

“WOW,” you repeat, stopping just inches from him, blinking up at him with childlike awe. “YOU’RE LIKE, REALLY PRETTY.”

Seungcheol can’t help but chuckle under his breath. Your wobbling stance, the way your gaze fixes on him with the same starry-eyed amazement as if you’re seeing him for the first time—it’s all too familiar. He leans in slightly, humoring you.

“Oh really?” he teases, though his lips twitch with amusement. You’re giving him the same starry-eyed look you gave him when you first confessed—though, admittedly, you’re significantly less intoxicated now. Well… maybe not that much less. “You think so?”

You’d had one too many drinks, laughing hysterically with Jeonghan and Joshua about something stupid—something Seungcheol couldn't even remember now. All he could remember was the way your eyes had kept flickering to him, playful but shy, as if you had something on your mind but weren’t quite sure how to say it. He’d leaned in close, pretending to listen to Jeonghan’s nonsense, but really, he was trying to get closer to you.

“Hey, Cheol,” you slurred that night, your voice softer than the buzz of the club, but enough to catch his attention. Your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, your hair falling messily into your eyes, but there was a different look behind them this time—something more serious.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol had leaned in, smiling softly. You were always cute when you were drunk, but tonight, something felt... different. You weren’t just tipsy; you were nervous.

“I have a secret,” you whispered, as if you were sharing the world’s biggest conspiracy.

Seungcheol blinked, amused. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You took a deep breath, looking around as if you were checking for eavesdroppers before meeting his gaze again. “I...I think you’re really pretty - like. REALLY PRETTY,” you blurted out, your eyes wide with sincerity. “And I think I really, really like you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and Seungcheol remembered feeling his heart skip a beat. He’d liked you for months at that point—he was pretty sure the whole group knew it—but you’d never given him any real sign that you felt the same way. Until now.

“You like me, huh?” Seungcheol had teased, leaning closer, his lips inches from yours. “Or are you just saying that because you’re drunk?”

You had frowned, swaying slightly, but your hands had reached for him, gripping his shirt tightly as if he might disappear. “No, I mean it. I like you,” you had insisted, your eyes growing glassy, a little too honest for your own good. “I don’t wanna be just friends anymore. I want you to be mine.”

Seungcheol’s chest had swelled with affection. “Well,” he had whispered back, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, “I think I’ve been yours for a long time, baby.”

You had blinked at him, confusion flickering in your eyes before a slow, wide smile spread across your lips. “Wait, really?” you asked, the disbelief clear in your voice.

Seungcheol had chuckled, pulling you into his arms then, your confession making his heart race. “Yeah, really,” he whispered before finally closing the distance, pressing his lips against yours.

Seungcheol’s heart swells as he looks at you, those same glassy, honest eyes reflecting an undeniable truth. In this moment, even if you don’t fully recognize him, he can feel it—the love you hold for him is woven into every glance, every flicker of emotion. It’s a warmth that wraps around him, grounding him despite the chaos.

“Yeah,” you breathe, nodding vigorously as if this is the most important fact you’ve ever shared. “But I can’t talk to you,” you add in a whisper, glancing around as if someone might overhear. “I have a boyfriend.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching at your secrecy. “A boyfriend, huh?”

You nod, taking a wobbly step closer. Your hand lands on his arm, fingers curling around the fabric of his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling over. “Mhm. He’s got these big, strong arms… like yours,” you muse, eyes drifting over his frame with an approving once-over. “And the cutest smile ever. And—wait, are you his twin?” you ask, your voice suddenly full of suspicion.

Seungcheol barely manages to contain his laughter. “No, baby, I’m not his twin.”

Your face brightens again. “Good, because I’m not allowed to flirt with anyone who’s not him,” you declare, though the way you’re still clutching his arm suggests otherwise. “But you’re really pretty, so don’t get any ideas.”

You turn to walk away and suddenly whip back around, pointing an accusing finger in his face. He almost falls over. “And DON’T call me baby! Only my boyfriend can call me that.”

Seungcheol lets out a long, suffering sigh, rubbing a hand over his face to hide his grin. “Baby…”

“HEY! NO!”

He steals a glance at Jeonghan, who has now joined Joshua and their girlfriends at the edge of the dance floor, clearly done with playing babysitter. Jeonghan gives him a knowing smirk, mouthing good luck before turning away. Seungcheol’s patience wears thin, but he can’t help the fond smile tugging at his lips as he looks at you, swaying slightly under the flashing lights of the club. You’re an adorable mess: cheeks flushed from alcohol, eyes wide and glassy as they struggle to focus on him. Every time the music pulses, your body sways, and Seungcheol instinctively tightens his grip on your waist to keep you steady.

“Baby. Darling. Light of my entire life.” His hands slide from your waist to your shoulders, squeezing gently, trying to ground you in the midst of your drunken haze. He crouches slightly, so he’s at eye level with you, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a tenderness that makes your heart skip. You blink up at him, clearly confused, your brows knitting together as if trying to figure out a puzzle too complicated for your current state.

“I. Am. Your. Husband,” he says, his words slow and deliberate, almost as though speaking to a child.

Your eyes widen dramatically, hands flying to your chest as if struck by some earth-shattering revelation. “No way!” you gasp, your voice filled with pure astonishment. Your gaze roams over him as if you’re seeing him for the very first time. The lights of the club flicker against his face, casting shadows over his sharp features, and for a second, even in your drunken state, you marvel at just how beautiful he is. “Are you serious?!” you whisper, your tone full of awe.

Seungcheol closes his eyes for a brief moment, fighting back the laughter bubbling in his chest. He leans in, closer this time, until his lips brush against your ear. The familiar warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine. “Yes, I am very serious,” he murmurs, the teasing lilt in his voice sending butterflies into your already churning stomach.

You blink up at him again, head tilting slightly as if processing this newfound information is a monumental task. The room seems to spin a little, and you reach out instinctively, clutching at his arms to steady yourself. “But…” you start, your voice trailing off as you bite your lip, your brows furrowing in deep confusion. “Why didn’t anyone tell me I’m married?”

Seungcheol groans softly, though a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He pulls you in by the waist, his strong arms wrapping around you like a protective barrier from the chaos around you. “You were at the wedding, baby,” he says, exasperation dripping from every word, though his tone is laced with affection. “You were the bride.”

Your eyes flutter as you stare up at him, still trying to wrap your mind around this incredible information. The flickering lights above, the faint scent of alcohol and sweat from the club, the warmth of Seungcheol’s arms around you—it all feels dreamlike. “Wait, so… you’re my boyfriend and my husband?” you ask, your voice rising in a mix of disbelief and wonder.

“Yup,” he says with a soft chuckle, his dimpled smile deepening as he looks down at you. That smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, sends a rush of warmth through your already tipsy mind. Even in your inebriated state, the sight of it makes your heart race. “You really hit the jackpot, huh?”

“NO. WAY,” you repeat, this time louder, your voice filled with awe as you step back slightly, your eyes scanning him again as if to check if this is all real. The music pounds in your ears, but you can barely hear it now over the sound of your own giddiness. “And… do we live together? Like, in a house?”

Seungcheol lets out another soft laugh, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair out of your face. His fingers linger for a moment, tracing the curve of your cheek before resting gently on your shoulder. “Yes, baby, we do. You even picked out the curtains.”

The memory of your shared home floods your mind—each detail a testament to your love. Sunlight pours through the cheerful curtains you’ve chosen, illuminating the cozy living room where laughter echoes like music. The kitchen, with its warm scents of your culinary experiments and his late-night snacks, feels alive with the essence of you. Every nook and cranny speaks of the warmth you’ve woven into his life, transforming a mere house into a home, brimming with love and memories.

Your eyes widen in recognition, and you gasp, your hands clapping over your mouth. “And they’re so nice!” you exclaim, shaking your head in disbelief. “I have great taste.” You pause, narrowing your eyes at him as another thought pops into your alcohol-clouded brain. “Does my boyfriend—uh, husband,” you correct yourself with a dramatic flair, pointing a finger at him as if delivering an important verdict, “does he know how lucky he is?”

Seungcheol can’t hold back his laughter this time. It’s rich and warm, rumbling from his chest as he pulls you closer, his arms snug around your waist. “Oh, trust me, he knows,” he replies, his voice softening as he presses a tender kiss to your temple.

Even when you can’t remember him, Seungcheol feels a swell of gratitude for your love—for the quiet mornings entangled in the sheets, for spontaneous late-night adventures, for the way your laughter brightens his day.

You sigh in contentment, leaning into his chest, the weight of your body completely sinking into his warmth. The booming bass of the club seems to fade into the background as you melt against him, finding solace in his steady heartbeat and familiar scent. “He’s so lucky,” you mumble, your voice barely audible against the fabric of his shirt, but Seungcheol hears it loud and clear.

He smiles, brushing his lips across the top of your head. “He really is.”

For a moment, the world around you both seems to pause. The chaotic energy of the club, the distant chatter, and the bright lights all fade as you stand wrapped in each other’s arms, content in this little bubble of warmth. But then, just as quickly, you pull back, your brows furrowed in concentration. You blink up at him, still slightly suspicious. “Wait… does this mean I have to go home with you?”

Seungcheol’s deep chuckle reverberates through his chest as he gently brushes a stray hair from your face, his thumb lingering against your cheek. “Yeah, baby, that’s usually how marriage works,” he replies, his voice dripping with amusement.

You frown, trying to piece everything together in your hazy mind. "But I don’t want to leave the club yet… we’re having fun, right?” you ask, your tone almost pleading, as though the thought of leaving this electric energy behind is too much to bear.

At that, Seungcheol’s gaze hardens a little as he leans down, glinting with unspoken promises. He presses a kiss under your ear, relishing in the way you shiver and press against him (he can’t help himself— the dress you’re wearing right now is sin incarnate). His lips linger against your skin for a moment longer, feeling your heart rate speed up at his antics. “We’ll have even more fun at home,” he murmurs, his voice deep and sultry; he smirks when you stumble a little in his grip, knees growing weak.

But of course, he’s not getting lucky tonight—you pull back just as quickly as you melted in his arms. You squint at him, narrowing your eyes as suspicion creeps in, your drunken mind still struggling to grasp the concept. “You’re not just saying that because you’re so pretty, right?”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning in until his face is mere inches from yours, his breath warm against your lips. His dark eyes sparkle with mischief as his voice drops to a low, teasing whisper. “You’ll just have to trust me on this one.”

For a long moment, you stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind trying to decide whether or not to kiss him right then and there. The world seems to slow around you, the only thing you can focus on is him—the way his lips hover so close to yours, the way his arms wrap securely around you, and the soft, affectionate look in his eyes. Finally, you let out a dramatic sigh, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Fine,” you say, leaning in slightly, your lips brushing his with the faintest touch. “But only because you’re so pretty.”

[alchemistc]

The voice echoes. He's coming in and out of it, desperate to open his eyes, desperate to make sure he can actually feel all his fingers and toes, but it's hard.

He knows that voice though. He knows he does.

The building hadn't been as stable as they thought it was. Probably in the investigation later on they'll discover building codes not up to standard, faulty evacuation plans. He got the kid out, though. He knows he got the kid out.

Eddie too, he's pretty sure.

".. uck!" The voice yells. It's kind of funny, he thinks to himself, as he can feel the strings of consciousness slipping, how much his name sounds like a curse when you're having a hard time keeping things straight. And then everything fades to black.

---

---

"Buck, please. Just wake up."

He wants to, is the thing. It's not like he's not trying, he wants to tell the voice, wants to be a little petulant about it too. That feels like the right attitude to have, for some reason.

It's hard to breathe. Might be something has him pinned. He'd seen beams falling, he's pretty sure.

"Goddamnit!" the voice yells, and Buck strains to remember. "I can't move this fucking thing unless you're able to get out from under it on your own, so wake the hell up. C'mon. Give me something to work with."

Buck wiggles a toe. Fucking ow.

Fingers, next, and that - that's a whole new ballgame of pain, but holy shit he can feel it all. Jesus Christ it hurts.

"For fucks sake, Evan, I'll take anything, at this point. Please."

Buck's lips suddenly feel a lot less numb. He does know that voice.

Hasn't heard it in three weeks, except for on the voicemail he'd left three months ago complaining about downtown parking for the hundredth time and letting Buck know he was gonna circle the block again, but -

"T- Tommy?"

Buck blinks his eyes open just in time to see Tommy drop to his knees near Buck's head, a relief filled sob echoing around the space. Buck takes the opportunity to stare.

"Hey," Tommy says, breathless, the corners of his eyes wet, his turnouts fully covered in dusty debris. It's an achingly familiar sight, even if he's significantly less sooty than the last time.

"You swear a lot more on the job," Buck notes, and Tommy bites out a desperate laugh, slipping a hand from a glove to reach for Buck's cheek.

"How are you feeling?" Tommy asks, and Buck crinkles his nose, widens his eyes. He laughs again, and Buck - God Buck has missed this but he's still having trouble taking in a full breath and - Tommy pulls a hand away from Buck's neck. "Your pulse is steady. Elevated, but you should be - can you wiggle fingers and toes?'

"Hurts like hell, but yeah."

"Well. A building just fell on you. So that tracks."

Buck takes stock of himself, even though he feels goddamn miserable taking his eyes away from Tommy.

Sure enough, there's a beam barred low across his chest. Definitely at least bruised ribs, if not broken ones. He can't see much over it, but it feels like he's got full, painful movement in his legs. "Tommy, I think my halligan's pinned with me."

