#Slowly illustrating all the fics saved on my phone

[collophora]

Fics rec of the week, and especially if you like well-written Wrecker, is the entire work of @electrikworm on AO3 In order:

The Batch have a terrible day

Human Shield

A peaceful moment

(But go read the others too)

[sleepymccoy]

This isn’t exactly what you asked for. By chance, last night my housemate asked me what my favourite human discovery through history was, so I used that brainstorming session as a launching pad for this fic cos otherwise i had like no ideas. So it’s more of a debate than you asked for, but I think it’s a fun read. And the ending is unbelievably sweet. I don’t think I’ve every written something that sweet without referencing trauma in some way, but this is just sweet sweet fluffiness. @megers67​ hope you enjoy it mate

-

Crowley stared out at the lake, mulling over Aziraphale's question. The angel had gotten bored of waiting for a response and had pottered off to get a closer look at a baby swan. Crowley laughed as the mother swan squawked, startling Aziraphale. 

A few seconds later found Crowley speed walking alongside a harried Aziraphale as they stalked away from the angrily squawking mother, Aziraphale pulling Crowley along behind him by his hand.  

"Well," Aziraphale said haughtily, "I never."

Crowley laughed again, keeping pace with Aziraphale more so their hands wouldn't become detached than out of any concern over a pursuant swan. 

They crossed a bridge, Aziraphale's footfalls heavy and swift, Crowley's just swift, and heard one last distant squawk as the swan fare welled them.

Crowley didn't laugh, Aziraphale was still holding his hand and he didn't want to push his luck and be dropped.

Instead, he answered the asked question.

"The typewriter was pretty good."

Aziraphale glanced at him, the slight gleam of madness leaving his eyes. "You surprise me," he said. 

Their pace slowed, Aziraphale's grip on Crowley's hand slackened, still holding him but less of a vice. 

"But why not go a step back to the printing press?" Aziraphale asked.

"Oh yeah, that's a point," Crowley admitted. Was the typewriter really an invention if you had printing presses? And what about writing before that, does the printing press count if you already have ink? "Why not go another step back to all those enslaved monks?" 

"Why must they be enslaved monks?"

"You know," Crowley waved his other hand, not really proving that Aziraphale knew. "Monks were the only literate folk for ages. All those illuminated manuscripts."

Aziraphale squeezed his hand for a memento and Crowley felt very fond. "But, enslaved?"

"I guess they weren't enslaved. Indentured?"

"You just dislike organised religion."

"Guilty." Crowley squeezed Aziraphale's hand back, eliciting a quiet chuckle. "But typewriters, you know. In terms of ticking boxes, they've got sound. Good sound, they sound good."

"Sound?"

Crowley nodded. "Sound," he said certainly.

"Is that important in an invention?"

Crowley could feel Aziraphale's gaze on him and turned to meet his eyes. Aziraphale's thumb ran gently across Crowley's first knuckle.

"Well," Crowley said. "What about you, then?"

Aziraphale hummed and went back to looking at the path. Crowley let him lead and kept staring at his face, enjoying the wrinkle that appeared on his forehead as he thought. 

Crowley tripped on a rock and as he stumbled (kept standing by Aziraphale's suddenly appropriate firm grip on his hand) and wrenched his attention back to the path. He realised just how sickeningly in love he must've looked, gazing at Aziraphale like a desperate dog. He glanced around self-consciously and noticed an ice-cream stand. He quickly forgot his worries.

"Ice-cream?" Crowley offered.

Aziraphale turned to him, so bemused it bordered on anger. "You think ice-cream is the best invention? What kind of lack-luster suggestion-"

"Shut up, no," Crowley groaned. He threw his body around in exasperation, holding on tightly to Aziraphale's hand, still talking. "There's a blessed ice-cream stand, d'you want one?"

"Oh, certainly," Aziraphale said without a touch of humility from his misunderstanding. 

Crowley realised too late that he'd have to let go of Aziraphale's hand to complete his task. He steeled himself for a moment, then did so. 

He returned quickly with an icy-pole for Aziraphale and a cone for himself. 

"Democracy?" Aziraphale asked as he accepted his icy-pole.

"Fuck off," Crowley groaned, "pick something proper."

Aziraphale began to walk. Crowley followed, regretting the ice-cream as he couldn't hold Aziraphale's hand any longer. 

Then, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, Aziraphale swapped which hand was holding his icy-pole and reached out to Crowley. 

Crowley took his hand and grinned, remembering about seven second too late that he was meant to look cool. But Aziraphale's returning smile was so nice he couldn't force nonchalance into his features. 

"Fabric was a pretty good one," Aziraphale said as they walked, fingers quickly entwining. 

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"Well, it got them warm. Far more versatile than those hides they wore early on." He gesticulated with his icy-pole, waving it in circles as he discussed hides. 

"And look at where it's gone," Aziraphale said cheerfully, "my pants are marvelous."

"They are," Crowley agreed  "But fabric's hardly a make or break kind of thing. It's nice, yeah, but it doesn't do anything a big ol' leaf wouldn't."

"What about in summer," Aziraphale argued. "How else would you avoid sunburn than a light linen shawl?"

A good point. But Crowley wasn't ready to give up the goat just yet.

Aziraphale waited patiently, licking his icy-pole in a manner that delayed Crowley's memory.

"Clay!" Crowley finally said, a lot more triumphantly than their peaceful stroll through the park should've allowed.

"Oh, I forgot about clay," Aziraphale hummed.

Crowley preened.

"Does clay count as an invention?" Aziraphale asked.

"Nah," Crowley said. "'s'in the dirt already."

Aziraphale made a wordless agreement. His thumb began to run across Crowley's knuckles again.

They walked quietly. The pressure of Aziraphale thumb picked up, feeling the bones of Crowley's hand confidently. Crowley walked and enjoyed it. 

They finished their ice-creams. Crowley took Aziraphale's stick from him and threw it out.

"Oh, I might have it," Aziraphale said as they approached the edge of the park, meandering back towards the Bentley. 

"Go on," Crowley invited.

Aziraphale paused, then, with all the confidence in the world, said, "Glass."

Crowley cocked his head to the side. "Wine glasses," he said slowly. 

"Yes."

"Sunglasses."

*Lovely," Aziraphale told the birds.

Crowley thought. Then, "Windows."

Aziraphale's hand in his jiggled as the angel nodded. "Those are good," Aziraphale agreed.

"Computers-" Crowley interrupted himself and palmed his mobile out of his back pocket to illustrate his point. "Even phones have glass now."

Aziraphale dutifully looked at the displayed phone. "So they do," he said.

"I mean, it is a bit clay though," Crowley said. "I mean, it is made naturally."

Aziraphale frowned. "Not often," he said widely.

"'s'just hot sand, innit?"

"Very hot," Aziraphale said. "It can't be easy."

"I s'pose," Crowley agreed reluctantly.

"And glass blowing is definitely creation," Aziraphale continued, sensing Crowley's reticence. "That's discovery. That's man made, that is."

"I'll give you that."

"Bottles don't form naturally."

"Love a good bottle," Crowley said. "Could've said the same for clay, you could've."

"But I didn't," Aziraphale grinned, "I saved it for this."

They reached the Bentley and Crowley slowed, coming to a stop before they had to let go of their hands to climb into the car. 

"And that kind of forward thinking should be rewarded," Crowley said. 

"Were we playing for a prize?" Aziraphale asked with a delighted laugh in his voice.

Crowley spun to lean against the door of the Bentley, facing Aziraphale. He quickly took Aziraphale's hand in both of his. "Sure," he said.

"Well," Aziraphale said. He stepped closer to Crowley, crowding him against the car. "You listed all those good glass things, perhaps you've earnt the reward."

"Nah," Crowley said broadly. "Your idea." He tugged on Aziraphale's hand to punctuate his argument. "Your reward. Go on, what d'you want?"

Aziraphale's smile softened. His eyes fluttered down to Crowley lips and back to his eyes. "I would like a kiss," he whispered.

Crowley leaned in and kissed him.

It was brief and tasted faintly of artificially sweet red flavouring. Crowley leaned away with a smile.

"And another kiss," Aziraphale said without opening his eyes, for he had closed them when Crowley had been too close to notice. "Please," he added.

Crowley raised one hand to cup around Aziraphale's jaw and kissed him for longer. 

He leaned away again, just as Aziraphale began to press into it with sincerity. Aziraphale gasped quietly as Crowley settled back into place against the car door. 

His insides writhed in joy and want, but externally he kept his smile warm and simple. He watched Aziraphale and waited for the actual prize to be asked for.

"And-" Aziraphale said, eyes just barely beginning to flutter open.

Crowley chuckled and interrupted. "You can't just keep asking for kisses, that's not a real reward."

Aziraphale met his gaze and smiled. His blush, born of being kissed, deepened. "Whatever not?" he asked, so sweetly.

Crowley grinned. "Because I give you those anyway."

Aziraphale shuffled in half a step, his belly pressing against Crowley in an intimacy Crowley relished. "What do you think I would possibly ask for that you don't give me regardless?" Aziraphale asked. "Besides, I wasn't going to ask for another kiss."

"No?"

"No," Aziraphale said with certainty while watching Crowley's lips. "I want-" 

Crowley licked his lips and enjoyed how Aziraphale's eyes followed it. Aziraphale did not finish his sentence.

"Um," Aziraphale squeaked, "what's the word for a really long kiss?"

Crowley laughed and slid his hand from Aziraphale's jaw to around the back of his neck and pulled him in close, kissing him full and open on the mouth. 

Aziraphale dropped Crowley's other hand and balled his fists into Crowley's jacket. He pressed forward and Crowley found himself joyfully pinned between the hard, cold car door and something the opposite in every way.

He fought every instinct to raise his legs and wrap around Aziraphale's waist, they were still in public after all. 

Aziraphale broke away with a grin and cried out, "And an almond croissant!" 

Crowley laughed, delighted, and found himself being kissed as he laughed. 

He wrestled Aziraphale away, although no effort was really kept up, and said something about scandalised middle aged women and a promise to pick up croissants later tonight if they went home right now. 

Aziraphale got the gist of what Crowley was quietly sure had been almost incomprehensible vowel sounds, and practically skipped across the road to get in the car. 

[jin-fluenced]

Jin-fluenced’s May Recs

Fics I read throughout the month of May thinking I must have done something amazing at some point in my life to be blessed with these … I can’t believe you guys are letting us read your work for free.

Kim Seokjin

Half-Baked Holiday @ddaenggtan​ – Bakery a.u. F2L, I2L (idiots to lovers) (fluff/smut/slight angst) | The Snow Ball Effect Project | What I love about this project: I love, love, love this project! The way everyone story is told independently; the way each story is unique with its own quirks and twists and the humor! Oh, the humor! The way I understand it the stories are written by four different authors but the way it all comes together and it fits so well, and how they have represented each respective member’s personality and quality so exquisitely and they are all referenced throughout the story even before they meet up at Tae’s cabin. I am sure I will think about this project for years to come, I really have not read anything like this before. What I love about this fic: They really are idiots; adorable idiots in love. Throughout the entirety of this fic I was shouting at them to JUST KISS! JUST DO IT! Jin was so understanding, so patient and so accepting of y/n – a true king.

2,561 Days @gossamie​ – marriage a.u. (angst with a touch of fluff) Summary: Two years of marriage could not stop the relationship from falling apart. As an attempt to seek closure before the divorce, Seokjin and you retrace your seven years together. What I love about this fic: the way the author writes angst, the fic is so well written and structured. Each scene made my heart break all over again. This is art.

Min Yoongi

Sugar @seokjxnnie​ – CEO, escort, office a.u. (smut) Summary: executive assistant to Min Yoongi by day and secret escort by night, the two separate elements of her life spiral into entwinement when her boss accidentally walks in on her taking a sex call with a sugar daddy. What I love about this fic: this one particular scene where y/n is on the phone and Yoongi is watching her …. *fans myself*

I’ll Float Away @ppersonna​ – Post-breakup, idol a.u. (very heavy angst, smut, fluff) Summary: years after the breakup, Yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction finds your wedding invite on Facebook. What I love about this fic: Character development. The way Yoongs grew as a person and overcame his struggles – truly inspiring.

Jung Hoseok

The Worst Wonderful Time of The Year @lamourche​ – Christmas/office a.u. (fluff/with a hint of smut) What I love about this fic: y/n was so close to titling her life as ‘a series of unfortunate events’ but then she meets Hobi and he made those unfortunate events a lot more bearable and liked her for the loveable, funny, clumsy person she is (with a super ability to make babies cry).

The Holiday: Unplugged @gukslut – Established relationship a.u. (sluff/smut/humor) What I love about this fic: their relationship, man … Their dynamic and the fact that they don’t need anyone else as long as they have each other. Therapist Jiminie and Hobi is a noteworthy conversation. I too would moan thinking about Jung Hoseok fucking me.

Kim Namjoon

Phantom Pains @fortunexkookie​ – Ghost a.u. (smut/fluff/angst) Summary: Namjoon had lived his entire life a certain kind of way - slowly, thoughtfully, and cautiously - and one moment of carelessness was all it took for it to end. He thought his death had come before he was ready, stealing his chance to figure out what he’d been missing. It wasn’t until he met you that he realized he’d been wrong all along. His life hadn’t ended a moment too soon. In fact, it had ended just in time to save yours. What I love about this fic: the author said this was going to be bittersweet so I braced myself but boy, I did not expect to weep like that. It’s so heart wrenching and hauntingly (pun intended) beautiful. Their love is so pure … fate can be such a cruel bitch. The way the author illustrated it I could feel what it was like for Joon to touch y/n for the first time, and my stomach twisted knowing that he would give anything to be able to really touch her.

All Aboard! (The Passion Express) @ve1vetyoongi – Office a.u. E2L (smut) Summary: There were not many things that got your blood boiling in the same way that two simple words could. Kim Namjoon. The name of your irritating and (unfortunately enough, as the universe would have it) incredibly handsome co-worker. Which is exactly why you never expected to find yourself on your knees for him on the train home. What I love about this fic: ZADDY JOON! THE FILTH! Man, what I would give for Joon to treat me like the filthy slut I am ON A TRAIN!

Midnight Wishes @ddaenggtan​ – Friend w/ Benefits, roommates, co-workers a.u. I2L (fluff/smut/angst) | The Snow Ball Effect Project | What I love about this fic: How can two people so smart be absolute idiots when it comes to each other? I would give my left arm and both legs for Namjoon to call me slick, and ask me if I want it – because yes, yes, I do want him to fuck me stupid. I relate to y/n when it comes to pining and the butterflies and the clenching when it comes to Joon.

Park Jimin

Snow Don’t Tell @stutterfly – Neighbours a.u. F2L (fluff/smut/humour) | The Snow Ball Effect Project | What I love about this fic: The. Build. Up! The way they were already there and so in love with each other at the beginning of the fic, to them finally caving … I was blown. Jimin is so seductive, playful and loving at the same time, and their sense of humour and the constant teasing back and forth; I am weak!

Gratuitous Redemption @minjoonalist​ – Divorce a.u. (smut/angst/fluff?) Summary: Jimin is Innocent when it comes to his wife’s accusations and as stubborn as she is, the man refuses to go down without a fight. What I love about this fic: The angst. I cried like a little baby … I felt absolutely crushed.

