#I dunno he’s just so easy to put into Terrible situations

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

Pretty sure I getting sick again (ig walking in -degrees multiple times a day for at least 20 minutes for several days is bad on the body lol) but like I finally have another Jing yuan idea so if I’m writing with a fever- so be it. Kinda wanna hurt the generals feelings again whoops

[mrghostrat]

Hello!! I'm not new to writing but I am absolutely new to writing fanfiction and have been extremely nervous to even start doing that, do have any suggestions on where to start so I don't make it accidentally it's own story just using someone else's character names? ( I mean that in a sense of accidentally altering their personalities and other components that would be really important) Because chances are I probably won't notice while doing it and probably think it's fine. I'm really really bad at not noticing mistakes until it's too late to fix them but I have a fic idea that I think would be really cool and I don't know how to go about it without doing it terribly.

Here's a random pic I took this afternoon, I dunno just the way you describe scenes I figured you'd enjoy the atmosphere of it?

1. this picture is stunning, my god, it's giving me chills. so beautiful, thank you for sharing 👁️👁️

2, i think dialogue is probably one of the biggest components of characterisation, so linking back to canon dialogue can be a really helpful and easy way of keeping your characterisation in check. quite literally an exercise in "would he fucking say that?"

you've probably noticed how much i love using canonical lines from the show like this, even though i'm usually taking them out of their original context. as a reader, hearing dialogue in MS/DT's voices can be very grounding, and as a writer, it can keep you in line as you write their conversations.

i also like trying to create a parallel between events and decisions in my fic vs the canon. something tiny: in ATWS chapter 3, crowley orders takeaway and convinces aziraphale to get something too. in my initial plan, he was going to say no and wave crowley away/be a bit holier than thou, but when i made the takeaway food bbq ribs (like the ox rib), i realised it was literally aziracrow 101 for crowley to tempt him successfully into things, especially food. so i made aziraphale say yes, and simply act put out about it.

you'd think these kinds of parallels would be more important on a grander scale, but i like comparing every little decision to the canon, even if it's only for a moment, to think about how they'd act in that situation. it could be an entirely different universe but they can still be the same characters who make the same decisions as an angel and demon would.

3. a lot of people would say that it doesn't matter, that you can write whatever you want even if it's wholly out of character and just has their names attached to it. even though that's not the kind of fan fiction i like to read and write, it's still valid, and the most important thing is that you're having fun and being creative. basically, don't sweat it if it's not perfect.

[siriusremusblack]

My Marauders Ranking. Best to WORST.

Alright. Since, I asked y’all to rank the Marauders a while ago I will do so as well now!

Alright at number one we have Remus. He’s similar to Severus in the way that he was poor, an outcast, and he was a Halfblood. Joined a group of people (that weren’t the best influencers) to feel accepted and appreciated. Wanted. All that stuff. He actually got that but was too much of a coward to speak his mind about the bullying he didn’t agree with supposedly. Though I do understand that point since like Sev he was poor, a Halfblood and pretty much friendless without the Marauders so he was probably scared they’d bully him to if he “betrayed” James.

At number two we got Sirius. Sirius seems like an immature idiotic dude. He seems easily manipulated and like someone that trusts people blindly. I dunno. That’s just the vibes I got from him. He also has similarities to Severus. For instance both were friends to one of Harry’s parents and both helped out Harry in their own way. Two sides of the same coin I suppose. But Sirius was definitely an idiot unlike Severus- (at least in my opinion) he almost killed Sev. Maybe he didn’t realize Sev could probably die or maybe he did. But either way he’s an idiot because he obviously didn’t think of the consequences of his actions and expected his friend who he used for this terrible act to be fine with it. Like what??? Where is this man’s braincells???

At number three we have Peter. I don’t particularly like him. He was a coward and he betrayed his friends. He didn’t really care for them not like how the Marauders fandom portrays him anyways. Maybe he did care but. He cared more about power, authority and control more. He joined James and the others for what could be offered to him. Once he met someone stronger than James he left, betrayed them and got James killed. That isn’t a friend I would want around me. He’s that toxic ‘friend’ that stays in the friend group and the group chats collecting information on everyone there to give to your ex’s or ex friends or bullies for money or whatever. A fake.

In last place. We have James. I said before Sirius seemed like someone easy to manipulate. Who else would do something like that besides James? It’s not stated in canon that James manipulated Sirius and the others HOWEVER. If we look at each of their situations- it’s pretty much likely he did. But that’s only by my interpretation of what I saw. Now, another reason why he’s at the bottom of the list. He bullied multiple students including Severus. Made a map to stalk people (mainly Severus), harassed, S*xually assaulted/harassed another student (Severus), attempted to blackmail Lily to date him, threatened others, lied to his wife, went out of the house to hangout with his friends instead of being smart and staying home and helping to take care of Harry until Dumbledore took away his invisibility cloak, etc etc. This man is not a good guy in any way. I’m just going to say this now. If he didn’t die. If Lily didn’t die. If they were together and took care of Harry for those ten years before he went to Hogwarts. James would be a horrible father. Neglectful. Maybe even physically abusive. Neglectful is very much implied with how he left Lily to take care of Harry while he snuck out to hangout with Sirius and likely the others as well while in hiding. Abusive is implied from his actions towards others and even how he treated Lily before they dated. Threatening to continue the bullying on her best friend unless she dated him. That’s emotionally manipulative. Manipulative in general. Blackmail. Toxic, controlling and downright abusive. So I’m sorry to say to any James stans or kins but he’s not a good guy in the slightest. Lily and James likely would’ve gotten a divorce later down the line if they had survived because of James. He put his family in danger by leaving when they were supposed to be in hiding, he didn’t stop bullying and harassing people only got better at hiding, he was lying to his wife, his past actions he had zero remorse for- Lily would’ve found out eventually. I doubt she’d want to stay with him after finding that out.

[blimbosworlddd]

Nirvana: A Rock Lee Tale (Chapter 6)

Summary: Your dating life is terrible. Your friends’ marriage is fantastic. Your career as a medic was doing great, though. But you aren’t happy. However, after one quick trip to the Mighty Rock Dojo, you stumble upon the most magnificent man you’ve ever met- the taijutsu master- Rock Lee.

Notes: slow burn fic, afab/fem/black reader.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, mild to explicit sexual themes. Mentions of death, usage of petnames, cursing.

Word count: 5.1k

Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

It is the night you had that fabulous date with Lee. You lay in your bed, naked under the blankets while reminiscing on every second you spent with him. Heat blooms in your belly every time you think about the way he looks at you like royalty, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you like royalty. And that kiss. It plays nonstop in your head. You pull out your phone and scroll through your social media feed until Temari’s caller ID pops up on your screen. You realize you both hadn’t spoken much for a while and decide to catch up with her.

“Hey, girl. Wassup?

Temari slouches against her chair in relief at you succeeding to answer this late at night.

“Shika’s acting weird.”

“In what way?”

Your friend sighs in embarrassment, preparing herself for the admittance of her husband’s behavior. Temari never liked to admit when things in her life were going wrong. She’s well aware that it’s part of the human condition, but stability is what she’s good at. It’s her thing to keep things under her thumb and it was especially easier to keep it that way with Shika’s multifaceted security. But that security is crumbling and it takes two to make a marriage work. Temari sighs deeply when reflecting on everything her husband’s putting her through:

He hasn’t been home much, she thinks. We haven't had a proper date in weeks. At first he made up for it with life-changing sex but we don’t do that as much either. He comes home late when I’m already sleeping and leaves early before I wake up. He won’t even answer my calls when I need him to. And then he has the gall to chalk it up to the shitty economy making it hard for him to sell- I may not be an expert on real estate but selling property should never be that time consuming. Fucking poser.

You hum in thoughtful concern when she finally breaks her silence. The longer Temari explains her situation your brows slowly furrow at the realization of how much it reminds you of Shika’s behavior before he broke up with you. It feels too familiar and something nags at the back of your head for your friend’s sake.

However, Temari does not take your silence lightly and groans irritably. 

“I dunno am I doing something wrong?”

“No! No, I'm just thinking,” you blurt out. “And I think this is nothing new.”

Temari side-eyes her phone inquisitively. “Enlighten me.”

“Well…” you mumble tentatively, making sure you put care into every word that comes out of your mouth. “He’s acted like this before for a multitude of reasons. I can’t give you undeniable factors but I can help you connect the dots. Shika’s always been this way, just to varying degrees depending on the situation.”

Temari looks at the time on her phone and realizes this isn’t something she wants to sleep on.

“The best thing you can do is sit him down and have a talk,” you continue. “But please don’t think this has anything to do with you. We both know you’re an amazing partner.”

“Thanks,” she breathes. “I don’t want to keep you up all night. And I miss you, are you free to come over tomorrow?”

You smile softly at her effortless affection. She makes vulnerability seem so easy to attain. “I miss you too and I’d love to see you tomorrow. Luckily I’m free that day so I’ll make sure to stop by.”

“Alright, good night and I love you.”

“Love you too!”

-

The next morning you make Ayesha some breakfast to prepare her for departure. As much as she’d love to wring all the details about last night out of you, an emergency meeting came up with her marketing team. After serving her food, she bids you farewell with a peck on the cheek and closes your front door behind her. After locking it, you take a shower and prepare yourself for the day. It takes a few train stops and a brief bus ride to make it to Temari’s place but it’s nothing dire.

You give the door a few quick knocks, slightly swaying the bottle of white wine in hand. You hear muffled footsteps shuffling in the distance before the door opens and you see your friend’s state; mild bags under her eyes, dirty blonde hair spiking in all directions, one of the spaghetti straps of her nightgown dangling off her shoulder with a slouch that rivals the posture of a question mark. Temari’s iconic scowl melts into a cheeky grin at the sight of you.

“You look like shit,” you snort.

Temari’s eye twitches irritably while her grin turns stale. “Fuck you,” she snarls. “Hug me.”

Your eyes soften at her demand and you steadily wrap your arms around her shoulders. She doesn’t hug back but there’s no need. You slowly tighten your hold, and the sheer warmth of you causes her to shiver like a baby deer in winter. She buries her face into the corner of your neck, and the fact that she hasn’t been held like this in a while makes her ball up her fists. Shika should be doing this for her, not you.

“Wanna watch a movie?” You coo against her unruly tresses.

“Please.”

Shrieks of joy fill the living room air as you both lounge on the couch, conversing to your hearts’ desires while ignoring the indie film that plays in the background.

“And when we kissed it was electric. I didn’t want to stop but I knew that if I didn’t -“

“Then you would’ve fucked him on the first date I know, I know.” Temari sighs affectionately at your adorably troubled state. “I knew y’all had a thing for each other but I kept it as a hunch.”

You shut your eyes and replay the hot make out session in your head, the little concert you sang in the car, the delicious food, the trading of jokes. How can a man be so sweet, bubbly and stern at the same time? That���s so hot? You groan miserably at how shortly the kiss lasted.

“I like him so so sooo much.” You whine. “ I just want him to rearrange my guts already.”

Temari rests her head on her hand, scanning something in your face. “But you’re not ready, are you?”

Your eyes crack open abruptly. She frames it more as a statement than a question, a statement that holds a lot more merit than you wish it did.

“I… I need more time.” You mumble hesitantly. “As attracted to him as I am, I feel like I need to know him more.”

“Then you do.” Temari settles with a raised brow. “If you feel like you need to then you do. And it’s okay to go slow. Going slow is sexy.”

A meek smirk creeps up your features. “I knowww, but he makes it so hard.”

“Imagine how you make him feel? Shit, I’d have to be sick with obsession if I buy you slippers to your distinct liking so that you’re comfortable when you work. You kidding?”

You lean against the couch with a content sigh. You forget just how wise and mature Temari is. She’s so truthful with everything she does, so her support always means the world to you. Your best way of showing your appreciation would be to do the same.

“Talk to me.” You give her that look where the concern in your eyes is undeniable.

Temari stared at the glass of wine in her hand, tilting it back and forth to watch the beverage sway as if the answers to all her problems swim in it.

“He’s just not the same.”

You tuck your feet beneath your thighs and continue to listen, focusing on how your friend begins to slouch again with a distant look in her gaze. Not looking at anything in particular. She takes a deep breath but it only feels shallow.

“He doesn’t act like my husband any more. Just a roommate I occasionally fuck.”

Her flat tone makes her sound bored, but you hear the hushes of dejection in every word.

“You don’t deserve that.” You whisper.

Temari hums dismissively before raising her glass to her chapped lips. After taking a swig of her drink, she rolls her eyes obnoxiously.

“He’s burying himself with work and we don’t even go on dates. And what pisses me off the most is that he won’t treat this problem seriously. Taking me for a fool is unfortunately his most effective scapegoat.”

That sounds like Shikamaru alright.

“I dunno,” she scoffs. “You think he might have a mistress or something?”

You shake your head with a sound of denunciation. “He wouldn’t do that.” Yes Shika is not above being a bad husband, but a mistress? Something in your mind makes you doubt it. He never slept with anyone while dating you, even when he showed that he didn’t want to be with you anymore. Even when his heart belonged to another woman. It reminded you of how emotionally distant he was with you throughout your evolving relationship. You were very vulnerable around him because he made it a safe space, and yet was never just as naked around you. His father always encouraged him to let his feelings flow when necessary, but after he died Shika just had this impenetrable wall surrounding him. No one truly knows what he’s thinking: people only know what he wants them to know.

You can see the despair in Temari’s directionless glare. She wears that scowl on her face when she’s in a situation that she’s silently decided she can do nothing about. And it pisses you off.

“Hey, hey,” you murmur affectionately while scooting closer to your friend.

“I know that he’s not doing enough to maintain this marriage,” you gently grab her hand and steadily place it on your lap. “But Shika is wise enough to know who his soulmate is. And even wiser to do everything in his power to make sure you stay. But you must remind him of what he could lose before he’s too late. You’re a strong woman, no?”

Temari’s gaze flickers up to your own; your eyes widen with a knowing glare. A knowledge burning bright enough to coax the hidden determination deep from her core with unwavering warmth. Temari slowly nods her head, hesitantly at first, until she lifts her chin and straightens her back. Her brows furrow with the fear of uncertainty, but she gives your hand a brief squeeze nonetheless.

“I am,” She whispers. 

“So be a strong woman.”

-

It’s 8pm and Shika finally makes it to his home after a good few hours of drinking with his colleagues. Temari has stopped complaining about his busy schedule so he figures maybe he can sleep peacefully tonight. After locking the door from behind him he makes his way to the living room, where he sees you and his wife sharing a throw blanket together as you both slumber on the couch. He found the sight adorable, the way you both cuddle close to each other to make room under the blanket. He silently smiles to himself before tossing his suitcase on the table, abruptly waking you from your rest. Unlike Temari, you are a light sleeper.

“Had fun today?” You pry lowly, trying not to disturb your friend’s nap.

Shika takes a deep breath and an additional moment to ponder his response.“As much fun as real estate will allow me.”

You scoff with a weak sneer, caressing Temari’s hair while looking down at her relaxed state. “ You’re avoiding her. Why?”

Now it was Shika’s turn to scoff. “We've gone through worse. Where was your questioning during those times?”

“And where is your dignity during this one?”

Shika strides past you and into the kitchen, pouring himself a scotch. He takes his time, shrugging off his leather coat and hanging it in his closet room before snatching his drink and heading back into the living room. He takes a swig while staring you down.

“ Is this payback for our break up? Look, I know how I did you was pretty shitty. But don’t you think it’s about time you moved on?”

Your sneer warps into a disgusted grimace, as you search his eyes with horror at the audacity. 

“I've already moved on,” you hiss quietly, eyes glossy with the thought of that tender look Lee gives you and his infectious smile. “I am happier than you could ever dream of making me. But that doesn’t mean you’re immune to criticism. My friend is hurting and you’re causing the pain. So I ask you kindly to get your shit together-“

“This is a matter solely between me and my wife, and it will be handled solely between me and my wife.” There's a finality in his tone that makes your jaw tense with frustration, but it’s a closed jaw, nonetheless.

“Then handle it you fucking pussy..”