He snorts. There's nothing funny about this, but Buck finds himself snorting back, the two of them bouncing off each other until Buck eventually winces at the pressure and Tommy gets himself under control. He's fully crying now, wet fat tears streaked through the dust on his face. "Thank fuck I am also a firefighter," Tommy says, and Buck prepares himself for the moment Tommy gets the tool under the beam at the right angle to lift. "How's your pain?" Tommy asks, when he's situated.

"On a scale from ladder pinning my ankle to lightning strike?"

Tommy scowls.

"I'll be able to move if you make room. If that's what you're asking."

Tommy eyes the space. The beam. The settling dust and the only real angle he's got with enough leverage to make space for Buck to slide himself free. He won't be able to help Buck pull himself out. "The moment you have an inch you move backward as fast as you can. There's at least two yards of clearance behind you, and I'm not dropping this thing on your fucking head by accident."

Buck nods.

Tommy grabs his chin. "Verbal confirmation, Evan," he demands, suddenly so serious Buck has to swallow back a bratty retort.

"One inch, pull myself backwards."

Tommy nods. Situates his hands. "Good." And then before Buck can brace for the pain he's lifting the beam.

It's fast. So fast Buck doesn't have time to scream, or listen to the signals from his brain telling him he's fucking dying. Tommy lifts, Buck scrambles, and he has just enough room to clear his legs before rubble shifts to their left and Tommy's dropping the halligan to roll his entire body over Buck's.

A few broken pieces of concrete roll to a stop before they reach the two of them, and Buck beams up at Tommy. "Little bit of an overreaction, don't you think?"

Tommy settles his weight. Tips his chin so that he can see Buck beyond his visor. "I feel like maybe you aren't taking this as seriously as you should."

Buck shoves a shoulder against Tommy's weight, and he rolls right off, lays side to side with Buck while they both catch their breath. It's such a fucking familiar position that Buck fails to stifle a laugh.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, when he's calmed down enough that Tommy has stopped asking him concussion protocol questions.

Tommy sighs. Turns to his side, and Buck knows this position, too. They never did it in turnouts, though. "They grounded us an hour before the collapse."

"I heard," Buck presses. "I also heard the 217 was working fire suppression on the perimeter."

Tommy looks guilty. He rolls his neck, reaches out under the guise of checking Buck's pulse again.

Buck doesn't stop him.

"Yeah I might be fired," he says, and then shrugs a shoulder. "They called for full evac and when Eddie came out with that kid but you didn't -."

Buck feels a little breathless again. He almost asks Tommy how much he's got in his tank - Bucks's ran out a while ago. But they seem - pretty firmly trapped. Buck can't see an exit point, and he's almost positive there's not enough room for both of them to stand at the same time. They'll need that oxygen. "You came after me?"

Tommy sighs. Seems satisfied that Buck's heart is still doing what it's supposed to, and that he's not leaking internally. When he shifts his hand, it's not away - callused hands catch the underside of Buck's chin, fingers curl over his cheek. "I'd tell you not to read into it, but..."

Buck's breath catches. He holds it. There's - he has no idea how much air they have. They don't have time (or enough air, maybe) for Buck to lean up and kiss him. "Tommy."

"We'll talk about it when we're both safely out of here and bundled in our shiny blankets. If the 118 doesn't kill me first."

"What...?" Buck doesn't know what that means. They did everything they could to convince him not to reach out but they also weren't, like, calling for his head. He wants to know what it means. Tommy's brow goes up.

He shifts to his knees, holds out a hand. "Help me look around. See if we can find an air pocket."

He helps Buck to a kneel of his own like it's nothing, and despite the creaks and groans and the sting of sore muscles, Buck doesn't think there's anything permanently damaged. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It'll keep, Evan."

More than anything, Buck wants to call him out on that. The implication that Tommy knows more about the 118's current feelings on Tommy than Buck does. His name, suddenly back in play like Tommy hadn't used the lack of it to dig the knife in.

Buck shifts his weight and checks for his flashlight. Aims up, first, as high as the beam of light will go. There's really not much room in this little pocket of space.

He can hear Tommy shifting on his knees behind him. They need to be smart. Conserve air, conserve energy. Buck had been near a sidewall when the building came down, but who knows how long it'll take for the building to be stable enough to attempt a rescue. Maybe they're still gonna die in here, after all.

God, he doesn't want Tommy to die.

"Back to Evan, I noticed," Buck comments, doing a terrible job of not sounding eager, and he can hear the heaving breath Tommy takes, the way the shift of his body just pauses.

"The thing is, the moment I realized I might not have any more time, all I wanted was another five minutes. Just to hear you breathe. See your face. You wouldn't even have to know I'd done it, just -." He sucks a breath in through his nose. "I just realized the pain is still worth it."

That spurs Buck into action, because - because they're not gonna die - not here, not now, not for as many years as Buck can squeeze out of this life. He shifts. He pokes. He checks for light beyond the pockets between rubble. He takes even, measured breaths around the rapidly tightening muscles around his ribs and the moment he feels a draft he almost cries.

"Tommy!"

He turns to catch his eye, thrilled, ready to drag him over and -

"Tommy?"

He's slumped on his side. And - and god damnit, Buck is so fucking stupid, he should have checked Tommy too, should have known if he was hurt he'd hide it like the massive asshole he is.

There's nothing obvious until Buck pulls at his turnouts, and then he has to hold in a scream so he doesn't bring the rest of the place down on them.

---

---

The paramedics don't fight him when he shoves his way into the ambulance behind them. No one does, not as he's shoving Hen and Chim away from him while they desperately try to check his vitals, not when Eddie takes one look at the rebar sticking through Tommy's side and his face goes fucking white.

He crashes twice on the way to the hospital.

---

---

Buck comes to slowly, and is immediately pissed, because he's in a fucking hospital bed.

Eddie leans over him when he sits up. "Take a second, man."

"Did you drug me?"

The eyebrow raise is a little condescending. "You passed the fuck out in the middle of the waiting room when they told us Tommy's surgery went well."

Well that's - that's - oh God, Tommy's okay. He remembers now. Tommy pulled through. Tommy was out of surgery and they were setting him up in a room and it'd be a while before he woke up but he was -

"I wanna see him."

Eddie chuckles, and Buck seriously considers throwing something at him, but before he can find something to toss Eddie's leaning sideways in his seat to pull the curtain divider away. "Even the nurses were taking bets that you'd kill a man if they put you in separate rooms."

He'll have to thank Gina later.

Tommy's still asleep. In repose, he breathes deep and even, eyes fluttering behind his lids, and Buck remembers what an active fucking sleeper he is, how much it had infuriated him that Tommy could never remember his dreams. God.

He's bruised around the eyes, there's a clean shave on the side of his head where he'd taken falling rubble in his mad dash past the kid Buck had sent ahead of him. The hospital gown looks so stupid on him.

Buck glares when Eddie tries to wrangle him back under his thin blanket - swings his legs over the side and tries not to wince when he puts his weight down and feels exactly how fucked up his ribs are. The bindings are tight. He's gonna need help rewrapping them.

"Tommy said something about you guys wanting to kill him. Know anything about that?"

It's a little accusatory. A lot, actually. Eddie sighs. "He tried to bring your shit by the station a week later when he knew you were off shift. Chim and Hen weren't, uh ... particularly nice about it."

Buck blinks. He still hasn't gotten any of that back.

"So he just ...took it back? Didn't leave it behind?"

"Oh he took about fifteen minutes of having his head bit off and then grabbed the box and shoved it back in his bed before he left."

Despite how absolutely ridiculous that all sounds, it makes something sizzle under his skin. If it was all just adrenaline, all just heat of the moment panic, Tommy would have left that box anyway.

They know so much and still so little about each other.

He's pretty sure he might actually get the chance to know more now. Even if he has to pry it from Tommy piece by piece for another decade or five.

Buck shoves that thought right down and gives himself the next two days to think about.

"And what'd you do, while they were berating him?"

"Oh, I threw like three loaves of bread in there with your stuff while he wasn't looking."

"You gave him my moping bread?"

"Two of the sourdoughs and an Irish soda bread."

"What if he didn't open the box back up?"

Eddie shrugs. "I hedged my bets. Either he opened that box back up to do his own moping or eventually there'd be some moldy ass bread in there."

"I hate raisins, by the way," comes the croaky voice to Buck's left, and Buck doesn't hesitate to wheel his saline bag the extra foot to reach the bedside. Buck knows that already. He'd made the soda bread out of spite, at three in the morning when he realized the second pillow still smelled like Tommy's shampoo and he'd remembered the almost-argument they'd had about wet hair on the pillows.

Tommy's hand meets Buck's halfway, and his smile is tired and magnificent.

Eddie smirks. "So you opened the box, then."

Tommy doesn't look away from Buck. His fingers squeeze. "I opened the box."

"Eddie, I need you to go distract Gina for like, three and a half minutes."

"...I know I'm going to regret asking," Eddie says.

"Tommy's hooked up to a bunch of monitors that are gonna make some extra noise in a second here, and they've already seen us making out in this hospital, they don't need to be alerted to another free show."

Eddie's out of his seat immediately, and halfway out the door when he turns back. "Just so we're all on the same page, this is not me encouraging this. You two are just walking talking piles of trauma and you can't just kiss about it and suddenly everything is fine."

Buck can taste the bitchy comment on the tip of Tommy's tongue. He squeezes Tommy's fingers and counts himself lucky when all Tommy does is make a dismissive noise in the back of his throat.

It's not like Eddie's wrong.

The door clicks shut behind him.

---

---

Tommy sets aside a third jello cup and stares at the cards in his hand. He glances through his lashes as he sets two cards down on the pile. "Two sevens."

"Bullshit."

His eyes gleam with challenge as he flips them both over and Buck has to take another loss. He doesn't care, is the thing. He'll happily lose at cards to Tommy for the next -

Six months is a reasonable length of time, probably. They've hit that mark once before.

Tommy shifts his weight, grimaces, and Buck is on his feet in a heartbeat. "You need another pillow? Change the angle of the bed?"

He laughs, soft and warm, rolls his eyes. "That joke I made about you guys needing your own ward? You may not have it named after you, but it's practically the Ritz around here. All the nurses have come by like six times just to see if I needed my pillow fluffed. I'm good, Evan." Buck settles back into his seat. "I just have a hole the size of a boba straw in my side."

"It was significantly wider than a boba straw."

"Could still suck a tapioca pearl through it," Tommy reminds him, almost petulantly. It's been a treat discovering that Tommy can throw it back almost as well as Buck when he's ornery about being bedridden for a full two days.

Buck finishes rearranging his cards. Grabs three random ones and sets them atop the pile. "Three eights."

Tommy stares at his cards. Glances up at Buck. Turns his gaze to his cards one more time.

"One nine," he declares, and Buck doesn't even complain that he'd fully let him off the hook there.

---

---

Tommy is actually the worst patient in the world. They have to have Eddie over to wrap Buck's ribs for at least a week, and Tommy refused to take any pain meds home with him, and every morning when Buck fusses with the dressings on Tommy's side Tommy stares in the mirror and complains that the scar isn't even symmetrical to the one on his ribs. Buck spends twenty minutes reminding him he'd have a punctured lung, if that was the case, and that seems to shut him up for a little while, at least.

"Hey," Tommy says, on day eleven, when Buck leans over him on the sofa to say goodbye and head back to the loft. Tommy's fine, really. He needs rest and leaving for the night isn't going to kill either one of them. Still, he tugs at Buck's belt loops until Buck allows a knee to bend and press into the cushion beside him. "This is not me asking you to move in with me."

"What -?"

Tommy presses something into his hand. It's warm, like Tommy's been smoothing it in his palm for a while, grooved along the edge facing Buck's fingers. "Yet," he says, softer than before, watching Buck palm it with a smile that Buck is beginning to fully understand the implications of.

It's a key.

Buck blinks. The years stretch ahead of him. Grumpy grizzled Tommy bitching about the towel rack having too many wet towels on it. Silver fox Tommy grinning over some flirty kids head at Buck as he tries to make it back to the booth they got to the bar early to camp at. Tommy, tomorrow, fondly annoyed when Buck confesses he can't watch another true crime documentary or it'll actually kill him.

"I love you," Buck blurts, and feels like crying when Tommy tugs him close for a kiss.

[tcubunny]

switch!tzuyu x switch!fem!reader - “trying our best” (warnings: smut, praise, breast play, scissoring, clit stimulation, oral)

a/n: thank u to my pookie @soyeonsbabygirl for proof reading 🤗 first time writing for tzuyu, kinda nervy. i’ve had this idea in my head from the second i thought up this au. small issue that we’re going to fix with our imagination, as always: let’s pretend jyp is strict on hotel rooms and if the company placed/booked/whatever-the-balls two specific members in a room, they HAVE to the be ones who share it🙏idk if i’m lying ab the switch tags bc i think that’s what’s happening, but idk tbh. maybe if i feel generous in the future ill write a fic about how her and the reader ended up getting caught and what their punishment was. for now, much love and enjoy pookabutts😘

word count: 1.8k

“goodnight you two, don’t do anything you know you’re not supposed to.”

jeongyeon warns and gives you and tzuyu a kiss before walking to the door and shutting it behind her.

you and tzuyu are the best girls for your unnies, you never get in trouble. your notoriously great behavior has fully merited their trust, yet letting you two share a hotel room still seemed risky. everyone insisted that being alone with each other would be too tempting, but there was nothing they could do about it.

you both promised—specifically to jihyo that you would sleep on separate beds, and wouldn’t try anything, and you plan to follow through on that promise.