I’ll Lead (and you have no choice) @boxysmiles [AO3] Summary: Park Jimin has always had taken comfort in his soulmate. Knowing that someone out there is connected to him through the red string tied around their fingers. Kim Taehyung, however, likes to make his life a lot more interesting. Because Kim Taehyung’s string isn’t around his finger. It’s around his neck. What I love about this fic: The way I cried, first I cried for Taehyung, then I cried for Jimin, then I cried because there was nothing they could do about it. Truly a masterpiece.

Kim Taehyung

Extracurricular @ppersonna –  Professor, student a.u. (smut) Summary: Your professor Kim Taehyung is on the final key to securing your spot in the top 5% of your graduating class. What I love about this fic: I can’t go to class without thinking about Professor Kim Taehyung bending me over his desk.

Misconceptions @softjimin – Member x member (AO3) Summary: ‘So, Jimin has a daddy kink. Namjoon hyung, can you pass me the salt? Thanks’ What I love about this fic: Taetae, bless his soul, tried so hard to keep it in his pants.

Picking Flowers @jamaisjoons​ – Hanahaki, Neighbours a.u. F2L Summary: in the seven years you’ve been away, love had caused flowers to bloom in Taehyung’s chest only for them to wilt when she’d left him. when you meet Taehyung again, he doesn’t know what love is and more importantly, doesn’t know how to love or if he can ever love again. can you teach him? or will a garden of unrequited love blossom within the confines of your own chest? What I love about this fic: Everything, there is not a single thing I don’t absolutely adore. I don’t have the words to describe the way it made me feel. Please give lots of love to Solar.

Cheap skate @gukslut - Established relationship, domestic a.u. (fluff, smut, humor)  What I love about this fic: THIS COUPLE! Reading about their relationship is the equivalent of having hot coffee, toast and sunny-side-up eggs for breakfast on Saturday. 

Jeon Jungkook

Frost Impressions @fortunexkookie​ – Teachers, Gamers a.u. E2L/F2L (fluff/smut/heavy pining/slight angst) What I love about this fic: Absolute-mess-Jeon-Jungkookie! The humour – the author really nailed the humour. This is one of the best fics I have ever read. The second hand embarrassment was so real! *insert your mind it amazes me picture here*. I am fucking sorry at how smitten I am with these characters.

Little Wolf, Pretty Wolf, Your Wolf @readyplayerhobi (fluff/smut/angst) What I love about this fic: I have read a LOT of werewolf a.u., but this fic takes the cake! I joke about how there is a certain cliché to werewolf a.us but what I got from this fic is not what I expected at all going into it. I love the way y/ n and JK complimented each other, how supportive they were. She did it again you guys … I am in love.

[insfiringyou]

BTS - Beginning (Suga x Jeong-sun)

Set shortly after the events of ‘Becoming Exclusive’, Jeong-sun asks Yoongi to stay the night. 

This is part of our ongoing storyline in our headcanon universe & mentions several key events from Yoongi and Jeong-sun’s past relationship together which you may wish to read first.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM   /   Jin  /   Suga  /   J-Hope   /   Jimin   /   V   /   Jungkook 

& Our full masterlist can be found here

Rated content below the cut

The night was cold and Jeong-sun, returning from an evening shift at work, gave in and switched on her central heating. The boiler rattled to life as she shed her uniform and turned on the hot water tap in the shower, closing her eyes beneath the steady stream which cascaded over her body comfortingly; a pleasant contrast to the nippy wind chill which had reddened her cheeks and bit into her hands on the short walk home. She mentally reminded herself to purchase some warm gloves the next time she went shopping. She had her car, of course, but it guzzled gas like there was no tomorrow and the twenty minute walk to the pharmacy was not worth it. Besides, if she was going to need her heating on for the next few weeks while the worst of the season passed, she would need to save every penny.

Her skin was soft to the touch as she dried herself off and smelt of the comforting, powdery shower gel she had lathered in the shower. She closed the curtains in her bedroom, vaguely cautious of the neighbouring apartments seeing her in nothing but a towel in the dim, but warm glow of her bedside lamp and perched on the edge of her bed to towel the ends of her wet hair. It took her a moment to realise why this felt strange to her; the shoulder length cut she had opted for at the hairdresser two days before the shortest it had been in almost a decade and she couldn’t help but wonder what Yoongi would think when he saw it. Her chest grew warm at the thought of him. They had texted each other almost daily over the past two weeks, but she had not seen him since the morning after their bath. She had not been in a hurry to leave his apartment, but left early nonetheless, knowing if she spent any longer cuddled up to him in bed, she would be unable to drag herself away for her afternoon shift at work. While he was often cold at night, by the morning Yoongi’s body under his thick duvets was always warm enough to snuggle to and he would purr and murmur lovingly as he tucked her closer, nestling closely against her back. That was one thing she had never forgotten about their time together before and having him back made her realise how much she missed being held by him in bed at night.

Twisting around and reaching for her cell on the bedcovers, her gaze dropped to her bedside table and she remembered the impulsive purchase she had made in a chemist the week before when she had picked up her elderly patient’s prescription. Hae-won used a different branch to the one Jeong-sun worked at, claiming that the medication they sold there was of a much higher quality, but for perhaps the first time, Jeong-sun was glad to have been in a store where the members of staff did not know her by name. Her fingers had trembled slightly as she tucked the item in the depths of her purse, her cheeks stained a rosy pink as she removed her card from the reader. Her heart fluttered as she turned back to her cell, swiped the screen, and pulled up Yoongi’s name.

‘Are you busy? X’  She typed. The symbolic kiss on the end had been an automatic gesture, yet still, she hoped that Yoongi would sense the softness and longing in it. She got to her feet and slowly got dressed in a comfy pair of black leggings and a casual t-shirt, leaving her feet bare against the balding carpet. Her phone pinged a few moments later as she draped her towel over the radiator below the window.

‘No.’

Her stomach lurched pleasantly. ‘Do you want to come over?’ She typed hopefully, smiling to herself as the reply came back almost instantly.

‘I’ll be there soon.’’

***

She had anticipated his arrival and had taken the liberty to make him a cup of coffee which sat steaming on the countertop. The TV blared a little pointlessly as she tuned in and out of the conversation on screen, realising after a while she hadn’t been following the dialogue at all. Eventually her phone vibrated softly on the arm of her sofa, and she pushed pause on the remote, finishing the last of her chamomile tea with a gulp. She knew automatically that he would be waiting downstairs for her, and she shuffled into a pair of slipper boots to greet him. 

“Hi…” Yoongi muttered breathlessly; the cold air having winded him a little in the short dash from his parked car around the corner. His cheeks were flushed above his thick, navy sweater and his hands were tucked deep into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Hi.” Jeong-sun replied. She felt her heart rate increase as she stepped forward and slipped the leather side-bag he carried from his shoulder, transferring it to her own as he leaned over and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her softly.

“Did you have the day off?” He asked with curiosity as he pulled away. He knew her shifts had been getting longer in recent weeks. The pharmacy was once again under the threat of entering administration and Hae-won’s increasing frailty meant that Jeong-sun had to spend longer accompanying her with her daily tasks. 

“Tomorrow.” She said, meeting his gaze purposely. 

Yoongi nodded gently. “Good.” He murmured. 

Jeong-sun stepped aside to allow him into the hallway. “Shall we go up?”

They were silent on the stairs, ignoring the chipped emulsion on the walls and the few etchings of graffiti as they reached her first floor apartment which she had left unlatched. She led him towards the counter where she had left his coffee and gestured. “I hope it’s not too cold.” She said, setting his bag onto a chair.

He thanked her quietly and took a sip, looking at her from underneath his damp bangs with dark eyes. She was hovering, a little awkwardly, by the mock-marble island which she used as a table. 

“You cut your hair…” He commented. 

Her hands moved automatically to the ends of her strands, running them through her fingers gingerly; she couldn’t work out from his tone what he thought of the change. “Do you like it?” She asked, knowing it wouldn’t matter in the long run if he didn’t but, despite this, wanting him to.

He nodded confirmingly. While he had never particularly thought of her as looking overly young for her age, the cut gave her a pleasantly mature quality; it framed her wide-set cheekbones and defined jawline in a way that drew out her best features. “It suits you.” He said, making her smile softly. 

Her eyes darted to his damp hair and clothes. “Do you want me to put your sweater on the radiator?” She offered as he set his mug down, walking towards him. 

“It wasn’t raining when I set off.” He murmured in explanation and hesitated for a moment, before sliding the navy material over his head. He wore a black T-Shirt underneath which seemed equally damp by the way it clung to his skin. 

She took the garment and slipped it over the metal frame which hung from the edge of the radiator. She had to move a few pairs of socks and underwear which she had draped over the drying rack to make room, dumping them messily onto the sofa before walking around the counter to his side. 

 Yoongi eyed the pile of discarded clothes from over the island with a curious smirk. “Did your drier break?”

“No.” She shrugged, smiling. “It just keeps shrinking my clothes.”

“Oh...” He thought for a moment. “I’m not sure I could fix that.”

She shook her head gently in reply. “I wasn’t asking you to.” She said softly. “I’ve had enough free labour from you to last a few years…”

“I could open a tab?” He quipped dryly, causing her grin to widen.

“Well, if you ever need a discount at the pharmacy, you know who to ask...” She joked in reply, her voice straight. She paused for a moment. “It’s supposed to just be used by family.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He said. A moment passed before a shy grin crept onto his lips, his eyes briefly flickering to the floor. The air between them was comfortably tense; both of them quietly nervous.

“Do you want to watch T.V?” Jeong-sun asked, a little awkwardly. “I’m in the middle of Orange is the New Black.”

“What’s it about?” Yoongi asked, following her through the small living room and over to the sofa. Now he was facing the other way, he could see the T.V had been paused in the middle of a scene; two women were on screen in recognisable jumpsuits. 

Her lips raised at the corner as she bent down to shift the array of clothes she had piled there minutes before, dropping a few odd socks and pairs of knickers as she moved them onto the bookshelf which sat on the opposite wall, adjacent to the television. “Lesbians in prison.” She muttered. 

“The plot sounds familiar…” Yoongi joked drolly, watching as she turned back on herself to pick up the items she had dropped. Her underwear was plain and unfussy but looking at them made him feel strange. Trying to distract himself, he sat down on the sofa and flinched when he felt his backside come into contact with something hard. Jeong-sun was busy trying to arrange the mismatching jumble of underwear and socks on top of the furniture in a way that they wouldn’t slip off the edge, while Yoongi shifted beneath the cushion he was sat on and pulled out a thick, crumpled paperback. The book was open and the edge of the cover was bent. The illustration depicted a polar bear wearing armour against an arctic backdrop. Jeong-sun turned to join him, seating herself next to him as he picked up an empty envelope from the coffee table in front of them and slipped it into the book, saving her place. Her eyes followed his naturally delicate movements as he placed it gently onto the wooden table.

“You could do with a bookmark.” He murmured as she pressed the play button on the remote. The sound was turned low and didn’t distract their conversation. His eyes briefly moved to the screen and observed the two women, one with blonde hair, the other red and with a freckled complexion, arguing. 

Jeong-sun shrugged as she settled against him. Despite their closeness, she hesitated for a second before placing her hand on his thigh. It felt good to be able to touch him again. “I always lose them…” 

“Are you enjoying it?” He asked, turning his head towards her. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, trying her best to relax.

“Yeah. Yu-jin lent it to me.” She muttered as his cheek touched her forehead gently. “I can see why she likes it, she knows it cover to cover.”

“Was it in this condition when she gave it to you?” Yoongi teased.

Jeong-sun looked up, meeting his eyes with a smile. “I doubt she’ll make me pay a fine…” 

He smiled back as she nestled against him once more, enjoying their proximity and the low vibration of his voice through their bodies. “How’s she finding teaching?” He asked.

“It’s freed up her schedule a lot...we had lunch together last week.” She paused. “I told her you were back.”

He seemed surprised. “Does she remember me? From Angel’s party?” 

Jeong-sun grinned, though he couldn’t see it from his position, suddenly recalling the conversation they had shared afterward and how Yu-jin, who was on the spectrum and could be obsessively observant, still brought it up to this day. “She said she remembered one of your shoes were untied. She couldn’t stop staring at it.”

He laughed gently. “I didn’t realise…” He glanced at the television, sensing the credits had finished rolling. A notice on the screen asked whether they wanted to continue watching. “Is it over?” He asked absently, aware that he too had not been paying it much attention.

Jeong-sun, sensing this, reached for the remote control and clicked the NO icon before settling back down. “Do you want another drink?” She asked. Her voice was momentarily airy and light, but he could sense her restlessness as she ran her finger-tips through her fresh cut.

“I’m fine.”

“I might have a whisky.” She said quickly, subconsciously glancing at the cupboard above the sink as she did so.

Yoongi realised why she told him this and felt his chest ache. He too felt jittery. With a racing heart, he reached for her hand, slipping his fingers through hers and facing her. “Do you need it?” He asked tenderly. 

She looked up at him, their brown eyes connecting as he touched a finger to her temple, sliding a strand of hair gently away from her face. His touch was impossibly soft as he hooked the lock behind her ear, stroking the delicate skin there. “No…” She admitted. 

“Is it too soon?” He whispered. 

She shook her head quietly and their eyes locked for another moment before they pressed their lips together. The kiss was brief and a little timid, but strangely reassuring. The bitter taste of black coffee and burnt sugar lingered on their shared breath, and when they pulled apart, their hearts were racing equally hard.

“Did you bring a spare change of clothes?” Jeong-sun asked softly, remembering his bag on the chair in the kitchen.

His nod was slight, not wanting to be presumptuous. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to stay.” He answered.

She shifted off him and got to her feet slowly, reaching out to take his hand. “I do…” 

He followed her down the short hallway and into the single bedroom at the end of the corridor. The room was cast in darkness; only the warm light from the living room at the end of the hall streaming into the space as she bridged the gap between them. He trailed his hand lightly along her upper arm, pulling her closer as their kisses quickened and deepened, sinking into each other as their tongues brushed with a mutual moan. It was too much and they withdrew in unison, sticking to a couple of massaging, sensual pecks to the lips before moving back in. The kiss lasted a long time, with neither of them wanting to break the unrushed pace and closeness of their bodies as they pressed together in the middle of the dark room, feeling safe and warm in each other’s arms. Jeong-sun felt she could kiss him like this forever; until her lips grew numb and stopped working, but regardless, she broke away from him first, moving away slowly and reluctantly to flick the switch on the bedside lamp. 

Yoongi blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the dim light as he watched her slide off her slippers and crawl onto the double bed. She shifted against the duvet and rolled onto her side, looking at him. He hesitated before taking off his shoes and socks and joined her. Their lips met again as they faced one another, their covered bodies moving together as he wrapped his spare arm around her waist. Her bare feet brushed his own, their toes slipping against each other comfortingly as their legs became intertwined. 

Despite their passion and her desire for him, her body was not responding in the way she had expected; her pleasure surprisingly dulled in her anticipation. Pulling away, she raised herself on the bedcovers, straddling his hips gently as he moved onto his back to support her. 

“Here…” He whispered, moving his hands to her hips to steady her against him. She bent down and kissed him gently. 

“Am I too heavy?” She murmured against his lips. 