You and Shika whip your heads in Temari’s direction, quietly processing the words that escaped her mouth. There was that dull unamusement in her tone when she spoke. And yet a subtle glint in her irises makes her look eager for something. Hungry, even. Shika remains unfazed, raising the glass to his lips to drink some more alcohol and humming delightfully at the familiar burn.

“If you had told me you were awake, I would’ve made you dinner sooner.”

“Lie to my face again,” she hisses loudly, swiftly rising from her pillow. “And I will pack my bags and never look back.”

Temari has made idle threats plenty of times throughout their relationship. But the eerie composure of her voice and the way her sharpened eyes pierce through his soul is more than enough proof that she means every single word. Temari may not have a job, but she always knows how to make money one way or another, and she never depended on Shikamaru for funds. If she truly wanted to leave, she’d do mighty fine by herself. It was one of those many traits of hers that made her husband hopelessly whipped. 

Shika feels his breath hitch in his chest. “.. Yeah but then you would miss out on my infamous Kenchin soup.”

Temari sucks her teeth. It was so typical of him to act as unbothered as possible. “ Flattery won’t get you out of this,” she warned. “Now listen to y/n’s advice before you fumble the chance to change my mind.”

Shikamaru never had the best relationship with his father. Yes, there was no other man he was closest with as a child. There was no other man he could depend on as a child, but that same man had a cold heart. His love was cold enough to burn you with freezes and now the scars live with his son. His very son who never asked for help, who never cried for affection, who never begged for the validation he needed to survive woundless. His very son who never learned to love or hate a woman. His baby boy who never learned to love or hate himself.

Shika is on thin ice and he knows it. He dug a deeper hole for himself and he knows it. But one thing that he knows more than anything is that he would literally rather die than watch his woman leave. He sighs incredulously and places his glass beside his suitcase.

“Can we at least talk alone?”

“You really wanna play with me right now, of all times?”

Shika feels his underarms perspiring with sweat. “Not in the least, baby. Let’s talk.” Temari stands up from the cushions and approaches him until they are face-to-face.

“Why?” It is a simple question really. Only problem is that the simple question calls for a complicated answer.

“And don’t feed me bullshit excuses like you being ‘too busy with work’ or ‘too tired’ to spend time with your own wife.” She lists his examples of negligence with a distinct mockery of how he sounds when he talks. “Are you cheating on me?”

“No.”

“ Did you break the law? Did you kill someone?”

“…No.” he would sound damn near docile If it weren’t for the bellowing raspiness of his voice.

“Then say something, Shikamaru Nara. What the fuck is going on with you?”

Shika glanced at you sipping your wine while watching this conversation unfold. He redirects his gaze to the hallway, looming ahead of him.

“ I don’t know.”

Temari’s eyes look for any signal of deception on his aggravatingly handsome face. She could tell he wasn’t lying, and that broke something in her. All the fire she was about to spew his way was losing its fuel, and she felt it dying down into a simmering spark.

“W-What-“

“I don’t. Know.”

You ceased drinking, concern etching into your features for that was an answer you could’ve never anticipated from your former boyfriend and best friend.

“Then what are we doing?” Her voice cracks with a very small whine. A whine that only he could recognize whenever her defense was starting to crumble.

“We’re talking, remember? So that we can fix this.”

“I don’t even know what we’re fixing.” She rushes past you and Shika, her rapid padding echoes throughout the corners of the house. She yanks open the refrigerator door for a drink. Her man follows behind in casual strides, watching her slouch down as she rummages through some food. He buries his hands in his pockets to fiddle with his father‘s lighter, the only physical link to his memory. He leans forward until his mouth is right above the back of her neck.

“Yeah but we can still figure this out, no?” Temari almost shivers at the way his hot breath tickles her nape. She shuts her eyes to ground herself and snatches a water bottle from one of the containers sitting below the food.

“Use your words carefully. I’m still considering leaving you.”

“Heh. I bet you are, my love.” Temari turns around and leans against the kitchen counter, already bored with his usage of the pet name. She hastily screws open the cap and lets the chilled water pour down her throat.

“ When my father was killed, I made a vow to never let loss destroy me the way his death did.” Temari stares at him with a quiet gulp, not expecting him to openly talk about such a touchy subject.

“If I had to push people away to avoid the pain, so be it. If I had to be alone for the rest of my life, then so be it.” Shika may be an asshole, but he’s a grown man who values his timing more than winning arguments. “It was fun at first, being young and watching the consequences slip past my fingertips.”

He took a few steps closer until his face was all that his wife could pay attention to. “Now look at me: a miserable fool, already on the verge of a divorce. Dad would be so disappointed if he saw this.” Shika removes his hands from his pockets and slowly takes the bottle from her hold to place it on the counter, inwardly cheering in relief at her silent cooperation. He traps either side of her body with his arms, staring down down at her tired eyes. She could see the desperation in his furrowing brows, and the aging grief in his subtle frown. Despite how long they have been married, Temari could never get used to the way Shika dwarfs her with simple finesse.

“But you don’t make me miserable, princess, you never do. I do. And now it’s affecting you. And for that, I’m sorry. So very sorry and I’ll do better, I’ll do more. I promise.” The hushed sincerity in his tone almost makes a sob escape Temari’s trembling lips.

“I’m pregnant, Shika.” She sniffles, regrettably at the way his eyes widen.. his hands grip the edge of the counter until his knuckles go white. His mouth slowly falls open as realization takes its time to settle in..

“…Mari-“

“Hey y’all, It’s about time I go home.”

The couple snap their heads in your direction. Tears staining Temari’s rosie cheeks. 

“Let me drive you,” Shika offers as he steps back from his wife to face you. “It’s the least I could do after being such a cunt.”

“I forgive you, Shika. Just take care of her already, okay?” 

He gives you a nod of gratitude and makes his way to the front door. Before he escorts you out, you pull Temari in a tight hug.

“Stay,” she begs helplessly.

“You know I can’t hun,” you coo solemnly. “Call me when you’re ready. I love you.”

You release your hold with a swiftness and make your way to the exit. Before you walk past Shika, he grabs your arm to stop you. “I owe you one,” he admits ashamedly. “Name the price and I’ll make it up to you.” 

You shake your head, taken aback with amusement. “Make it up to her first. Then we’ll talk.”

After Shika closes the door and locks it, Temari breaks down on her knees. Shika could cry himself at the sight, but he has a duty to fulfill. He approaches his wife and bends down, to steadily slide one arm under her thighs and the other around her back. He holds her limbs with gentle security and carries her to their master bedroom. While she lies weeping on the mattress, she hears her husband retreat into the bathroom. Faucet water streams into the tub while he opens a bag of bath salt. It takes around 20 minutes for the tub to  be filled and prepped with his wife’s favorite ingredients. He approaches the foot of the bed with caution.

“I made you a bath. Can… can I take off your clothes?”

Every second that passes by is laced with a deafening silence he endures while waiting for her response.

She sniffles. “…hurry up.”

Shika exhales with relief before tenderly removing her knitted sweater. He handles her like fine China, carefully shimmying the nightgown off of her pliant body. He hooks a finger into the band of her panties and the way his nails gently drag against her skin leaves a trail of goosebumps at the sensation. Once she’s fully nude, he picks her up once more and carries her to the bubble bath.

“I gotchu sweetheart,” He whispers lightheartedly as he sinks his woman into the warm water. She sighs delightedly at the sweet aroma of the bubbles.

“Mind if I join you?” Shika offers warily.

Temari shoots him an offended glare. “ Sex is not gonna solve this, dammit.” he could hear the exhausted irritation in her voice.

“ I won’t fuck you. I just want to join.”

His wife side eyes him as if she’s tracking any signs of deception once more. But alas, there aren’t any.

“Three seconds.”

It takes less than that for her husband to process the command, his eyes widening with panic before his fingers fumble while attempting to unbutton his shirt. The pace at which he unbuckles his belt could convince anyone that his pants are on fire. Temari snickers helplessly at his idiosyncratic movements, and how he genuinely is desperate to bathe with her. She scoots up once he’s fully naked so that he can sit behind her, both legs on either side of her figure. He slouches against the curve of the tub and spreads his arms with a blissful sigh, smirking at the cute glare Temari shoots his way.

“I’ll be off work for two weeks so we can figure this out. If you don’t want the baby, I’ll pay for the abortion. If you want a divorce, I’ll sign the papers. But if you do choose to stay, if you do choose this baby…” Shika leans forward and stares into his woman’s soul. “I’ll be here every step of the way. I’m not going anywhere. You come first before everything.”

His words are crystal clear yet spoken seductively low. He’s not trying to have sex, he’s not even flirting or teasing. All Temari can do is let her eyes trickle down to the contours of his neck, to his toned stomach, his chiseled v-line and all the way down to that heavy-

Shika snaps his fingers. “Eyes up here, sexy. You understand?”

Temari flickers her gaze up to meet his own, and the way he looks at her makes her thighs clench hard. He will not fuck you, she reluctantly reminds herself. So she pushes her back against his chest and lets his groin poke at her ass.

“I hate you,” She huffs indignantly.

“Doesn’t answer my question baby.” 

Temari sighs with a groan before resting the back of her head on his shoulder, her eyes shut with embarrassment.

“One last chance,” she concludes. “Fuck this up and we’re done.”

“Yes ma’am.”

-

You finally make it home, kicking off your sneakers and tossing your keys on a nearby table. You simply cannot stand the cold, frustratedly shrugging off the remnants of winter as you hang your coat on a racket. You sigh with a slouch, mumbling to yourself about what to make for dinner. You feel your phone vibrating in your back pocket, and once you take it out you see Lee’s caller ID on your screen. That familiar eagerness spirals down your stomach and your cheeks puff up with a smile. You take a deep breath and answer the call.

“Hey Lee! Wassup?”

Lee closes his eyes to revel in your sweet timbre.

“Good evening, beautiful. Just revising the dojo’s schedule for next week. What are you up to?”

It’s only been a day since y’all last talked and yet the bass of his voice never ceases to rumble through you. There is nothing like listening to Lee on the phone.

“Just got home from Temari’s place,” You trudge up the stairs and make your way to your room. “And now I’mma get ready for bed.”

Lee pauses his writing and side eyes his phone. “ Should I call another time?”

“No! No- I love talking to you. Hehe.” You squeeze your eyes shut at how desperate you sound, but the man on the other line couldn’t find you any more endearing.

Lee places his pencil down and relaxes into the cushion of his chair. “Me too, sweetheart.” 

If he calls you one more pet name, you are going to explode. When you put him on speaker, you shrug off your day clothes and throw them in the laundry basket.

“I really enjoyed last night,” he continues. “That was the most fun I had in a long time.”

You grunt, “Is your dojo not entertaining enough for you?”

Lee smirks at your playfulness. “Aren’t you the beauty who admitted doing what she loves isn’t always fun?”

You drape an oversized T-shirt over your figure and plop yourself on the bed beside your phone. You turn off the speaker to have a more intimate experience with the conversation.

“Damn, you got me,” you drawl sarcastically.

“Mmm not yet, but I’m working on it.”

Your teeth tugs on your bottom lip at his insinuation, body already growing hot with wanton need.

“I uhm… I had a lot of fun too. It was probably the best date I’ve ever had.” You tug at the hem of your shirt regrettably, hoping that he doesn’t mistake your honesty for pandering. Lee hums gleefully at your simple charm, wondering how he bagged such a sweet thing like you. But that sound he let out almost resembled a low groan, and it threatens to go straight to your cunt.

“What was your favorite part of the date?”

While pondering on his question, you shift to lay on your side and pull the phone closer to your face, as if you were watching Lee through the screen.

“Everything, I fear. It may not be the most satisfying answer… but it’s the truth.”

Lee spreads his long legs, eyes half lidded with content. “And why is that something you fear?”

Your face tenses up at the question but you don’t cower. “… Wasn’t expecting you to be so lovely.”

“You don’t expect a lot from people?”

“No. Not from men anyway.”

Lee chuckles at your boldness, it’s a lighthearted sound that makes your heart feel a bit less heavy. “Men don’t expect much from men either.”

You grin giddily at how he treats your views with respect rather than shallow judgment. It shows his wisdom and gravitates you impossibly closer towards him.

“ Well, what was your favorite part, Lee?”

“I have my top fifty moments, but,” He inhales deeply. “I’m afraid I won’t be your favorite anymore If I tell you my number one.”

You stretch your knees with a huff, “You aren’t my favorite. You’re my only.”

Now it was Lee’s time to pause, feeling his chest cave in with a warmth he hadn’t felt in almost a decade.

You misinterpret the silence and panic. “O-Only if we keep dating, of course-”

“It was kissing you. That was my number one moment.”

The tiny hairs on your back raise with every passing second. “ Well, you’re really good at it,” you mumble meekly.

Lee snickers dotingly at your antics. “Thank you, gorgeous. I’m only a phone call away if you want my lips again.”

Lee can hear your breathing turn shallow, your voice getting weaker on the other line. He may not have been active for a minute, but he knows a woman in need when he hears one.

“…Lee-“

“ Let me ask you this.” His tone is tender yet commanding. It makes your back flex.

“Are you dating for sex?” 

“…No?”

“Good. I’m dating you because I want you. And if that means getting to know how amazing you are, then I will do whatever it takes. Okay angel?”

You almost moan at his words alone. He speaks to you with an effortless sensuality that pebbles your nipples and leaves your pussy aching. A full-body throbbing that only he can satiate. You’ve never felt so wanted in your entire life.

“You’re killing me here,” your whimpering alone could make Lee die a happy man.

“Let me take you out on another date.” he balls his veiny fist with unwavering determination. “Please.”

You look over your shoulder and glance at the dresser in which your vibrator resides. This was gonna be a long night.

“I-I’d love that, Lee.”

This work belongs solely to ©️ blimbosworlddd. Do not plagiarize, steal, copy or repost. I worked very hard on this; reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated.

[redwolfstabs]

Werewolf!Stu, Human!Billy; Stus first transformation. I did a bit of researching for this, and have decided that for this au, Stu has a hidden gene from his family, and there’s many ways to activate it but for Stu, it happens because he has too much adrenaline pumping through his veins; so in this case it’s after Maureen’s death and near Billys house. Tread carefully <3 [ @cerealkilleratmidnight ]

Stus wolf form

It had been a night filled with anticipation, culminating in what Billy considered one of the most satisfying experiences of his life. The satisfaction, however, was tinged with a hint of annoyance, as he had partnered with Stu to exact his revenge, which somehow made the whole endeavor even more enjoyable.

The duo had successfully executed their plan, leaving behind a trail of chaos and confusion. With a triumphant sense of accomplishment, they walked together toward Billy's house. Yet, as they strolled along, something peculiar began to unfold, threatening to mar the otherwise unforgettable night.

Stu, at first, appeared elated and full of energy as they exited the scene of their triumph. His laughter echoed through the empty trees, and his animated gestures conveyed a sense of euphoria. Billy couldn't help but relish in the shared victory, exchanging knowing glances and grins with his partner.

However, about ten minutes into their walk, something inexplicable began to occur. Stu's demeanor underwent a dramatic transformation. He abruptly ceased his chatter, his once-cheerful countenance now veiled in an eerie silence. This sudden shift in Stu's energy sent shivers down Billy's spine, leaving him both bewildered and concerned.

With each step, Stu's transformation became more pronounced. He began to lose his characteristic vivacity, almost as though he was gradually slipping away from himself. The vibrant personality that had fueled their earlier mischief was now replaced by a haunting emptiness that seemed to hang in the air.

As they continued their journey towards Billy's house, the weight of the inexplicable change in Stu's behavior hung heavily in the night air.

As they reached the edge of Billy's backyard, he abruptly came to a halt, his gaze fixated on Stu, who was now displaying an unnerving behavior that set off alarm bells in his mind. Billy's eyes bore into Stu's as he tried to discern the cause of this peculiar shift.

"What's wrong with you?" Billy demanded, his voice laced with a hint of annoyance that mingled with his concern. The absence of Stu's usual irritating antics was disconcerting, almost as if it was a distortion of the familiar rhythm between them. This was change, and Billy had never been fond of change, especially when it concerned someone as volatile as Stu.

Stu shook his head, his brows furrowing as he struggled to put his inexplicable feelings into words. "I dunno, man," he muttered, his voice shaky. "I just feel weird."