“are you tired?” tzuyu’s voice bellows throughout the room. “i guess.” you get up and lock the door before walking to the other bed. “well, goodnight.” tzuyu turns off her bedside lamp and lays down, draping the covers over herself.

“goodnight.” you do the same as her and get comfortable. you close your eyes, trying your best to clear your head, but you’re far too hyper-aware of the fact that she’s right next to you. you really wouldn’t dare disobey the others, but it’s all you can think about.

the minutes rush by and you still can’t manage to fall asleep, completely immersed in your less than holy thoughts about tzuyu. you toss and turn, but nothing works.

“y/n, are you asleep?” you hear a murmur in the dark and turn to face tzuyu’s bed. “no.” there’s a few seconds of awkward silence before tzuyu speaks up again.

“i know we said we wouldn’t, but do you want to sleep with me? i just feel so isolated.” you think about it for a second, you desperately want to say yes, but you know you can’t. “tzuyu…”

“please, they won’t find out. the door is locked and they have no other way of checking on us.” she is correct, there’s no way they can find out unless they enter the room, which they can’t do if the door is locked. and you always lock the door when you’re in a hotel; it wouldn’t raise any suspicion.

“okay…” you get up and walk to her bed, hesitantly joining her under the covers. you turn away from her, too scared that you won’t be able to control yourself if you face her. you both say goodnight again and the deafening silence returns.

falling asleep is significantly more difficult now that tzuyu is right next to you. you can feel the warmth emanating off her body and you want nothing more than to turn around and kiss her. you can also feel your own warmth stretching from your flustered cheeks to your aching core.

“i can’t sleep.” you’re jolted out of your trance of sorts by tzuyu turning on the light. you turn to look at her and she sits up against the headboard, so you do the same. “me neither.” you reply, trying to hide your reddened face.

“i’m bored.” she says, tucking her hair behind her ears. “me too.” you look around the room, trying to think of something else to continue the conversation. “you think the others are asleep?” she exhales before answering. “let’s think critically here, none of them can keep their hands off each other.” you look down at the floor. “yeah…”

you both sit without saying anything. having her so close but not being able to touch her how you want is absolute torture. you bite down on your thumb as a weak attempt to distract yourself, but it doesn’t work in the slightest.

you look over at her, head tossed back on the bed frame, eyes closed, and arms inside her shirt. you’ve never been one to make impulsive decisions, but your desire for her completely takes over.

“tzuyu…” you call out, inching closer to her. “wha-“

you crash your lips into hers, cutting off her sentence. the kiss is slow and sends heatwaves straight to your core. her lips feel amazing, you swear you’ll never be able to separate from them. you let your tongue wander inside her mouth and she gladly takes it in. you entangle it with hers, lifting your hand to cup her face.

she pulls away and you whine in frustration. “we can’t.” her actions greatly differ from her words; she tugs the collar of your shirt towards her and continues kissing you.

“why not?” you repeat the pattern of pulling away and going right back to the heated kiss every time either of you speaks. “we promised.” “they won’t find out,” you pause your sentence to keep tasting her “like you said, the door is locked.”

it appears you’ve fully convinced her as she pulls you closer and makes you straddle her. you let your hands get lost in her hair as she grabs your face.

you can already feel a pool of slick collecting on your underwear while you’re squirming on her lap. the air in the room suddenly feels hot and your clothes start feeling like a burden.

“take off your clothes.” you instruct, getting up to do the same. you toss your things to the side, not caring where it lands. you watch as tzuyu rips everything off and crawls to the edge of the bed to sit.

you admire her body with a smirk before pushing her down and getting on top of her. the truth is, neither of you has any experience with being in control, but you’ll have to make do.

“you’re so pretty.” you whisper in her ear, moving your mouth down to her neck. “you’re so pretty.” you kiss her chest, making sure not to leave any new marks that the others could notice.

you gradually move lower until you reach her tits. you take one of the into your mouth and she lets out a loud moan. you slap your hand over her mouth to shush her.

“nayeon and jeongyeon are right beside us, do you really want them to hear?” you take your hand off and she brings her own hand to her mouth, urging you to keep going.

your mouth goes back to her tit, sucking and biting it gently. her choked moans make your pussy drip, you can’t wait any longer. you replace your mouth with your hand and tap on her thigh. “can you spread your legs?” “mhm.”

she does so and you swing one of your own legs over one of hers so that your pussy is directly aligned with hers.

you look into her eyes waiting for approval to go on, but she just pushes your hips down instead, making your soaked cunt collide with hers. you almost scream out from the feeling, but bite down on your finger to stop yourself.

you gyrate your hips, twitching slightly every time your clits touch. “you’re so fucking hot.” tzuyu coos from beneath you and pulls you down to her lips. you moan and whine into her mouth, trying to remain as quiet as possible.

you no longer care in the slightest about how many rules you’re breaking, the only thing on your mind is how amazing tzuyu sounds.

“you feel so good, tzu.” your sentence comes out hurried and broken, the feeling of tzuyu’s pussy on yours messing with your senses. “hm, thank you.” an inebriating smile adorns her lips as she responds. one of her hands remains placed on your hip, pushing you down against herself. you lean back, resting your weight on your hands as you brush your hair back.

“faster.” she hums while digging her nails into your skin. you whine at the feeling and speed up, making tzuyu reflexively thrust her hips up.

“shit, don’t stop.” her back arches as she pleads with you. “i wouldn’t do that to us both.” you giggle and bend down to meet her lips.

you can feel your muscles beginning to contract and hold onto tzuyu’s hand against the mattress.

“i’m so close.” you cry out and squeeze your eyes shut. “hm—me too.” hearing her weak whimper is all you need to reach your climax. you fiercely hold tzuyu’s hand as your hips shake, silencing your moans with her lips. you don’t stop until you see her body tense and she lets out a string of profanities with her orgasm.

when she completely finishes, you let yourself fall down on her chest, completely slumped. you both lay there panting without moving until your heart rates settle and you regain your composures.

“you’re incredible.” she traces your lips with her fingers and you look up at her. “i pay attention.” she laughs at you, pushing you off of her to get on top of you.

“it’s my turn to show you how well i pay attention.”

your eyes widen at her remark, you didn’t think she could sound any hotter, but somehow she does. she kisses down your neck, going past your chest and all the way to your stomach. she plants a kiss right above your core and your hips jerk forward.

she stands up and pats down the edge of the bed for you to sit. she then kneels in front of you, opening your legs with her hands. you can feel the slick pouring out of you, she looks absolutely ravishing on her knees for you.

she kisses your thighs as you stroke her hair with a smile on your face, completely drowning in how beautiful she looks.

she looks up at you and dips her tongue between your folds, already earning desperate moans from you. her tongue moves with great agility, sucking your clit and pushing into your entrance every time she passes it.

you give her feedback in the form of hushed whines and whimpers, still very aware of the people on the other side of the wall.

“does that feel good?" she asks in a sweet, innocent voice, the contrast between her actions and her inflection adding to your arousal.

you whine and arch your back slightly, pushing tzuyu’s face further into you. she chuckles as she lets go of your clit with an audible ‘pop.’

“y/n, answer my question.” she begs with the same tone and you look down at her, a dangerous glint painted on her eyes.

“hm,” your attempt at answering comes out as a moan and your cheeks redden as you feel tzuyu’s laugh against your pussy.

"i think,” you whimper into your own hand as she pushes her fingers inside you. “i think you can tell, ah fuck.” she mercilessly pumps her fingers in and out of you while her lips wrap around your clit.

it doesn’t take long for the edges of your vision to glow white, you orgasm hitting you without warning. you grab a fistful of tzuyu’s hair, holding her in place. she eagerly swallows every bit of sticky white fluid pooling out of you, allowing you to fully come back from your high.

you let go of her hair when you realize how hard you were holding onto it and she stands up. “i think i won.” she teases, coming closer to sit on your lap.

“oh, it was a competition? in that case, i think i’d like a rematch.”

[pinkaditty]

Pervert Pt 3 (Newspaper Club; Obey Me!SWD)

ohhhh my GOOOOOOOOOOOD i finally did it. it's over it's over it's over i did it i did it everyone enjoy this. holy shit

a/n: PERVERT PART THREE AS PROMISED WOOOOOOO!! i finally finished i promised id deliver and here we are!! some of these may be out of character because im slightly unfamiliar with these characters BUT i hope you all enjoy regardless. please let me know if you enjoyed! next, im working on all these asks that keep pouring in...

cw: fem!mc (undergarments such as bras and panties are mentioned, but mc could be a crossdresser), fem undergarments, perverted behavior, underwear stealing, etc. let me know if i missed anything!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, AS USUAL. PLEASE RESPECT MY BOUNDARY.

Mephistopheles:

He immediately startles and drops the panties to the floor. His lips twitch downwards into a frown and his gloved fingers curl into fists. His face burns red with embarrassment. Poor guy. The richest, most prestigious, most prominent noble of the entire Devildom, known for keeping his cool and being as haughty as a King… is frozen in place, here, watching you with wide eyes, after being caught rooting around through your laundry, for what anyone could assume were less than pure intentions. 

It’s not a very good day for him.

If he wants to say something, he can’t. You watch as his mind spins, trying to come up with a notable retort, but you are both well aware that by the time he does, the tremendous pause in your discussion, already quite long and stifling, will have rendered it useless. You are both at a standstill, you clearly with the upper hand. But you know Mephisto, and how he’s not one to back down. But it’s not like you will, either. 

When you take a step towards him, he jolts back, broken out of his frozen trance. He sputters indignantly, desperately coming up with something to say in response.

“F-First of all!” He’s practically spitting the words out at you, furious red blush across his face. You wait for him to speak, but he appears to have trouble getting anything out. All that he can get out for a few moments is nothing but false starts, angry sighs, and mortified groans. Then, he finally speaks. “If you so much as mention this to anyone else…!” 

You want to say he’s already bluffing without hearing the rest of his threat. What could he do to possibly save his reputation from such an incredible embarrassment? He’s far too honest to paint you as a liar, and far too kind to blame you, anyway. If anything, the only thing he would do is refuse to admit the truth and never speak of the topic. Which, honestly, was probably the best that could come out of this… If he was willing to leave it behind, at least.

You were admittedly more curious about what drove him to this level. He had never been too slow to show his obvious disdain for humans, especially you for your closeness to Diavolo. He was plenty kind, but he wasn’t nice, and that was that. So, after showing nothing short of polite dislike for you… What was he doing here? Part of you almost couldn’t believe it. The human hater himself… chasing after a whiff of human pheromones? Sexual ones, at that?

You only realize he was lecturing you on keeping quiet when you return from your thoughts. 

“-And quite frankly, I believe you owe it to me to keep quiet. It’s not every day I open my doors to anyone - a human, no less - and allow them to stay temporarily simply because the demon lost his temper.” He turns away and huffs, crossing his arms. In his rambling, his blush had significantly lessened, and his embarrassment faded. “I am only doing this for the sake of Lord Diavolo.”

Yeah, right. 

You decide to be teasing. The amused expression on your face turns into a questioning one, eyebrow raised and lips quirked downwards. “Which part are you doing for Lord Diavolo’s sake? Taking me in or stealing my intimates?”

He sputters immediately at your question, looking at you incredulously. “I-!” He starts, and you can almost tell he was going to say something along the lines of ‘I beg your pardon!’ and then realized he was in no position to say such things. “You…!” He points at you, as though to get a point across, then falters and retracts. He is visibly fuming, clearly very angry that he is unable to get a proper retort out. It takes everything in you not to laugh at him. “Ugh!” He turns on his heel and begins to walk away, and almost manages to, before you toss the panties he dropped right at the back of his head. He stops in his tracks, curling his hands into fists at his sides. He is absolutely seething, and you can tell. He plucks them off of his head and grips them tightly, as if to send you a threatening message. You only laugh.

“Come back to me when you’d like a fresh pair!” You giggle at him and walk back into the laundry room to finish your chore. As you complete your wash, you hear his grumbling and stomping all the way down the hall. He does not return the panties. 

Raphael: 

Wordlessly, silently, he startles, staring at you like a deer in headlights. His eyes widen like saucers, but his lips remain closed. The longer he stands there, idling, the more you wonder what exactly he's hoping to achieve. He doesn't so much as twitch. 

After you think you've been standing here long enough, waiting for him to move, you roll your eyes and harden your gaze on him. 

“Gonna give them back or not, pervert?” You crook an eyebrow upwards and tilt your head at him. He looks down, almost visibly deflating. His reaction is almost unexpected. He looks genuinely sad, looking pitifully down at the panties he held in his hand. 

You got the slight feeling that this was probably an act, but you didn’t comment on it. You simply shook your head and held out your hand, motioning for him to hand them over. Politely, he does, gently placing them in your hand and bowing his head, pursing his lips. “I… I apologize, MC. This won’t happen again.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “It shouldn’t,” you said firmly, turning away from him to move to complete the wash, before continuing, “At least, not without my permission first.”

You hear his sudden intake in breath, but decide not to pay it any mind. The weight of the realization on him hangs heavily in the air, joined by absolute silence except for your movements, putting your laundry in the wash. You have to wait a while before you hear him open and close his mouth a few times, clearly conflicted on what to say, before he finally stammers, “Wh-What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” you start, turning to him, holding another lacy pair of panties in you hands, “that I wouldn’t mind if you needed my pheromones so badly for a fix. You just have to be a good boy and ask.”

He sputters indignantly for a moment, his eyes widening, and a blush spreading across his face. You only smile, and turn back to your chore, wordlessly continuing to put them away. He shuffles in place before helping you, probably attempting to sweeten the deal before he asks. You don’t mind, however, and let him assist you.