“No…” He whispered as she straightened up her back. “You feel nice…”

With a soft smile, she touched the hem of her shirt and slid it off. His palms moved to her skin as she did this, moving upwards with the fabric; starting at the soft bulge of her hips before moving over her stomach and torso, coming to a rest at her shoulders as she squeezed her head through the gap and threw the material to the floor. He ran his hand gently over a narrow bra strap as her lips moved back to his, kissing him fervidly. He moved his palms down to grasp her hips, encouraging her to move her backside from him so he could sit himself up against the headboard. She complied without hesitation, helping him shuffle up until their faces were inches from each other, their height almost equal. They came together again and, with a gasp, he grasped her bottom through her leggings, resting his palms against the roundness of her flesh and squeezing her in kneady motions as their kiss grew more intense.

“Is this okay?” He asked breathlessly against her lips.

She let out a small moan, sneaking her hands around the back of his body and feeling beneath his T-Shirt. She caressed the soft skin, her fingers naturally drawn to the delicate dimples in his lower back, appreciating his narrow waist and the fine, wispy hairs which stood out on his goose-pimpled skin. She began to move the fabric up his body.

“Should I take it off?” He asked, sensing that was what she was trying to do. 

She smirked toylingly. “It’s only fair…”

Pecking her once more, he lifted the shirt the remainder of the way, sliding it over his head and pulling her closer. His lips moved to the fleshy part of her breast which he pecked gently, following the edge of her plain bra until he reached her sternum. Her mouth parted at the feel of his lips, warm and soft, opening against the sensitive space between her breasts, just above the band of her bra, and pressing a lingering kiss to her chest. The gesture felt incredibly intimate and tender. 

“You can take it off...” She whispered against his hair which was still slightly damp and wavy from the rain earlier that evening and his fingers hesitated against her skin before reaching around her back to unclasp it. He kissed her chest chastely as he successfully unfastened the strap, leaving it open below her shoulder blades and returning his hands to her waist. He was in no rush to uncover her, instead caressing his thumbs over the gentle curves of her hips which protruded slightly above her elasticated leggings, and she appreciated this; cupping her palms against his warm cheeks as she kissed him. 

She slid down the straps of her bra as she moved down his body, pressing her lips to his collarbone and chest before opening her lips slightly against his nipple, appreciating the soft cooing sound which escaped his parted lips as she touched it gently with her tongue. She easily discarded her bra on the floor before sliding lower, pecking his soft stomach a couple of times. She pulled away, resting on her knees and straightening. Yoongi’s eyes roamed over her bare breasts; his irises dark and beautiful as his lips parted delicately at the sight. Jeong-sun could do nothing but meet his gaze. She was short of breath and her heart thundered in her chest, but she allowed him to look. 

“What is it?” She asked soberly, breaking the long stretch of silence and dropping her eyes briefly to look at her chest, a little self-consciously. 

He shook his head, jaw tense as he looked at her longingly. “It’s just…” He ran his tongue over his dry lips, moistening them. “If I hadn’t seen you that day...we might not have…” His voice cracked but he didn’t need to continue. Jeong-sun did not know whether he was referring to their meeting in the pharmacy the month before or to the closet they had shared so long ago, but it did not matter. She caught the edge of panic in his voice and felt it briefly echoed in her own chest. She moved over him, straddling his hips and welcoming his touch as he brushed her cheekbone a little desperately with his thumb. Leaning forward, she pressed her nose to his. 

“But we did…” She whispered reassuringly, feeling the weight of her own words take hold as his hands moved down to her forearms, holding her against him, as though proving to himself that she was really there with him. He nodded in agreement or relief, she wasn’t sure which, before pecking her lips once, tenderly. She gasped almost silently, closing her eyes in pleasure as he took one of her nipples into his warm mouth, sucking the pink bud gently. She held him to her as he worshiped her flesh, allowing the moment to last; pulling away prematurely would have been almost sacrilegious. When he let her go, she pressed her lips to the top of his head, inhaling the woody, fragrant scent of his hair before she moved back down his body, hesitating above the waistband of his jeans. 

She kissed the gentle, wispy line of dark hair which trailed above the fabric and moved her hands to the button. “Can I?” She asked, meeting his gaze. 

“Yes.” He confirmed under his breath, allowing her to unbutton his jeans and pull them along with the top of his underwear slightly down his hips, revealing the delicate black matt of his pubic hair. She hesitated a little nervously above him, contemplating how to best handle him. He watched patiently as she brushed the elasticated waistband of his shorts before thinking better of it and instead opting to touch him through the material, her fingers a little tentative as they wrapped around his length, feeling him tenderly. He was slightly hard and, hearing him sigh fervently, she pressed her lips to the material, kissing him gently through his underwear. He watched her achingly beneath thick eyelashes, his chest warm with emotion as she pulled away and slowly slipped her hand into the pouch of his fly to hold him. 

He remained still, watching as she closed her hand tenderly around his girth. She squeezed him gently, massaging his cock in slow, lulling motions. He let out a whimper at her touch, his throaty moans comfortingly familiar and filling her with reminiscence. Slowly, she untucked herself from his underwear, slipping her hand out of the gap to reach beneath the elasticated waistband which she slowly pulled down, uncovering him.

She unhurriedly moved her hand up him once, her thumb brushing over the soft skin and slightly protruding veins, as though committing him to memory. His tip was flushed with arousal and she licked her lips absently; she had forgotten how beautiful he was nude. He assisted her in pulling his underwear down to his knees, lifting his waist from the bed as she tugged them down. Her lips met his inner thigh, her mouth opening wetly and adoringly against the flesh; his muscles slightly more pronounced than she remembered. She moved upwards.

“Do you want me to…?” She asked, looking up at him. Her hand was still wrapped tightly around him, and her intention was obvious. 

He hesitated, his heart skipping at the sight of her between his thighs; the light cluster of freckles on the bridge of her nose visible in the soft glow of the lamp and the sheen of perspiration on her cheeks. “No…” He murmured, shaking his head slightly with parted lips. “You’re enough…”

She paused for a moment, before nodding softly. “Okay…” She agreed, drawing away to shift position.

“In my bag…” Yoongi swallowed, his throat dry. “I thought we should be safe.” 

It took her a moment to realise what he was referring to, her mind hazy with emotion. Clocking on, her lips turned up at the corners. “Yeah…” She agreed, turning sideways to slide from the bedcovers. “I thought so too.” 

He took the opportunity to remove his jeans and underwear completely as she bent down, reaching into the bedside cabinet and pulling out a small cardboard box. The cellophane was still on. “Paid full price for them.” She quipped, trying to sound calm but unable to help her voice from fluttering a bit as she undid the plastic.

“Do I have to reimburse you?” Yoongi asked with a small smile.

She placed tugged open the cardboard lid before placing the full box on top of the bedside table, within reach. “It’s a shared responsibility.” Her grave tone made him grin widely, his pink gums momentarily visible.

He reached for her as he climbed on the duvet and gently turned her onto her back, kissing her passionately into the covers. His bare chest pressed against her breasts and she groaned into his mouth, her nipples hard and sensitive against him. In turn, she could feel him stiffening against her upper thigh through the thin layer of her leggings. He didn’t draw attention to himself, instead moving his hand slowly against her crotch and rubbing her tentatively through the fabric with his palm. She moaned gently in reply, letting him know it was okay and he reached under her waistband, moving his fingers down. She shifted on the bed, wriggling her arse a little to adjust her position, making it easier for him to slip his fingers under the gusset of her panties. She continued to kiss him as he ran two fingers smoothly along her outer lips. 

Trying to relax, she appreciated his soft touch as he caressed her a few times before pushing through her folds, his palm pressing flat against her pubic hair. He realised, as he stroked her clitoris, that despite her soothing moans, she was not incredibly wet. Experimentally, he dipped his index and middle fingers lower and pressed against her opening, sinking in his fingertips. Jeong-sun gasped and he broke their kiss to look at her, keeping his face close to watch her expression carefully. He didn’t want to hurt her and, realising she was too tight to accommodate him, he returned to her clit, circling the bud lightly as he pressed gentle kisses to her face; his lips skimming her forehead, cheeks, mouth, stroking her hair with his spare hand as he attempted to get her worked up. She locked eyes with him, cursing her nerves but he shook his head and huddled against her to kiss her neck sensually, moving his lips upwards until he reached the edge of her ear. She moaned as he purred against her, skimming his mouth along the sensitive flesh of her helix as he explored lower with his fingers, pushing into her slowly with only his middle digit until he felt she could take two. She kissed him passionately as he fingered her; keeping his caresses shallow as her body gradually softened beneath him. Despite this, she was disappointed to see how dry his fingers were when he pulled away to remove the remainder of her clothes; feeling betrayed by her own body. He paused as he hooked his digits beneath her waistband, waiting for a reaction. She nodded gently and he slipped her leggings and panties down in one smooth motion, abandoning the garments over the edge of the bed. 

She parted her thighs for him as he rubbed along her slit with his entire hand, trailing his fingers through her pink folds and brushing her clit with his palm. He realised how frustrated she was with herself when she pushed his hand aside gently to rub her clit a little frantically in concentrated, circular motions. Breathlessly, he moved from her, sliding further down the bed to nestle between her thighs. She pulled away and he held her open with his fingers, pressing his lips to her clit twice, the sound of his pecks echoing around the room as he pulled back to rub the little nub with his index finger, feeling it swell gently beneath his finger, before he moved back in. He sucked it very lightly, taking the delicate bud between his soft lips and feeling his heart race at the sound of her moans above him. Her taste was, like everything else, achingly familiar and he savoured it, wondering if he would ever take it for granted again. 

Pulling away, he moved up her body, keeping close as he kissed her bare chest. She entwined her fingers with his and moved them against her, guiding his digits against her clit before dipping lower, encouraging him to try again. He entered her more easily this time, using his thumb to brush her clit and, satisfied, she pulled away to stroke his cock, coaxing it against her lower stomach. They kissed longingly, their bodies close as Jeong-sun blindly reached for the pack of condoms on the table, her fingertips skimming the box unsuccessfully a few times before managing to grasp the edge. Yoongi pulled back as she handed him a square foil, her other hand holding him firmly to keep him hard. 

“Do you want to put it on?” She whispered, reluctantly uncurling her fingers from his erection.

He nodded, pressing his lips against her forehead before sitting back to perch on the edge of the bed. Jeong-sun watched closely as he fiddled with the packet and kissed his bare shoulder lovingly as he tore the edge open a little clumsily. His fingers trembled. 

“Here…” She offered breathlessly, unable to help the fierce yearning feeling in her chest as she brushed her hand over his. She had never seen him so affected before, his own nerves finally rising to the surface. She managed to open the foil packet without dropping it and rolled it down him slowly, pinching the end and making sure it fit snug. With a racing heart, she lay back against the covers and he moved with her, covering her body with his own. He brushed against her lightly, holding himself by the base.

“Go slow…” She requested, her voice whispery as she hooked her arms loosely around his neck, keeping her gaze locked with his in anticipation. 

“I will.” He promised, keeping himself still for another few moments before guiding into her. She parted her lips as he huddled against her and buried as deep as he could in an embrace. She tightened her hold on him, pressing him against her as he clung to her in return. They laid still for a moment, their bodies feeling oddly heavy together as they accommodated to the sensation of one another. Yoongi’s lips parted against her lobe at the warmth and comfort that her body gave him. His hips moved snuggly against her, the pace achingly slow, wanting to feel every inch of her wrapping around him. Sweetly, he pressed his mouth against the space below her ear. Her pulse was fluttery and strong against the bud of his lips, the pounding of her heartbeat echoing deep within her. He shivered slightly at the realisation, and mistaking it for the chill of her apartment, Jeong-sun held him tighter; cradling him, sharing her heat. The emotion that overcame him as her fingertips trailed lovingly over his naked back, warming him, took his breath. A lump rose in his throat as he gazed at the mixture of soft concern and affection in her expression. At that moment, he was certain that he would never feel this way about anyone else.

 Delicately, he adjusted himself, the head of his penis slipping out of her despite the painstaking carefulness at which he did so. Yoongi heard her almost panicked intake of breath as the sensation of fullness left her, his swollen tip pressing awkwardly against her flushed labia. She slipped her fingertips between their bodies, delicately through his pubic hair and took hold of him, angling herself against it. Her chest tightened at the purr of pleasure which escaped him as he pushed gently back inside her, his head snapping back a little at the stimulation. “Jeong-sun…” 

The sound of her name brought a smile to her lips and tenderly, as he began to move against her, she kissed his bare arms and shoulders between his unhurried thrusts. His dark fringe of hair tickled her forehead, and reaching forward she brushed it lightly away from his brow and appreciated him in the dim glow of the lamp. He met her gaze with a slightly dreamy expression as she brushed his burning cheek with her thumb. Jeong-sun could tell from the slightly glazed look in his eyes that he was lost in her, and her heart thudded madly as he peered back at her through a rim of thick lashes. He seemed perpetually on the edge of speech, but she sensed that like herself, could not locate the words enough to tell her how he felt. But, as she looked at him, she thought she could understand. There was so much she wanted to say to him, yet she had never felt more incapable of speech in her life. Having him so close, feeling every inch of him, meant more than she could ever express. They made love gently, her hands curved over his backside as they rocked against one another, not in the pursuit of orgasm but recognising everything it represented. 

“Can I try?” She asked, her voice cracking a  little with dryness as he paused to adjust the condom. Yoongi’s dark eyes flickered to hers for a moment, sensing the nervousness in her question. He blinked, nodding in agreement, his expression calm despite the way which his heart hammered against his ribcage. He shifted, propping himself up against the headboard, supporting her by the hips as she straddled his lap clumsily and slipped him inside. Her chest was flush against his own, arms locked around his neck as she tried to establish a rhythm. Instinctively, he pressed his lips warmly to the crevice of her breasts, caressing them, feeling them undulate slightly as she moved up and down his length. The sweet, oaty fragrance of her skin and the pressure of her thighs on either side of him was exciting, a familiar tingling sensation spreading through his lower region. They pinned against him firmly as she gave up on trying to ride him, needing a different angle, and instead began to grind against his pubic bone. Slowly, Jeong-sun’s body began to respond, his slight moans and purrs making her stomach feel warm.

She sighed, a frail whine breaking out between laboured breaths. The sound of it made Yoongi’s heart flutter, and when he met her eyes he thought he had never seen a person look so relieved and exhausted.

Her orgasm had not been mind-blowing, but the depth at which she held felt him inside of her had brought her to it regardless. The sensation had already begun to dissipate as he kissed her tenderly, patiently, as her body weakly rode out the last few waves. Jeong-sun pressed her lips back firmly against his, encouraging him to follow as he squeezed her backside, his own hips jutting close against her. Lovingly, she watched his expression change as a small crease formed on his brow and he drew in breath through slightly gritted teeth. His own release seemed to come a little unevenly too, but he purred gently as she helped him through it, feeling his length grow soft and pliant beneath her. 

 “Be careful…” He pleaded, voice equally as hoarse and fragile as hers had been. She felt his bony knuckles brush her clitoris briefly as his hand crept between their bodies. Cautiously, and sure that he was securely holding the latex, she raised her hips until he was no longer inside of her. Yoongi breathed in deeply, clearly still sensitive as his cock fell limply against his stomach, held between his thumb and forefinger at the base. 