Billy's irritation deepened, and he couldn't help but voice his suspicions. "What kind of weird? You're not going to run and tell anyone about Maureen, are you?" His voice took on a more accusatory tone, a testament to the paranoia that had taken hold of him in the midst of this bewildering situation.

Stu's eyes widened with alarm as he vehemently denied Billy's accusation. "Of course not!" he protested, his hands raised defensively. "Billy, I enjoyed that. We both did. I'm not taking that victory from you. I just…" He hesitated, unable to articulate the profound unease that had overtaken him. His hand reached up, resting on his chest, as if trying to find solace in a physical gesture. "I just feel… really weird."

The tension between the two "friends" hung in the air, thickening with every passing moment. Billy couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong, and this inexplicable transformation in Stu was the unsettling proof of it. The night had taken an unexpected turn, leaving both of them grappling with an enigma that defied easy explanation.

Billy's skepticism deepened as he watched Stu, who was now fidgeting with his shirt collar, his discomfort palpable. The eerie ambiance of the night seemed to amplify, and shadows danced menacingly in the moonlight.

Stu's unease was rapidly spiraling into something far more disconcerting. He clutched his chest, his breaths growing ragged, and his face contorted with agony. The inexplicable "weird" feeling he had mentioned earlier had intensified to an alarming degree.

Suddenly, Stu let out a guttural groan, and his body convulsed violently. Billy stepped back in shock, his eyes widening as he witnessed the unthinkable, tripping as he moved back so he was now sitting on the ground. Stu's limbs elongated, his fingers transforming into sharp claws. His clothes ripped apart as his body underwent a grotesque metamorphosis.

Hair sprouted across Stu's body, his face contorting into a snout filled with razor-sharp teeth. His spine arched, and bones cracked audibly as he grew in size. In a matter of seconds, Stu's transformation was complete, and before Billy stood a monstrous creature that defied the laws of nature.

The moonlight revealed Stu's true form; a horrifying werewolf. His eyes glowed with an unnaturally bright blue, and saliva dripped from his gnashing jaws. He rested on all fours, shaking his fur.

Billy's initial shock began to give way to a curious fascination as he examined Stu's transformed state more closely. It was undeniable that Stu had become a werewolf, but this wasn't the classic image of a monstrous creature that had haunted the pages of folklore. Instead, Stu resembled a majestic and otherworldly wolf, a creature of wild beauty.

The werewolf's orangey-red fur glistened in the moonlight, and his white underbelly contrasted beautifully with the fiery hues of his coat. He moved with an elegant grace that defied the stereotype of a lumbering, menacing beast. Stu, in his werewolf form, looked almost regal in his demeanor.

Stu's electric eyes met Billy's, and the low growl emanating from his chest seemed more like a warning than an immediate threat. Billy found himself strangely entranced, unable to look away from the creature before him. The fear that had initially gripped him had now been replaced by an odd sense of connection, as if he could see a glimpse of the human Stu hidden within this magnificent creature.

Despite the growl, Stu's movements were cautious, as though he were assessing Billy's intentions. And in that moment, something clicked within Billy. He realized that, despite the shocking turn of events, the bond between them had not been severed. Stu might have transformed into something extraordinary, but the essence of.. whatever they were, remained intact.

Billy didn't move. He knew that running from this incredible creature wouldn't serve any purpose. Instead, he stood his ground, trying to convey through his gaze the trust he had in his friend, even in this bizarre and surreal form. The night had taken an inexplicable turn, and Billy had no idea where this newfound connection with a werewolf would lead, but he was determined to find out.

Stu lowered his head to align it with Billy's, his golden eyes meeting Billy's gaze at an eerily matching level. In that intense moment, Billy's breath caught in his throat, and a hint of uncertainty crept into his thoughts. He couldn't help but wonder if the essence of his partner, the Stu he knew so well, still resided behind those wolfish eyes.

Before Billy could delve deeper into his doubts, Stu's imposing form abruptly surrendered. His massive head descended, gently settling into Billy's lap, and his once-tense body went limp. In that instant, any lingering doubts about Stu's true nature were dispelled, and Billy realized that beneath the imposing wolfish exterior, his friend was still very much Stu.

With Stu's massive wolf head resting in his lap, Billy's initial trepidation gave way to a mix of relief and amusement. It was clear that, despite his formidable appearance, Stu remained true to his nature, which included an endearing streak of playfulness.

"You're fucking heavy," Billy grumbled, though his words were laced with a hint of affection. He had expected the worst when Stu transformed, but having a giant wolf version of his friend nestled in his lap was a surprise, to say the least.

Stu, for his part, seemed to understand the jest in Billy's words. He responded with a playful growl, his ears perking up as if he were listening intently to every word. It was a moment of connection amidst the bizarre circumstances, and it brought a genuine smile to Billy's face.

"Stu?" Billy spoke again, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he dared to tease his lupine friend.

Stu's ears perked up, an indication that he was paying close attention.

"You really are a mutt."

Stu's growl turned into a playful rumble, and he shifted closer to Billy, nuzzling his head against his chest, almost like a giant dog demanding attention.

Billy chuckled at Stu's reaction before realizing he had to figure out how to get his oversized, wolf-like friend into his house and into his room without drawing unwanted attention. It was going to be a tricky endeavor.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd # 6 - Fanfic Friday # 1

I'm trying something new for Brain Curds! Introducing Fanfic Friday, which is starting on a Saturday, but it's cool, my babies, it's very cool, because I wrote this yesterday! Including this part. You get it. This is my first time releasing fanfic - ever! I also haven't read anyone else's in this particular fandom, so go easy on me if I accidentally came up with the same idea as someone else. Enjoy.

A blonde woman with shoulder-length hair sat peacefully on a couch in a serene room. In front of her, painted on the wall in a most soothing shade of green, were the words, “Welcome! Everything is fine.” Though she couldn’t see them - her eyes were closed.

There was a double door to her left, and in the room on the other side there was a panicked and confused rustling. The woman’s eyes opened as if from slumber, and she looked around herself, pleased by what she saw and comforted by the sounds of windchimes and flowing water.

The door burst open, and a silver-haired man with a bow tied-suit and dark-framed glasses stepped out, nearly tripping over himself. He looked at her, then down at the papers in his hand, back and forth as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing. His mouth hung agape and he spoke.

“Eleanor? What are you doing here?!?”

The woman replied, confused. “I dunno, man, you’re the one who knows my name.” She looked down at her clothes and scoffed at them. “Did we hook up last night? Because this definitely isn’t my shirt.”

The man was speechless for a second. He ran his hands through his hair, thinking of what his next course of action should be. “Can you just wait right there for a moment?”

Without waiting for a response, he slammed the door shut behind him and braced himself against it, hyperventilating. It had been over one thousand Jeremy Bearimys since Eleanor walked through the final door - what was she doing back here? He ran to his desk and put in a call to the Judge.

A floating screen popped up into the middle of the room and a dark-skinned woman in a sweatshirt appeared on it, slightly annoyed, and took an earphone out.

“What do you want, Michael? I was just listening to a podcast episode about the Dennis the Menace guy. It’s crazy how terrible of a father he was.”

“Yes, if I recall correctly, it took him just shy of twelve-hundred tries to pass his afterlife test.”

“I’m thinking maybe that wasn’t enough, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

“I do, Judge, but I have something a little more important going on right now. Do you see this file?” He held it up to the screen. She leaned in close to read it.

“Why are you looking at Eleanor Shellstrop’s file?”

“Because she is sitting in the other room.” He mimed his head exploding. “You didn’t know about this?!?”

“No! Are the others back?”

“Not that I know of, but… oh geez.” He gripped his chest tightly. “Did we do something wrong when we made the final door? Janet!”

A purple-attired brunette popped into existence with a ‘bing’ sound. “Hi there!”

“Eleanor is in the other room.”

“What? That’s impossible. She walked through the final door, Michael. I watched her do it.”

“Then you go tell her that!”

Janet poked her head out into the other room and saw her sitting there - unmistakably Eleanor Shellstrop, who noticed Janet’s face sticking out of a crack in the door.

“Oh, is this your shirt?” She smirked. “I pulled some sexy unicorn hunters last night. Too bad I don’t remember.”

Janet closed the door. “Oh dip.”

Michael’s phone began to ring.

“Sorry, Judge, I’m gonna have to call you back.” He adjusted his glasses. “Vicky is calling.” He waved his hand and with one motion ended one call and started another.

“Michael, is this some kind of practical joke?”

“Probably not. What is it? I’ve kind of got a situation here.”

“Chidi Anagonye is on my docket for today’s souls! I run a tight ship, here, Michael! We don’t have time for pranks!”

Michael was stunned and pale. He looked like he’d seen a ghost - because he had.

“Janet?”

“Yes, Michael?”

“You’d better start looking around for Jason before he gets into trouble.” With a warm smile and fear in his eyes, he said “I think they’re all coming back.”

[senadimell]

So it turns out The Conscience of a King is one of those hard-hitting Star Trek episodes that people warn about.

Anyways, there was a line that was really illuminating. Basic plot is (spoilers): Eugenicist governor decided to massacre half his colony during a food crisis to save the others. He was believed dead, but now lives life as an actor. Turns out, he does feel deep regret for his actions, but unfortunately, his daughter has been murdering the sole survivors of the massacre.

Ex-governor: I was a soldier in a cause. There were things to be done, terrible things. Daughter: Stop it, Father! You have nothing to justify. Ex-governor: Murder, flight, suicide, madness. I never wanted the blood on my hands ever to stain you. Daughter: I did it for you. I've saved you. Kirk: By killing seven innocent men. Daughter: They weren't innocent! They were dangerous! I would have killed a world to save him!

The bolded line is striking. They were innocent. All they had done was survive when they weren’t supposed to. Yet, to the daughter, they were dangerous to her father because they were witnesses to the atrocities he committed, and were capable of “hurting” him when he tried to put that life behind him. Yet she can’t see that, because she can’t reconcile “the father I love” with “a man capable of atrocity,” and so when faced with something that threatens her worldview, she decides that those survivors must not be merely inconvenient, but dangerous, and therefore guilty.

I dunno, I guess it says something about victim blaming and how it’s too easy to jump from “makes me uncomfortable” to “must be objectively dangerous” and equate “dangerous” with “immoral.” And in the same episode, we have a really good counterpoint in Kirk, who was among those slated for death.

SPOCK: Almost certainly an attempt will be made to kill you. Why do you invite death? KIRK: I'm not. I'm interested in justice. MCCOY: Are you? Are you sure it's not vengeance? KIRK: No, I'm not sure. I wish I was. 

The distinction between a desire for retribution or vengeance and a desire for justice is crucial. The former focuses on satisfying personal feelings (and completely justified desires at at that!) and the latter focuses on the rights of the other person. At this point, Kirk cannot entirely verify that the actor is the same man from twenty years ago, and his desire is to make the man pay, but he’s aware that justice requires more of him than vengeance.

Daughter (Lenore): There's a stain of cruelty on your shining armour, Captain. You could have spared him, and me. [...] Lenore: [...] You are like your ship, powerful, and not human. There is no mercy in you. Kirk: If he is Kodos, then I've shown him more mercy than he deserves. And if he isn't, then we'll let you off at Benecia, and no harm done. Lenore: Captain Kirk. Who are you to say what harm was done? Kirk: Who do I have to be?

Gah, this exchange is really good. Kodos’ daughter condemns Kirk because he caused her father grief, but all Kirk did was confront the man with his past wrongs. To me, this boils down to a “nice is different than good” situation, because it’s not exactly nice to bring up buried guilt, but nice =/= good, and in this case, Kodos’ feelings about his past actions are more or less irrelevant.

Kirk points that out with the line about mercy. There’s more at stake than an old man’s feelings. As far as Kirk knows at this point, all survivors of Kodos’ massacre have been murdered save for Kirk and another officer on the ship, and attempts have just been made on their lives. As far as Kirk knows, this is a murder who is murdering again, and Kodos’ feelings are irrelevant to the discussion of what needs to happen to him.

Then Lenore cuts back and says “who are you to say what harm was done?” To Kirk. Who survived attempted execution and murder. Who watched fellow survivors die, including attempts on the life of someone in his care and an attempt on his own life that would have killed several decks’ worth of people he is responsible for. It is hard to picture someone more able or fitting to testify of the harm Kodos committed.

Now, spoiler, Lenore is the one who’s been killing survivors, unbeknownst to Kirk, and she is willing to totally discredit and disbelieve them because their existence makes her father hurt (by reminding him of his own guilt). So no matter what Kirk says, she’s already made up her mind.

But Kirk doesn’t justify himself with any of that. How could he? 4,000 people were massacred, and how can anyone argue against the reality of that harm? Yet Lenore tries. So Kirk follows up not with any justification, but a simple question: Who do I have to be?

It doesn’t matter who Kirk is, or whether he has any personal stake in the matter of Kodos. This is not about vengeance. It’s about harm prevention. It’s about justice. In that line of dialogue, you can see that Kirk no longer worries about if he is pursuing personal vengeance or justice. He is doing what needs to be done.

[mwolf0epsilon]

I thought you were dead, with Fives and Echo.

14. I thought you were dead

Everything is a little weird right now, but at least it's a little bit easier to talk almost face to face when he's connected to a terminal.

A bit of existential horror and eldritch aspects? I dunno how to explain it just, I really wonder what it's like for Echo to connect with something that's bigger than reality. I wonder what human conscience might look like in the digital realm.

[THIS STORY IS NOW ON AO3]

---

The thought of someone attempting to taking over his brain had crossed his mind more than once.

At the time of his rescue, Echo had been more than a little concerned about the fact he wasn't entirely sure of how his cybernetically enhanced brain was supposed to work. Of just how deep the changes ran.

Concerns that a few of his rescuers had openly voiced when they thought he wasn't listening. Not that he blamed Tech and Crosshair for being justifiably apprehensive.

Echo had been thrust out of a realm of binary order. One where he'd been so deeply aware of just how much bigger than his body he actually was, that existing in the physical realm had been terribly jarring and disorienting. For a year all he'd known was a world where information and sentience were one in the same, and everything just made so much sense...

He'd gotten lost in the truths and structure of his prison, become data that could be mined by enemy lines, and ultimately betrayed his brothers through transcending his original purpose. The Techno Union had made him into something that could be used against the GAR, and left him to deal with the consequences all on his own. They hadn't cared for what their machinations would do to his fraying mind. It was ultimately never their problem, as all they'd wanted was a brand new computer to use and abuse.

It scared Echo just how easy it was to crave returning to the machine. The mere notion repulsed him. But there was no denying that a part of him, the one that had clung to the regulations so tightly, wished to be 1s and 0s all over again because for once their mad little galaxy just made sense to him.

There was no fear and madness in the data. Just rules, orders and truths.

There wasn't any real way anyone could hack him. At least not remotely, as Tech had ensured he had as many defences as the Marauder's systems. Viruses were often shrugged off like the common cold, and no one had managed to jab a scomp into any of his neural ports just yet (he was an ARC and even missing one hand he could wallop anyone that so much as eyed him the wrong way). His defences were, ultimately, impenetrable enough that most of Echo's fears of being highjacked were put to rest.

Until he'd accidentally ended up as the unknowing carrier of two AIs that had confused him with a karking droid...

It was funny, in a sort of tragic and self-deprecating kind of way. But it was also... That is to say, Echo felt good. Not because he was happy about their collective situations, but because finally someone else would understand what it was he felt whenever he connected with a terminal.

Which was what he was doing now that Fives had oh so kindly relinquished control of his body back to him.

Upon connecting through the scomp, Echo immediately closed his eyes. The last time he'd done this and forgotten to do so he'd been running diagnostics on the cyborg construct neural relay that helped him process and storing information, and Omega had all but shrieked in shock when she'd found him practically unresponsive and with his eyes blankly darting about as he read through walls of text only visible to him.

She'd felt awful for startling him out of his diagnostics. He'd felt awful for scaring her. Had forgotten that not everyone was as used to or comfortable seeing someone like him tending to his enhancements.

The mistake was never repeated. Now whenever he was done with diagnostics, he'd find a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and Lula carefully tucked under his arm. Despite her first reaction, Omega refused to be repulsed by his amalgam nature.

"Why would she? That vod'ika loves you."