When the chore is finally done and the wash is going, he turns to you. “I know you probably don’t have any I could use now…” He speaks slowly, as though carefully considering every word before it comes out. It must be a difficult request. “But, when they start to pile up, would it… be alright, if I borrowed some?” He doesn’t look at you. He can’t bear to. He doesn’t need to, though. The embarrassment is painted quite clearly all over his face and ears, a deep shade of red. He’s looking down at his clasped hands and worrying his lip between his teeth. Was it this important to him to be able to indulge himself? You find yourself more and more surprised at the attitudes of these demons and angels day after day. 

“Sure.” You simply sigh, amused by his shyness. Your face twists into a smirk, however, when an offer comes to mind. “In fact… Maybe when the day is done, I can give you the pair I’m wearing now. How does that sound?”

He’s practically frozen now, the blush across his face the only thing capable of melting him. He swallows roughly and stiffly nods, walking away robotically to leave the room. You only watch him, amused, thinking about how the ending of your day would go.

Thirteen: 

She yelps, jumping ten feet into the air in surprise at your sudden appearance. She fumbles the panties in her hands, looking guilty as ever. Her eyes flick from you to her hands nervously, as though fearing judgment. Before you can say anything, she clenches her hands shut, squeezing her eyes shut tight, and begins apologizing profusely. “I’m sorry, MC! This really shouldn’t have happened, I just got way too curious and I had to-! Well…” She trails off, biting her lip. “I hope you aren’t too mad at me… I still do want that soul of yours, y’know.” She says this innocently, as though you’ll forgive her if she widens her eyes and pouts her lips. Which, honestly, would be tempting, but it’s less so tempting when you glance down to the panties she still clutches in her grasp. She notices this and hides them behind her, a blush creeping onto her face. 

“Hey… you wouldn’t mind me keeping these, would you? Your soul is nice and all, but…” She pouts, very clearly for show, and looks at you with wide eyes, begging without saying anything. You’re ready to call bullshit on her, and quite loudly at that. However, you simply sigh, exhausted, and hold out your hand.

“Come on. Hand them over.”

She sighs begrudgingly and hands them over, plopping them down in your hand. “You’re no fun.” She struts away from you and plops down on a nearby chair, sighing dramatically and laying across the chair in a fainting pose. “Could’ve kept something of my beloved’s for when they inevitably return to the underworld, but no. I’ve got to sit here and long for them.” She sighs dramatically again, melting into the chair. You roll your eyes and walk over to her, peering down at her.

“How about I come back? Visit with a fresher pair?” A wicked smile grows on your face as you say this, the thought of the offer stirring you with mirth.

She shoots up at once, her light blush deepening into a cherry red. She looks at you with wide eyes and her mouth slightly parted in shock.

“...Do you mean it?”

“Sure.” You say, shrugging, and stepping back from her. You smile at her, as though waiting for her to take the offer. Of course, she snaps at it. 

“Hmm. I still want those ones. They’re pretty and purple.” She points to the ones you’re holding, a wide smirk on her face now. You only roll your eyes again.

“Fine. But only if you wash them.”

“Deal.”

a/n: woooooooohooooooooo! it's finally done! im so, so sorry for making you all wait so long! thank you so much for being so patient with me! please, enjoy this, and don't be afraid to leave a comment, reblog, or sumbit an ask! i love to know what you all think of my writing!

[adachimoe]

The effort this dumbass put into this

Honestly, yeah. What is the player by this point in time, if not a huge dumbass?

Adachi's letter only continues if you've gotten him to rank 9 by this point. This involves getting him to rank 6 by his hard cut off date and then going to see him alone on December 7th and seeing his arcana transform.

Earlier in his Social Link, Adachi talks about his school life. As he says, you can only get back what you put in - if you put in effort to studying, then you get grades. And in his experience, this is exactly what he did. But as he remarks, this only worked at school and it doesn't translate to the real world.

In the 3rd Persona 4 audio drama cd, which was released before Golden even!, Adachi's dialogue talks about effort. His commentary is, more or less, that things are not worth it unless there's some kind of reward: He mocks the protagonist for running at full speed during the relay that has no reward, but thinks it's okay for Dojima and Nanako to try and win the 3-legged-race because they can win a free night at the Amagi's.

In some ways, I think you can relate this to the Social Link system as a whole: We tell our Social Links things they like to hear during mostly one sided conversations where they talk, we occasionally respond, and we get rank ups for our troubles. But obviously, this only works in the game. (Tbh tho, in real life, you can leave people on read for 5 years before resuming their Social Links.) Things require more effort - caring, giving a shit, more than a one sided conversation.

Adachi's Social Link starts off the same - we invite him over for dinner, we tell him responses he likes to hear, and we get rank ups as our rewards. On rank 7 and 8, there are no points to be earned. We simply assume that, based on Adachi's dialogue, he must give a shit about us, and his Social Link advances on its own.

When his Social Link transforms, he asks us what the hell kind of brain damage we have to assume our bond with him was really that tight. "You get back what you put in" - we put the time to go see him here, against our friends' wishes even, and we don't get a rank up here. But the nature of our relationship changes with him and his arcana changes into Lust or Hunger.

By the end of the game, when Adachi calls us a dumbass, it's cause we honestly are 100% a bunch of dumbasses. In order to get this guy to talk to us in any way whatsoever, we have to go through his stupid Social Link requirements where he has limited availability and it swaps between day / night, where you sometimes don't even know what to do because Atlus was too fucking stupid to program in a tell to go do his hangout during the night (or maybe that was intentional idk), and also do this all by a certain deadline while juggling all of the other bullshit going on in the game and the scheduling. And on top of it all, you are then given the option to go against your friends wishes and continue reaching out to him even after finding out he kicked off all of the events of the game that nearly got Nanako killed and endangered the rest of your party members, plus he tried to bait you into killing Namatame.

It goes without saying that the effort that you have put into this relationship is significantly higher than whatever Adachi has put in. And as he says himself, you get back what you put in. Despite what the player has put in, we've gotten a lot of nothing back. He, uh, came over and bummed free dinners and tried to get Nanako in on his low effort game by telling her to cheat on a book report. That's like, gotta be a negative gain lmao.

To have gone out of your way to try and get this guy's Social Link rank ups and talk to him even after the reveal and after you've already gotten so little out of this... Yeah okay honestly what are we if not a bunch of dumbasses by this point. Like I'm 352 posts into this blog and Adachi isn't even going to throw me into a TV god what's the point even.

But at the same time, Adachi appreciates how big of a dumbass we are when it comes to him. He doesn't call us a dumbass because he hates us, he calls us a dumbass because of how much effort we've put into this relationship. A level of effort that he himself scoffed at, but now causes him to reflect back on the time he spent with us and sees it more fondly. He couldn't see what he had until he didn't have it anymore.

Adachi will send you the letter urging you to reach out the truth and finish the case so long as you're doing the true ending. It's a scene from the PS2 game and it doesn't matter if you've done his Social Link or not. In Persona Club P4, Atlus remarks on how the caution tape in his dungeon hints that deep down inside, he *is* still a detective. Him sending the letter is proof of that - he wants you to solve the mystery. But if you complete his Social Link, the letter continues with this new segment, and I think this changes the nature of his letter: Having put the effort in to him with not much to show for it, we, at long last, get something from him.

And of course, as P4AU implies, he has become something of a "dumbass" himself in regards to expending unnecessary effort on things no one asks you to do.

Btw, the way Madono calls you an idiot in the Japanese audio is pretty great. The way he draws out vowels as Adachi in general I think really helps sell the playfulness.

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Jooooo!!! Hiya!!!! Can i request solomon + tell no lie? I just think this prompt kinda suits him lmao. Lots of love!! 🫶🫶🫶

Solomon - Tell No Lie

Solomon x GN! reader

Prompt: It’s impossible to lie to your soulmate.

AN: Hi Ven!!! Much love to you as well!! 💜 Sorry for the delay, but anyways this is kind of a silly fic based on a thought I had of Solomon sometime ago, and thought it worked well with the prompt...or at least I hope it did 😅 I really hope you enjoy it! Thank you for being patient and take care of yourself!!

Warnings: Solomon referring to reader as dear, darling, and beautiful, Solomon being Solomon shenanigans (I promise!), slight miscommunication but nothing angsty, established soulmate connection/relationship

Another stressful day babysitting the Avatars of Sin, you can hardly wait to go back to Cocytus Hall where it’s significantly more peaceful and quiet…as long as Solomon hasn’t snuck into the kitchen while you were away. 

You have your D.D.D. up to your ear as you wait for the sorcerer to pick up, wanting to let him know you’re on your way and that Lucifer is escorting you this evening. You hear the faint shut of the door behind you as Lucifer joins you out under the front awning, staying quiet as he notices your ear-to-phone stance. 

The phone goes to the last ring, and you don’t think Solomon’s going to pick up – which is odd because normally he picks up in less than two if it’s you – but he does at the last second, sounding as carefree as ever. 

“Ah, hello, my dear. Ready to come back home?” 

“Yeah, though Lucifer offered to walk me back,” you reply, giving Lucifer a quick appreciative grin, which he returns as he waits patiently beside you, “we’re just leaving now.” 

The sorcerer hums softly. “I see. I’ve…had something come up, so that works out perfectly then.” You pick up his nervous tone with ease and know automatically something’s troubling him.

“...Is everything okay?” You know that a question like that is his weakness. Really…any and all of your questions are his weakness. They’re inescapable, unavoidable, and you like that you can use that to your advantage often. 

He answers a hair too quickly, probably hoping you won’t interrogate him further, while still being truthful. “Yeah! Yes. Everything is great, I think.” 

“Uh-huh… So, what is this “something,” Solomon?” 

There’s a delay in the answering this time. You can almost even hear him trying to physically restrain himself from saying anything, but it’s no use. He cannot lie to you – not that he likes to anyway, but there are things better left unsaid sometimes. 

Solomon sighs into the phone as the truth pushes past his lips, “I have a kid...” 

To say you are dumbfounded is an understatement. You’re silent for longer than is comfortable, blinking slowly and unable to formulate any questions. Once you gather yourself, you fill your lungs as you try to grapple with what he just said. 

“I’m sorry… What?!” The alarm in your voice is quite apparent, causing Lucifer to glance over in worry, wondering if he should get involved or not. 

On the other side of the line, there’s some crashing sounds and light scolding from Solomon that’s hard to make out. It seems he’s holding the phone away from him. He soon brings the phone back to his ear with words coming out in a rushed flurry. 

“I need to go, I’ll see you when you get back home!” Before you even get the chance, the sorcerer hangs up on you, and you’re left just as clueless as you started. You pocket your phone, your body tense and thoughts nervous for what you’re about to go home to. 

Lucifer picks up on this as the both of you start your way towards the iron-wrought gate. “Is everything alright?” 

You sigh in response, shaking your head as you try to sort out the conversation in your head. “Honestly…I have no idea.” 

Due to how shocked and concerned you are, with millions of questions buzzing in your head, the walk to Cocytus Hall is silent. You also feel your heart in the pit of your stomach as you wonder what this means for Solomon and yourself. Lucifer doesn’t prod you any further, which you’re thankful for because what are you supposed to tell him? 

Once you arrive, you thank Lucifer for escorting you before heading directly inside to see for yourself just what the hell is happening. 

The first thing you notice upon entering is the odd smell wafting throughout the hall. It doesn’t smell anything like the chemical warfare Solomon cooks up in the kitchen with its distinct odor, so that’s at least a relief. You venture further in, making your way to the common room to see if the sorcerer is there. 

Your foot crosses the threshold, but pauses mid-step as your eyes land on something black and fuzzy laying on the couch. 

“Me-e-eh.” 

“What the-” you start, but you recognize the sound of footsteps approaching from behind and you quickly glance over your shoulder to see Solomon with a little metal bowl filled with water. His eyes are trained on the bowl, simultaneously lost in his thoughts while making sure not to spill any, so when you clear your throat to get his attention, his head snaps up instantly.

He plasters on a cheerful smile which reaches his eyes upon seeing you home. “Welcome home, darling.” 

You say nothing, now standing with your arms crossed as you stare at him with a blank expression as if waiting for him to explain why there is a baby goat sitting on the couch. Solomon lets out a sheepish chuckle as he rubs the back of his neck, indicating that he knows you know now.

“What do you think? He’s cute, no?” 

“He’s cute, alright…” you pause, taking a peek at the little thing which is staring back at you in curiosity. You turn back to Solomon. “Is this the “kid” you mentioned earlier?” 

A beat of silence passes between you two before he replies, “...yes.” 

Your brows knit together so hard you might just start knitting a sweater with them. “Solomon, why didn’t you just tell me it was a baby goat? Wouldn’t that have been, oh I don’t know, simpler? I thought something else was going on!”

His eyes dart from yours to the bowl in his hands, feeling a bit ashamed of himself for worrying you so much. “I suppose so, but I didn’t lie to you. He is technically a kid.” 

The sound of tiny hooves clicking against the wood floor draws your attention back to the goat, who trots its way over to the two of you, looking almost expectantly at Solomon. He smiles softly as he crouches down to set the bowl of water before the small creature. 

“Here you go, little guy.” The goat sniffs at the bowl, inspecting it, before tentatively lapping at the cool, fresh water within. Solomon reaches a hand out and gently strokes its fuzzy back, gazing at it fondly. It seems the two have already bonded. You almost can’t be mad with how cute this scene is to you. 

A little smile tugs at your lips as you start again. “Where did he come from?” 

Solomon glances back up to you. “Would you believe me if I told you I honestly just found him wandering around down here in the street?”  