Apologetically, she pressed her lips against his warm cheek, their exhausted breaths mingling as he turned to capture them against his own. They were impossibly soft, the movements minuscule but incredibly expressive, as though desperate to convey some silent emotion that he was experiencing. But Jeong-sun understood it completely, needing no words, tasting his promise to her. The realisation sank in upon her that she could not bear to be apart from him again. She felt whole in a way that, even all those years ago, she had never experienced so entirely. It seemed impossible that she hadn’t noticed what she had been lacking in all of that time, that she had never found what she had needed. The intimacy of their embrace, as their lips moved tenderly against one another, was so tangible...

“Are you okay?” He asked, his tone impossibly gentle, as her lips quivered for a second against his.

Trying to overcome the sudden, unexpected urge to cry, she took a deep breath to steady herself.  “I don’t know…” She wasn’t sure how to answer, to explain the overwhelming emotion surging through her. Jeong-sun continued, brushing her hair away from her face, once more surprised by how little of it there was. “Are you?”

They held each other’s gaze steadily for a moment, their hearts pounding hard as they examined each other’s post-coital, slightly disoriented appearance. 

“I don’t know.” Yoongi echoed, and the tension dissipated as they laughed softly together. The bedsheets rustled and moved as Jeong-sun adjusted herself, and with extraordinary care she rolled the condom from his length, tying it off and disposing of it. He had watched her do it, eyes full of affection as she handled him as though he might break. As she crawled into the space beside him, he wrapped his arms snuggly around her. Contently, she shuffled against him, working the covers over their bare legs. He pressed his lips against the nape of her neck, dragging the sheets up to cover their naked bodies. She was warm, one arm resting between her breasts. Eventually, they drifted off to sleep together. It would have been hard to tell who had fallen asleep first; however, Yoongi had quickly stilled against Jeong-sun, his breathing slow and regular and hot against her skin. She followed soon after, her cheek resting peacefully against his palm.

***

A thin beam of sunlight streamed through the crack in the curtains and Yoongi, awakened by the slight movement from beside him as Jeong-sun turned over under the duvet, had no real sense of time or how long they had been lying there, side by side. At some point in the early hours of the morning, they had awoken and made love again, spooning closely. Looking down, he realised he was still wearing a condom though he was no longer hard. He did not remember whether he had finished and had only the vaguest memory of putting it on as the golden rays of dawn had touched her cheek as they moved together; their soft moans and whispers echoing through the room as though they were sharing secrets. He no longer remembered what was said between them; only the sweet, warm sensation he had felt in his chest and the feeling of a weight being lifted. The evening before had been emotionally exhausting; the gravitas of what they were trying to say to each other weighing on them both, but this morning had been different. He didn’t think he had ever felt so content as sleep once more took him, pulling him into a comfortable and warm embrace. Now, as his eyes adjusted to the bright streak of light, the room coming into focus, the second time had felt like a dream and he suspected when she woke, Jeong-sun would likewise be unable to recall whether it had really happened. 

“I need a shower…” The sound of her voice beside him alerted him to fact she was also awake and, a little sheepishly, he removed the condom. 

“You don’t have to be anywhere.” He mumbled, gently moving the bed sheets aside to use the bathroom. Drying his hands in the small basin, he realised how thirsty he was and plodded, bare-foot, into the kitchen to get them both a glass of water. The familiar scent of the living space and, beneath that, the sweet odour of the woman who inhabited it was welcome and comforting as he moved through the small room and returned to the bedroom at the end of the hall. 

Her soft snores indicated that she had fallen back to sleep and he tried not to wake her as he placed the glasses on the bed stand and slipped beside her under the covers.  

“Do you really have to go?” She mumbled in her sleep as the springs beside her moved with his weight and he felt his heart sink at the memory of all the times he had been forced to do so; of getting up early to go to dance practice or to catch an early flight. 

He felt his eyes sting as he brushed a curl of hair from her face and pressed his lips against her cheek. “No…”

***

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[artificialqueens]

Honey (Monet x Monique) - Ortega

a/n: this is just my way of letting u all know that i stan Monet and Monique and ship them so bloody much that this happened. me n Salem (Citrus) were talking about how funny it would be to call this fic Honey bc of all the Trixie stans that fucking hate the brown cow/sponge chat, but also because of the Kehlani song Honey that reminds me so much of these two being pure. enjoy n pls let me know what u think! (p.s. last chapter of Game is coming i promise xxxxx)

Summary: performing arts college au, two gals being pals. Monet reminisces over how she got together with her girlfriend. Monique just wants to eat ice cream tbh.

The clock was ticking so slowly. Time seemed to be moving slower than it ever had done before in Monet’s life, but that always seemed to happen in tutorials. It seemed to happen even more frequently, she found, when Valentina was talking. Usually she would listen and try to contain her laughter as the girl flipped her long, straight hair about her shoulders and went on a long, self-centered tangent which had nothing to do with the topic at hand, but today her voice was grating. Performance showcases were coming up, and she had to practice. She had better things to do with her time than listen to her drone on in that high, affected, airy-fairy voice about…what the fuck was she even talking about?

“…and so I think if I chose that it would really highlight my vocal versatility, plus I could work in a costume as well, and maybe do a dramatic monologue at the start to illustrate the character,” she said, appearing to be finished. Monet looked over at her tutorial leader, Jinkx, who was half-asleep and very confused.

“Um…sorry, I don’t see how we got from the prevalence of 5/4 time signatures in later Jazz music to…” Jinkx blinked. “…you performing in your final showcase as Jean Valjean.”

All eyes shifted to Valentina, who blinked back at her. “I mean, isn’t it obvious? I feel I made my train of thought very clear.”

As Jinkx steered the conversation back to whatever the fuck it had been about in the first place, Monet scribbled in her notebook. She still hadn’t sorted her setlist out for her performances, or organised the band, and it was only a fortnight away. She was stressed. She almost didn’t notice her phone buzz.

Mo: bitch what the fuck was that all about?!?!?!!?

Mo: is she on crystal meth?????

Pause. Buzz.

Mo: why u ignoring me sis???

Mo: this is no way to treat ur girlfriend u whore

Pause.

Mo: i know ur seeing these u bitch

Monet gave a light sigh and looked up. There, opposite her, was the living spambot herself that she had the privilege (or curse, she joked internally) to call her girlfriend, Monique. Her huge mane of dyed orange hair was blown out to frame her face perfectly, and the lids of her eyes sparkled with purple glitter which matched her highlighter. Monet’s heart did a flip. It still did when she looked at her, even after the 1 and a half years they’d been together. It seemed simultaneously like such a long time and also no time at all. It didn’t even count the two years beforehand that Monet had spent with a crush on her, which probably made it seem longer. Monique hadn’t noticed Monet looking at her yet and was still typing with her huge pointy nails, a feat which never ceased to amaze Monet.

Mo: here’s a nude i took earlier

Mo: 26012019_602040.jpeg

Just as Monet was about to tap on the picture, she heard her name being mentioned. She looked up with a start, the heat rushing to her face as if everybody could see her texts. The whole room was looking at her expectantly, save for Monique who was looking just as rabbit-caught-in-headlights as Monet imagined she was.

Jinkx gave a kind smile, obviously seeing that she hadn’t been paying a blind bit of attention. “Have you started thinking about the showcase much yet, or not at all?”

Monet gave a grateful exhale. Then, she thought for a second. “I know that I need to get a setlist done but I almost feel like I have too many ideas going on and I don’t know which one to go with? Like I don’t have a theme.”

“Oh, I feel that, honey,” came a theatrical voice from across the room. Trixie Mattel, the scholarship kid, was bright and talented, but also annoyed fuck out of Monet because of her incessant catchphrase. “I sat for ages trying to think of what I should sing. But then I thought, what’s really going to show me for me? A bit of who I am? And then it just hit me- honey! I say it so often it’s such a huge part of me, so why not theme all my songs around it?”

Jinkx smiled at the student. “Which are?”

“Honey, Honey from Mamma Mia: The Musical, Honey I’m Home by Shania Twain, and Honey, I’m Good by Andy Grammer,” she smiled proudly. Monet heard a tiny snort across the room and her eyes immediately drifted to Monique who was sniffing as if she had a cold.

“Well, at least someone’s sorted,” Jinkx shrugged, raising her eyebrows and checking the clock. “Okay, that’s us done. Go practice and get organised.”

There was a wild scraping of chairs and bags flying over shoulders as the other students raced out of the seminar room. Monet was last out by the time she’d packed up and thrown her jacket on, and she left the room to find Monique leaning against the wall in the empty corridor waiting for her. She smiled gently as she saw her girlfriend.

“Good to go?” Monet asked her, running a hand down her arm and taking her hand.

“Well, you took long enough,” Monique pouted, cheering up when Monet squeezed her hand. “If we go get ice cream will you share it with me?”

Monet feigned a sob. “I really need to practice.”

Monique stopped in the hall and did her best impression of a dying kitten. Monet rolled her eyes. “Fine! We’ll go.”

Monique was happy as she walked hand in hand with Monet to the ice cream parlour. She radiated bubbly excitement as she talked about her showcase and how she was going to perform all original songs, including one about a brown cow. This was precisely what Monet loved about Monique- her neverending energy, her lust for life, her complete fucking off-the-wall ideas and creativity that nobody else seemed to have. She’d always been like that in high school, too- you could hear her before you could see her, and it was as if every moment was part of her own, Monique-Heart-based reality show. She was always popular, but not quite in the bitchy sense, and she was always surrounded by her friends: Mayhem, the queen bee, Asia, the makeup artist, Vixen, the bitch never out of detention. Monet always stayed in her lane- after all, there was no real reason for their paths to cross- but she’d often look across the lunch hall to the table of goddesses and feel intrigued and shy at the same time, confused by the feelings that years later she’d recognise as a classic, embarrassing high school crush.  

They arrived at the cafe where Monique sat down, all but grabbed the menu from Monet’s hands, and began flicking through it.

“What do you want?” she asked Monet, not looking up from her flicking. Monet let out a burst of laughter.

“Bitch, you just took the menu from me! How the hell am I supposed to know?! Get whatever you want,” she shrugged, leaning back in her seat and looking out of the window. “I don’t mind.”

It was cold and grey outside but somehow Monique made it seem so much more colourful- a huge lilac sweatshirt with an enormous pair of eyes stitched onto it, patterned blue and green exercise leggings. Stuff that anyone else would be afraid of wearing, but not Monique. Monique was fearless.  

Monique decided on a red velvet and white chocolate sundae. She proudly announced that she chose it because she remembered red velvet was Monet’s favourite, Monet smiling and not letting on that she had no intention of sharing the sundae and she only agreed to get ice cream because Monique would have been sad if they didn’t.

“I can’t believe you’re performing that fucking cow song at your actual showcase. You’re crazy,” Monet laughed suddenly, shaking her head.

“What?” Monique asked incredulously. “So it’s okay for Trixie to theme her whole show around fucking honey but I can’t do a song about a brown cow?”

“Yeah but…” Monet smiled, knowing it would annoy her girlfriend. “…it only works when she does it.”

Monique launched herself across the table to wallop Monet on the arm. Suddenly guilty, Monet reached across and took Monique’s hand, stroking her knuckles gently and taking care to avoid getting stabbed by her nails.

“I’m kidding. Your song’s fun.”

“Oh, it’s a bop,” Monique nodded emphatically.

“Facts are facts,” Monet smiled, using the phrase she knew Monique loved so much.

“Facts are facts,” Monique repeated, beaming at her from across the table. “I ever tell you how lucky I am to have you?”

“No,” Monet deadpanned, taking a sip out of the glass bottle of coke she’d ordered. Monique laughed and mirrored her sip. That was all their relationship seemed to consist of- laughter, constant fun and affection. Monique was funny in her own crazy way, hyper, and Monet was always joking about with her, teasing and poking fun at her until Monique went in a huff and Monet had to faux-beg for forgiveness. She knew Monique always found her funny, though, even though some people thought she wasn’t. In fact, humour was how Monet managed to get Monique on side when they first met properly. It was the first week of Year 13, and they had been put in the same Drama class. They’d been going round the circle talking about the classic bullshit start-of-the-year stuff- what they wanted to get out of the course and suchlike- and a loud-mouthed, domineering girl called Eureka was having her turn. Monet recognised her- she’d always been the year above her in school, but for some reason she was repeating Year 13 (there were rumours it was because of exam failures). Eureka was talking in a faux-humble style of how she already had an agent and how she was going to become a famous actress once the year was over, and that she didn’t really need to be taking Drama to be a professional anyway, she was just doing it for fun.

“Is that why you’re taking it to AS Level for the second time?” Monet had muttered. She thought she’d been quiet, but it had come out way louder than she’d expected, and it got her some glares from some of the bitchier girls. There had been a snort, though, from the other side of the room, and Monet’s gaze had followed it to the source- Monique Heart, who was smiling at her guiltily.

After class, Monet had taken a bit of heat from Eureka and her friends outside the Drama studio, until Monique had turned the corridor. She looked at the girls surrounding Monet, narrowed her eyes, cocked her head, and they’d left. That was the influence she held, and it captivated Monet slightly.

“Did they give you any trouble?” she’d asked, gazing at Monet intently with kind eyes. “Because if they do, just let me know. Vixen’s been looking for an excuse to drag that bitch since she joined our year.”

“Thanks,” Monet had given a quick, awkward smile and walked away, assuming the conversation had been over. She’d been surprised when Monique had caught up with her, walking quickly to match her footsteps.

“I thought it was funny, by the way. What you said. The bitch is so full of shit.”

“Someone had to say it,” Monet shrugged. She smiled to herself. Her heart had felt as if it’d swollen twice its size and she’d felt so satisfied that Monique had found her funny.

“Facts are facts,” Monique had agreed. It was the first time Monet had ever heard her say that. “So how come you’re crashing AS Drama?”

“It’s not a crash, I did A Level last year. I just think we were in different sets,” Monet explained, still amazed that Monique was talking to her. “I’m applying to Performing Arts college. The Academy?”

“Oh, same!” Monique had cried, a high-pitched shriek of recognition. “This is great! Now we can be each other’s emotional support when we do our auditions.”

Monet had smiled, and had gone to say something else when Monique omitted another large cry. As she waved, Monet realised she’d seen her friends.

“I gotta go but I’ll see you tomorrow, Monet!” she’d all but yelled as she ran off to join the other girls. Monet had been disappointed that their conversation was over, until she remembered that they had Drama in first period the next day which was less than 24 hours away.

Monet was suddenly distracted by a wet spoon hitting her nose. She blinked, surprised.

“What was that for?” she asked. Across from her, Monique was halfway through her sundae. Monet had no idea how long it had been there.

“You’ve been staring into space for like, two minutes solid,” Monique explained. Monet took another look at the sundae and laughed.

“You ate all that in two minutes?”

Monique rolled her eyes at her. “Can I be me?”

Monet smiled. “You can finish it. I don’t want any. I’ll still go halfers with you when we’re done.”

“You’re sweet,” Monique said softly, then followed Monet’s gaze out the window. “What were you thinking about anyway?”

“Just us before college. Before we were together,” Monet gave a small shrug and Monique grinned. She seemed eager to say something and was hurrying her current mouthful of ice cream so she didn’t have to speak with her mouth full.

“Remember how nervous I was the first few months we were together in case my parents found out?” she laughed, as if it was a joke. Monet didn’t remember it being a joke at the time. “Then we came here and I’m like ‘Hi, everyone, this is my girlfriend, Monet!’, ‘Hi, America, this is my girlfriend, Monet!”, “Hello, world, did you know I have a girlfriend? Her name is Monet!’. I think the whole college knows by now.”