In his minds eye, everything is clear. He can see the Marauder as she truly is. All of Tech's love and care in maintaining her beautifully orderly system, and even the massive personality of the unassuming Gonky. A towering collection of affection and loyalty towards Clone Force 99, and a hint of mischief that grew whenever Omega got up to something.

He could see himself, the sheer absurd size that his self truly was and that didn't seem like it could fit inside a collection of neurones, cybernetic implants and a frail vessel made of flesh, bone and metal.

He could see Fives as he was now. An hominid shaped mass of 1s and 0s and impossibly a 5 where his tattoo should be. Each strand of code a memory and a feeling. His brother. Alive. In a new form.

"I thought you were dead." His mind curls around the little intruder that's become a welcomed guest. The one that's not scared to approach him.

"I think they tried to kill me." Fives conceded. On his chest there's a mess of glitched data that spells pain, fear, and a loop of 1010 and Order 66. "Their mistake was deciding they could still use me somehow."

"You certainly found a way out of that hellhole." The world around them changes to accommodate his affectionate purr. It should be scary how much power he actually has over this digital realm, like a form of eldritch horror that shouldn't be, but Fives doesn't seem to mind.

"Yeah... Sorry about that..." He sounds sheepish, and that makes Echo chuckle. He thinks in the physical realm he might be smiling.

"It's ok. At least you're here now..." He reassures. "We'll figure things out."

"Yeah, we will. We've always shared everything, so why not a mind while we're at it eheh...?" Fives reaches out to try to touch him. Echo practically wraps around him more tightly than before. Not enough to hurt the delicate data, more so that it feels like a comforting embrace. He wonders if one day he might be able to give his twin a kedalbe like when they were cadets.

"Lets not go that far. I'm sure we'll be able to find you and the vod'ika hiding all the way in Tech's private server, a proper body of your own."

"Karking--" Fives shook himself loose and began to run towards said part of the Marauder's system while Echo watched with great amusement "Tup don't go snooping in there vod!"

"1'm n0t sn00p1ng!"

"Like hell you're not! You have the files open!"

Echo had a sneaking suspicious that, if anywhere were to try to take over him right at that very instance, Fives might give them more hell than it was worth. It certainly served to permanently alleviate that one aspect of his fears. And perhaps interacting more like this in the future might make him feel less monstrous.

Fives always did know how to make Echo feel like Echo.

[letarasstuff]

The Hotch Stare

(A/N): This was requested by an anon and is based on this post. I never ever want to be on the receiving end of a Hotch Stare.

Summary: Mouthing off is one thing, but mouthing off towards Erin Strauss?

Wordcount: 0.7k

✨Masterlist✨ ______________________________

Hotch never expected parenting to be easy. Once Haley was pregnant with their first, (Y/N), everyone told them about the stress and pain that they will endure over the course of the next few decades.

They knew of the terrible twos and got through them twice. They got through diaper duties, sleepless nights and several tantrums. But for this, they weren’t prepared and since Haley’s death, Hotch isn’t ready for them anyway: Teenage years.

Ever since (Y/N) hit her teens, she went through some changes. The greatest is her newfound attitude. For her father, it seems like her sass level grew a hundred times over the summer. To anything he says, she got a quip right back at him. In exchange, Hotch has the infamous Hotch Stare for her. Which shuts the mouthy teenager up pretty quickly. Honestly, it shuts anyone up in no time.

Today (Y/N) decided to pay Aaron a visit at the office after school. “Hey Dad”, she greets him as she enters his office. He looks up from his paperwork and smiles a ghost of a smile at her sigh. “Hey Honey, how was school?”

The teenager sighs as she sits down on the couch. “Nothing interesting, you know, the usual. What about-” (Y/N) is cut off by the sudden opening of the door. A “geez” is muttered under her breath.

“Hotch, I need these filed and sorted by yesterday”, an older blonde woman throws what looks like a mountain of paperwork on the Unit Chief’s desk. (Y/N) looks up at her speechless, clearly still not noticed by her.

“Uh, I try my best. But I still got other reports to fill out. I think you need anybody else to do that for you, if you want it to be done as soon as possible, ma’am.” The teenager still can’t put a name to that person, but she gets more aggravated by her the more she talks so demanding to her father.

The blonde doesn’t even blink at Hotch’s honest response. “I don’t care, I want you to do it. It has the highest priority right now.” Seeing her father getting chewed out with an ounce of respect for him, makes (Y/N) snap.

“And here I thought you have to be an adult, who knows basic manners like knocking and greeting someone formally, to work at the FBI. But I guess this just isn’t tru-” As she looks up, the teenager sees her father shooting her a mean glare. It immediately stops her. “Uh, if you need me, I’m outside”, she quickly mutters and takes her backpack to escape the awkward situation.

For the next ten minutes (Y/N) hides in the bathroom until she musters up the courage to go out into the bullpen again. A smiling Derek greets her there. “My girl, you have some nerves going and talking to Strauss like that. I think somebody has to give you a medal or something, nobody dares to say something like that to her.” At this her eyes widen.

“That was Erin Strauss?! Shoot, I have to flee the country. Uhm Derek, tell my dad that I suddenly got super sick and had to go home. I need to pack a back and dunno, take the next train to-” “(Y/N)!” Said teenager pales. “It was nice knowing you, lil Hotchner. I will hold a speech at your funeral, I promise”, Morgan pats her back and goes to his own desk, while (Y/N) walks up the stairs to her father’s office.

“Close the door behind you, please.” At this she prepares to get yelled at. Instead he stands up and shakes his daughter’s hand with a big smile. “Congratulations, you just did something I wanted to do for years. Just make sure to not cross Strauss’ way for the next few weeks, then you might have a chance to stay alive. But we still have to talk about your attitude towards superiors.”

(Y/N) nods, mentally preparing for the oncoming lecture at home.

[phoenixyfriend]

If you're still doing the ask meme, 156/170 for Rexwalker, Codiwan(?), Disaster Lineage, or Quinlan Vos with any of the Disaster Lineage?

 390 Prompts!!!!

156. “I’m like 20% sure this plan will work. The other 80% means we could die horribly and violently, but honestly it’s a really solid plan.”

170. “I’m sorry, run that by me again.”

-------

Rex holds up a hand, closes his eyes, and breathes deep. General Skywalker’s still looking at him, probably.

“Okay,” Rex says, opening his eyes again. “That’s... I’m sorry, run that by me again.”

“I’m not your commanding officer anymore and was hoping I could take you on a date?”

“Yeah, that’s--that’s what I thought you said,” Rex manages. “Sir--”

“You don’t have to call me that anymore, Rex, the war’s over and--”

“Sir, you’re married.”

The General has the audacity to smile at him, an almost pitying amusement in the expression. He holds up a comm. “Padme’s encouraging it, but we could give her a call if you want proof.”

That... does change some things.

Rex runs a hand over his face, grimacing. “Just... just give me a second.”

“You can say no,” Anakin tells him, almost too gently. “Seriously, no hard feelings.”

“Sir, with all due respect, please shut the fuck up.”

“Noted.”

Rex tries to get his thoughts in order. It’s a little difficult. Anakin waits, obligingly silent.

“You’re married, with kids,” Rex says. “And a Jedi.”

“Eh, half a Jedi,” Anakin dismisses. “Running missions doesn’t mean I have my role back after coming clean with the marriage. I’m like... Jedi-adjacent. Like I still technically work for the Order, but I think I’m classified as a civilian consultant or something? I dunno, Obi-Wan said he’d handle the paperwork and then kicked me out of the room because Master Vos was trying to get his pants off.”

“I--no, I didn’t need to know that,” Rex says.

“I don’t think it was for sex, if that helps?”

“It doesn’t. I don’t--if it involves Vos, just don’t tell me.”

“Alright.”

“Right. My point was that you won’t have time for another relationship,” Rex points out. “Twin infants and missions and--and a padawan, if Ahsoka’s choosing you over coming back to the Temple.”

“And Ahsoka’s going to be coming with me on those missions, and we were both hoping to ask you to stick around and keep working with us,” Anakin says. He smiles, charming and sincere. “As equals, this time.”

“And if I wanted to retire?”

“Then we probably wouldn’t have time for a romance between the rest of my life, and we could just stay friends who comm each other a lot,” Anakin says. He tucks his hands behind his back, but there’s just enough of a twitch to his shoulders visible through the black leather to tell Rex that the man is fidgeting. “I’m not... I’ve already done one romance where neither of us had enough time. You’re right that, with the twins, it’s only going to be harder, even if there isn’t a war eating up all my time anymore. But on the off-chance that you want to keep working with me, and that you like me back in that way, I want to give it a shot. Hyperspace isn’t exactly romantic, but it’s time together.”

All of these are solid points.

Rex just... doesn’t know what to do with them.

“Do you want me to give you a mo--”

“I’ve spent the past three and a half years trying not to get my hopes up,” Rex admits, spitting the words out before he can lose his nerve. “And I mostly succeeded. And now you’re telling me you’re actually interested and not just as a hookup, but as an actual relationship.”

Anakin beams, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, I do, now that it’s not weirdly terrible power dynamics. So is that a yes?”

“Yes, Si--Anakin. Yes, Anakin, I’d like to go on a date with you, and possibly with Senator Amidala if that’s going to be part of... whatever it is that you’re proposing.”

“We can figure it out,” Anakin promises, and in a movement just slightly too fast to be human, darts over to where Rex is and grabs his hands. The way he swings their hands is almost childish, but Rex finds it endearing. It’s an easy contact, and he isn’t sure if Anakin’s deliberately making it as non-aggressive as possible, but he thinks it’s likely. If it’s intentional, it’s very sweet for him to try this hard not to put any pressure on Rex. “So, how do feel about tomorrow?”

“Is there something wrong with tonight?”

“Padme has to stay late at the Senate so I’m watching the twins,” Anakin says, with an oddly careless shrug. “So unless you want a first date to include babies spitting up on your shoulder, I’d go with tomorrow.”

Rex blinks, and then says, “I mean, maybe not a date, then. That wouldn’t be any different than just visiting you on a normal afternoon.”

Anakin stops swinging their hands. “So... you’re saying you want to babysit tonight?”

Rex separates their hands and grips Anakin’s face between his palms, pulling him down. “Anakin. Yes. I am hanging out with you and your adorable, smelly noise machines tonight, and we’re doing a date tomorrow, and the day after that will probably be half the GAR spamming both of us on all comms to tease us.”

“And then we can kiss?” Anakin asks, with a voice that implies he’s never had such a thing before, rather than being four years married and a father of two.

He can’t help but roll his eyes. He pulls Anakin down and in, presses their lips together and tilts just a little to--ah, there. That feels right.

Anakin is a very expressive, very tactile person who melts into him, wraps his arms around, steps in and adds some tongue and wow this man moves fast.

Well.

Rex digs the fingers of one hand into Anakin’s hair lets the other drift down to settle on a leather-clad hip, and settles into the deepening kiss, laughing when Anakin tries to get somehow closer.

The situation could be much worse than a long-term crush wanting to move straight from ‘absolutely no pressure, but you wanna go on a date?’ to ‘let’s make out in a private room’ in under ten minutes.

Mm. Yeah. Yeah, this is gonna work.

[timelesslords]

Can u pls write a percabeth fic where Percy and Rachel are dating and percabeth are best friends and they end up spending the night together and it's been a week and they don't know how to tell Rachel and Rachel being bitter ?? Pls

This was kind of out of my comfort zone in terms of what I usually write lol but I tried my best!! I imagine this as like a mortal college AU :)

send me a prompt!

“Beth, you can’t walk home like this,” Percy said, exasperated.

“I’m fine! I’m hardly even drunk,” Annabeth said, trying (and failing) to quash the butterflies in her stomach when he called her Beth. Percy, having been her best friend for almost a decade, was the only person in the whole world who was allowed to call her that. He only pulled it out in rare situations, and every time he did Annabeth would swear her heart skipped five consecutive beats.

Not that he could ever know that, of course. Now felt like a more precarious situation than most-- she’d come over to his dorm so they could watch a movie together, and had ended up curled up together on his bed around his laptop. In fairness, his dorm was tiny and there was nowhere else to sit besides his bed, but if Annabeth imagined really hard she could pretend that it had all been completely intentional, and he was sitting this close to her because he wanted to.

“Hardly?” Percy asked, raising an eyebrow. And, fine. Annabeth had had… an amount to drink. A non-zero amount, some might say. More than Percy, and she had a way lower tolerance than him. She was buzzed, sure, but not buzzed enough to walk back across campus to her own dorm.

“I’m fine. It’s barely twenty minutes,” Annabeth protested. She started to stand up, but Percy gently tugged her back into the bed. She should have put up more resistance than she did, but, well. Who could blame her.

“It’s also three in the morning and you’re drunk,” Percy said, “Come on, just stay the night.”

“Stay where? Grover’s bed?” Annabeth asked, repressing giggles at the thought. It wasn’t really that funny a thought, but, well, she was tipsy.

Percy’s roommate was gone for the night to visit his girlfriend, leaving his bed empty. Grover was a cool guy, but he also had a weird tendency to leave soda cans just about everywhere, including in his bed.

Percy just rolled his eyes. “No, here.”

It took Annabeth a few seconds to realize exactly what he was saying.

“In your bed?” Annabeth asked, hesitantly.

“We’ve been sitting on it together all night,” Percy pointed out.

“Yeah, but…” Annabeth trailed off.

It was different. She knew it was different. And frankly, any other time she’d be absolutely delighted that Percy was offering that difference, but there was also the issue of Percy’s girlfriend. Percy’s girlfriend, who he’d met their freshman year and hit it off with despite the fact that Annabeth had been in love with him since she knew what love was. Percy’s girlfriend, who was in another dorm on campus not ten minutes away, not here but also not not here.

“But what?” Percy asked. There was the tiniest bit of a smirk on his face, and Annabeth shoved his shoulder, rolling her eyes.

“You know what,” she said. Maybe it came off a little more seriously than she’d meant, but he didn’t seem to care.

“It’s not like we’d be doing anything,” Percy said. Annabeth tried not to feel hurt at how foreign the concept of “doing anything” seemed to him in relation to him and her. But she didn’t have any right to feel any type of way about that, because she and Percy were just friends and Percy had a girlfriend who was not going to be happy about Annabeth spending the night in his bed, regardless of which activities did or did not take place there.

“Yeah, I know, but its just… I don’t know, don’t you think Rachel will be mad?”

“You’re staying here because you need a place to crash. She can’t be mad about that.”

“I’m pretty sure she could find something to be mad about,” Annabeth muttered, mostly to herself. Percy heard her though. They were sitting so close their shoulders were touching, so it would have been a miracle if he didn’t.

“Fine, I’ll sleep on the floor. She can’t be mad about that,” Percy said, actually making to get up like he was about to lie down right there and then. It was Annabeth’s turn to pull him back onto the mattress.

“Don’t be stupid, you’re not sleeping on the floor in your own dorm room,” Annabeth said, “Besides, she’d just say I kicked you off your bed.”

Maybe Annabeth should’ve kept that last bit to herself, but she’d never been very good at hiding her feelings about Rachel. Percy sighed, knowing she was right but not wanting to admit it.

“Well I’m not letting you sleep on the floor,” he said stubbornly, despite the fact that Annabeth hadn’t even suggested it. She had to bite back a laugh at the indignant look on his face.

“Percy, I was never going to sleep on your floor. I was going to go home,” she reminded him.

“Well I’m not letting you do that either,” he said, “So I guess you’re stuck in bed with me, unless you want me to spend the night on concrete.”

“You’re so goddamn annoying,” Annabeth grumbled.

“Does that mean you’re staying?” he asked. His expression brightened considerably at the prospect, and Annabeth had to physically force herself to calm her heart rate down.

“Well apparently I don’t have a choice,” Annabeth said, rolling her eyes, praying to every god in the universe that she wasn’t blushing.

“Right,” Percy said, putting on some exaggerated confidence, “Obviously. So am I taking the floor or the bed?”

Annabeth knew he would sleep on the floor in a heartbeat. If she told him that she was uncomfortable being in his bed with him, he would gladly spend the night on cold concrete in the middle of winter in a dorm that had, frankly, terrible heating.

But she wasn’t about to make him do that. And if she was honest with herself, being in bed with him was the opposite of uncomfortable.