“I kinda have to. You can’t lie to me.” 

He chuckles in response. “Indeed I cannot. Though, you can’t lie to me either, my beautiful soulmate.” 

“Hey, you can’t just throw some sweet words my way and think you can get away with this. You really had me spooked earlier,” a faint chuckle weaves its way through your words, finding this whole thing ridiculous. Still, you can’t deny how flattered you are, because you know it’s the truth. 

He truly does see you that way. 

“I know, I know. Flattery will get me nowhere… But you can’t blame a guy for trying,” he says as he shrugs with a hint of a smirk. “Anyways, I plan on looking into some notable farms in the human realm and contacting them to see if any of them are interested in taking him. He can’t stay here, unfortunately, as this wouldn’t be a sustainable life for him. But for now, he’s ours.” Solomon stands to full height and snakes his arms around your waist. 

You grin as your hands come up to rest along his shoulders. “Ours?” 

Solomon chuckles softly with a nod. “Yes,” he pauses for a moment, glancing down at the little goat who looks back up at him and “mehs” at him loudly. “I’ll think I’ll even let you name him.” 

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

To Find What Once Was Lost

Warnings: None really. Some angst. Regrets.

Summary: Y/N has found Dean, can she find what they lost when she said goodbye?

Pairings: Dean x Y/N

Word Count: 1250

A/N: So this fic is a sequel to Love Misunderstood. That little drabble was written just over a year ago, and I've been meaning to write this almost ever since.

@paarthurnax59 sent a very kind ask inquiring about a part 2 for them, and I was quickly inspired to write this sequel. It's more than twice as long as the first one - sorry! Couldn't keep this one short and sweet. 😏

Anyway, hope you all enjoy them both!

P.S. For reference, I pictured the first part of the story taking place when Dean was around 22 or 23. (2001/2002 - ish) This one is supposed to take place almost 11 years later, when Dean was 33/34 (2012/2013 - ish.) So around season 8. But there's room for interpretation as your imagination prefers. 😊

The day he stepped back into my life was just an idle Tuesday. I’d spent more than a decade avoiding him one way or another, either by design or by accident. 

Then one Tuesday night in Stedman’s Bar and Grill - there he was, leaning against the bar, swirling a glass of cheap whiskey.

Dean Winchester. 

The boy that I loved without understanding that I did. The boy who told me he loved me just so I could stomp on his heart. The boy I regretted more than any other mistake I’d made, and I’d made a lot of them. 

I stared at him across the room and the first thing I realized was that he wasn't a boy anymore. 

In some ways he still looked exactly the same, the same perfect profile, the same wide, disarming smile, the same jewel-bright green eyes that widened with surprise when they caught mine from across the room. 

But as I stared at him, I saw the differences too. When I’d known him, he’d been tall and muscular, but still a little lanky, as though he hadn’t quite grown into his size yet, like a puppy.

Now, he’d definitely achieved his full potential. His body was thick and broad, sturdy, like an oak tree - one that had weathered years and years of storms.

As he walked slowly towards me, his glass of whiskey in hand, I could see the changes in his face too. He was still inordinately beautiful - there was something almost surreal about that kind of beauty - but there was a warning in his eyes now, a set to his mouth that was harder. His smile was more cautious, less automatic.

He approached my table and my heart beat wildly. Then he spoke and I realized another big change.

“Hey, Y/N, long time no see.”

Like the rest of him, his voice had matured, deepened significantly. It was rougher, harder. But it had also gained the power to make an electric shiver run up my spine.

I tried to remember how to smile, as I greeted him. “Yeah, a long time. How…how are you?”

He shrugged and gestured to the chair across from me, questioning. I gave a nod. “Yeah, please, sit.”

He sat down and took a sip from his glass. “I’m good. You?”

I laughed lightly, nervously. “Well, over the last ten years or so?” I tilted my head. “Mostly okay.”

He frowned. “Hasn’t been ten years.”

I nodded. “You’re right, closer to eleven.”

I saw realization slowly dawn in his eyes and I chuckled. “Yeah.”

A charged silence descended and I knew we were both remembering that last meeting. I knew my memory of it was shrouded in regret and pain. How did he remember it?

As the time that bitch ripped his heart out? Puppy love for an unremarkable and undeserving girl? Or was his memory of me muted and fuzzy around the edges? 

Was I just a distant memory he had trouble accessing? 

I wanted to ask him, but I couldn’t. Because what if I told him I remembered everything about our time together, that I remembered the way he smelled when he was fresh out of the shower, that I still make grilled cheese sandwiches the way he taught me, that I can’t listen to Nothing Else Matters because it makes me cry to remember the way he held me pressed close to him in the back of the Impala while it played softly over the radio.

What if I told him all those things and he remembered nothing, or he remembers and doesn’t care, remembers and curses my name, remembers and knows he dodged a bullet.

The endless what ifs kept my mouth sealed tight.

He cleared his throat. “So, still hunting?”

I nodded, grateful for the conversational lifeline. “Yeah, still at it. You too, from what I hear.” I smiled. “Thanks for uh…saving the world.”

He snorted softly, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Yeah, no problem. Nothin’ else to do that day.”

I grinned. “Well, good thing.”

His smile softened slightly, and he sighed deeply. “Y/N Y/L/N.” 

I returned the soft smile. “Dean Winchester.”

In the renewed silence I heard a distant alarm bell going off in the back of my mind. For years I’d wanted the chance to tell him I was sorry, that I regretted hurting him, that he wasn’t wrong, it was love between us, that I’d been a fool. 

And now my mouth was sealed shut. But I was the one who did the hurting, and even though Dean was the one who walked out the door, I was the one who ended what we had. So, I had to be the one to speak first. 

With determination and terror I pried open my jaw and let my cartwheeling thoughts fall out.

“This is probably gonna be stupid and maybe you don’t care, or maybe you don’t wanna hear it, but I need to say I’m sorry.”

Dean was frowning. “No, Y/N-”

But I cut him off. “Please, yes. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long that I was the one who was wrong. I told you you were mistaken, that you didn’t love me, that we didn’t love each other, but I was so wrong. I was just a scared, stupid kid and I’ve regretted hurting you every day since. Because, you did love me, I did love you, it was real. Okay, maybe it was young and untested, but it was real. And…well, I’m just sorry I couldn’t understand that then.”

My voice got quiet. “I think about you a lot, and I always hope you’re well, happy.” I looked at him, my expression turning the statement into a question, and he just shrugged.

“I’ve been happy.” He paused a beat and then scoffed. “Been miserable and scared and broken, and stomped on quite a bit too.” He answered with a lopsided, heartbreaking smile. “But yeah, I’ve been happy.”

He caught my eye. “I’m happy now.”

My heart grew and thumped against my ribcage and I couldn’t help the tears that came to my eyes. I blinked them away and reached across the table to put my hand on his, smiling wide. “I’m happy too.”

He shook his head, inhaling deeply, and exhaling slowly. “Man, I’ll tell you one thing - I missed that smile.”

I felt myself blush and Dean chuckled and winked. “Missed making you blush too.”

I waved away his flirtations, though they made my pulse race, and I gave him a serious look. “Do you accept my apology? Forgive me?”

Dean’s face was gentle now, closer to the soft boy I remembered, though still forever altered. “Yeah, sweetheart. Long time ago. Life’s too short and mean to hold on to old hurts.”

A shy smile turned up the corner of his mouth and he stared into his whiskey. “Still think about you lots though too, still…still regret walking away.”

I squeezed his hand. “You’re right, gotta let go of those regrets.”

He looked back up at me and nodded. “Yeah, and maybe…?” 

I got lost in the forest of his eyes for a moment, but then raised an eyebrow in question. “Maybe…what?”

He shrugged, his expression sheepish. “Maybe start making new memories instead?”

There was a familiar warmth in his gaze that had goosebumps racing across my skin and the blush back in my cheeks.

“Yeah, definitely, new memories, new chances?”

He raised his glass of whiskey and winked at me again. “I’ll drink to that.”

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

@lyarr24

@lacilou

@deans-spinster-witch

@globetrotter28

@suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused

@evznackles

@jackles010378

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@envyaurora95

@spnwoman

@deans-baby-momma

@luvr4miya

@arcannaa

@viviwatchestv

@winharry

@ladysparkles78

Dean Fics Only:

@roonthelittlespoon920

@slamminmine

@zepskies

@safiyas-world

@aylacavebear

@waywardcheshire

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

@kazsrm67

@slut-for-evans-stan

@sexyvixen7

@nancymcl

@hobby27

Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

@k-slla

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@deangirl96

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[ouiouimochi]

Part 2 of the Abyss x reader that I wrote a while back.

Part 1 - Part 3

there won't be an mc(you) and abyss reunion just yet

inconsistent and unedited writing. kinda wrote in a rush to destress so it's gonna be short

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

synopsis: abyss unexpectedly finds himself a place at easton and becomes busy with magia lupus

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

abyss never would have thought that his parents would even send him to school, much less one as prestigious and famous as easton magic academy

although he never understood why, he more or less preferred being in school than live in the same household as his parents

even though there's only little differences to how he gets treated by his peers and his parents

but the worst thing his peers had ever done was talk bad about his cursed eye— not that it actually made the situation much better

at least he managed to get himself into a group that didn't make him feel too out of place

he also found himself admiring a male by the name of abel walker who he swore to serve in gratitude for looking past his evil eye and recruiting him into magia lupus

abyss forgot about meeting the eccentric lady from a few years back since he got busy with wanting to make himself useful to abel in making the goals of magia lupus a reality

the hallways were bustling with more life than usual and abel seemed to be curious what it was about

while walking a bit slower, abyss also tried to listen to the loud whispers but opted to focus his attention to the closest group of girls

“hey, did you hear?”

“are you talking about the new student joining our academy this late into the semester?”

“yeah, yeah. apparently they got in because of family connections”

“ehh… even that kind of thing can't be avoided in easton, huh?”

“well… do you actually know who it is?”

“i heard from someone that it's a girl”

“really? that sucks i was hoping for a cute guy”

“oh stop being delusional already”

“so continuing, she's apparently a double liner”

abel and abyss’ ears immediately noticed and they shared a look

another potential recruit

but before either of them could learn of the new student’s identity, the whispers significantly quieted down, taking notice of abel and abyss' presence

then the gossiping students hurriedly dispersed themselves without further wait

abel calls for abyss to recruit the new student and the masked male only nods in acknowledgement of the task

apparently everyone, even the other fangs, were tasked to try recruiting this new student

one would think it was an easy task with how quick word got around and how many members there were in magia lupus

but alas, none of them were successful in finding even finding out the identity of the new student aside from the information that they were female

none of the gossiping students seem to be spilling anything that could expose the new student's identity despite there being talks about the topic

like a magic spell had prevented anyone from speaking of it— or perhaps it was just a coincidence

some fangs also proposed that maybe the new student is from a very powerful family that anyone who spoke ill or exposed her identity could get in more than just trouble

love cute suggested that maybe news of a new student appearing was fake

at that, everyone also started thinking love’s statement made sense despite a huge percent of the student population buzzing with gossip about this new student

abel then called for the fangs to focus on other objectives instead while keeping an eye out for the new potential recruit

at that, the magia lupus meeting ended

“that's the report, my lady” a maid bows while finishing her report

you sighed at the information you received

“things haven't quieted down yet, huh?”

the maid, your attendant, only nods, dreading what you had schemed in that head of yours

you were due to present yourself in school a few days ago, but then you made a fuss about not wanting to go when the campus would be noisy

your reasoning was that it was bothersome to try and tolerate it

the attendant sighs internally, not even knowing what to expect from her lady anymore

it's pretty obvious this poor attendant should be given a well-deserved vacation at this point

all the while, you were coming up with plans to at the very least entertain yourself in a situation where you got forced by your family to attend easton

you might as well have fun, right?

[cuubism]

A heist for a crown for a king? 🤔👑

yes. dream deserves a crown. dream insists he doesn't need a crown, everybody knows he is king. also he has his helm. hob says how many times i gotta tell you it's not about NEEDING it. it's about how fucking sexy you'll look. that's the priority. also you deserve it. dream is still flummoxed.

may i propose a DREAM heist for a DREAM crown.

--

Hob was... definitely going to get in trouble for this.

"We're definitely going to get in trouble for this," said Matthew, perched on his shoulder. He tittered nervously. And Matthew was one of the most ride-or-die people-- birds?-- Hob had ever met, so this was not a good sign. "Like. Getting my wings cut off trouble."

"He's not going to cut your fucking wings off, Jesus Christ," said Hob. He crept through the dreamspace, keeping to the shadows so as to try to avoid alerting the dream itself to their presence. "Drawing and quartering is a lot more entertaining."

"HOB. What the fuck." Matthew's claws dug into his skin like he really did mean to separate Hob's arm from his shoulder.

Hob shrugged. "Didn't live through 'ye olde medieval times,' as you put it, for nothing."

"I didn't call it that."

"Yeah, you did. That's what I get for agreeing to watch A Knight's Tale, I suppose."

Matthew squawked. "It's a good movie!"

"It was a good movie right up until it managed to convince you that "We Will Rock You" was actually sung at jousts," said Hob.

"In my defense--" started Matthew, then clacked his beak shut. "Nah, actually, I don't have a defense for that. I must have been totally sloshed."

Hob snorted. "Oh, you were."

"Well, who decided it was a good idea to feed Bailey's to a raven?"

"There was no point at which I thought it was a good decision," said Hob. He couldn't help his grin. "I just don't mind making a bad one."

"And here I thought we were friends."

Hob slipped through a doorway, ducking around the next corner. The dream castle was significantly more winding than a real one. It was slow going.