Monet smiled. “I’m glad you can show me off, it’s what I deserve.”

Monique turned suddenly quiet, something that Monet hardly ever saw. A light blush had hit her cheeks. “I still remember being so happy getting partnered with you for our performance pieces, because it meant I’d get to spend more time with you.”

Monet smiled affectionately. “So was I, but then I was like ‘shit’ because I was already so nervous around you.”

“So was I!”

“Shut up, no you weren’t,” Monet let out a laugh. “You were a motherfucking foghorn around me, I swear I caught tinnitus from working with you.”

“Yeah! I get loud when I’m nervous, sis,” Monique muttered, taking a sip of her drink and looking so meek and so un-Monique that Monet wanted to both laugh and wrap her arms around her and never let go. “If it hadn’t been for Vixen we wouldn’t even be sitting here together now, how crazy.”

Monet snorted. “Yes we would. We’d both have got in here, just we’d probably still be friends and we’d both have huge crushes on each other but be too scared to tell.”

Monique looked indignant. “Hey, I would’ve told you at some point! Just needed to get my nerve.”

“Well, Vixen did it for us.”

It was true that neither of them really had had to make the first move because one lunchtime, just after their final performances and after Monet and Monique had found out they would both be going to the same college, Vixen sat down at Monet’s lunch table right beside her. Monet remembers Bob, Pepper and Cracker looking at them both and then dropping their conversational volume about ten decibels so that they could both talk and listen in. Her friends were so predictable.

“Hey,” Vixen started off. There was a sort of scheming little smile on her face, like she knew a joke that she’d never share with the world. “So Monique wants to know if you like girls.”

Monet vividly remembers drinking from a carton of orange juice and nearly choking on it. “Um. Why?”

Vixen looked at her nails, a small frown coming over her face as she realised she’d chipped one. “Monique’s never been with a girl before but she has this lesbian crush on you, it’s kind of adorable. Anyway, I thought I should ask in case you’re not into that. Pointless raising her hopes if they’re just gonna be crushed.”

Monet had blinked a little at her, while noticing that her friends beside her had dropped all pretence of talking to each other and were now full-on listening to their conversation.

“I mean, I kinda…like her too, I guess?” Monet replied, trying to sound casual when her heart was beating so fast she was afraid it would land her in hospital.

Vixen narrowed her eyes at her. “You kinda like her, or you like her? Which is it?”

“I like her,” Monet replied immediately. Then that same smile had appeared on Vixen’s face as she’d slid off the chair and sashayed over to her usual table. And then Monet had been thrown into a state of panic and anxiety- what if Vixen had been asking for a joke? What if she had just wanted to embarrass Monet, and Monique didn’t feel the same at all? She wouldn’t have been able to look Monique in the eye. She hadn’t dared to look over to the other table and, as her friends had consoled her, Monet thought she’d made a dreadful mistake.

So when Monet had been rushing to her next class after lunch and taking a shortcut she’d though that only she knew, she’d been surprised to see Monique sitting on a bench deep in thought. Self-conscious, Monet tried to hurry past her, but was stopped by a call.

“Mo!”

She turned and Monique was smiling at her gently. It was a genuine smile. It didn’t seem scheming, or part of a set up. In fact, it looked a little shy.

“Hey,” Monet smiled back nervously, perching on the bench. “Sorry I kinda blanked you, I was rushing to get to class.”

“Oh well sorry, you better go!” Monique insisted, appearing more embarrassed by the second. Something in Monet wanted to find out why, so she replied.

“No, it’s okay. I’m late now, might as well commit to it,” she shrugged, looking at the other girl whose brows were furrowed. “How come you’re up here anyway?”

“Just thinking about stuff,” Monique said simply. Still with her eyes on the grass below, she continued. “Monet…”

Monet’s heart was rattling against her ribcage as if it was trying to escape her body. “Mm?”

“Did Vixen tell you? You know…about…me? And…you?” Monique asked calmly, even though looking back Monet thought that her insides were probably as fucked up as her own.

She’d wondered about whether or not to tell the truth. “About you liking me? Yeah, she did.”

Monique visibly cringed. “That motherfucking fruitloop bitch. I’m gonna kill her.”

Monet let out a laugh and Monique joined in too, softly. Her gaze finally met Monet’s own. “She told me that you like me too, though, right?”

Monet was sure she’d felt her heart stop completely, if only for a second. “Um. Yeah, I guess I do.”

There was a pause, and Monet panicked. “Monique, look, I don’t know if this is a huge in-joke you and your friends have, but-”

“Oh no, it’s really not! I promise,” Monique had blurted out. She’d been so far away from her usual chilled out, calm self, and she’d looked back to the ground. “So, uh. Do you want to go get food after school?”

Monet’s heart exploded. “Yeah. That sounds fun.”

“Just to clarify, this would be a date. Like this is me asking you out on a date,” Monique repeated, her eccentric energy slowly coming back. Monet snorted.

“Girl what do you think I am, hard of hearing? I get it,” she’d laughed, leading to Monet thumping her with her bag, standing up, and walking away.

“Don’t bother! It’s cancelled!” she’d cried out to her as she walked off, Monet doubling over laughing and happy in the knowledge Monique didn’t mean a single word.

Fast forward to today and they were leaving the ice cream parlour, hand in hand again, Monique happy and full of ice cream and Monet happy because her girlfriend was happy.

“I never thought it would be this easy, you know?” she mused out loud, Monique turning to her and pulling a confused face. Monet smiled and clarified. “Us. We always wondered how we’d do when we moved here and had to be on the same course but it’s so easy.”

“Of course it’s easy. You’re with me! What are you trying to say, that I’m hard work?” Monique all but screamed, Monet’s face remaining deadpan.

“Yes.”

“Shut up,” Monique laughed, turning and pulling Monet in for a kiss. Monique’s kisses were always so much like her- soft and gentle but with a crazy passion that knocked Monet for six every time. They were interrupted by a disapproving voice muttering something about Jesus and tradition. Monique immediately whipped herself round from Monet’s face, found the culprit (a balding old man) and fired back.

“Sir, the ten commandments said ‘love thy neighbour’, and Jesus said ‘why do you break the command of God for the sake of your tradition?’, so I think the fuck not, bitch,” she all but spat at him. As the man walked away, stunned, she turned and wrapped Monet in a protective hug, which she was grateful for. “Try to out-Jesus me, whore.”

“Do you want to come back to mine and watch something?” Monet asked, trying to take her girlfriend’s mind off the situation.

“Like what?”

“X Files?”

Monique whined. “Bitch, stop trying to introduce me to your fucking alien fantasy! I’m not interested, I don’t get it!”

Monet tried to pull the same puppy-eye face that Monique loved to pull so much. It appeared to work because Monique’s face softened and she smiled, tucking a lock of Monet’s huge wavy black mane of hair behind her ear. “But you like it, so I’ll try to get into it.”

They ended up at Monet’s flat lying spooning on her bed, Monique the little spoon and getting a better view of the laptop screen, Monet just happy at getting to hold her around her small waist. They had long since changed into pyjamas even though it was only around 4 in the afternoon, Monet in a massive t shirt and sweatpants, Monique in a borrowed cami top and cotton shorts, and Monet had drawn the curtains so that her whole room was cosy and dark and illuminated by fairy lights and the laptop.

“It’s alright. The X Files,” Monique yawned sleepily. “Not the best but not the worst.”

“Mm. Just like sex with you,” Monet joked, Monique suddenly waking up to walk across the room as if she was leaving, then returning to her spot in Monet’s arms.

“You can literally go fuck yourself,” Monique bit back, but the yawn that escaped her mouth halfway through softened her words.

Fuck, Monet loved her so much. It got her thinking about how long it could be this good for. All couples hit snags and bumps in the road and, although they hadn’t had any yet, it was surely inevitable. Monet wondered what their first proper argument would be like and if they could recover from it, or if Monique was the type to walk away.

“I can hear you thinking,” Monique interrupted her train of thought, Monet feeling sheepish at having been caught out.

“Just thinking about us,” she admitted. “Wondering how long the honeymoon period is going to last. Before we eventually have a big fight and you leave me.”

Monique sat up abruptly. “And who says our honeymoon period won’t be our whole relationship?”

Monet laughed, tugging her girlfriend down with her. “Okay, yeah. That sounds good to me.”

“Anyway. I like annoying you too much to ever leave you,” Monique smiled, satisfied. She lay back down on the bed, and Monet could feel her stretching.

“Nap?” Monet suggested, stroking Monique’s hair and flipping it over her shoulders and out of her face.

“Nap,” Monique confirmed, wriggling a little in Monet’s arms and getting comfortable.

“I love you,” Monet smiled, kissing her girlfriend’s shoulder then reaching back to tie her own hair in an elastic.

“I love you too, girl,” Monique replied, reaching around to grab Monet’s arm and replace it around her waist.

“Goodnight, Mo.”

“G’night, honey.”

[ironinkpen]

Any good fic recs for dad might? I'm always a wreck for found family and its just so goooood

hell fuckin YEAH you came to the right nerd anon

Ongoing:

Yesterday Upon The Stair by PitViperOfDoom (405k) - A quirk!Izuku fic where Izuku has a quirk that lets him see ghosts. This fic is really just a total fucking legend. Features lots of Dad Might being concerned about his spooky son. There was a scene in a recent chapter that took my breath away, god

Bloom In Winter by e_va (132k) - In which Hisashi Midoriya is a villain (and a dick) and Izuku is forced at a young age to help him and the organization he’s part of with their evil plans. I literally can’t emphasize how much I love this fic already. The characterization is awesome and the villains are so hateable, it’s amazing. Also comes with a bonus heap of Dadzawa.

Burn Your Wings by oWhiteKiwibird (136k) - Izuku inherits both of his parents’ quirks but swears to become a hero without ever using his father’s power after what he did to him and his mother. When All Might swoops in and offers him another quirk, it’s the chance of a lifetime. This fic is. So good. And has such a good message about moving past trauma and saving others without destroying yourself. (warning for child abuse!)

Ne Plus Ultra by ItsClydeBitches (48k) - A drabble collection about All Might, Aizawa, and the 20 students they’re coparenting. All the chapters are super cute, but if you want Toshinori with Izuku specifically, I’d check out chapters 3, 5, 22, 27, and 30 (psssst read chapter 19 too)

A beacon in the dark by NohaIjiachi (302k) - Izuku goes blind when he’s four, but slowly learns that he’s maybe not as sightless - or as quirkless - as he thought. Just. A fantastic fic. So fun. There’s a little romance in it (it’s TodoDeku, if it matters to you) but I’d say the bulk of the fic focuses on Izuku and Dad Might, and beautifully, too. Also, it’s illustrated! Make sure to read the notes at the end of chapter 15 :)

Complete:

Dis(associate) by BeyondTheClouds777 (283k) - Izuku is born with a quirk that lets him “dissociate” from his body. He thinks it’s a useless at first, but it starts surprising him (and everyone around him). This fic is full of Dad Might and is exciting and fun and just! amazing please read it!!!!

Stickers and Stars by aloneintherain (1.9k) - Izuku gets deaged and All Might has to watch him. This fic gave me a cavity.

Dear Mr All Might by QuizzicalCrow (5.9k) - After a classroom conversation about fanmail, Toshinori tracks down the fanmail his students sent him as kids. And finds a series of letters he can only appreciate the significance of now. Too cute.

Affectionate by Sevi007 (2.5k) - Toshinori spends a relaxed night with his students and doles out some affection. Soft fic. The softest of fics.

If I’m losing again, quiet me down by Sevi007 (8.6k) - After the fight with Stain, Izuku hits his emotional limit. Luckily his teacher’s always there to help him pick himself back up. Hit me with that supportive All Might god damn

Breaking It Down by Sevi007 (3.8k) - Izuku has a nightmare and Toshinori comes to the rescue. I am a sucker for the “character A has a nightmare and character B comforts them” trope so this hits all sorts of happy spots for me lmao

The best cure by Sevi007 (4.7k) - Toshinori and Izuku deal with injuries, years apart. I just. Really love Sevi’s fics okay

Call by Clarobell (1.4k) - Toshinori gets a call in the middle of the night and assumes the worst, but it turns out he didn’t need to worry. Featuring some rowdy kids and their good ass dad.

Growing Pains by LordofLies (5.8k) - Izuku wakes up and sees things a little differently (pun intended). 

Growing Pains by teaandtumblr (1.4k) - Izuku is in pain and Dad Might freaks out and it’s cute. It’s so cute. what the fuck

One Phone Call Away by saltandburnit (5.2k) - Toshinori gets a terrifying phone call and Izuku just wants some comfort. This fic’ll hurt you but everything works out I promise!!

Hold by BeyondTheClouds777 (1.3k) - Toshinori holds on, and so does Izuku.

A Shared Consequence by GuardianLioness (2k) - The cold is a bitch when it comes to old injuries. Toshinori realizes that Izuku knows that too well. Dutiful son takes care of pointy skeleton dad.

Lullaby by Miilky (.5k) - A phone call before the provisional exams. A cute little snapshot.

Ikelos by likestoimagine (2.9k) - Toshinori wakes up in the middle of the night to find Izuku on the dorm couch. Platonic cuddling is best cuddling.

Growing Like You by Guardian Lioness (2k) - Izuku starts having trouble staying on his feet during training and Toshinori offers some insight as to why. Short and hella sweet.

Tie Yourself Together by The_Button_Harlequin (.5k) - All Might helps Izuku tie his tie. But the tie is also a metaphor for emotional stability. 

Secret Bentos by DreamingQueen (4.7k) - Toshinori starts finding bentos on his desk. #LetThisSkeletonManEat2k18

NIghtmares by DreamingQueen (4.2k) - Set in the same ‘verse as Secret Bentos. Izuku has a rough night. #GiveThisBoyAHug2k18

Those are all the ones I can think of right now but I’ll probably add to this later! And hey,,, if anyone has any recs,,,,,,,

[runningwolf62]

@wardencommanderrodimiss @pachelbelsheadcanon

The new chapter is here featuring emotional whiplash and allegiances finally.

On AO3

What happens next is a series of incidents so coincidental and yet so perfectly aligned Larry would be tempted to call it fate. He had headed to a book store to chill and he would swear he’d just gone in to look for a book for Nick or Edgey as a Christmas present. Nothing dramatic, he’d just been caught up on his word count for the day and he’d wanted to shop and treat himself and get things out of the way so he didn’t come out of December confused and lacking presents for anyone.

And while he was there he’d remembered his promise to himself to get Tallstar’s Revenge, after WolfDragon had recommended it. So there he was in the children’s section, looking through the Warrior cats section - which he had half a mind to sort because someone respected neither series nor numbers and honestly it was a disaster trying to find anything, was this supposed to be alphabetical, because he was not going to find Tallstar’s Revenge at all like this - when the book caught his eye.

The Magic Bottle.

A simple title really, but the art on the cover was beautiful. Larry abandoned the Warrior Cats books for a moment to pick up this one, whoever the cover artist was they were fantastic at their job because Larry was for sure curious now. He flipped it over to scan the back, and cracked it open.

Well it turned out Elise Deauxnim could both write and draw, and Larry was enthralled. God where had she been when he was a kid, this shit was fantastic. He ended up buying it and after asking a worker, maybe making an excuse of shopping for a niece (listen that was the simplified version of what Pearl was and if he liked the book this much he might tell Nick to get it for her for Christmas so you know, valid) he also got Tallstar’s Revenge.