“The bed,” she sighed. Percy grinned triumphantly.

“I knew you wouldn’t make me sleep on the floor,” he said, and Annabeth finally let herself laugh.

“Yeah, because I told you so twice.”

“I think it’s because I know you so well, actually,” he said, finally closing his laptop that had been playing the movie earlier, and setting it on his bedside table. They’d turned the lights off earlier, and without the soft glow of the computer screen the only lights in the room were the faint street lights outside.

The bed was just a regular old twin, with not much space for either of them. That was why they were touching so much, Annabeth reminded herself. Just that. No other reason. He just put his arm around her shoulders because it was more comfortable that way, that was all.

It was late, and Annabeth was drunk, so falling asleep was easy. But she’d be lying if she said Percy didn’t help with that too.

***

It’d been a week since Annabeth had spent the night at Percy’s dorm, and they hadn’t talked about it at all.

She’d woken up the next morning completely hungover, and also with her and Percy’s limbs completely tangled together. The bed they’d shared was small, but it wasn’t that small.

Percy, of course, had acted like it was nothing. He’d teased her about her bed head and she’d half-heartedly teased him back about his morning breath, and then she’d packed her stuff from the night before and made her walk of shame back to her dorm. Except it wasn’t even a proper walk of shame, because they hadn’t actually done anything.

He hadn’t brought it up since, like it had been no big deal at all. Annabeth wished she could be so lowkey about it, but it was the only thing she’d been thinking about that entire week.

They’d already planned to meet up at the end of the week again, only this time in a group setting. A group setting meant Rachel was going to be there, and Percy might think their little sleepover hadn’t been a big deal, but Rachel was definitely not going to share that opinion. Annabeth was honestly dreading facing her so much that she considered bailing at least ten times. In the end, she decided that she had to just suck it up— she was going to have to face Rachel at some point, it might as well have been now.

All that to say Annabeth was a little surprised when she showed up at the party, only to find Rachel acting completely normal towards her. She was irritated towards Annabeth, but that wasn’t unusual. Rachel was always irritated towards Annabeth, and Annabeth was always irritated towards Rachel. But Rachel wasn’t pissed at her like Annabeth expected her to be. She wasn’t even not pissed, she was downright cordial.

All it took was one look at Percy for Annabeth to confirm what she already knew. He hadn’t told her.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, grabbing Percy’s arm and pulling him down the hallway. Rachel was going to be pissed at her for that, but Annabeth didn’t care. Percy followed along without complaint, not even bothering to shoot Rachel an apologetic look.

The hallway was empty, or as empty as a hallway at a college party could be. The music was loud enough to cover up their conversation, anyway.

“Did you not tell her?” Annabeth asked, keeping her voice barely above a whisper. Percy immediately looked guilty.

“You don’t know that,” he said, as if everything about both of their demeanors hadn’t given it away instantly.

“Of course I do, she wasn’t absolutely furious with me,” Annabeth hissed. Percy looked, if possible, more guilty than before.

“Okay, fine, I didn’t,” he admitted, “But what’s the big deal? It’s not like we did anything.”

And there it was again, those two little words and the way he said them, as if anything happening between the two of them was an impossibility. It felt like a dagger straight to the heart, but Annabeth ignored it.

“I dunno,” Annabeth said, “I mean if I was your girlfriend, I think I would want to know.”

Percy had choked on his drink halfway through her statement, and was already coughing before she could finish it.

“Are you okay?” Annabeth asked, alarmed. Percy just shook his head.

“Fine,” Percy managed to choke out, “I’m fine.”

“Am I going to have to heimlich you again?”

“Hey, you promised you would never bring that up again,” Percy said, pointing an accusing finger at her as he coughed again, clearing his throat a few times for good measure, “Besides, I don’t think it works for soda.”

“Fair. But don’t change the subject.”

“You changed the subject first,” Percy accused, in a not subtle attempt to change the subject once again.

“Because I thought you were choking, dumbass. You have to tell her.”

“Why?” Percy practically whined.

“Because the fact that you don’t want to means you know she’s going to be mad about it,” Annabeth said.

Percy groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“Why are you so smart?” he asked. It sounded like a complaint, even though she knew he didn’t mean it that way. It sure felt that way, though.

“‘Cause one of us has to be,” Annabeth sighed.

If Annabeth were smarter, she would’ve never agreed to spend the night to begin with. But it was way too late for that now.

They went back and joined the group, but Annabeth knew Rachel was staring (bordering on glaring) at her the entire rest of the night. She couldn’t even really blame her. She was going to be a hell of a lot more mad at Annabeth once she found out the reason Annabeth had pulled Percy away to begin with.

The very next day Annabeth was in her dorm room, trying to finish a project for her architecture class. It was due on Monday, but she’d been so distracted the entire week that she’d barely even made a dent in it at all. It wasn’t coming together the way she wanted to and Annabeth was three seconds away from snapping her pencil in half and throwing the whole draft away. Before she could, there was a sharp knock at the door.

Annabeth glanced down at her phone, but she didn’t see any texts. Maybe it was the RA doing an inspection, or maybe Piper had forgotten her key again.

But when Annabeth opened the door, she found Percy standing in the doorway. He spoke before Annabeth could even open her mouth.

“So, I told her,” Percy said, with absolutely no context. He knew she didn’t need it. Annabeth found herself gripping the door so tightly she thought her fingers might break.

“You did? What happened?” Annabeth asked, trying not to sound frantic. Why was he here? Why didn’t he just call her? What if Rachel had made him swear to never talk to her again and he was just here to say goodb--

“She asked me to tell her with 100% certainty that I didn’t have feelings for you,” Percy said, impossibly calm.

If Rachel had asked him that, why was he standing in Annabeth’s doorway?

“And?” Annabeth said, voice small. Her heart was practically pounding out of her chest, but Percy just shrugged.

“And, I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t?” Annabeth repeated, just to make sure she had heard him correctly.

“Nope,” he said, easily, too easily, “To be honest, I couldn’t even give her like, 1% certainty, but that would’ve felt a little rude to say.”

“So…” Annabeth trailed off. She couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. It didn’t make sense in her brain. Percy had feelings for her. And he’d broken up with Rachel, which meant— which meant—

“I think now is the part where you tell me if you like me back,” Percy said, interrupting her thoughts. He was smiling though, like he already knew the answer.

Annabeth did not currently have the mental wherewithal to form words. Thankfully her feet did the thinking for her, closing the already small distance between them and kissing him like she’d wanted to do for years.

“So I take it that’s a yes?” he said with a grin, when they finally broke apart. Annabeth was pleased to see he was a little breathless, at least.

“Shut up,” she laughed.

“Gladly,” he said, leaning down to kiss her again.

[allmightluver]

So, what is your take on the EM relationship? Who was the one to fall first and confess? Please support your speculations/opinions with canonical evident, if you'd like 😏 (BECAUSE YOU'RE SO DAMN GOOD AT IT ❤️) Thank you for your time 🙏

Oh goodness

You really want me to go all out huh Kunshi 😏

Well, I’ll try to summarize this as best I can ***(This may have some spoilers so be warned)**

The relationship between All Might and Eraserhead has been quite the journey. You can say, frenemies to “hey you’re not so bad”. They’ve known of each other for years, before the present timeline. Here in Vigilante’s, Eraserhead tells Tsukauchi that the situation they’re in is so dire, they need the Number 1. Aizawa acknowledges how powerful All Might is, despite disapproving of how handles media and fame.

But they didn’t really know each other until All Might started at UA. 

Aizawa believed Yagi to be reckless, irresponsible, and foolish in taking a job he has no training for. Not to mention the obvious favoritism. Yagi believed Aizawa to be too harsh and cold hearted on the children. Though as the two got to know each other, and went through traumatic events together (USJ and Kamino), they started to warm up more to each other, actually taking the time to get to know one another. 

All Might rushes to an injured Aizawa’s side, and the sight of how broken, bloodied and damaged his co-worker is visibly upsets him. The way Toshinori’s voice softens as he apologizes to Aizawa, unclear if it’s out loud or in his mind. Toshinori probably feels terrible whenever anyone’s been injured, but he seems particularly held up over Aizawa, most likely because he himself couldn’t be there when it happened. He was of being a hero all morning, and wasted all his time in his muscle form, so he wasn’t there with them like he should have been. Which meant Aizawa and (Thirteen) had to fight to protect the students, even if they were clearly unmatched. They were both badly injured in the process, all because Toshinori wasn’t there.

Then after the fight, Toshinori cuts his friend, Tsukauchi, off and asks how Aizawa, wait, Eraserhead, is doing. Oh and Thirteen too. He was relieved to find he they were alright.

When Kamino hit we see how intently Aizawa watches the news, watches All Might, watches Toshinori. He was clearly concerned, and in seeing AFO summon his many quirks in order to eliminate All Might once and for all, Aizawa’s concern only grows. And for good reason.

As an after effect, the students needed to move into dorms. Aizawa and Toshinori are paired together to speak to 1A’s students. It’s in the car that Aizawa, awkwardly, offers to buy Toshinori a drink. To which Toshinori politely declines, as he can’t drink. (*face palm*) 

However, after dealing with Bakugo’s...different family, Toshinori nudges Aizawa with an elbow his injured arm no less, and whispers that he now owes Aizawa a drink. 

Dunno about you, but I’d have to be pretty comfortable with someone before I’m close enough to nudge them and whisper secrets. And Toshinori is always seeking to know Aizawa better, be closer, impress him.

They even go out on a date to get a drink together.  Toshinori’s inner dialogue is the most interesting, from “I’m going to be even better friends with Aizawa-kun...!” to “All Might, you just gotta push past the walls of Aizawa-kun’s heart!” ...uh huh. To which Mic and Midnight totally crash their “Secret Dinner Outing” and invite themselves to stay, much to Toshinori’s (”Or on second thought...probably not then.”) and Aizawa’s despair (”Go home!” x3). Get outta here, you’re ruining our date!  And after Toshinori takes his leave, Aizawa chases him down outside to say....? “Thank you very much. I’m drunk right now so I probably wouldn’t say this if I wasn’t. But because you fought at Kamino and took down AFO for us, I’ll do my part and look after the students as much as I can. That’s why I want to thank you for everything.” To which after a silence, Toshinori responds with, “Aizawa-kun, let’s watch over the students from here on out together.” ...to which Aizawa mentions he won’t remember any of this and to never bring it up ever again.  (*repeat face palm*)

This only proves they’re becoming much, much, closer. They’ve gone beyond plus ultra frenemies and onto true friends. They take each other’s words and thoughts into account in a serious manner, like how Yagi managed to convince Aizawa to let him go to Bakugo and Midoriya when they snuck out, as well as going easy on punishment for them.

Aizawa’s also shown growing concern for Toshinori after his retirement. Firstly from seeing Toshinori out and about so soon after Kamino while he was still recovering from his injuries. And on the occasion a falling rock nearly connects to Toshinori’s head, you can see how quickly Aizawa reacts. The way you can almost see a flashback of his childhood friend’s unfortunate death running through his head as he tries to save Toshinori from the same fate. Once Midoriya saves Toshinori, Aizawa still reaches out to him, like he’s worried the man may get hurt, break, as he tells him that it’s not safe in this environment, and that Toshinori should leave, go where it’s safe.

When Aizawa couldn’t attend Bakugo and Todoroki’s extra classes, he asks Toshinori to go in his place, and even makes Present Mic go along as a body guard. He’s clearly concerned for the former hero’s safety and well-being. Toshinori now often fills in for Aizawa if he can’t make it to his own class.

When Midoriya’s new quirk is discovered, Aizawa takes Toshinori’s anxiety about the situation seriously, and they immediately go to put a stop to the training battle. 

But once Midoriya’s quirk settles down, Aizawa decides to let this play out, and calms Toshinori, saying he’ll put a stop to it if the situation happens again.

He later describes Toshinori as a genius, naturally talented, when explaining to Shinsou how he doesn’t expect the kid to be on the same level with the others in the hero course right off the bat. Aizawa has extreme respect for Toshinori.

The biggest moment between the two is late on a snowy night, when Toshinori sits outside in the cold, alone, contemplating...well, his life honestly. Aizawa find’s him, “there you are,” apparently looking for the taller man. Toshinori at first automatically deflects any questions about himself, and asks about the children. He then offers to help Aizawa with training Eri, in which the underground hero gladly accepts (something that Aizawa would not have done in the past, as he hated even speaking to the older man before). But Aizawa can see through the façade, and asks what’s wrong. Aizawa is one of, if not the only, person Toshinori confides in so deeply.  Horkioshi confirmed recently that of everyone (adults, I assume), pro heroes included, Toshinori is the closest to Aizawa. Toshinori decides he can trust Aizawa with his mental weights. He’s decided to live, but feels useless staying alive, powerless, unable to help anyone, or at least how the children need him to. 

Aizawa’s initially unnerved at the fact that Toshinori decided to live, as if the contemplation of otherwise was there. But he listens quietly, intently, to what Toshinori says. Finally, he tries to reason with the older man that being a workaholic, and never having time to rest, isn’t good either, points out that after holding up the country for decades, suddenly not having it has left an addiction. Toshinori doesn’t know what to do if he’s not running himself ragged. But also tells him that he is helping the students--by being alive, and by being here for them. There are a lot of people (Aizawa included?) that gain strength, just by Toshinori being there, alive. And he asks him to please keep on living and acting like his normal self. Toshinori’s overcome with emotion at his words.

For a relationship between the two, I’m sure they both would have had feelings for quite some time before ever admitting to it. Knowing their personalities, Aizawa would feel his feelings were illogical and deceptive. Toshinori is just a tad older than him, has met probably thousands more people than Aizawa ever will, and he was the number one hero. Falling for a guy like that just seemed too predictable and annoying. But Aizawa soon learns the differences between All Might and Toshinori, and while the latter still rubs him the wrong way at times, the tall, willowy man has managed to capture his heart. He feels compelled to care for the other, make sure he’s taking proper care of himself. And yet he tells himself it’s too invasive of the other man’s privacy; none of his business. When Mic and Midnight drag him to the bar and question him why his mood was off, he’d give no answer save for a shrug, and down another beer.

Toshinori would have feelings rather early, but most likely not realize they were more than just finally getting the grouchy Aizawa-kun to tolerate him. As weeks go by, he would catch his heart racing at Aizawa’s presence, blushing when the scruffy man would make tea for him after a coughing fit, and way too elated when Aizawa accepted the invitation for a drink together, alone. One night it would hit him just exactly how he feels for the younger man, and his heart would clench. Surely Aizawa couldn’t feel the same way, especially for a man as old, sickly, and awkward as himself. Even if it were possible, his own death is due to come within the next year, and he couldn’t do that to Aizawa-kun. He’d spend several nights fighting and eventually failing to quietly let his tears fall into the pillow below him as he tries to sleep, alone.

The two would cautiously work together, stepping around their own feelings to keep things normal between them. All the while Aizawa’s brain would fight against his heart, and Toshinori’s chest would tighten until a bloody cough was produced.

Finally, finally, after Mic and Midnight pry it out of Aizawa like a game of Operation, they force him to ask Toshinori out. It takes a week, but Aizawa finally finds the right moment to ask the former hero out for a drink and bar food. Glamorous as always, especially for a first date. But Toshinori gladly accepts, and spends the rest of the day convincing himself it’s just a friendly supper, between friends, not a date.

That night the two have a lovely evening of greasy bar food (which Toshinori politely only orders a small plate of fries, as there’s nothing blander on the menu) and beer (Toshinori also drinks a plain water). Aizawa apologizes for not taking Toshinori’s diet into account when picking where they met, and says he’ll let Toshinori pick the restaurant next time. Toshinori freezes at his wording. Aizawa’s quick to try and resolve, but Toshinori stops him. Asks him what exactly this is. A friendly dinner? Or something more? Aizawa buries into his scarf, and answers with a question in return; what do you want it to be? It’s then Toshinori sets his glass down, takes a moment to breathe, before spilling that he’d hoped it was a date. He’s bright red as he explains how he believes he’s developed...feelings over the months working together. That he wanted to go out again, but that he hadn’t wanted to force his feelings on Aizawa. Who would want someone like him?