He started humming to himself, an incongruously jaunty old execution ballad. "His quarters stand not all together, But ye mai hap to ring them thether..."

"I'm begging you to stop," said Matthew. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a serious problem?"

Hob laughed. "Many times."

A small group of people -- figments of the dreamscape -- strode around the corner. Hob ducked into a tiny alcove, one which hadn't been there before he'd thought of needing it. He was gradually getting better at manipulating the Dreaming.

And his heart was hammering. Dream theft or not, it was thrilling.

"Never thought I'd be part of fucking Inception," grumbled Matthew, peering to see if it was all clear.

Hob crept back out into the hall and up a spiral staircase. "This is way more fun than Inception."

"And way more dangerous."

"You loved the last outing!"

"Yeah, that one didn't involve sneaking around in my boss's subconscious."

Hob rolled his eyes. "It's not Dream's subconscious." Finally at the center of the absolute maze that was the castle, he spied his prize, and slipped right through the bulletproof glass to get at it. On a stand at the center of the room sat the most gorgeous tiara, a winding thing of diamond leaves and ruby berries. He grinned. "It's the Princess's."

He swiped the thing from its stand, leaving a weight in its place for the pressured alarm he was sure still existed even in a dream.

"Dream is the Dreaming, dude. We're gonna get caught."

"Well, that's why you're here, isn't it? It's normal for you to be in dreams, it's not for me. You're my cover. You'll make it way less likely for Dream to--"

And they were yanked from the dream.

"Drawn and quartered!" Matthew squeaked, and then they were standing in the throne room.

Dream was, of course, standing a few steps up on the grand staircase, glaring at them. Glaring at Hob, really. Matthew squawked again in fright, puffing up his feathers. Hob just grinned back at Dream.

"When I gave you free run of the Dreaming," Dream started, some of the menace Hob had heard him use with rogue nightmares on display, "this was not what I meant."

Hob wasn't afraid of Dream, though. Never had been. "Don't take it out on Matthew," he said. "Wasn't his idea."

Dream's stormy gaze flickered over to Matthew. "Matthew, you are dismissed. I will deal with you later."

Matthew didn't need to be told twice. He winged away out of the throne room, calling back, "Good luck with getting drawn and quartered, Hob!"

Dream raised an eyebrow. He still looked dreadfully unamused. "Drawn and quartered?"

"We've watched too many medieval movies," Hob explained.

"Ah." His gaze found the tiara clasped in Hob's hand. "What, exactly, is that?"

He obviously knew. It was made of dream stuff, after all. Still, Hob knelt and held it out to him. "For my liege."

Dream strode down the few steps separating them, fluid as water streaming over a fall, his long cloak trailing behind him. Majestic creature. Majestic king. Did he really expect Hob to be at all normal about it?

Dream plucked the tiara from Hob's hands. He tilted it back and forth. The light through the stained glass illuminated it in every color imaginable and cast refracted rainbows on his face. "You stole it from a dream."

Hob flashed him a crooked grin. "Guilty."

Dream tipped his head up with one fingertip under his chin, until Hob's neck was craned back and he was meeting his gaze. "That," he drawled, his eyes flashing dark, "is very disrespectful."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes." Dream didn't release Hob's chin; if anything, he leaned closer so Hob had to look up even further. "Did you think you would not be caught? Creeping around in my halls?"

"We'll, I'm very good," Hob said. This was hardly the first thing he'd stolen for Dream, though it was the first one he'd attempted in the Dreaming.

"Or perhaps," continued Dream, and the darkness in his eyes looked hungry, now, though no less dangerous. "Perhaps, you wanted to be caught."

Hob winked at him, cheeks heating. "Well. I may be good, but I could hardly expect you not to feel it when it's your skirts I was rustling under."

"Is that what you were doing?" Dream swept his thumb along Hob's lip, dipping into his mouth. "Fiending for punishment?"

"Just trying to please my lord. Are you pleased, my love?"

"That is not quite the word I would use, dearest one." A sharp smile was creeping its way onto his lips, eyes burning with a dark warmth, like smoldering coals.

He placed the tiara on Hob's head.

Shadows dripped from it, falling over Hob's shoulders and back. Dream's hands lingered at Hob's temples, stroking his hair back behind his ears.

"Devoted one." His voice rumbled pleasantly through Hob's body, and Hob shivered. "Mischievous one. What am I to do with you?"

"Only whatever you want," said Hob, leaning into his touch. "As usual."

"Hmm. I think..."

Shadows fell around the throne room, dropped from the ceiling like banners and speckled like blackened stars. Hob knew those shadows, knew the way they were meant to intimidate though they did nothing but make him want more, make him hungrier, make him want to hold Dream close in every meaning of the word.

And he knew that bright darkness in his lover's eyes, too. The sky during an eclipse.

Dream drew him back to his feet. Hob stumbled in so they were a breath apart.

"Whatever prize you were seeking when you embarked on this foolhardy task?" Dream hummed, just before pulling Hob in to meet his lips. "I think you should claim it."

[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 6 - Frozen Peas

Chapter Summary: Cat's plan kind of fails (is anyone surprised?)... but it also works out? Things happen and she’s reunited with a certain redheaded assassin.

Chapter Warnings: Talking about a mugging, playful threatening with a knife. This is and will be minor friendly! No smut in this story.

Notes: Nat returns this chapter! But this isn’t the last we see of Peter! Thank you to everyone who reblogged/commented/read so far! Getting notifications really encourages me and I enjoy each and everyone one of them. New chapters will come Monday/Thursday 5PM PST (I’m on time FINALLY). Also idk if I should make a tag list but if so lmk who’s interested! Happy reading!

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"That was awesome!" Cat breathed as Spider-Man dropped her and Taco back on the ground. Her heart was still beating fast from the exhilaration. Swinging around New York was similar to riding a roller coaster, albeit a faster, steeper, more dangerous one with significantly less elbow room.

Spider-Man looked around the abandoned streets warily. "Um… are you sure this is where you wanted me to drop you off?"

Cat made sure she had the right dark alley. Granted, all the dark alleys looked generally the same in New York, but she had a great mind for directions. And she was pretty sure she was at the right place. If she squinted, she could spot a few familiar landmarks. And… there! If she could get a little closer, she could just make out the sliver of the door on the side of the wall.

The door of the safehouse.

"This is the one," she confirmed.

"If you're sure," he said. "Is there anything I can do to help? I don't think I have any cash on me— wait—" He awkwardly patted himself down for cash, even though Cat couldn't see how any pockets could possibly be hidden in the folds of his spandex. "Yeah, no cash. Sorry."

Cat suddenly had an idea. "Can I have your autograph?"

"What?"

"You know, to sell it," she said unremorsefully. "It might help me make some money. Sorry if that's offensive. I need everything I can get right now."

"Oh, that's really smart. I didn't even think of that. I don't have any paper, do you?"

Cat rummaged around in her backpack. She had a few souvenirs, a mug that was only a little cracked, some pieces of cardboard, and an I-Heart-New-York sweatshirt that was slightly too large for her. Lastly, she pulled out an extra thick sharpie. She'd gotten most of the items in the soup kitchen cupboards, or at homeless shelters.

Spider-Man quickly scribbled his signature on all of them, leaving little sweet but unnecessary notes. "Here you go."

"I'm really grateful for this," she told him.

Before handing the sharpie back, he paused. He stared at her for a long time. "Are you going to be okay?"

She glared at him. "Of course I am!" she said indignantly. "I'm tough, you know."

"I know. You're pretty neat, Cat."

"You're not so bad yourself, Spider-Man."

He awkwardly placed his hand on her shoulder, then removed it almost instantly. "Well, just know that if you're ever in trouble, I'll always be around. Just… scream for help, or something." He patted Taco on the head. "Bye, cute beagle." He shot a web up into a ledge of a building. He made a peace sign at her as he yanked himself into the air. "See ya, Cat!"

"Bye!" Cat called after him as he swung out of view.

I'll be okay, she thought.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

She was so not going to be okay.

"Damn," she swore under her breath, jamming her knife in the lock for the eighth time in the dim hopes that it would work that time.

Cat dug it in harder, twisting and turning every which way. She was waiting for the telltale clicks and shifts, but they didn't come. Instead, the knife was met with a stubborn wall that blocked it from moving in further. She'd been there for at least ten minutes, with a sinking heart. They'd changed the locks.

"Damn it!"

Taco barked. Cat liked to imagine she was sharing her frustration.

Frustrated and disappointed, Cat gave up. Plan A was a no-go. She'd have to find somewhere else to sleep. Which actually really sucked, because it was freezing. The wind was blowing with a frigid ferocity that night. She tried to yank the knife out of the lock, but it was stuck.

She swore again, tugging at the knife, but it stayed stubbornly stuck. Her grip slipped and she fell backwards onto the ground, landing hard. Oww. She groaned. Taco jumped up and padded over to her, licking her face.

Despite Taco being adorable as always, Cat was miserable. Her hands and face were numb with cold. She could hardly feel her fingertips. She was shivering in her feeble, tightly stretched coat and thin leggings that offered no protection from the cold. She'd been looking forward to the warm, welcoming safehouse, but now even that wasn't an option. The good thing was, the cold did a good job of numbing the pain on her face and ribs. She had long gotten used to the throb of pain.

Cat got to her feet, shaking with exhaustion. She took a shaky breath, steeling herself. Her eyes narrowed and she gritted her teeth. Whether she was getting into the safehouse or not, she sure as hell was getting her knife back.

She rubbed her hands together, trying to generate some warmth into them. She wrapped her hands around the hilt of the knife, and raised her left foot to a position over the lock. Taco watched her with a perplexed expression, as if asking her what the hell she thought she was doing. Pushing off of her left foot, leaning sideways, she tugged at the knife as hard as she could.

The knife came loose. Cat couldn't regain her balance quickly enough, so she went flying backwards, slamming into the opposite wall with a sickening crash. She collapsed to the floor with a heap. For a moment, Cat laid there, breathing hard, and felt impossibly tired. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to fall asleep right there…

Then, she heard something moving behind the door. With a grunt of pain, Cat forced herself to her feet. She held her knife to her side, the slightest sliver of hope in her heart.

The door groaned open.

"You're making an awful lot of noise," Natasha said.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Natasha didn't say a word as she led Cat into the living room, and gestured to the table. Cat took a seat and watched as Natasha took out a bag of dog food from one of the cabinets and poured it into a bowl for Taco. Taco leapt on it eagerly.

"Do you have a dog?" Cat asked out of curiosity.

"No."

"Why do you have dog food?"

She shrugged. "Why not?"

Cat took that as a good enough answer. Natasha wordlessly passed her a box of Chinese takeout. The smell of it had been filling up the kitchen. Cat dug in the moment she had it in her hands, feeling impossibly luckier and happier than she had in weeks. She ate like she was starving— probably because she was.

Natasha was silent, watching her as she devoured the takeout. Once Cat had eaten almost half of it, she gently tugged it out of Cat's hands.

"Sorry," Cat said immediately, scooting back in her chair. "I didn't mean to eat so much, I just—"

"Relax," Natasha said. "I'll give it back. You don't want to eat too fast or too much, or you'll throw up."

"Right." Cat took a deep breath. "Thanks."

"Here."

Natasha passed her a mug of steaming brown liquid. For a moment, Cat got excited, thinking it was coffee. When she took a sip and the taste of hot chocolate slammed into her, she wasn't too disappointed. It was surprisingly good. She was mostly glad Natasha had decided to let her in at all.

Cat wrapped her hands around the mug, trying to let the warmth of the room envelope her in its embrace. She relished in the moment, having a warm place to stay, food, and water. She shivered, remembering that it was only temporary and soon she'd have to be back out in the streets.

Cat couldn't take the silence. "Do you live here?" she asked.

"Sometimes," she answered vaguely.

"How did you know I was outside?"

"Like I said, you were making a lot of noise. I didn't think that was possible, considering those walls are about two feet thick."

"You changed your locks," Cat said resentfully.

"It's called a safehouse for a reason," Natasha pointed out. "What would be the point if persistent little orphans like you could break in?"

"I didn't think anyone would be inside."

"And that makes it okay?" Natasha asked pointedly.

"Um… no," Cat said, trying to sound remorseful. "Sorry."

Another bout of silence passed. Cat was trying to think of a way to ask for the takeout back. Her hunger was still rearing its little ugly head inside of her. But Natasha was holding the box just out of arm's reach.

"What happened to your face?"

"Nothing."

"I said, what happened to your face?" Natasha asked again, this time with an edge to her voice. Her eyes had narrowed.

"And I said," Cat fired back, "nothing."

"I gave you food," Natasha pointed out. Cat eyed the takeout box. "I could've left you out there in the cold. The least you could do is give me a straight answer."

Cat bit her lip. That was true. What would be the harm in telling her? Her stomach whined, yearning for the takeout. Still, some part of her didn't want Natasha to know. She stayed silent.

Natasha sensed the shift in her silence. She pushed the takeout box toward Cat, just a little. Cat reached for it, but then Natasha pulled it away. Cat looked up at Natasha with a mixture of betrayal and confusion. No food?

"Answer the question, and you can have it."

Cat scoffed. "That's not going to work on me."

"We'll see," Natasha said with an infuriating amount of certainty.

Cat worked her jaw. She crossed her arms and leaned back, defiant. Natasha stared back with an equal amount of fierceness. Cat's stomach growled painfully. It was loud enough so that even Natasha heard. She raised her eyebrows. Then, the smell of the takeout got to Cat.

"I tripped."

"You tripped."

"Yes."

"Try again."