Now Tallstar’s Revenge was great, especially by Warrior standards, but he kept coming back to The Magic Bottle, the art, the characters, the pacing, it was fantastic. It made him want to write kid’s books.

Why not? You’re a really good writer and it’s not like you’re unfamiliar with kid’s lit

Thanks!

But she’s super good and I wouldn’t even know where to begin!

Stripes stop selling yourself short you’re a fantastic writer

Stripes?

I’ve mentally called you that for years deal with it

I guess it beats Orange.

“Graypaw what have I told you about talking to basketballs”

What?

Okay I’m sending you that parody as soon as I find a link to it but you should go for it! You’re talented currently inspired also unemployed

Thanks

Hey, I meant now more than ever is your chance

So what should I do?

Google this author see what else she’s written and maybe write her some fan mail

“Hi I’m a twenty-something dude, huge fan”

Look Mr. smartass if you don’t want my help

I’m just worried I’ll come off as weird!

Then lie, say it was for a nephew or something and you were really impressed too and it made you want to try writing children’s lit, how did she get started

Think she’ll answer?

She might

Worth a try

Well I did read it so only fair I review it.

Atta boy, go get ‘em

Larry grins to himself and does exactly as Wolf suggested, googling Elise Deauxnim to find that she had a PO Box. With some help and a little more encouragement from Wolf, he sends off the letter. Then he tries to calm down by focusing on his NaNo, which is mostly just him writing oneshots and a chapter or two of the fic. He hasn’t brought in Godot yet because he’s not sure what the absolute hell is going on there and he doesn’t like thinking about that day in court. He keeps sending out his resume but after how he lost his last job he’s thinking it’s a good thing he has as much in savings as he does, and he’s thinking about emergency commissions.

Until the letter arrives. He’s not sure he believes what he’s seeing but a photo sent to Wolf on discord proves that not only did Elise Deauxnim not think he was a creepy loser, she was encouraging him. She wanted to see some of his art and writing so she could tell him where he might find some agents interested in him.

DUDE

RIGHT I’M FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW!

AGGHHHH!

That’s amazing!

AGGGHHH!

I told you you were an amazing author

OH GOD WHAT DO I SEND HER

Not the Warriors Fanfic

OBVIOUSLY

Look, take a deep breath, and like, think of a story

Doesn’t have to be great, just some kids story thing

Do some art with it

Oh god, dude that’s terrifying, every idea I had just vanished.

Alright, listen you don’t have to write the damn thing just the first three pages of something

Uh, what are kids into these days?

Great question

I’m super good at drawing cats, what do I do with that?

Write Warriors but gay

Don’t we call that Wings of Fire?

Shots fired

More seriously, what do I do with that?

Well you’re good with a very open world series with a set of rules that is easily adapted to a setting

And cat anatomy

So I’d take those elements and make it into something

That’s a horrifying Chimera.

…

You know, that could be a plot hook

What?

Well like kids love monsters right?

Write a series with a Chimera as the main character, it’s part lion

Dude, you’re a genius, I owe you my life, and the response of “no thanks I’ve seen it, I don’t want it” is probably valid

Well get to it writer-boy, you’ll do great

What he ends up with is a book series about various mythological monsters on an adventure, and an offer from Elise Deauxnim to be an apprentice under her. He says yes, of course. He moves out of his apartment and to a smaller and cheaper one closer to where she works.

It’s awkward at first, on both ends. He can tell he’s not what she expected but he tries. She helps him with his writing, telling him what his strengths are first and then slowly moving to where he needs some polishing. It’s still strained though.

The breakthrough comes one afternoon, when Larry’s phone alarm goes off. He reaches over, swipes it off, and then flips the sketchbook page he’s on to start drawing something else.

Elise, - she insist he call her Elise which is weird to him but she’s a firm but matronly woman and so he obeys – looks up at the sound.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he offers a quick sheepish grin but she only looks more confused.

“Did you force yourself to get a drawing complete in a certain amount of time? You know that won’t make it turn out well.”

“Oh, no,” Larry flips back to the previous drawing to show her that it’s far from complete, “I got art block so rather than sit here and think about how I had the perfect image if I could only draw it for the next hour I worked on something else for ten minutes.”

“You’re quite talented at drawing cats,” she remarks, and Larry grins.

“I’d hope after how long I’ve been drawing them.”

“So this ten minutes of drawing, does it help?”

“Kind of yeah,” Larry pulls his sketch book back to him, looking at the sketch of Cherrywing and Spiritstar, he should draw Maya and Mia sometime. Maybe- no probably not for Christmas but at some point he should. “It forces me to relax and focus on something else, and get the creative juices flowing while I work on something that’s just for me so there’s no pressure or anything. That’s why I can only do it for ten minutes or I’d never get any actual work done!”

“That’s very clever,” she’s focusing on him now and Larry can only shrug, it’s just something that’s worked for him.

“Are those your cats?”

Oh no.

“Uh no, they’re-” he scrambles for a moment, “they’re just cats.”

Elise looks at him with a look of doubt but doesn’t press, instead she turns her focus on the picture, her eyes softening as she looks at Spiritstar and Cherrywing sitting together, “you have a real talent for capturing the emotion of a scene, there’s something very peaceful and loving about it, even for a sketch.”

Larry blinks in surprise, “thank you!” That was very much what he had been going for and he was pleased that he had succeeded at such.

Elise smiles at him, “you have such a talent for landscapes too, the nature looks natural while still framing them.”

Larry rubs the back of his neck with a grin, “now you’re going to give me an ego,” he jokes but he hopes she understands how grateful he is.

By the way she looks at him she does.

-

Merry Christmas Nick!!

merry xmas

 Hey Maya, Merry Christmas!

Message failed to send.

Figures.

Message failed to send.

-

You okay man?

I

I appreciate your concern Larry but yes, I am fine

If you need to call just let me know

Before you joke yes I’m single this Christmas

That’s a kind offer but I am with my sisters

THERE’S ANOTHER ONE?!?

Her daughter has a dog named Phoenix

Holy shit

Quite

-

Merry Christmas Stripes!

Merry Christmas Wolfman!

-

Larry has to say, having your mentor frame and hang your finished and signed piece because she likes it so much is like having your parents hang art on the fridge but somehow a thousand times better.

They spend the winter working, her on her story and on helping Larry grow as an artist and writer and working on her own story.

Larry helps where he can with that, mostly by trying not to bother her when she looks busy but she does ask him to do some illustrations for her, citing his abilities with landscapes. He accepts and pours his heart and soul into it.

SHE’S GOING TO HATE IT

NO SHE WON’T JUST GIVE IT TO HER

AAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHH

Dude

Fine! Fine!

You’ve got this, you’re a really good artist and you’ve said she’s proud of you

As she should be

So you’ve got this

Thanks man

Go get it writer-boy

You gonna buy my book Wolfman

Of course

Larry can’t help but smile at that.

But you’ve got to publish it first

Rude.

Larry tucks his phone into his pocket and hands the portfolio over to Elise. She accepts them with a smile and begins to flip through them, seeming oblivious to Larry’s nervous shuffling. She pauses at one and studies while Larry does his best to not explode or start nervously babbling.

“These are beautiful,” she remarks and Larry can feel his shoulders sag in relief, “you’ve done fantastic work.”

“Thank you, I went to the park a lot to try and get all the details right.”

“It shows,” she continues to leaf through them, Larry feels more confident so he begins to point to details he feels proud of or wants to make sure she notices.

“These are just the illustrations my book needed if you’ll allow me to use them.”

“I, uh, yes!” Larry stares at her eyes about to jump out of his skull, wait until he tells Nick! He’s successful now, look at him!

Elise laughs fondly and hands them back, “hold on to these and let me talk to my agent but that’s exactly the kind of work I couldn’t find anywhere else, your watercolor style is just what I needed.”

Larry is going to cry and just manages to thank her long enough for him to slip out and tell Wolf everything.

I’m proud of you Stripes

I’m proud of me! I feel like I’m really making myself a new person!

He’s tempted to also tell Nick but he decides to wait. To drop the book on Nick’s desk at his office. That’s how he’ll do it.

Okay so get this

Yeah?

Apparently my last name “can’t be taken seriously by publishers”.

And I thought elementary school kids were hurtful.

Oh my god

So she’s going to have me use her last name.

WHAT

Her publisher loves the idea too.

Makes me look like family.

Which sells or something?

Hey I’ll take it, I’m getting paid.

So what name should I keep an eye out for

Larry pauses, they’ve never told each other their real names, years of being Wolf and Stripes and now occasionally Writer boy and Wolfman on top of having internet safety drilled into them has always stopped them.

Look for Laurice Deauxnim.

As your number one fan I want a signed copy at some point

-

“Larry,” he looks up from his typing craze at the sound of his name, he’s made a lot of progress on this chapter and with Elise’s help he’s hoping to get it done and sent to publishers by May. That’s his new year’s resolution, getting published this year.

Elise pauses her typing and he hears her sigh. He looks up to her, her face is set and determined but when she looks to him he thinks he sees regret.

“Larry, I’m afraid a situation has come up and I know it’s very last minute but unless you want to come to a monastery with me I’m afraid you’re going to have to spend the next week or so without me.”

“What?” Larry feels a surge of panic not unlike the time he discovered he hadn’t saved in an hour, “a monastery? Why are you- where are you going?”

“Hazakura Temple,” she replies with a pause, Larry has never heard of it but he pulls it up on google quick enough. A teaser for an upcoming edition of the “Oh! Cult” Magazine pops up with some lovely images. Looks cold but interesting.

“Sure I’ll come. I’ve had art block for the past week maybe trying to do some temple scenes will help!”

Elise pauses and smiles kindly, “if you really want to…”

“I need some winter scene practice too,” Larry is not looking forward to wandering around the cold but Elise was going there for some reason, maybe he’ll find a muse there as well.

He flicks his finger over the picture hanging on the wall, the one that still made him smile to see there, “and I’ll give you a winter scene to compliment the summer one.”

Whatever hesitation Elise seems to be having vanishes as she laughs softly, “alright. Make sure to dress warm.”

And in honor of @pachelbelsheadcanon‘s fantastic art, here’s a list of the allegiances. 

SpiritClan

Leader

Spiritstar – a cream she-cat with darker paws and face

Deputy

Darkleaf – a dark brown tom

Medicine Cat

Cherrywing – a cream she-cat with darker striped paws and face

Apprentice: Splashpaw

Warriors

Firebirdstorm – a bright orange tabby with spikey fur

Orangestripe – an orange tabby tom with scruffy fur

Beetlelight – a brown tabby tom with a white chin

Apprentices

Splashpaw – a white she-cat with brown paws and face

 Demon’s Group

Demon – a dark gray tom with thick fur, especially on his chest, formerly Sharppaw of SpiritClan

Viper – a gray she-cat with cold blue eyes, formerly a rogue

Timber – a brown tabby tom with messy fur

Bird – a calico she-cat with mostly dark red patches

Wolf – large thick furred gray tom

[lilianenke]

Fic: Memory of Something Beautiful

Summary: When it's all over, Marcus goes to say goodbye to Peter.

@excommune , I think this is relevant to what you were saying here and here.

[AO3]

Once it's all over and they're allowed to leave, Marcus asks Tomas for a couple of hours.

“I want to say goodbye to Peter,” he explains.

Given the latest development, Marcus thinks Tomas will have something to say on the matter and, truth be told, he could use a judgmental voice of reason right about now, someone to remind him of his duties to the Church. Instead, Tomas grins like a frat boy and says, “I guess I'll see you in the morning, then.”

Marcus tells him to sod off, but doesn't correct him.

He follows Andrew's directions to the other side of the island, quickly becoming breathless as the pain in his legs and back turn from a dull reminder to a horrible ache. These have been a terrible couple of weeks and Marcus can't wait to put them behind. If he were any wiser, he'd still be in the bed that Rose graciously offered them instead of rushing back to Chicago, but he was never really good at staying put for long. It's time to leave.

He just needs to make this one stop first.

Even though the night is freezing, Peter is on the porch, saving Marcus the agony of deciding whether to knock or leave. The door to his cabin is wide open as though he didn't think anything harmful could sneak inside. His life is simple that way.

Peter looks up from his phone and Marcus waves at him from down the road.

Peter points at the purple bruise on his left eye and asks, “I should see the other guy?”

“You should see the other guy,” Marcus says, with a smile. “Are you busy?”

“Work email,” Peter says, holding up his cellphone. “My boss is not satisfied with my inconclusive reports on the unusual behavior animals have been exhibiting on the island. He wants me to run more tests.”

“I'm sure it'll go back to normal soon.”

Peter makes a non-committal sound. “Global warming will kill us all, I tell you.” He put the phone down and smiles. “How's Andy?”

“He's doing much better. Should be back on his feet in a couple of days.”

“Good. And the kids are...?”

“Fine,” Marcus says, trying not to think of their horrified faces or Harper's shrill voice, louder than Andy's agonizing sounds from the floor above, as she told him, “Mommy was right, it's true, it's all true, it's inside me!” He'd tried his best but he wasn't sure he'd managed to dissuade her from that horrible thought.

Peter nods. “Good, I'd hate to see them get some nasty virus.” He gets to his feet. “Did you come for the beer?”

“If the offer still stands.”

Peter beckons him to come inside and closes the door behind them.

His home is a lot more modest than Andre Kim's, though just as isolated as every other house on the island. It resembled a hunting lodge, were it not for the lack of trophies and antlers on the walls. Instead, there were pictures of very alive animals everywhere.

“You photograph,” Marcus says, analyzing the picture of a blue macaw about to take flight. He might try to replicate the sheer majesty of the bird later but he doesn't think it'll look the same without the vibrant colors.

Peter laughs on his way to the kitchen. “No, god no. They're gifts from a friend. She travels a lot more than I do.”

Marcus looks around the living room, more out of habit than curiosity. Part of his pessimistic mind expects to find something horrible lurking in the corner but everything looks absolutely normal. There are nick-knacks from souvenir shops all over America, books on wild life and vegan cooking, and one large photo of Peter and other agents around a long picnic table. Marcus can't see family pictures anywhere.

Peter comes back with his beer and Marcus tries not to flinch when he sits on the couch, though his muscles are still complaining because of the long walk. They're so close to one another that there's no space left for misunderstandings, but Peter still keeps his hands wrapped around the bottle and doesn't speak until Marcus points at the picture he'd been looking at and says, “Office picnic, was it?”

“Office fishing trip. Back when I still fished. Now I have to stay at the table with the other vegetarians and promise not to glare.”

Marcus laughs. Peter is so wonderfully mundane. The kind of man who likes nature and goes to office parties and sails with his friends on that boat he loves so much. He knows nothing of demons or hell and he probably thinks the bible is nothing but an illustration of a time when people were too ignorant to rely on science. He'll live a full and happy life in his little home without ever questioning whether there is anything out there that can't be explained by rational thought.

“Marcus?”

“Sorry,” he says, blinking into attention. “Sorry, I was distracted.”

Peter is watching him closely and Marcus can feel it.

“You look like you did on my boat,” he says.

“Seasick?”

“Overwhelmed.”

“I thought I was doing fine on the boat.”

It's such a blatant lie that Peter has to laugh.

“Well, not fine,” Marcus concedes. “Just... not too horrible.”

“You managed to look simultaneously red and green.”