These two have so much chemistry. They’ve been through so much together already: disagreements, near deaths, critical injuries, awkward moments of a budding friendship, talking each other off the ledge. In all the ships of the series, EraserMight has one of the most obvious connections and chemistries.

[penny-anna]

tulips and carnations

“You have got to stop doing this It’s a waste of money, and time, and, and frankly it’s a waste of flowers.”

“I know,” said Frodo. “I know. But he’s so pretty, Merry. And so nice. And, when I go in we talk about flowers and today he was telling me all about the different colours you can get tulips in and what they mean –”

“I’d say this is getting weird, but honestly it sailed past weird a month ago."

In which Frodo has a small (small!) crush on an employee in his local flower shop and Merry is an excellent wingman, thank you very much.

Ficlet based on this moodboard.

(on Ao3!)

When he came in from the library he found Frodo in the kitchen, thoughtfully arranging a bunch of tulips in a vase upon the windowsill.

“Afternoon,” he said, dropping his book bag on the sofa. “Flowers?”

“They’re nice, aren’t they?” said Frodo, not looking him in the eye. “I thought they’d brighten up the room.”

“I see,” said Merry. “You did it again. Didn’t you?”

Frodo shot him a scandalised look. “No!” he protested. “I, I just happened to take a fancy and thought it would be nice to get some flowers. That’s all.”

“Mm-hm,” said Merry.

Frodo adjusted the tulips. He plucked morosely at a red petal. Turning, he said, “Merry, it happened again.”

“You have got to stop doing this.” Merry gestured at the offending tulips. “It’s a waste of money, and time, and, and frankly it’s a waste of flowers.”

“I know,” said Frodo, taking his face in his hands. “I know. But he’s so pretty, Merry. And so nice. And, when I go in we talk about flowers and today he was telling me all about the different colours you can get tulips in and what they mean –”

“I’d say this is getting weird, but honestly it sailed past weird a month ago,” said Merry.

“It’s not weird,” Frodo said. “I like flowers. I like shopping for flowers. What’s wrong with that?”

“Aren’t you allergic to pollen?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Merry sighed. He composed himself. “Look,” he said. “I’m sure the flower shop boy appreciates your custom –”

“Sam,” Frodo interrupted. “His name’s Sam. He told me. And also it’s, on his nametag. I think it’s a lovely name. Don’t you think it’s a lovely name?”

“Oh my god,” said Merry. “You need to either ask him out or stop going in there.”

“I can’t ask him out,” said Frodo, appalled. “You can’t ask people out while they’re at work, Merry. It’s rude.”

“So stop going in there and hassling him!”

“I don’t want to,” said Frodo. “And, I’m not hassling him. Or I don’t think I’m hassling him. I hope I’m not hassling him.” He shook his head. “I’m not hassling him.”

“You really only have two reasonable options here,” said Merry. “Either go in there and give him your phone number or leave him alone and, I don’t know, make a dating profile. And what were you even doing in town today? Aren’t you supposed to be working on your thesis?”

“I was,” said Frodo. “I took a break and went for a walk. To the flower shop.”

“You have a big problem,” said Merry. “You know that?”

“I have a small crush,” said Frodo. “That’s all. And, and the flowers are pretty. Don’t you think they brighten up the room?”

“We’re going to start running out of surfaces to brighten up,” Merry groaned. “Look, okay. I will go in there with you and wingman. How about that?”

“I don’t need a wingman,” said Frodo. “I already told you I’m not going to ask him out while he’s at work. An even if I was I wouldn’t need your help.”

“Really?” said Merry, raising his eyebrows. “Because you are famously so good at asking people out.”

“And you’re famously such a good wingman,” said Frodo. “I can handle it.”

Merry threw up his hands. “Fine!”

“Fine!”

The front door slammed. Pippin stuck his head into the kitchen. His gaze fell upon the tulips and turning to Frodo he said, “again?”

*

The shop bell dinged. “Alright,” said Frodo as they edged inside, surrounded on all sides by greenery. “We’re just going to go over there and say hello to him and then we’ll see how it goes from there.”

“Sure,” said Merry, looking around himself. “I have to hand it to you, this place is pretty nice.” He picked up a tiny purple succulent from a shelf. “Why wouldn’t you have brought some of these home instead of flowers? These are cool.”

Frodo snatched the succulent and put it back in its proper place. “Stop touching things!” he said. “Just – be normal.”

Merry stared at him. “You’re telling me to be normal?”

“Shut up,” said Frodo. “Oh, shit. Okay. There he is.”

Coming out of the back room was a round-faced, fair-haired man in a green apron, his features obscured behind a large bunch of roses. He handed them to a woman at the counter and began to ring up her order.

“Huh,” said Merry. “Really?”

“What?” said Frodo. “Is there something wrong with him?”

“No – no,” Merry said. “It’s just. You like them chubby, don’t you?”

“What? No!” said Frodo. “Yes. Maybe. None of your business. Shut up.”

“You realise you just gave every possible answer to that question, right?”

“Shush,” said Frodo. “Alright, I think they’re done. Let’s go and say hello.”

They pushed past a bushy fern, towards the counter. Frodo said, “hi.”

Sam looked up from the till. At the sight of Frodo his face shamelessly lit up. He was beaming as if Frodo coming into his shop was the best thing that had happened to him all day. And Merry thought, oh.”

“Morning,” said Sam. “You again.”

“Me again.” Frodo leaned on the counter. “This is Merry,” he said, jerking his head at him. “He’s my flatmate.”

“Hey,” said Merry. “Good to meet you.”

“G’morning.” Sam’s gaze went warmly and inexorably back to Frodo. “You’re back soon.”

“Hm?” Frodo was leaning on one elbow, staring at Sam and evidently lost in his eyes. They were, Merry had to concede, very big and brown.

“You were just in yesterday,” Sam reminded him.

“So I was,” said Frodo. “Tulips.” Merry nudged him. “I, um. I just wanted to come back in because I wanted to talk to you, about.” He breathed out. He breathed in. He nodded at Merry. “It’s Merry’s gran’s birthday,” he said, his voice going a touch high and stilted.

“Oh my god,” said Merry to himself.

“And he was wanting to get her some flowers,” Frodo went on, “so I told him you were the person to talk to. So. Here we are.”

“Aye,” said Sam, nodding. “We do birthdays. What sort of flowers were you wanting?”

Merry looked at Frodo and considered calling him on his bullshit. He elected to show him some clemency. “What would you recommend?”

“Well,” said Sam, “what does she like?”

“I dunno,” said Merry. “Look, I’ll level with you. I’m a terrible, lazy grandson and I’d really appreciate it if you could just pick something. Preferably something inexpensive.”

Sam smacked his lips. “We have some carnations that are quite nice,” he said. “She might like those.”

“Sure,” said Merry. “I’m easy.”

“I’ll go get some,” said Sam. “Then you can decide.”

He went off into the shop. Merry shot Frodo a look as if to say what the fuck are you doing. Frodo shot him a pleading look in return as if to say fuck off, I panicked.

Aloud, Merry said, “what are carnations again?”

“Oh, you know,” said Frodo. “They’re the small ones.”

“The small ones?”

Coming back around the counter, Sam set down the flowers. “”How about these?”

“Ohh,” said Merry. “Those are carnations. Okay. Yeah, they’re fine.”

“What sort of paper do you want?” said Sam.

“Do you have any recommendations?”

“No,” said Sam flatly. “Do you want me to show you some?”

“Sure,” said Merry.

As he fetched out some paper, Merry silently reflected on the fact that he didn’t even have any grandmothers. “Yeah, I don’t know,” he said. “Frodo, what do you think she’d like?”

“The baby blue,” said Frodo, not skipping a beat.

“Cool, let’s go with that,” said Merry.

Sam began to wrap the bouquet. He kept sneaking little looks at Frodo as he did so, glancing at him under his eyelashes as if he couldn’t bear to take his eyes off him for more than a few seconds. Merry watched him. He considered the situation.

He said, “my friend thinks you’re cute.”

“Merry!” said Frodo.

Sam’s hands stilled on the tape dispenser. “Oh?”

“He wants to ask you out, but he’s too shy,” said Merry. Sam ducked his head, blushing a flustered pink.

“No,” said Frodo. “That’s not – not that I don’t think you’re cute, I just wasn’t going to – I’m not shy.”

Merry roundly ignored him. “Would it be alright if he gave you his phone number?”

“Aye,” said Sam. “That’d be alright.” He looked to Frodo, smiling a fond half-smile that dimpled one of his cheeks.

Frodo glanced at Merry, at a loss for how to respond to what was happening to him. Then turning to Sam, he said, “can I take you to dinner some time?”

“I’d like that,” said Sam, still smiling.

“Alright,” said Frodo.

“Alright,” said Sam. He set the finished bouquet on the counter. “I’m still gonna need someone to pay for this.”

Merry looked to Frodo. Frodo met his eye and said, “it’s your grandmother.”

“Oh, for –” They would have words about this later, Merry decided. He reached for his wallet. “Fine.”

“Why did you do that to me?” said Frodo on the pavement outside the shop.

“Got you a date, didn’t I?” said Merry. “Why’d you say it was my grandmother’s birthday?”

“It just came out,” said Frodo. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.” Merry nodded at the carnations. “Do you want these?”

“Kind of,” said Frodo. “Yeah.”

Merry thrust them at him. “You can pay me back.”

*

He shouldered his way through the front door, his arms wrapped around a stack of library books. “Hey,” he called. “Anyone in?” There was a light on in the kitchen. He put his head around the door, and – “ah.”

On the sofa Frodo and Sam sprang apart, flustered and tousled. Sam tugged a cushion into his lap, blushing fiercely. “Merry!” said Frodo. “You’re home.”

“Yeah,” Merry agreed. He gestured vaguely at the front door with his keys. “Actually, I think I’m going to go back to the library.”

“You don’t have to leave,” said Frodo. “We can go somewhere else –”

“No no, it’s cool,” said Merry. “I study better there. I just came to drop these off.” He hefted his books. “You kids have fun. Good night.”

“Night,” said Sam, awkwardly waving.

He shut the door softly behind himself, and sighing thumped his library books down on the hall table.

On his way down the stairs, he texted Pippin. Looks like Frodo’s date went well. They’re making out on our sofa.

Cool, Pippin texted a moment lately. So drinks?

[dissociativedaydream]

Soft - Part 2

Pairing: Bossk x Vertani!reader (read more about Vertani here)

Word Count: ~2.3K

Tags: reader gets kidnapped, brief mentions of blood, protective & soft!Bossk toward the end

A/N: this is to help establish backstory, no smut in this one (probably will be in the next)

< Part 1

You stretched slowly, a sleepy croak leaving your throat. It was still dark out and you sat up, wondering what had woken you. Bossk had been gone on and off for the past few months, he was in the middle of a job right now and you weren’t expecting him back for another week.

Sitting there you strained your ears, the quiet ring of the apartment was all you could hear. It was unusual for you to wake without reason but you figured maybe it was the horror holofilm you had watched before bed.

Laying back down you closed your eyes. A few moments pass when you hear a knock on the front door. Your heart pounded. Of the few friends you’d made, they knew better than to show up without calling. Especially at night. And Bossk had the keycode to the door.

You grab your blaster from its spot on your bedside table and walk to the door. Glancing through your viewport you huffed. The hell was he doing here?

“Dad?” You asked as you open the door.

He pushes past you without so much as acknowledging you. You rolled your eyes as you close the door and put your blaster away.

“Where’s your husband?” Your father finally spoke.

What do you care?

“He’s working. Why?” You put on a robe over your PJs, feeling weirdly defensive for being in your own space but dad also did that to a lot of people.

“You need to come home.” His back was to you when you walked back out to the living room.

Fear hit you, he sounded scared. Something bad must’ve happened.

“Why? Is there something wrong with mom or sis?”

“No they’re okay.” His voice was emotionless, which wasn’t terribly unusual for him when he was sober but something about it now unsettled you.

Outside of them requiring help, you couldn’t imagine what he could possibly want you to return for. It’s not like he had acknowledged you even before your betrothal.

“Your marriage needs to be nullified.” He spoke in the same tone, still not looking at you.

You snorted. Yeah, no. That wasn’t happening. Even if you wanted it to, because of Vertani rules, you couldn’t divorce him until the three-year mark. Before you could reply though your father continued.

“That damned Cradossk double-crossed me.”

“Wait what? I thought you said he was supposed to leave you alone after your debt was paid.” Your eyes narrowed, for a man who liked talking shit about Trandoshans he was doing his best to be wrapped up in their business.

“Your marriage to Bossk was supposed to secure me a share of the Guild’s earnings.” He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes were bloodshot and there were dark bags under them.

“I’m sorry that the other kids aren’t playing nice,” you couldn’t help but be snarky at your father’s entitlement. “But I’m happy and no longer belong to your family so you’ll need to figure out another way to piss off your investments.”

“No girlie, you’re coming home with me.” With that, your father turned around revealing he was holding his own blaster.

Shit.

You freeze, as shitty as your father was you didn’t see this coming at all. Your brain blanks out momentarily until he moves toward you which causes you to turn to retrieve your own blaster. Before you can grab it, you feel a tug on the back of your robe.

No, no, no. There was no way you were going back there.

You pulled at the robe’s tie allowing you to shrug it off and reaching your comm that was next to your blaster before your father was able to grab you and pull you away. Thinking fast you press the button to transmit to the last person you spoke with.

“Bossk, help-!”

There was a sudden pain in the back of your head that surprised you enough to release the commlink. He hit you with his blaster! Another crack came down and as you felt the warmth radiating from the impact you blacked out.

~

Coming to you were upset to notice that you were bundled in furs, your sister’s angry voice was loud and right above you. She was chewing dad out for kidnapping you. Your head was pounding as you tentatively opened your eyes to see unfortunately familiar surroundings. Damn it.

Groaning you push yourself to sit up, a wave of dizziness and nausea causing you to waiver. Your hand goes to the back of your head, you can feel warm wetness. Bringing your hand to your face you can see the dark red color of your own blood. That’s not good.

“Easy there, how are you feeling?” Your sister wraps an arm around your shoulders before you’re able to fall back into the bed.

Your voice is muffled by your hands as you cover your mouth, willing the bile climbing your throat to disappear. “You mean other than royally pissed off?”

Your sister snorted before turning back to your father who was standing by the entrance of the tent.

“You’re an idiot. A bonified idiot. You kidnapped her!” She continued berating him. “You said yourself that Trandoshans are dangerous. Now you’ve kidnapped the wife of one. A really well-known bounty hunter to boot!”

“She’s my daughter!” Father snapped back.

“You married her off!” Your sister snapped back.

You snorted, recalling what he had said back at the apartment. “Not really. He sold me.”

That caused your sister to pause. “What do you mean?”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. As fond of Bossk as you’d grown, the realization that your flesh and blood gave you to him just for a share of bounties from his father broke your heart. You really were better off with a feared bounty hunter than your own dad.

You recounted what your father had said and your sister’s eyes grew wide. While marriages were often used to create alliances and gain resources it’s very rarely done for just money. It was pretty insulting.

Your father tried to dissipate the tension, motioning to your sister’s belly which you just realized was swollen. “High blood pressure isn’t good for the baby, your husband won’t be pleased if you jeopardize it.”

A baby! Momentarily you forgot the situation you were in and reached toward your sister, stopping short of her stomach. She didn’t glance down, she was busy still glaring daggers at your father, but pulled your outreached hand to her belly.

“The baby will be fine. You on the other hand need to get out before I do something we’ll all regret.” She growled.

Your father took the opportunity to disappear back out of the tent. Both of you sat quietly for a little bit before you interrupted, hand still on your sister’s stomach.

“When are you due?”

She gave a bitter laugh, “that’s a great question. The doctors can’t tell if it’s more Clawdite or more Vertani so we’ll see.”

You smiled as you sat back on the bed, dizziness hitting you again. Clutching your head you glance around, hoping your stay here would be brief.

“Can you call Bossk? I think I dropped my commlink when dad grabbed me.”

“I already asked hubby to call when dad told me what he did. I’ll go check and see if he answered.” Your sister paused next to you, running her fingers through your hair like she used to do when you were little.