"Fine. I got mugged." Cat lunged for the takeout box.

Natasha held it just out of reach, again. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused."

"Who mugged you?"

"How do you expect me to know? They weren't keen on doing icebreakers, and there wasn't enough time for me to run a facial recognition program."

"What did they want?"

Cat crossed her arms. "I thought you said I only had to answer one question. This seems like a lot more than one."

Natasha passed the takeout box to her. Cat started eating with a fervor. She was starting to feel a little full, but too full was better than too empty. She'd learned on the streets that she never knew when her next meal was going to be. If overeating to the point of throwing up meant she could spend another night without starving, that was what she was going to do.

Natasha got up and left, then came back with a first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas. She watched Cat wolf down the food with a horrified fascination.

"Slow down. You're scaring me."

Cat made a show of chewing for a long time before swallowing. The food in the takeout box was almost gone. She polished off the last bit, feeling satisfied for the first time in weeks. She started on the hot chocolate next, tipping the mug over until the last drop fell into her mouth.

Finally, she settled back into the chair with a sigh.

Natasha passed her the bag of frozen peas.

Cat stared at the bag of frozen peas. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Put it on your face, idiot."

Cat pressed it to the bruise on her face. She winced. "Ow."

"Don't be a baby. So, what did the muggers want?" Natasha repeated.

Cat sighed, long and drawn-out. Natasha had been awfully nice to her. She was lucky to be in a warm room with hot chocolate and takeout instead of shivering out in the cold. The least she could do was provide her with a little information.

"Money. They saw me give, like, twenty dollars to this Girl Scout, but it was pretty much the last of it. I kept telling them I didn't have any more, but you'd be surprised at how dumb they are."

"I'm not. How did you get away?"

Cat grinned. "Oh, funny story, actually. You know that guy, Spider-Man?"

"Sure. We've met a few times."

Cat gaped at her for a moment, having forgotten that Natasha was the Black Widow. She probably had met Spider-Man before. "You have?"

Natasha shrugged. "He's a good fighter. He's a bit of a talker, but a decent guy. We didn't really do the whole 'getting to know you' thing. We were mostly focused on trying to beat the crap out of Steve and his groupies."

Steve… Cat thought. Who was Captain America. Natasha was on a first name basis with Captain America— obviously— which was so cool.

"Yeah, anyway, Spider-Man swooped in and beat up all the muggers and stuck them on the wall. Then he swung me here. I asked him to autograph all my stuff so I could sell it."

"Hmm." Natasha moved the bag of peas from Cat's eye to see the bruise. "How hurt are you?"

Cat's ribs were aching, but she knew they weren't broken. Maybe bruised. It was mostly her face that was hurting, but the frozen peas had done a good job of numbing the area. "I'm fine. My ribs hurt a little, but—"

Without warning, Natasha reached out and prodded her side. Cat yelped, more shock than hurt, and thrust her hands up in front of her to defend herself.

"Jesus! Could you warn me before you do that?"

"Where does it hurt?" Natasha asked unapologetically.

"Just… like, around here."

Cat stayed stiff as Natasha pressed lightly against her ribs, examining them. "They're just bruised," she told her.

"Yeah, looks like it."

"You know, I could've told you that if you'd just asked instead of prodding me like some kind of lab rat."

Natasha straightened, looking her in the eye. She had an unnerving habit of doing that. Her piercing eyes were impossible to avoid. "So, tell me. What's your plan?"

"My plan?" Cat echoed.

Natasha raised her eyebrows. "Yes. Your plan for living on the streets, finding a job, feeding yourself, making sure you don't die. Unless you don't have one?"

"Of course I have a plan," Cat said, not wanting to admit that she did not, in fact, have any sort of plan. "I'm going to go to homeless shelters and the soup kitchens to get food. And I'm going to get a lot of canned food from pretending to be a Girl Scout. And I'll learn everything I need to know in the library— Don't make that face!"

Natasha's smirk reverted into a suspiciously convincing blank expression. "What face?"

"Like you think I'm some silly little kid who has no idea what she's doing. I'm really good at memorizing things. I could learn everything I need to learn in the library— You're making the face again!"

The second time, Natasha didn't bother to disguise her skepticism. "Yeah, because it's a crappy plan."

"It's not a crappy plan."

"Really? Then why'd you end up here, of all places?"

"Because I—"

"—had nowhere else to go?" Natasha finished.

She took Cat's sulky silence as an affirmation and plowed on.

"You don't have a consistent source of income. How do you expect to pay for things like new clothes, necessities, or literally anything you need to survive? You're also an easy target because you're young and you barely know how to defend yourself. You got mugged, which I promise will not be the worst situation you'll find yourself in, and you only just scraped by."

"I can defend myself," Cat protested. She thought she did a rather good job of fending herself off against the muggers, considering the circumstances. "I have a knife!" She grabbed it from the pocket of her jacket and pointed it at Natasha.

What happened next Cat almost couldn't explain in words. It happened so quickly. In one swift motion, Natasha lunged over the table and did something weird and uncomfortable with her arm, twisting and maneuvering it forcefully so that Cat's shoulder slammed down on the table. Cat glanced up, straining her neck, to see that the knife had made its way into Natasha's grip. It all happened in a matter of seconds. Cat could've blinked and missed it.

"What… the hell," she breathed. Also, ow. Her shoulder.

Natasha released her. Cat grabbed her shoulder, wincing. "Just because you have a knife doesn't mean you can defend yourself." She examined the knife distastefully. "This a kitchen knife."

"That wasn't fair," Cat grumbled. "You're the Black Widow. I stood no chance."

"So? You think a bunch of muggers are gonna go easy on you just because you're a little homeless girl? Haven't you've already learned that?"

Cat crossed her arms. "Okay, I get it. My plan is a crappy plan. It's not like you have a better one."

"Of course I do. I'll take you there myself."

All at once, alarm raced through her. Cat's feet slammed onto the ground. She pushed the chair away from the table with a loud screech and stood up. "You're not taking me to CPS."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I'm not. Sit down."

Cat lowered herself back in the chair cautiously. "Then where are you going to take me?"

"I own an apartment not far away from here. I barely use it, so you could crash there for the time being."

For several moments, Cat couldn't speak. "W-what?"

"What is it with you and making me repeat myself twice?" Natasha groused. "Did you not hear the first time?"

"I heard," Cat snapped, recovering quickly. "Does it have heating?"

"Yes."

"And a plumbing system?"

"Yes."

"And coffee?"

Natasha frowned. "Of course."

"And Fruit Loops?"

"No."

"Oh."

"I could get some Fruit Loops," Natasha offered.

"Thank you," Cat mumbled, staring into the distance. This was impossible, right? There was no way something this good could happen to her. Her attention snapped back to Natasha, who was still staring at her.

"Why are you helping me?" Cat demanded. "This isn't a trick, is it?"

"Are you always this paranoid?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Fair enough," Natasha admitted. "But you just have to trust me."

"I don't trust anyone," Cat said.

Something changed in Natasha's expression. Her eyes were faraway, looking into the distance. "You remind me of myself," she said. "I didn't want to rely on anyone either. But sometimes it's better to have people around you, people who are going to catch you when you fall."

Cat thought it was a bunch of bull. The more people she trusted, the more likely they could hurt or betray her.

"Anyway," Natasha continued briskly, abandoning her dreamy-eyed gaze, "you don't have any other choice. You can choose to go back in the streets and inevitably end up starving, poor, and out of options. Or, you could come with me."

"You promise you won't call CPS?"

"Sure."

That wasn't convincing enough for Cat. "I don't believe you."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "What, you want me to swear on a blood oath or something?"

That gave Cat an idea. She stuck out her pinky finger. "Pinky promise."

Natasha looked down at it. "This is hardly a legally binding contract."

"Pinky promise," Cat insisted. "The most unbreakable of promises."

Natasha linked her pinky with Cat's.

Cat nodded importantly. "The deed is done."

Natasha shook her head, bemused. "You're ridiculous."

Cat got to her feet. "So when are we leaving?"

"Slow down there, Turbo." Natasha got up as well and led her to the couch. Taco had noticed and followed them. "You look like you're about to kneel over. When was the last time you slept?"

When was the last time she'd slept? She honestly couldn't remember. "I don't know."

"Sleep first. Then we'll go."

"Okay," Cat agreed, too tired to argue. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and everything hurt. She just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. She laid down on the couch, resting her head on the arm rest. Taco jumped up and laid on her chest. It was a lot more comfortable than the chair she'd been tied to the first time she'd been here.

"Hey," she said with her eyes closed.

Natasha's voice came from a little to her left. "What?"

"Can you teach me how you did that knife thing?"

Cat didn't hear Natasha's response, because she was already drifting off to sleep.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Notes: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think! Also my asks are open so feel free to drop anything there too!

[acidsbeats]

Doctor Doctor

The Time You Call Suo Out

"It's not like I can get in trouble for sitting down if it's because I'm patching you guys up" you assured as you led the Bofurin boys to a booth in the back of the restaurant. Every shop in town was liable to have a small first aid kit on hand in case any of the heroic brats needed cleaning up. You made idle chatter with a few of them as you cleaned busted hands, iced purpling bruises, and listened to them regale their successes.

At last you were down to one student.

"Suo," you said, "your turn".

"No need" he assured with the quiet grace that he was so known for.

"Yeah bullshit" you replied with significantly less grace. Immediately you get up from your seat in the booth that had become your impromptu medical office and put yourself in his space where he sat at a chair.

He smiled -the pain in the- "I'm perfectly alright, Miss, but I appreciate your concern."

Oh, he was gunna play it like that? Fine.

"You don't want to wrap your knuckles because you want to feel the skin pull as it heals," you start. "You've probably got some bruises on your ribs, if the way you're laughing gives me any ideas. You're louder than usual, probably because you're taking deeper breaths so you can feel the ache. The exasperated sighs you kept making too - talk about performative." It's almost funny how fast that thin smile drops from his face. But he doesn't look angry. You press on. "You're not stupid enough to ignore something potentially serious like a head or spinal injury, so I'm not overly concerned, but I promise you infected wounds are not nearly as pleasant as healing ones. Let me wrap your stupid fucking hands."

He gapes at you. You don't think you've ever seen him make such an expression before, and you had been watching. What first started as interest in the mysterious eye-patched member of Bofurin and turned into a full blown crush when you saw him fight. He was stunning, graceful and decisive. But what really lit your interest was the look in his eye when someone truly pissed him off. Cold as ice - it fascinated you.

Maybe that was a bad sign for your taste in men. Eh. It's fine. Probably.

Instead of cold, dead eyes you're met with an expression much more similar to the one you wore the first time you watched him - surprise, maybe even curiosity.

"You speak from experience" he surmised calmly, a thin smile returning to his face.

You shrug as you take his left hand, cleaning it with antiseptic wipes without any more refusals from him.

"I mean yeah, can't get that sorta info off a cereal box". you move on to cleaning the right hand before pulling out your last roll of bandages. "Now you gunna pick a fight with me or are you gunna let me wrap your knuckles?"

For a moment it looked like he was going to sigh again, before he caught himself with some chagrin. He had already been caught, after all. "I will, if you tell me how you know those sorts of things" he offered. You were pretty sure this was his weak attempt at getting you to back off. Low stakes, low reward, but it would serve to get him away from you and your knowing eyes.

Good thing you didn't have an ounce of shame in your body.

"Not sure what to tell you, buddy. I mean, you know how it was before you Bofurin guys really dug your heels in. A lot of us were already used to getting shoved around. Some of us learned things about ourselves". You shrugged. "Maybe I learned that some injuries don't need treatment so much as," you made finger quotes, "'preventative care', you know, making sure it doesn't get worse as it heals on its own". As you finished wrapping his hands, you gave him a smile of your own, the one that you hoped came across as friendly as it could. "But don't worry. I've got your number now - you know, metaphorically speaking," you laughed "you can always come to me for patching up, I'll give you the super-minimal-barely-a-band-aid-special". You pat the bandaged knuckles gently as you pulled back and started packing up the now heavily depleted first aid kit.

"If you're going to take on responsibility for my medical care from now on," Suo smiled, the same smile he always wore, the gentle one, "perhaps I could give you my literal phone number as well. If we swap, I'd be able to call you in case of a medical emergency."

Despite the chip with which you had approached the whole situation, you tried hard not to flush. Suo was asking for your number. Suo was asking for your number in a voice that implied it was definitely not for medical emergencies. You flexed your hands, driving your nails into your palm for a bit of clarity as you tried to respond with the frank indifference you had worn the whole afternoon. "Well if somebody's got to keep you in bruises…"

Despite yourself, heat burns your cheeks as you realize how that sounded. "I mean! Making sure that they don't heal too quickly…" you cover your face with your hands, helplessly laughing at your own embarrassment.

The quiet laughter Suo makes sounds like wind chimes as he gently removes your hands from your face with his own, now well bandaged ones. His eye is warm as it looks at you, and you find yourself just as fascinated by that look as the cold one he gives those he deems enemies. Having him looking directly at you was a heady feeling, as you left your hands laying in his loose grip.

"Then it sounds like we're agreed, doctor."

[egg-emperor]

Maybe it was the stress of worrying about maria and creating project Shadow that made Gerald lose weight.

He prolly lived off only coffee for weeks.

Yeah I mean that makes sense. But I just liked to imagine Gerald only looked as skinny as he did in the SA2 video because he'd been imprisoned, was eating less due to not being fed well, going insane, getting sick and frail as a result etc though

You know, after they had him looking way fatter and healthier in Shadow 2005 and all the times we see him in it (creating Shadow with Black Doom, recording the video warning Shadow of Black Doom and the Black Comet) obviously taking place before that

And he is significantly fatter and less uncanny proportionately in the journal artwork and looking much more like in Shadow 2005, which I vastly prefer. I mean I know it was a stressful time up on the ARK but damn boy what happened for you to lose all that weight pre ARK raid?