“Well, the sun didn't kill me and I was getting my sea legs in the end. I'm sure I could get used to it.”

“Are you sticking around a little longer? You could have another go.”

Marcus shifts on the couch so that he can look at Peter. His arm rests on the back cushions and he's tempted to drape it over Peter's shoulders but doesn't feel brave enough, so he rests his head on his hand instead.

“We're leaving in the morning,” he says.

“You and Tomas?”

“Yes.”

Peter drinks to mask his disappointment.

“We've already overstayed.”

“It was kind of you guys to stick around and help him and the kids.”

“It's our job,” Marcus says, knowing that Peter thought he'd spent the last two weeks bringing chicken soup to a convalescent Andrew and making dinner for his five children. His mind, which Marcus has already realized is scientific and rational, couldn't begin to understand the pain Andy was in, or how he'd pushed Tomas against a wall and Marcus down the stairs with nothing but his mind.

“You, sir,” Peter says, “are a couple of good Samaritans.” He sips but puts the bottle down quickly to add, “Which, now that I remember you were a priest, is a term I'm probably misusing and I'm sorry.”

“It's close enough.”

“Yeah, sorry. I used to skip Sunday school.”

Marcus smiles at him. That seems to encourage Peter to reach for his hand though he doesn't hold it right away. Marcus looks down at their fingers, touching very gently, and tells him, “I'm going to be a priest again,” before either of them has the chance to do anything about it.

Peter looks at him but doesn't stop stroking his fingers.

“I got a call from Father Bennet, he's a friend of mine,” Marcus explains. “Apparently, there have been some changes in the Church and they want me back.”

He watches Peter's face as he speaks, not really sure of what he expects to see. There's a glimpse of sadness there but it vanishes quickly and Peter does his best to smile at him.

“It's a good thing, then,” he says.

“Yes. Well, they say I have to work on my obedience,” Marcus says, rolling his eyes and making Peter laugh. “But yes. It's a good thing. It's what I wanted.”

Without letting go of his fingers, Peter says, “So you're Father Marcus again.”

“Not right now, there's a procedure. Bureaucracy. Vows to take. We'll get back to Chicago, get this sorted out and then...” He shrugs. “I don't know.”

“Will that make you happy?”

The question throws him off for a moment. Marcus isn't keen about letting the Church back into his decision making, even though it'll be good to have their power to clear up messes when things get out of hand. And he misses the feeling of being a part of something because he knows he's never going to belong anywhere. He misses the man he used to be. In that sense, going back to the Church is like taking a step back into something unpleasantly familiar, while moving forward into a promising unknown and there's some comfort in that paradox.

However, this isn't what Peter's asking and he knows it. His concept of happiness is something closer to what Marcus has learned to associate with stolen moments in the midst of chaos. Playing his tape recorder so loud he can't hear his own thoughts, for example. Or being here. Peter's life is centered around such things, his own isn't.

“It'll give me back my purpose,” Marcus says. “That's all I'm hoping for.”

Peter doesn't argue, even though he could. He pulls his hand onto his lap, their fingers still cold from holding the bottles of beer, and begins rubbing the palm of Marcus' hand with his thumb. Marcus closes his eyes, committing that moment to memory. If this is all he's ever going to get out of this encounter, he wants to remember it as best he can. The feeling of his skin, the gentleness of his touch, the way his own fingers slowly thaw in his warmth.

“You know, I've been with the Church since I was a child,” he says, almost like he's reminding himself of the fact. He could feel the years imprinted in his bones and on his skin and in the essence of the man he had become.

“Why are you here, Marcus?” he hears Peter ask. His tone is patient, a concern rather than wanting to know whether he's wasting his time. He's looking at him when Marcus opens his eyes, tanned and gray and so very handsome. Even if he tries to draw him, even if Marcus remember every detail, he will never be able to get him exactly right.

“That's over forty years,” he says, as if it were an answer. It isn't. Still, when Peter kisses his wrist, there's a hint of pity in that gesture. He cannot begin to understand what that number means but, if Marcus gave him the chance, he might be willing to try.

He pushes the sleeve out of the way and his lips brush up Marcus' arm. Marcus can hear the sound of his own breathing becoming louder. By the time Peter reaches his neck, he can barely find breath to say, “It's been a while.”

“It doesn't matter,” Peter tells him, right before he kisses him. “I've always planned on doing this slowly.”

Marcus has a lie ready at the tip of his tongue to explain the pain and the bruises but, in the end, Peter doesn't ask. He undresses him, pushes him down onto the bed and looks down at him as though those shades of black and purple fascinate him just as much as the rest of his body. He lies down beside him not to hurt him further and kisses him again, one hand on the back of Marcus' neck, another running down his torso.

Marcus wishes he were a good twenty years younger, back when a demon could throw him down a flight of stairs and he'd still be walking the next day. At this moment, his entire body feels like a rock, weighing down on Peter's mattress. He's been aching for days now and the little rest and recovery they had been granted did very little to sooth his muscles and his nerves. The moment Peter starts kissing him, though, the tension is all but forgotten.

He presses his lips to the round, purple punch that Andrew Kim left on his chest, then down to the yellowish patch of skin where he was thrown against a banister, all the way down to the bruise on his left thigh where a bedside table collided with him.

“I don't know what you've been doing,” Peter says, nibbling the inside of his thigh. “But I don't think you should move.”

Marcus props himself up on his elbows and looks at Peter, framed between his legs, his shoulders broad and his skin dark, such a contrast with Marcus' paleness. He's a gorgeous man and Marcus would like nothing more than to keep him. Before he can think of a witty remark, Peter takes him into his mouth and all he can do is whimper, “Oh God.” Whether he's thanking the lord or praying for his mercy Marcus doesn't know, he just drops back onto the mattress and doesn't say anything else for a very long while.

By the time Peter asks him to turn on his stomach, Marcus can't remember the bruises or the pain. All he knows is a need that he'd long decided not to think about and that is now resurfacing stronger than ever. He can feel Peter's hands smoothing his lower back, then a single finger tracing one of the lines Father Sean left on his back. His skin is a map of horrible stories and traumas that he'd rather not think about and would hate to repeat out loud. The only question Peter asks is whether he's done this before, and though it's been so long he can barely remember what it feels like, Marcus tells him, “Yes.”

Peter kisses the back of his ear. He says gentle things while he prepares him, pushing his fingers inside of Marcus' body in what is a familiar and promising pressure. When Peter lies on top of him and starts pushing, Marcus savors it. He can't remember if it's always felt this intense but he grabs the headboard and can't breathe until Peter is buried deep inside of him. When he moves, it's shallow and slow, just deep enough to brush at the right spot and send jolts of pleasure up his spine. He feels one of his hands hold him by the throat and another reach in between his legs to stroke him until all of Marcus' coherent thoughts have vanished.

He's missed this more than he'd like to admit, this vital part of himself he's sacrificed in the name of something bigger. He remembers it being out of control in his youth, and then quieting down as he became a man, to the point that he barely thought about it anymore. Every other encounter he's had in more recent years – and even those weren't nearly as recent as he might have liked – were clandestine and fast, an urgent quenching of the thirst so he could go back to abstinence. His life doesn't have a place for these slow moments of intimacy.

Right now, Peter's igniting that long-ignored need all over again and Marcus doesn't know if he'll be able to keep it under control once this is over. He bites on his lips to quiet the sounds and almost hopes the need will disappear if he doesn't think about how good it feels to be touched by another man – a good man, loving and slow where most of his lovers had been quick and careless.

Peter must have felt it because he picked up the pace and said, “I got you,” the words breathed inside his ear, encouraging him. “Let go, my darling, you can let go. I got you.”

And just like that, he's thrown over the edge with no chance of turning back. His mind goes blank and he grinds against Peter's hips so furiously he knows his bruised and battered body will only hurt more in the morning. He doesn't care. He rides the need off until he's left breathless and more satisfied than he's been in years.

Peter kisses the sweat on the back of his neck, still hard but not moving anymore.

Marcus tells him, “Keep going.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and Marcus can tell by that word alone that he's smiling.

“Yeah, keep going.”

Peter doesn't last much longer after that and his voice moaning inside his ear as he finally comes is perhaps the most beautiful sound Marcus has ever heard.

“If I were younger,” Peter says, after a moment, still on top of him and giving no indication that he wants to move, “I'd do this to you all night.”

Marcus grins to the pillow. “Well, it's still early...”

They shower together and Marcus wishes he could think of anything to say to him but everything that crosses his mind (a multitude of ways to say “thank you”) seems inappropriate somehow. Besides, holding and kissing him under warm water is so comforting that he doesn't want to ruin it by saying the wrong thing. When Marcus lies in his arms, he's happy. A stolen-moment sort of happiness.

Peter runs a hand from Marcus' ribs to his hipbone. There's a bruise there but it can't be seen in the dark.

“How did you get hurt?” Peter asks.

“You should see the other guy,” Marcus answers, with a sleepy smile.

Peter doesn't push and Marcus falls asleep.

He only realizes how ambitious he's been about his own body's limitations the next morning, when he tries to sit up quickly and answer the phone, only for every muscle to start hurting at the same time. Old aches reignite and new ones are suddenly adding to his discomfort.

“Yes?” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Tomas asks.

“Did you- Yes, it's five in the morning.”

“Sorry. You said you wanted to get an early start and the ferry leaves at six. Just checking to see if you changed your mind.”

Marcus looks over his shoulder. It's still dark outside but Peter has opened his eyes and is looking at him. He stretches in bed in a lazy but very inviting way.

“There's another ferry at ten,” Tomas suggests.

“Is there one that leaves at noon?”

There's a pause and Marcus feels his face going warm.

Tomas says, “There is. I'll pack your bag so, you know, you can take your time.”

“You just want to shove your thirty shirts inside my bag.”

“Are you coming to stop me?”

Peter strokes his back.

“Not at all,” Marcus says. “Shove all you want.”

He hangs up and Peter immediately asks, “How are you feeling?”

Marcus kisses him before he has to think about it.

Peter offers to drive him to the ferry because it's only a ten-minute drive and Marcus already needed his help getting dressed.

“There's no way you can make it to the other side of the island on foot,” he says, tying Marcus' shoes. The massage he's given him earlier was barely enough to ease some of the knots on his back.

“Fine, you have a point,” Marcus says.

Peter smooths his chest and, under the shirt, the bruise the size of a fist that Andrew left behind throbs sightly. Marcus does his best not to wince but Peter still notices it.

“See, that's why you shouldn't pick fights.”

There's a little question mark sneaked into that statement. Marcus just grins and says, “I like to cause trouble.”

Peter sighs. “Okay, don't tell me about your... illegal priest fight club, or whatever it is you did.”

Marcus is laughing when Peter kisses him one more time.

He follows Peter to the truck and gives his cabin one last look over the shoulder. It's a nice home, isolated and quiet, surrounded by nature and good neighbors.

The thought happens before Marcus can do anything about it: I could be happy here.

He doesn't know if it's true or just wishful thinking, but now the idea is in his head. Maybe if he were someone else, with a life a lot less complicated and erratic... maybe then he could've belonged to this little corner of the world.

“It was my father-in-law's,” Peter says, making him turn. “I got it in the divorce. It was falling apart back then, the ex couldn't wait to get rid of it.”

“It's beautiful,” Marcus says.

Peter crosses his arms over the roof of the car. “Do you know where you'll be staying in Chicago?”

Marcus opens his mouth to say with Tomas' sister, but says, “I'm not sure yet” instead. He won't have to give Peter a false phone number or address if he lies.

“Then it's an adventure,” Peter says, getting in the car.

Marcus gives the house one last look. It's rather big for just one person, but not big enough to accommodate him. Peter has no place in his life for his demons. And he doesn't want to stay, not really. It'd be selfish of him when there are so many people out there in need of his assistance.

And what does he know of love anyway?

He doesn't make a sound while Peter drives. Just like the night before, there is nothing he can say that will be right.

Once, Peter tells him, “You could stay longer, you know.”

Marcus says, “I know,” but it's all he has to say on the matter. He could stay longer, he'd very much like to, but he really shouldn't. The longer he stays, the harder it'll be to get back to his old life.

Peter understands it. Not all of it, but as much as he can. He holds his hand for just a moment, then holds the stirring wheel again. He doesn't speak again until they've parked.

“There's your friend,” he says, pointing at Tomas. He's found a bench to sit on and has their duffle bags at his feet. Thankfully, Tomas has no visible injuries that would make Peter even more suspicious.

Marcus looks at Peter. Of all the things he needs to say, all he manages is, “Will you keep an eye on Harper?”

Peter frowns. “You know you can trust Andy-”

“I know, I know, it's not- she needs more attention than other kids.”

Whether he means it or just wants to put Marcus' mind at ease, Peter says, “Sure, I'll keep an eye on her.”

“Good, that's good.”

Marcus looks at his partner. Tomas looks like he can't wait to get home to his sister and nephew.

“Marcus, you sure you're alright?” Peter asks.

Marcus kisses him before he has the time to second guess himself. Just one more time so he won't forget it. He whispers, “Thank you,” when they pull apart.

Peter looks at him with something like heartbreak and he asks, “You sure you want to be a priest?”

Marcus can't help but laugh.

“I mean, all those tight collars,” Peter says, with an apologetic smile. “And pesky vows.”

“I'm sure.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Peter sighs. “Pity.”

Marcus gives him one more kiss, then gets out of the car.

In a second – a lapse of judgment – he leans into the open window and asks, “Can I write to you?”

Peter stares at him.

Marcus wants to say that it'll be strictly platonic, innocent letters, nothing to feel guilty about, but he doesn't want to lie. He's told enough of those already.

Peter reaches for the glove compartment and pulls out pen and paper. He jots down his address and phone number.

Marcus' legs feel like concrete when he sits on Tomas' left. Behind him, Peter is driving away, back to his uncomplicated life.

Tomas smiles with a tease, “How was your night, Don Juan?”

Marcus rubs his eyes and doesn't look at him when he says, “I said I'll write to him.”

For a moment, Tomas doesn't say anything and Marcus prepares for the admonishing he deserves because he's being stupid. Tomas will bring up Jessica and the many reasons why writing to Peter is a terrible idea and that will put some sense back into his head.

“Good,” Tomas finally says, no mockery in his voice. “Good, it's nice to have a friend sometimes.”

Until the ferry comes, they sit in silence.

[tisfan]

Hi, tisfan! I'm going to drop a prompt/request in here, feel free to ignore it! I know you're busy, and you have so many stories already! Anyhow, I'm reading a fic where Bucky is...well, fixing his hair (you know, brushing, blow-drying, etc), because hair just isn't that pretty without some serious maintenance. And now I really, really want a fic where Tony is helping Bucky with his hair. Like a comfort thing (or a sex thing, I like both). If you feel like it. Thank you!

justalurkr said: Headcanon: Bucky keeps his hair long because Steve's hair is still going strong with the 40s vibe. Clint' s hair sorely tests his resolve, tho!

gothgalahoy said: Are you still taking prompts? If so, here's a WinterIron one. They're both touch starved. One of them figures it out during matinance on Bucky's/James' arm. Epic cuddles and feels ensue.

A/N: So, we’ve got a three-for-one fic here; it’s about 3,000 words, tho, so I don’t feel too bad about it... WinterIron, pre-slash, pining Bucky, touch-starved, Tony helping, hair care, panic attacks, etc.