She traced a finger down your forehead and stopped at the peak of your nose. A brief pang of sadness hit you, as much as you hated it here you missed your sister something fierce. But now she had other priorities to keep her busy, you sighed as you watched her leave the tent.

Now that you were alone the fog that was clouding your mind seemed to get thicker. The nausea had subsided but you were tired. You didn’t know if it was a good idea but the cold from outside was seeping into your tent, encouraging you to bundle yourself and sleep. Maybe when you wake up Bossk will be here.

~

“Aye, wake up sunshine.”

Not Bossk. You groaned, covering your head with the closest blanket.

“C’mon, you need to eat something.” His voice held a chuckle to it.

“Where’s your wife?”

“I dunno but she’s going to kill me if I don’t get you to eat.” Your brother-in-law quipped, you glanced at him to see him glance over his shoulder. “Unless your husband beats her to it.”

“Did he answer?”

“Yeah, he was already on the way here, I guess you sent him a message before your dad knocked you out.” He sat on the edge of the bed, holding out a piece of food to you.

You hummed, you only vaguely remembered reaching for the commlink but you’re glad you were able to do something to alert him. There was no way he’d take returning to an empty apartment well, especially after your discussion about possibly joining him on future jobs. You wanted to join him to give your cycle a better chance at syncing with his but you didn’t want to openly tell him that was why. He was less keen on letting you tag along for obvious reasons so you had let it go.

“Anyway,” the Clawdite broke the silence, “he should be here pretty soon, your sister wanted to know if you wanted to borrow any clothes.”

You looked down, forgetting that you were wearing your PJs. No wonder you were so cold. T-shirts and shorts were not conducive to keeping you warm when this stupid planet was so damned cold.

There was a loud noise outside that sounded like a ship landing. Your brother-in-law popped up and checked.

“That’s him. Are you okay if I go get him?” He turned to look at you, concern knitted in his brows.

“Now that Bossk is here I’m probably the safest person on the planet.” You giggled.

He looks relieved before he ducks out of the tent. If it wasn’t for the foot of snow outside you would’ve just made for the ship.

You could hear shouting, your dad was really willing to get hurt over his own poor decision. A roar silenced the entire camp. Bossk was mad-mad.

The sound of snow crunching gave away his approach, it muffled his normally heavy footsteps but his gait was distinguishable. He stormed into the tent, wrapped in the cloak that you had given him the day you met. His eyes fell on you and his shoulder relaxed slightly.

“Come on little wife. Let’s get you back home.” His voice was more scratchy sounding than usual, probably raw from his angry roar.

You walked over to him, ready to embrace him but before you can he scoops you up into his arms. Bossk wasn’t one for much PDA so you were surprised as he stalked back to his ship still holding you.

“You’re going to regret that!” Your father was still going as the two of you approach the ship.

You were surprised to see three people and a droid standing between your dad and Bossk’s ship. One you recognized as the kid Bossk often looked out for, Boba Fett. The other two being you didn’t recognize, one looked like he was human and the other appeared to be a Theelin possibly.

“Get over it gramps,” Boba sneered. “I’m already pissed we had to derail this mission to come here. Keep threatening us and see what happens.”

You shrunk back as much as you could in Bossk’s arms. It didn’t occur to you that you had interrupted their mission, you just assumed that Bossk wouldn’t even check his messages from you until after all was said and done. His arms tightened around you as he passed your father but for once he made the smart decision and didn’t interfere.

“Let’sss go,” Bossk rasped, leading the small crew back onto the ship.

Boba glanced at you, concern flashing in his eyes briefly, he had followed Bossk to the living quarters while the others went to the cockpit. “Are you okay?”

You rubbed the back of your head, it was sore and throbbing a bit, you probably had a concussion but there was no need to worry any of them about it. You would need to shower to get the dried blood out of your hair.

“I’m alright.” You lied.

Bossk grumbled, bordering on a growl. “I can sssmell the blood. What did he do to you?”

Boba shot you an apologetic look before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you with your still pissed-off husband. Bossk lays you on his cot before sitting next to you.

“I’m sorry for disrupting your job.” You whispered, genuinely feeling guilty.

His gaze softened as he reached up to stroke your cheek, a rare moment of unadulterated affection.

“Well, you’re getting your wish to come on a mission.” He chuckled. “We’ll talk about what happened later.”

“Bossk!” A female voice rang down the hall. “We’re landing, give wifey a kiss and let’s go!”

You giggled as he sighed. “Latts is getting a kick out of this. You’ll be happy to know that she thinks you should come with usss too.”

He stood and you sat up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

“Ssstay here. You’ll be safe on the ship.”

You pout. He’s right of course and you’re definitely not dressed to be of any help but you hope that if he does relent and let you come on more that this won’t be the reoccurring theme.

Bossk does pause, seeing your face. He leaned over you to nuzzle your hair, an action he’d adopted as a goodbye to you.

You sigh as he leaves, laying back down onto the cot. At least he kept his ship warm. You wrapped yourself in his blanket, inhaling his scent. He smelled like musk and the forest, it was calming and you felt safe. Safe enough to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

< Part 1

[heyheydidjaknow]

If I bounce my foot, it makes this chair sound like someone is doing unspeakable things. Also, it has been a hot minute, but I have a chapter written now, and that's what matters. Hopefully the next chapter will be out sooner than later.

Chapter 16

You are going to kill him.

“That is absolute fucking horseshit!” You pace back and forth in front of the restaurant. “His ass was the one who invited me!”

You can practically hear his eyes rolling on the other end of the line. “How is it my problem if he flaked?”

“You’re guilty by association!” You cross your arms. “It’s a favor to you! How is it not at least partially your fault?”

“Because he said he’d be there.”

You hang up on him. You have been standing here for half an hour, and only now do you hear that he can’t be there because of something about a movie. While, under different circumstances, you would be relatively understanding, standing outside in a dress in November is making you a bit less amiable.

You sit down on the step, letting your hair down and leaning forward on your knees. ‘What a waste of a perfectly good twilight.’

You pull out your phone. It’s your father’s birthday back home, ironically enough. You smile bitterly. He and your mother told you when you were younger you wouldn’t be allowed to date until you were eighteen— something about them being worried about you getting in a bad situation— and here you were, flouting their rules, sitting alone on the steps of a restaurant with just enough money for food. ‘Does this count as disrespectful?’

Nobody online has said anything about it. No messages hoping he rests in peace, nothing from extended family.

You set the phone down at your side, quietly watching people walk by. You had your cast taken off today. The people at the hospital gave you some sort of weird juice, and now you can walk around with only the occasional ringing in your ears and half-decent handwriting. ‘Not that my handwriting was that great before,’ you muse. ‘Maybe I’ll finally be able to sit in a car without wanting to jump out.’

“Something got you down?”

There is a thing you have noticed about people’s voices thus far that, until now, you have not thought about in detail; people do not sound exactly like their voice actors back in your world. For example, Donatello does not sound like Rob Paulsen, but the way he shapes his words, the tone of his voice, and the general pitch is relatively similar. He sounds like a teenage boy who happens to talk like his character, and it is by this you have been able to identify voices.

Oddly enough, she sounds nothing like Kelly Hi.

Your blood goes cold. “Yeah,” you sigh, desperately keeping your voice steady. “My date bailed on me.”

Karai sits down next to you on the steps, looking out with you. “That sucks.” She chuckled. “Why’s that?”

“No clue.” ‘Why is she trying this?’ You rest your head on your knees, hands clenching and thoughts going a mile a minute. ‘I’m not made by the Kraang, and the guys shouldn’t have messed with her anyways, so she shouldn’t have my— but I did kill— but she doesn’t care about that, and neither does Shredder.’

“Well,” she sighed, “that’s teenagers for you.” She points back at the restaurant. “Can I get you something? My treat.”

You swallow thickly. “Sure.” Your hands are shaking despite your best efforts. You hope you do not look as completely terrified as you feel. “But I can pay for my own food.”

“Are you alright there?”

‘Sadist.’ You nod.

“Are you sure?” She chuckles. “You’ve gone pale.”

You scramble for a plausible excuse. “I’ve been fasting.” That is not a good example of an excuse. “I need to start getting more iron in my diet.”

“I’m sure some food inside will have iron in it.” The smile on her face— she is not a good liar herself— tells you all you need to know, all venom and quiet pleasure. You seem to shrink next to her.

It is not a request. It is a veiled demand.

You get to your feet. You will not make it far if you run. “Have you been here before?” You force yourself up the steps, opening the door for her.

“No,” she admits, nodding thanks, “but it’s supposed to have good reviews.”

“So you were here for the food?”

A shrug. “You could say that.”

The two of you settled in a booth not terribly far from the door, on your insistence. If you are putting yourself in this situation— ‘At least Casey knows where I am. Why did he have to suggest someplace where I know nobody?’— you may as well not make it easy for her. She orders a milkshake— you can not hear her very well over the roaring in your ears, but that is what she gets— and you drink water exclusively from the straw because your hands are currently incapable of holding anything. ‘What was even the point of all those dexterity-based exercises,’ you cannot help but internally whine, ‘if as soon as I need to be coordinated, I get all flinchy and shaky?’

“I didn’t catch your name.”

Your head rises too quickly. “Huh?”

Another smile. You hate her. “Your name,” she repeats herself. “You haven’t given me your name.”

“Y/N.” As soon as you say it, you know you messed up. “Y/N Collins.”

“Collins?” She leaned against her hand, quietly staring you down. “What is that?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, what country is that from?”

‘Great question.’ You strain to smile back. “No clue. My parents haven’t ever brought it up.”

“Really?”

Your face burns at how easy the clinking of her fingernails against the glass puts you on edge. “Is that unusual?”

“I wouldn’t know.” She took a sip from her drink. “I don’t have many friends, you understand, and I’m from overseas to boot. I don’t know much about what’s normal.”

“Yeah?” You follow her example. “What’re you here for?”

A shrug. “My father’s here on business. Cutlery.”

“For restaurants or?”

“Sure.”

‘If I call Casey, he— but then I’d have to be in his van.’ You clear your throat. ‘Bathroom. Maybe the bathroom has a window.’ “Do you mind if I step out for a sec?” You stand up. “I have to use the restroom.”

“Not at all.” She looks up at you through her eyelashes. “Want me to come with?”

You shake your head, trying not to trip over yourself as you make it to the back of the restaurant, purse over your shoulder. ‘Maybe she won’t think anything of it.’ You lock the door behind you, exhaling as you look around the small room. As is typical of your luck these days— though, you suppose, fighting back tears, it’s not so much these days if it’s been going on for months; you miss your mother— there is none. Graffiti, sharpie illustrations, no toilet paper, and no window. No plan for if the date went badly in the first place— you kick yourself for having forgotten that essential step— and no ride home. You have money for the ticket home— he said he would pay— and a phone and a charger and it is at times like these where you wish you valued your life more. The only chance you now have, as far as you’re concerned, is to either run or fake a phone call at the table.

You just got out of a cast.

You take a deep breath, walking back onto the floor, thanking her for her patience. She nods, waves it off as no trouble, and starts talking again as she drains her drink. You listen, you try to keep the conversation going the best you can, drink right alongside her.

You do not remember when you start having fun, when you start laughing along with her at something or other, but you are now.

“So,” she sighed, lacing her fingers together under her chin. “Who was the lucky guy?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“The guys you were here to meet.”

“Kid from Bio,��� you answer. “Can’t remember his name.”

She nods. “Do you have many guy friends?”

“A couple, I guess.”

“What’re they like?”

“Busy.” You smile slightly. “Most of them are, anyway. The guy that set me up is free most of the time.”

“What about the others?”

“They’re into martial arts.” You glance down at your glass, and for a moment, you swear it looks slightly blue. “Their dad’s into it.”

“What’re their names?”

You blink, picking the glass up and placing it on top of your hand. “Reese and Donnie and Legoshi and the other one.” ‘Why is my drink blue?’

“The other one?”

You nod, eyes drooping slightly as you struggle to rationalize the color change. “Can’t remember his name.”

“Michelangelo, maybe?”

“Maybe.” You take another sip, trying to taste what it is. “That name sounds familiar, but I can’t remember from what.” Something with salt.

“You said your name was Y/N?”

You nod again. ‘Water isn’t blue, right?’

“Then, Y/N,” she smiles again, eyes slowly drilling holes into your skull, “do you know who I am?”

“Legoshi’s sis, right?” You look up at her. “You’re Karai Hamato.”

Your eyes are too blurry to tell exactly what is happening with her face. “What?”

“Your name.” You take another sip. “Karai Hamato. Or Missy. It’s one of the two.”

“I’m not a Hamato.”

“Yeah, you are.” You giggle before the words slip out of your mouth. “You’re fucking— well, not fucking— you let stepbrother, right? Half brother?” You are forgetting something important. “Are you two blood-related?”

“We aren’t.”

“You sound angry.”

A blink. “I do not.”

“Do too.” ‘I don’t like her for some reason.’ “You’re getting all red in the face.”

“Because you’re accusing me of something I’m not.”

“Fuckin…” you grin. “If you’re into that shit, I’m not gonna fuckin judge you or nothin, but at least fuckin… uh… own up to it.” Your eyes drag across the table lazily.

“I’m no Hamato.”

“You are too.”

They land on a plastic bag.

‘Oh. That’s why.’

“Who told you I was?”

“Your stepdad.” You get to your feet, holding your bag. “Or dad, I guess? I dunno, whichever one didn’t kill your mom.”

There’s something else in her voice as she gets up, following you out. “How do you know that?”

“I just said how.” The cold air outside hits you like a brick. ‘Run.’

“So you know where—“ You shove your weight back on her, slamming her body and in turn her into the brick wall and run.

She grabs your something. You fall, head slamming painfully against the ground. You kick her, she grabs your hair. In what you might later describe as a drunken effort, you reach your hands up towards her face. You feel something squishy, a cry, and she’s facing you now, dragging you into somewhere considerably darker than outside at night. You feel something in the back of your head, she covers your mouth as you cry out, and you do the only thing you can think of.

You taste something again. Something is in your mouth. She stumbles back. You trip up to your feet, and you fall in the direction of the nearest subway tunnel.

The things happening around that time are swirling around in your head, now, face held in your hands as you quietly curl up on the subway. You do not remember entering a train car, or buying a ticket, or even what happened to the object in your mouth, but the crying you remember. You remember someone touching your shoulder with a soft voice, looking up with your mouth covered in sticky, dried stuff and fingers covered in red and clear goo, and that being enough to have them get off at the next stop.

You do not know how long you are on the train. When you finally feel yourself again, your phone is almost dead. Hours must have passed. You do not remember leaving, but you remember the ringing in your ears again as you dial someone, sitting on the sidewalk in what used to be the only dress you owned. You are reasonably sure you are going to burn it.

—

“Is this okay?”

“What?”

“This.” Mikey gestures around himself. “What we’re doing.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“They’re people, right?” He looks over at his brother, currently skimming the same magazine again. “The Kraang, I mean.”

It takes a second for him to process the question, but Donnie does not have to look up from his sewing to know his brother’s reaction.

“It’s just a question.”

“A fuckin— do you hear yourself?”

“I’m just—“

“Leo,” he turns to his older brother, “is killing the threat to all of humanity wrong?”

“But we just blew up a giant ship of them though.” He crisscrosses his legs. “Aren't we killing a ton of people, then?”

“Mikey,” Leo sighs, not looking up from the TV, “there are more people in New York than there are Kraang that we could ever kill.”

“Eight million.” He sincerely hopes the gloves are not too large. “For number's sake, it’s eight million.”

Leo shoots his brother a thumbs up, glancing over at his brother’s project curiously. “Thanks, Donnie.”

“Even if we were actively going on a killing spree and mowing them down that way, there is no way in hell any of us could kill two million Kraang per person even if we wanted to. That’s not even talking about the number of people who would be fucked once they were done with New York.” Raphael punctuates this with a pointed and aggressive flip to the next page. “End of story.”

“But—“

“And even if they stopped at New York,” he continues, cutting him off, “that would still be eight million people dead because of us getting cold feet.”

Mikey opens his mouth again, sighs, and closes it. “Fine, okay.” He leans back against the concrete, eyes going back to his phone. “Anyways, why do you keep getting water on your thing?”