Also he was clearly fat when creating Shadow with Black Doom in the 2005 cutscene and in the redraw in the journal commercial today. So the scene of him with Maria saying "welcome to the world" to Shadow in the story trailer can't be from around that time because if it was where did all that weight go tf lol

I felt him being fat in Shadow 2005 but so skinny in SA2 was a good way to depict just how badly he was impacted after everything fully went to shit and Maria's death. But ah well, I guess by my logic, this way it could show that things were always troubled for him with the pressure and urgency and devotion to help Maria before all that

And with him working all the time, even if he'd go a long time without eating, he wouldn't he probably moving much away from his work due to his dedication, he could always end up eating very late and too soon before finally sleeping, too much when he finally does, stress eating, etc

I mean the ARK is huge and mostly walkable but I can't imagine he was moving around it as much as he was sitting in one place for a long amounts of time to work. There's just as much logic for him to be fat until near the end of his life when he gets sick. That's what was in my head as the reason for the difference in Shadow 2005 and SA2 for years

I think about things like this a lot and you already know my motives so lol. I'm very passionate about it. Well I wouldn't have let this happen to him, I would've made sure my man was always eating well the whole time so he looks as beautiful and healthy as he did in Shadow 2005 and the journal art :P 💜

[bomberqueen17]

how it's going

yah my second experiment with adhd meds is like. well, this time it's making it so i can't sleep and my appetite gets shitty, which is what they normally say but i didn't really have that problem last time. i do now!!!

cut for discussions of eating/weight gain/loss shit, and the Horrible Yearnings

lil PSA, because a friend said something about this-- yah SSRIs make you fat (i gained 25 permanent irrevocable pounds on Celexa in 2012 and that's that, it's never gone away no matter what I did and it never will short of some other medical crisis I think), and it's reasonable to in a kind of not-healthy but understandable way wish that the amphetamine ADHD meds would thus make you thin. Seems like it, yeah? If you have no appetite and your metabolism is higher? I'm not finding that, though, so here to nip that in the bud is my observation that if you have trouble with comfort eating, losing your appetite does not take that impulse away, it just makes it disgusting. I actually am not a big comfort eater, but I do, like many humans, tend to derive comfort from eating food I enjoy? This takes that away without removing the need to do it. I still need to eat; if I don't, I get heartburny, emotionally distraught, and more, just like always. But now instead of enjoying the food at least, I find it unappetizing, have to force myself to prepare it, and then eat it so slowly it's always cold/mushy/melted by the time I'm done, and it's not satisfying. And instead of an occasional Fun Lil Treat as a pick-me-up, I wind up roaming the house with Formless Yearning, because I know food won't make me feel better, but nothing else is making me feel better, and I'm not getting any pleasure chemicals from anything I do, any more than I ever did. Friends have reported the dreaded afternoon/evening time when their ADHD meds wear off as being always a notable time for the Yearnings, but I'm finding that I get that just Whenever, so.

It ain't fun and it ain't cute.

But I'm determined to stick this test out to the end of the week because every day has been somewhat different at least, and I'm really trying to write down what happens. Because I was given two weeks' worth of this shit, and I tried it for a week and hated it so much I stopped, but then I didn't write down what happened so I have no fucking idea what to tell the doctor. (I also collapsed into despair and stopped calling that doctor back, but like, that didn't solve anything, and being bitter that finally getting a chance to attempt to fix my ADHD didn't work on the first several tries and in fact seems to still be beyond my capabilities because it requires me to have pattern recognition skills plus medical knowledge I simply don't have... well, it isn't helping anything.)

So we shall see. I have no attention span whatsoever and a MUCH worse working memory than usual, I routinely get up and leave the room to go do something and by the time I get to the next room I have NO memory of what it was, and unlike my normal life, I don't ever get the memory back. Usually I can retrace my steps but now that entire train of thought is JUST GONE, which is way more severe than the problems I normally have. And my usual coping mechanism, where I get up the oomph to do something by daisy-chaining several tasks together, is WILDLY ineffective now because the moment I add a second task the first one falls off and vanishes and I again, cannot recollect what it was.

I normally am no great fist at to-do lists, but I was told it's the Only Way To Make Vyvanse Work, but what I'm finding is that i am also even less capable than normal of making a to-do list have any relationship to reality. Plus I forget I made them, so. They are in fact not helping me.

I have had reasonable (like... 5 hours or more) sleep two nights this week so far, all other nights have been significantly less than that, two or three hours in most cases, which is not all that unpleasant-- at least my bed is comfy-- but does mean I have even less that I am capable of doing when I am awake, since I am so fuzzy-headed from lack of sleep. Also I can't nap, which is usually what fixes me; I am a world champion napper, but this is actually an issue from about the last six months, I cannot actually fall asleep during attempted naps, so it's futile to try. Discouraging!

Last night was a reasonable night though, so I'm carefully observing my capabilities and let me tell you I am not impressed.

So, what I'm finding is that stimulant medications make me MORE ADHD than I was before, which is. I don't know what that means and neither does my doctor so far.

I was going to write about my writing process but now this seems too whiny so I will not, I'll do that separately lol.

[sokkastyles]

you know, i was rewatching zuko alone the other day (as i am wont to do), and noticed a couple of things in regards to the scapegoat/golden child dynamic that i hadn’t before (probably because that wasn’t a frame of reference i understood when i was younger.)

when ursa tells the kids that ozai has requested an audience with azulon and hurries them to get ready, zuko runs out of the room right away to get dressed in his “best clothes” because he knows he can’t be late or non-presentable in some way without risking ozai’s rebuke. azula, meanwhile, waits behind and ambles about for a moment (while expressing violent ideology), before eventually running off to get ready. not that she doesn’t care about being presentable or punctual, but it’s clear that already her status as ozai’s golden child gives her an (ultimately false) sense of security.

after azulon orders them to leave, it’s azula who wants to stay behind and eavesdrop and drags zuko by the hand to do the same while he protests by asking what she’s doing. azula is significantly less worried about getting in trouble, but she also tries to get zuko involved so that if they are caught, she could theoretically pin on it him, as ozai would be predisposed to blame his scapegoat child anyway. (this may seem like an ungenerous interpretation, but i see it as a pretty clear microcrosm/foreshadowing moment of the lie she’ll tell in the first half of book three.)

these are definitely subtler moments in the episode but i actually think they do a lot to emphasize how, exactly, the abusive dynamics in the fire nation royal family work.

Yeah, and as I said in the other post I made about Azula's relationship with Ozai, her senss of security in her position as the golden child becomes a kind of psychological weapon she can wield, because she knows that Ozai is dependent upon her for his own validation. Often these types of dynamics lead to a power struggle between the parent and child as the child grows older and figures out that this gives them power over the parent. I do think that's what would have happened with Azula as she got older, and so Ozai and Azula's falling out at the end would have happened sooner or later.

This is also, as you say, another reason why I too interpret Azula lying to Ozai about Zuko killing the Avatar as less charitable than some people would argue. It's not just theorizing, the clues are in the text. I also love that moment in the comics when Azula tells Zuko that his fear prevented him from going with her to search for Ozai's secret stashes in the palace because it also tells us about this dynamic and reflects what we see in the show. Another example I would point to is Azula's casual assurance that she is welcome in the war meeting, despite the backdrop of what happened to Zuko, while Zuko agonizes over whether or not he is invited.

In that scene you mention when Ursa tells them to get ready, I think it's also a subtle rebellion against Ursa, a message that Azula knows how little control Ursa has, plus the knowledge that she's Ozai's favorite so she can take her time, while the rest of them scurry around in feat.

Coincidentally this is also why I have to laugh when people act like Azula was afraid of Ursa in any way, because her reactions to Ursa are always dismissive. She thinks Ursa fears her and she thinks that gives her power, because that's what she's learned from Ozai.

[dancingacrossthemilkyway]

Make a drabble for my time travel au pls

It shouldn’t be so difficult to keep up an act, but Jon never was much of an actor to begin with.

In a perfect world, he could blame the slip-ups that almost reveal they’re dating on someone else. Martin, for instance, given he is the other half of this particular equation. However Martin does a significantly better job at keeping everything under wraps - something that shouldn’t be a surprise after everything they’ve gone through. No, his fault is being slightly too aloof at times these days or when he’s blunter than he ought to be, compared to how he was a matter of weeks ago. Still, Tim and Sasha simply worry over him, concerned that something has happened in his personal life to upset him. When he delivers Jon tea and occasionally shuts the door behind him, they assume he’s in trouble again, none the wiser about the kiss he places on Jon’s forehead or the casual way they chat with him leaning against Jon’s desk. 

Jon, however. He’s not as subtle as he’d like. It’s been a point of contention with himself for over a decade that he more or less wears his heart on his sleeve, despite every attempt otherwise. It certainly doesn’t help that he can’t lie to save his life. 

All of this means he generally goes out of his way to avoid Martin because he’s well aware of the fact that he cannot control how softly he looks at him. 

So far, it’s been a successful strategy. Sasha assumes he’s kicked up his dislike of Martin a notch and hasn’t thought too much further into it; Tim’s spent much of his time preparing to comfort Martin after Jon inevitably does something to upset him. This does nothing, unfortunately, to save them when he’s forced to be in the room with all three of them to prepare for the inevitable arrival of Jane Prentiss. 

There is nothing to worry about, he tells himself as he gathers the pertinent statements along with a list of reasons they should be preparing that hopefully won’t trigger suspicion. I simply won’t look at him, or speak to him, or even acknowledge that he exists. It is an absolutely reasonable plan, one that he’s confident he can stick to. 

“...hey boss,” Tim starts about halfway through Jon’s explanation of why he believes Prentiss is inhabiting the tunnels underneath the Institute. “Is there a reason you’ve been avoiding looking at Martin the past 30 minutes?”

Jon startles visibly at the question, clutching his pen tighter. He clears his throat and glances at the table, setting down the pen in favor of picking up his papers and organizing them. “He has yet to ask any relevant questions. I don’t see why I should focus my attention on him.”

“It’s just that, you know, you’ve glanced at both Sasha and me several times by now. Doing the whole-” Tim wiggles his fingers at his eyes with an easy grin, “-eye contact thing to make sure we’re listening and understanding. But not Martin.”

“Yeah, actually, Tim’s right.” Sasha sits up in her chair and leans forward, placing her elbows on her desk and frowning at him. “You’ve been treating him like he doesn’t exist lately, Jon. That’s not okay.”

“Well, I-” Shit. Jon swallows, stumbling over his words in his attempt to come up with some sort of believable excuse. “Martin, he - that is, I simply-”

A long-suffering sigh comes from Martin’s desk. “Guys, it’s okay. Jon doesn’t have to like me.” As usual, Martin comes to his rescue right before he makes an even bigger mess of things. “What matters is that we do the job, right?”

“There’s plenty of studies out there that show it’s important that people who work closely together need to have the ability to get along if they’re going to be successful,” Sasha argues with a shake of her head. “The workplace environment can become toxic really fast otherwise.”

“Toxic?” Jon furrows his brows, offended at the implications. “Maybe I don’t talk to Martin much, but I would hardly call that toxic.”

“What about the way you berate him when he doesn’t do his ‘due diligence’?” Tim cuts in. “That’s toxic behavior if I’ve ever seen it.”

“Or the way that you not only give him the easiest tasks but tell him you’re doing so because that way he can’t mess things up?” Sasha tilts her head to the side, one brow raised in a challenge. “Or how you-”

Jon raises his hands in supplication and sighs. “Alright, alright, I get it. I need to be more pleasant to Martin. Now if that’s all, I’d very much like to get back to how we’re going to handle Ja-”

“No, no, you’re not getting off that easily.” Tim exchanges a look with Sasha, then, one that becomes far more mischievous than he likes. “You need to apologize.”

“What?” Both Jon and Martin respond in unison, eyes meeting for the briefest of moments before looking at Tim and Sasha in varying states of dismay. 

“He really doesn’t need to do that.” Martin leans forward and fervently shakes his head when the others look at him. “It’s, it’s fine, guys, okay? Just drop it.”

Is this how they all viewed him, back then? Jon’s brows furrow and his lips tilt down into a frown as he leans his palms onto the spare desk in front of him. He knew he’d treated Martin poorly, of course he did; he’d have to be either very stupid or very oblivious to not. “No, no,” he says in a softer and far more exhausted tone than he usually uses (mostly for the purpose of keeping up the ruse). “They’re… they’re right. I never have properly apologized for the way I treated you, Martin.”

Martin, for his part, freezes much like a deer caught in headlights. “I - uh. Jon, this maybe isn’t the time?” 

For the first time since walking into the assistant’s area, Jon looks straight at Martin. It’s probably a mistake, one he’s not entirely certain they’ll recover from because he can feel the way his expression softens even as Martin’s shifts to a visible panic. “There’s never going to be a ‘right time,’ I don’t think. I’m sorry, Martin. I truly am. I will do better from here on out.”

The silence that follows is loud, lasting what feels like an eternity before being cut through with a low whistle. “That was a lot more genuine than I expected,” Tim says, gaze flicking between the two with a growing curiosity. “Hey, have you two ever considered-”

“That’ll be quite enough of that, thank you,” Jon interrupts, breaking eye contact with Martin and shuffling his papers unnecessarily. “Back to the topic at hand-”