“Hm? Oh, you mean the gloves.” His taller brother looks up. “It’s easier to get the needle through it when it’s warm and wet. Plus, it makes the— stop laughing!”

“Then you thought it too.”

Heat rushes to his face. “You’re so immature.”

“But you thought it too. That's hypothetical.”

“You mean hypocritical.”

“I said what I said.”

Michelangelo’s phone rings.

He puts a finger, bringing it to his face. “Hel— hey, slow down.” His brow furrowed, the other three leaning towards him. “No, wait, what— who’s she?”

There’s a pause.

“She did— wait, hold on.” He tosses the phone to Donatello. “It’s for you.”

He catches it. “Hello?”

“Could you pick me up?”

He blinks. “What, with the Shellraiser?”

Your voice is paper. “Yup.”

“You hate the Shellraiser.”

“She wants to go in the Shellraiser?”

Donatello waves his younger brother off, letting you talk. “I hate Karai more, currently. Please pick me up.”

Leo pipes up. “What happened?”

He ignores him. “Where are you?”

There is a pause as she checks, his brothers watching for his reactions. “One-oh-three Saint Corona Plaza.”

“Got it.”

“What happened?” Raphael, this time.

“Need me to stay on the line?” With a pointed glare at his siblings, he climbs into the ‘raiser.

“Please.”

He calls behind him at his brothers. “I’ll be back before two.” The phone is brought back up to his face as they moan about a lack of info. The machine is spurred into motion. “What are you doing in Queens so late?”

“No idea.” He can hear your strained smile. “Ask Karai.”

His heart stops. “What happened with Karai?”

You repeat your statement.

“She didn’t—“

You cut him off. “I’m not back in the hospital, no.”

He resists the urge to sigh in relief. “Did she follow you?”

“I’ve yet to be hit over the head, so I’ll hasten to say no.” There is something off about your voice, a certain quality about it that he cannot quite pin down. “I’ve been essentially useless the whole time, what with her drugging me and all.”

“She what?”

“I think she did, anyway.” It is incredibly disturbing to him how calm you sound. “Unless water’s blue and kinda tastes salty now. I don’t imagine it would be though,” you ponder, chilling years off of his life, “even if you guys messed up the mission. It would be green, since that’s the color of the acid, right?”

He mumbles something out about indicators, head reeling as he tries to not hit a street lamp.

“That’s what I thought.” You sigh. “Say, have you got any hydrogen peroxide at your place? No, wait, scratch that, I’m burning the dress anyways.”

“Dress?”

“Yeah.” You huff. “Last time I’m letting Jones set me up on a date. Last time I’m going on a date period until all this gets worked out, actually.”

‘It is not okay to feel happy that she had a bad date.’ Still, he tries to steer the conversation away from the horrifying for a minute. “What happened?”

“I got stood up.”

“Why?”

“I forget. Where are you?”

He glances up at the street sign. “Still pretty far.”

A pause.

“You know,” you swallow, “I should really stop doing this. It’s not exactly great of me to have to ask for your help all the time.”

“None of us mind.”

“That’s not the point.” He hears a car on your end whizz by. “I should be able to go a week without making you go out of your way for me. You guys manage.”

“We’ve also been training in ninjutsu since we could walk.”

Tired, he decided. You sound tired. “Other normal people manage.”

“You’re not a normal person, though.”

“Sure I am.” Your words sound slow to him. “I keep interesting company is all.”

“That’s a word for it.”

“What, don’t count yourself as interesting?”

He turns a corner. “Not the first word I’d use, no.”

Another long silence. Occasionally, he notes, you will him something into the phone, say a quiet, unintelligible word of phrase he cannot quite make out, presumably in an effort to continue looking like you are on the phone to passers by. The streets, like most nights nowadays, are mostly empty, save for the occasional cop car or kid, making the commute a relatively uneventful one. It gives him time to think, anyways, and after a while of quiet contemplation and forced slow breaths so he did not look quite as panicked as he felt once he picked you up, a question quietly surfaces.

He would have come in a heartbeat. He was not exactly sure what he would have done, but he would have come running, regardless of if he could help. Why would you not call? Why would you try and deal with that sort of situation alone? Did you not trust he would come?

His fingers tighten around the wheel. What had you been thinking going out alone, anyway? After all that was happening, you thought it was a good idea to go on a date without a plan for if it went south?

Another sharp turn. If nothing else, he thinks, he can not say you are no longer naive or lacking in innocence. Maybe you are just incredibly prideful. Regardless, it will get you in more trouble than you had to be in.

What would he do if you got yourself irreparably damaged?

—

You are not having a good time.

You have managed to convince yourself that this is not, in fact, anything like the car. For starters, it is less aerodynamic; it is a metal box on wheels, designed for subway travel and is, therefore, not designed for optimum wind resistance, meaning it cannot go as fast with the same amount of energy. The inside of the vehicle is also distinctly dissimilar to a car, its origins blatantly obvious, and was entirely lacking in windows. While this is enough to convince you currently that climbing into the machine is not as serious a death sentence, the fact of the matter is that, yes, it is a metal monster on four wheels that drives on roads. If you keep your eyes shut, maybe you will not vomit as soon as you stumble out of the door.

Your stomach hurts. A lot of your body hurts, actually. You do not remember the “fight” with much clarity, but you do understand your head hurrying. You have yet to get a good look at yourself, but if you had to guess by the stains on your fingers that you can now identify as blood, the bad taste in your mouth that you are fairly sure is vomit and the flaky stuff on your face that also looks suspiciously blood-like, you would hasten to guess the answer is “not great”. You certainly do not feel great, if that is indicative of anything.

He has not said a word so far.

You do not force conversation, now. You would prefer not to talk about the ordeal, anyways.

There are monitors that he is staring at in order to steer. Why he would not just get an actual steering wheel or the old hull of a car from a junkyard is beyond you, though you guess a hippie van would not offer the same armored protection as a subway car.

“We got molested by a sea monster today.”

You look over at him, eyes half lidded. You want to sleep. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His eyes are focused on the screens. “Apparently it liked my submarine.”

“That’s… a thing.” You rub your hands on your thighs absentmindedly. “How did that work out?”

“Fine. It wasn’t all that strong.”

Your lips curl up into a weak smile. “That’s good, then. The mission went alright?”

He nods. “Without a hitch, funny enough.”

“That’s cool.”

The conversation dies as quickly as it starts.

The drive from that point on is an uncomfortably quiet one. You pick blood from under your nails, thumbs occasionally tracing the scars on your fingers— you are still not used to the difference in texture— as the hum or an engine rumbles underneath you. You are reminded of a memory from when you were younger, driving down the hallway, basking in the warmth of your own body heat with your arms tucked to your chest from under your top layer. The machine you were in now was colder, staler, but the hum of the engine, the time, all reminded you quietly of simpler times.

You swallow thickly. ‘I’m such a coward.’ You shut your eyes gently, stomach churning. ‘I’m going to get the people I care about hurt, aren’t I?’

Donnie says something.

The Shellraiser is stopped. You look up at him. “Huh?”

When he was younger, he and his brothers did not know the limits of their own strength. When they were first learning to fight, when they were first sent to spar against one another when their sensei was asleep, they would often go a step or three too far. He was never one to get involved— his brothers were stronger, more enthusiastic fighters— but he remembered distinctly what they would look like the morning after a fight, cheeks and eyes various shades of purples and blues and blacks. They would ask him, on occasion, after particularly brutal brawls, for him to paint over whichever brother’s face— usually Raphael or Leo— to hide them from their father. He got used to the sight, got better at understanding their anatomy, which chemicals mixed together would do which things.

He is getting sufficiently tired of seeing you hurt the worst he has ever seen.

You look so small in the seat, face black and blue, hands shaking. Your skin is paler than when you two first met, less healthy, a thin coat of sweat coating your skin and hair stuck to the back of your neck. Your dress— he has never seen you in one— is stained with rust, hidden poorly from under your jacket. He can tell already which bruises will take a while to disperse, where she had busted your nose and slammed your head against something hard. You need a shower and water and a blood test to make sure you do not die from whatever Karai gave you.

He clears his throat again. “I don’t want to be rude.”

“You’re doing me a favor. You have a right.”

He does not look you in the eyes. “It’s just… can I ask a question?”

You sigh. Even your voice sounds tired. “Shoot.”

His fingers trace the rim of the steering wheel. He takes a slow breath. “Why didn’t you call?”

“When she cornered me, you mean?”

A nod.

He glances over at you, staring down at your hands, turning them over. “You were on a mission. I didn’t want to mess it up.”

“I would’ve come, you know.”

“I know.” You smile ruefully. “That’s why I didn’t.”

His fingers grip the wheel again, trying to not openly overreact. “Y/N,” he says carefully, “if a mission fails because we need to come save you from Karai, then we fail the mission.”

“How many people in New York would die if you guys did fail?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is.” You look up at him. “You get yourself in a lot of trouble because of me. You have to make sure I don’t kill myself all the time. Think logically, Donnie.”

He snorts, heart pounding in suppressed, almost overwhelming frustration. “Are you going to say something about thinking logically?”

“Fair point. But you get mine, right?”

“I don’t, actually.” He leans back in his chair, fingers gripping tighter still. “The only reason we’re messing with the Kraang at all, the only reason we started all this, is because I saw you and wanted to help you.” He counts on his fingers. “The only people I really, honestly care about this much are my family and you, and I know that, if I had never met you,” and he looks you dead in the eyes now, “I would just make a filtration system for my family and that would be the end of it.”

Your eyes are still gorgeous. Behind the bruises and the blood, you really are stunning.

“Sure,” he concedes, “maybe Leo would’ve gotten involved because he’s that selfless. I would’ve gone along with it, since he’s my brother and all, but if that were the case…” He takes a slow breath to calm down. He never thought it would come out right now at all times. “If that were the case, I would’ve never tried red velvet cupcakes. Mikey wouldn’t have a friend outside of the family. I never would’ve learned about crime movies, or had talks about science with anyone but myself, or any of the thousand other things you’ve given us.” He does not know exactly when he grabs your hands, but he is now, and you are so warm and alive right now. “I care about you. We care about you. You have to know that. For fuck’s sake,” he laughs, “I’ve told you outright, before!”

You open your mouth to say something. No words come out, for once.

He squeezes your hands. He cannot tell if your heart feels like his does, the straining against his chest, the aching feeling. He was never good at reading people or emotions or any of that.

But it’s time now. He can barely think. If he does not now, he might not ever.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Table of Contents

Chapter 15

Chapter 17

[griffxnnage]

unnecessary || f.w

prompt: “i missed your arms around me so i came to cuddle.”

word count: 1180

warnings: fluff, probably overuse of the word ‘malishka’

a/n: congrats @pad-foots for 500! i’m so proud of you! thanks for the tag, and i hope you like it!

“Freddie? Where are you? I’m home!” You called from the entryway of your flat above the joke shop. It’d been a long day at work and you were ready to put your feet up and relax. According to Fred, however, it wasn’t going to be that easy. 

“Darling? Where are you? I’m making tea, do you want some?” You busied yourself in the kitchen, putting the kettle on and getting two tea cups. “Fred?” You hadn’t heard anything from him yet, so you checked your phone. Nothing. 

You started to wander the apartment, calling his name and peeking your head into the occasional room. You still couldn’t find him. Only when you entered your bedroom did you find a clue to his whereabouts. You found a note on the neatly made bed, and you recognized his unique handwriting.

Hello darling. As you can probably tell, I’m hiding. Come and find me xo

P.S. yes, I would like some tea

“Wow. This man is going to be the death of me.” You thought aloud, smiling to yourself. After you searched for him in the last few remaining rooms, you heard a rustling from the linen closet to your right. A smirk growing on your face, you mockingly said, “Well, I wonder where Freddie could be!” You started to slowly reach for the doorknob when it started to turn at its own accord. 

“There is no Freddie. He’s not here right now. This is Fredrick.” 

Yeaaa, it was Fred, just with a Russian accent. A terrible Russian accent.

“Well then, Frederick, what are you doing in there?” You rolled your eyes, totally accustomed to this behaviour. “I am on a very secret mission, so let me do my duty, sexy but annoying woman,” His harsh accent came from the other side of the door and you couldn’t help but double over in laughter. “Freddie, come on. Just come out already!” You laughed, tears forming in your eyes. 

“Well, my mission was to sweep the area, but now I think I can scrub that and take you in for questioning. You’ve seen too much!” The door creaked open, slowly, revealing the red, fiery hair of your husband and the mischievous look on his face. “Well, well, well. Malishka, what am I going to do with you?” He purred, his large frame leaving the closet and towering over you.

“Well, I dunno. You’re gonna have to catch me first!” The tense atmosphere was broken by your cute smile and speedy run. Fred couldn’t help but break character for a split second before chasing after you. Since you got a good head start, you were able to keep out of sight. Running out of ideas of where to hide, you went to the first place that came to mind: the bedroom.

After you scampered into the room and quietly closed the door, you went under the bed, with your feet closest to the edge of the bed. You tried to rearrange yourself so you could see if he came in, but the space was too tight a fit. So you just waited there, quick little breaths leaving your chest and excitement in your eyes. 

His footsteps grew closer, the floor creaking under his weight. You couldn’t stop yourself from giggling, which made the creaking stop, and then quicken, coming in your direction. “Oh shit,” You whispered to yourself, mentally kicking yourself. 

“Malishka, where are you?” He said the last word all drawn out, his movements slow and deliberate. You could hear the soft pats of his socked feet on the carpet, and it made your heartbeat quicken in excitement. 

Once you thought he’d left the room, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, relieved that he’d gone. Well, you thought he’d gone.

“Oh, malishka, come here,” You felt two large, strong hands wrap around your ankles and you let out a squeak as your belly got a slight rug burn. Once you were out from under the bed, you flipped over quickly to see ‘Frederick’ standing over you, a stupid smile on his face.

“I have you now!” He lowered his voice to match that of Darth Vader and reached down to gently tickle your belly. “I shouldn’t have let you watch those Muggle movies, Freddie,” You giggled, squirming on the floor.

“Well, I see that Frederick is gone,” You looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “Who is this Frederick you speak of, darling? I’ve never heard of him,” His voice trailed off as he leaned down to pick you up and carry you to the kitchen, where the kettle seemed to be screaming.

He set you down with a kiss on your forehead and set to making two cups of tea. You sat yourself at the counter, watching him with your head resting on your hand. “So, Y/N, how was your day?” He turned around, carrying the steaming cups of tea and setting them down on the marble counter. 

You just sat there, mouth agape, wondering if he was just going to ignore the events that’d just unfolded a few moments before. “Uh, did you not just chase me down? Or did that not happen?” You furrowed your eyebrows, curious to see what his next move would be. A small smirk appeared on his gorgeous face, and all he said was, “No idea, malishka,” accompanied with his signature wink. “Anyway, wanna cuddle?” He chirped, rather cheerful all of a sudden. You just rolled your eyes and followed him to the bedroom, tea in hand.

Once you were both situated under the fluffy blankets and propped up by innumerable pillows, you leaned against him with your head under his chin. He started stroking your hair, but that didn’t stop you from telling him off about before, and how unnecessary the whole ordeal was. His response seemed very well rehearsed.

“Darling, I missed your arms around me, so I came to cuddle! That’s it! I’m innocent! Nothing but good intentions on this mind. I did nothing wrong. Also, I don’t know about this Frederick fellow. How did he even get it? Seems rather suspicious. And handsome. Troublesome, but handsome,” His voice trailed off as you began to giggle. The laugher only grew louder when he started to tickle your belly, and after that, a full-blown tickle fight ensued.

A quarter of an hour later, you both had collapsed on the bed, which was now completely disarranged, chests heaving and light giggles leaving your lips. “Ok, next time, if you want cuddles, just say so.” You breathed, never wanting those kinds of shenanigans to go down again.

“I can’t make any promises, Y/N. Now come back here and cuddle me, malishka.” He held out his arms, and slapped his hands at you; quite childish, but then again, isn’t that Fred? 

“Freddie, what does ‘Malishka’ mean?” You asked, snuggling in close to him. He chuckled and leaned in close and whispered in your ear, “It means ‘baby girl,’ Y/N.” 

The blush on your face sent Fred into another fit of laughter which would later lead to another wrestling match. Then again, there would always be more to come.