Bucky’s Bad Hair Day

There was nothing wrong with long hair, Bucky told himself. Men woretheir hair long these days, just as often as women wore their hair short.

Hydra had let his hair grow; thick and luxurious, because for thebetter part of the fifties and sixties the Asset had angry, red scars on hishead and they were both noticeable and memorable. They’d faded over time, butby the time they did, his handlers didn’t bother to look at him anymore with aneye toward fashion. As long as the Asset was relatively clean, no one seemed tocare.

The scars, when he could see them through the thick hair, weresilvery and flat, these days. It wouldn’t draw so much attention, if he cut hishair shorter.

And it wasn’t like anyone had said anything -- much -- to himabout it. Steve had ruffled his hair one time, and said he looked like a mop.But that was Steve, and he was always being a little punk, even though hewasn’t that little anymore.

Natasha had fingered the ends of his hair at one point, scowling,and then a box of hair care products had shown up in his next delivery. Oiltreatments and mend-the-ends care, and enough goo and gel and spritzes to makeup a haberdashery counter display.

So, there was nothing wrong with long hair and Bucky was prettymuch okay with that.

Right up until Barton got a haircut.

Bucky was used to Barton being a little on the scruffy side; notquite the “murder hobo” look that Bucky himself sported. (He’d lost track ofwhere the murder hobo comment started, but someone had said it, and theneveryone had said it, and Bucky just gave people his murder glare and went on withhis life. He really, most of the time, did not care what other people thoughtabout him.) Barton had a mop of sandy-blonde hair, scruff on his chin and healways, always missed a patch of bristles on one side of his jaw or the other.He was frequently unshowered, sometimes went for days at a time in the samepair of broken-string sweatpants, and often had his shirt on inside out.

Avengers… were not fastidious people, really. If you could fightwhen you were in your combat gear, you could lounge around in the common roomin a terrycloth bath towel with cucumber slices on your eyelids. No judgements.(Tony. And yeah, okay, so Bucky was totally judging that. Mostly. Excepthe had to admit it did wonders for the bags under Tony’s eyes from lack ofsleep and if Bucky borrowed some cucumber slices for himself once in a while,no one had to know about it.)

So when Barton came in with his new haircut, Bucky noticed.

He was cleaned up, his hair was gelled to perfection and the sideswere spiked and weirdly soft-seeming. Bucky… had the weirdest urge to rub hishand over Barton’s head and test the texture of that hair.

And just as he was thinking that, Tony came into the room, one ofhis unbelievably vile smoothies in one hand. He wrapped his lips around thestraw and took a deep suck from the cup. Bucky tracked Tony’s every movement --helpless against his obsession with the man -- watching the flex of hisbackside as he walked, the way his eyes crinkled up when he smiled and said,“still the prettiest, Legolas.” Tony ran one bronzed hand through Barton’shair, smiled even wider, and did it again.

Barton stropped his head against Tony’s hand, practically purringlike a kitten. “You think I look hot?”

“Oh, my god,” Tony said, lowering his sunglasses to give Bartonthe once-over. Slowly. “You look like a billion bucks, and believe me, I knowwhat that looks like.”

(more below the cut, or catch the whole thing on A03)

Barton chuckled and looked down at himself. “Feel like at leastfifty-thousand, so it’ll have to do.”

“I’d totally do you,” Tony assured him. He grabbed a banana fromthe basket, rubbed Barton’s head one more time. “Save some kisses for me.”

“You got it, sugar-daddy,” Barton said.

Bucky watched, dumb-struck, until Tony was out of the kitchen andback into the elevator. What the fuck was going on?

“Maybe I should get a haircut,” Bucky mused, fingering the ends ofhis long hair, then flipping them out of his face. He wondered if Tony wouldrub his hair like that, if it were short and spiky and soft.

You cannot teach fearlessness with terror.

It wasn’t… it wasn’t… it shouldn’t have been… Bucky was notafraid.

The barber shop had a row of windows that let Bucky look insidewithout actually approaching the counters or barbers. There were shiny silverchairs that tipped backward to let a customer get a shampoo. Another row ofchairs had loud dryers where women and men alike sat, flipping throughmagazines or poking at their phones while they waited for their hair to dry, orfor various chemicals to finish processing.

Bucky’s overly sensitive nose caught the whiff of harshastringents and bleach, colors and curl-relaxers. It was overpowering, evenoutside, making his eyes sting and the inside of his nose flare and ache.

His ear caught the delicate sound of scissors, metal against hair,snip snip. The buzz of clippers, the harsh burr of hairdryers. The clickand hiss of flatirons.

One stylist thumped the chair’s pedal a few times. Another leanedher client back into the sinks and the woman under the cape and towels moanedwith almost sensual pleasure.

Bucky shivered all over, his flesh crawling.

Too many people. Too close to him.

Sharp blades; Bucky could identify dozens of potential weapons.

He… could not do this.

There were too many risks; not to himself. If it was just his ownsafety, his own comfort, maybe he could manage it. He’d done so much worse,allowed it to happen.

You couldn’t teach fearlessness with terror. But you could become numb to fear. There was nothing else thatHydra could have done to his body, to his mind, that was half as terrible aswhat he’d already experienced.

It wasn’t what it would do to him. Bucky could lie to himself ifit gave him comfort. But it was also what Bucky might do, if someone came tooclose to him with those scissors. If they tilted him back. If… if…

He…

He might hurt someone.

Bucky clung to that idea. And then turned away.

The one time, Bucky thought, that he wanted to get into theelevator, go straight up to his floor and take refuge in the back of hiscloset, would be the one time that Tony would stick an arm in between the doorsbefore they closed and cram himself in the elevator, a whole horde of paparazzinot inches behind his heels.

“Hey there, Ghost in the Shell,” Tony said, punching the buttonfor the common floors with unnecessary force. “What a day, don’t tell me, I’lltell yo-- are you all right?”

And Bucky was just weak enough to admit the truth.

“No.”

Tony blinked at that, brown eyes full of worry, that subtle flareat the corners. He opened his mouth, maybe to make some sort of smart-assedcomment, and at this point, Bucky would welcome it. Would welcome the spark ofheat, the frisson of anger. Instead, what he said was, “Is there anything I cando?”

“I… need a haircut,” Bucky confessed. He shook his head, lettingthe long tresses swing, illustrating the need. “An’ I can’t… I jus’ can’t. Getin one of those chairs.” It hurt, confessing. Like pulling out his fingernails.Admitting it. He was the goddamn Winter Soldier and he couldn’t fuckin’ sit ina chair and let some harmless little gossipy woman cut his fucking hair. Heatbloomed over his cheeks, across the back of his neck.

“I couldn’t take a shower,” Tony said, apropos of nothing. Ormaybe it wasn’t quite nothing. “After Afghanistan. For months. Couldn’t… havewater in my face.”

“How’d… how’d you cope?”

“Badly,” Tony said. “Wouldn’t ask for help. Knew I needed it,but…” He shrugged a shoulder. “Thought I could do it on my own.” He gave Buckya direct look. “And I know you can. But the thing is, you don’t haveto.”

Jesus fuck, did the guy mind-read, too, on top of everything?

“All ears,” Bucky said, “if ya got a suggestion.”

Tony flicked a quick look at him. “You trust me?”

Bucky shrugged. He didn’t not trust Tony, which was more than hefelt about most people. He and Tony, well, they’d already seen the worst ofeach other, hadn’t they?

“Come on,” Tony said. “Come up to my place, I have a set up from--well, it’s what I do, isn’t it? Change my environment to suit myself.”

The whole reason this had become a thing for Bucky was because hewanted Tony to touch his hair, to joke and flirt with him, the way he had withBarton, right? He trusted Tony not to hurt him. Trusted himself to not to hurtTony; never again.

Wordlessly, Bucky nodded.

Tony’s bathroom was some sort of miracle; huge, larger than thefreaking house Bucky had grown up in, nearly. There was a deep jacuzzi pool, asauna, a few different showers. One of those chairs that tipped back into asink and Bucky was frozen at the sight of it, until Tony lifted it, bicepsstraining, and moved it out of the room without even asking what was up withthat. Bucky loathed himself, mocked himself for being afraid of a goddamnchair, but he wasn’t about to deny that he felt worlds and away better with itgone.

Tony reached out, hesitated. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, roughly.

Tony fingered Bucky’s hair, rubbing one lock together. Tipped itup to inspect the ends. Peered at his scalp. “You’ve been taking pretty goodcare of it,” he said. “Bet Nat sent you one of those boxes of hers; I have onefor skin care. She seems to think my hands need to be soaked in moisturizertwice a day.”

The way Tony’s fingers felt, running over Bucky’s scalp, he wouldagree. Tony’s skin was like velvet, heavy and soft at the same time.

Bucky shivered, goosebumps scrawling over his head and down theback of his neck. Tony pulled back and Bucky reacted without thinking, grabbinghis wrist. “No, don’t…” he said. “That… feels good.”

Tony chuckled. “Well, I’ve been told I have magic fingers, in moreways than one. So, what are you looking at doing to your hair? I mean, rightnow it’s just kinda ragged. We could trim the ends up, make it all one length,just kinda get your toes wet, as far as the hair cutting business goes.”

“Do you know how to cut hair?”

Tony gave him a flat stare. “I built a new element in my workshop,I think I can give you a trim, Edward Scissorhands. I might not be able to getreal fancy, but if you can handle this, I have a hairdresser, and she doescall-ins.”

“Start slow,” Bucky said, nodding.

“Yep,” Tony said. “So, you can wash your hair, or just get it wet,or I can help you with that, whatever you need.”

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip. Tony had been so, so kind, andBucky wasn’t sure if he wanted to ask any further.

“My… back when I was a kid, my Ma washed my hair, bent over thesink,” Bucky said, hesitantly. There weren’t any bolts of fear or apprehensionwith that, just the faint, old buzz of annoyance when she got water in hisears, or sometimes it would drip down his back. And, of course, the oldimpatience for being a boy of eight or nine and having to be clean, some sortof anathema to his normal way of life. Stickball and paper-waxed horehoundcandies.

“I can do that,” Tony said. His hand was still in Bucky’s hair,fingers soothing on the back of his neck. “Might want to lose the shirt, and…yeah, suit’s probably not the best for that, gimme a minute.”

Which was how Bucky found himself on his knees in front of TonyStark, the back of his neck horribly exposed and vulnerable.

Except he kept waiting for the panic to rear up -- how was itpossible to have a panic attack about the possibility of having a panic attack?-- but it didn’t.

The water was warm, soothing, and Tony’s voice was constant andcalm in his ear. He didn’t talk about anything urgent, or even anythingimportant. A little bit about Edwin Jarvis, his father’s butler who’dpractically raised him, a couple of pranks he’d pulled in high school. Some ofhis past with Jim Rhodes, back at MIT. Good stories. From a simpler, happiertime.

The shampoo Tony used on him, working it through the long locks,smelled like Tony.

By the time Tony rinsed him out and tied a towel around thedripping mess, Bucky was almost completely relaxed, just the soft, warm feel ofarousal -- not even urgent, just a bittersweet thread of wanting that ranthrough his contentment -- keeping him awake.

Tony brought him into the dressing room, a huge showcase with afew dressers and clothing racks, but mostly mirrors. “I thought you might bemore comfortable if you can see me the whole time I’m near your head with apair of scissors.”

Bucky nodded, took the chair that Tony offered. He was shiveringminutely, and Tony kept a hand on his shoulder until he calmed.

Tony ran a comb through his hair, the various conditioners anddetanglers making that task ten times easier than it had been whenever Buckytried it. His hair was stupidly thick.

“I’m just gonna even it out here, okay?” Tony said, parting it alittle to the left, and then checking the length by running his fingers downit, standing just in front of Bucky and leaning back a little to look. He wasshirtless, as Bucky was, but Bucky hadn’t noticed the scarring on Tony’s chestbefore, where his arc reactor had been. The source, Bucky knew, of everythingthat had come after; Tony’s own missile that had nearly killed him, that he hadused to rise from the ash. Becoming Iron Man.

Bucky wanted nothing more than to rest his ear against that scar,listening to the heart underneath, feeling the heat of Tony’s skin. He didn’t.

Tony showed him a pair of scissors, sharp as they had to be forcutting hair, let Bucky feel the weight of them. They were a weapon, althoughit hardly mattered. Bucky’s entire body was a weapon, it wasn’t like one pairof blades was going to make a difference.

“You ready?”

“Go ahead.”

As a supersoldier, Bucky could hold his breath for about elevenminutes. He was pretty sure he stopped breathing as soon as Tony opened thescissors and remained in that state until Tony was done. He exhaled in a rushas soon as Tony stepped back, vision flecked with speckles of black and red,head spinning. Tony put the scissors down and was back to standing in front ofBucky, one hand on either shoulder.

“You okay?”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to do; he was… he thought he was okay, but…“Yeah,” he said, “but… stay?” He wasn’t sure what he was asking for. It wasTony’s room, if anyone would be leaving, it would be Bucky.

“Touch-starved,” Tony said. “Check. You know that’s a thing,right? Neurologists have discovered that skin-to-skin contact is vital tomental health.” The whole time he was talking, Tony’s fingers stroked downBucky’s shoulders, raising trails of gooseflesh in their wake. “Physicalcontact is necessary to being human, almost as much, if not moreso, than food.There’s nothing wrong with it; that you can even miss it shows that you’restill a person inside.”

Bucky found himself suddenly on the floor, arms around Tony’swaist who was sprawled, undignified. “It’s okay,” Tony repeated, and Buckypressed his cheek to Tony’s belly, listening to his heart racing under hisskin. “It’s all right.”  

They sat that way for a good twenty minutes, Bucky letting hishand wander, touching as much of Tony’s skin as he could reach, his back, hiship, across his shoulder, let his finger trace the lines of Tony’s face. Whenthe pad of his index finger brushed Tony’s mouth, his lips pursed and hepressed a kiss gently to Bucky’s fingers.

Finally, Bucky was able to get himself under some sort of control,some semblance of sanity. He was blushing, furiously embarrassed, ashamed ofhimself and his weakness. “Tony, I’m…”

“Don’t say sorry, honeybunch,” Tony said. “Consider it doctor’sorders. We can make it part of your recovery. One hairwash and cuddle sessionevery few days. Do you a world of good.”

Bucky ducked his chin. “You don’t gotta take care of me.”

Tony put his finger against Bucky’s jaw and gently and lifted hisface. “It’s good for me, too. Helps me, knowing I’m making a difference. If youneed it, I’m… honored. To help.”

Bucky considered that for a long moment. “Okay… okay.”

“Then I’ll see you in --” Tony glanced down at his wrist, whichdidn’t contain a timekeeping device at all “-- tomorrow, same time?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice rough. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

[writingfromkitchenator]

Sunshine

Written for the 2017 Louden Swain SPN Mini Bang that @mrswhozeewhatsis is running.  I don’t normally do song fics, so this was a new experience for me, certainly a new challenge, and I hope it’s come out okay.

It’s been slightly beta read, but not completely (she needed to sleep and I needed to get it queued) so hopefully there aren’t too many mistakes.

It’s kind of a Chuck x OC, but it depends on how you read it.  Can also be a Dean x OC.  Hopefully it makes sense.

Words: 2000 (Yeah, exactly)

Based on the song Gamma Ray by Louden Swain

Enjoy!

They say that nothing in our lives is free

It keeps me runnin'

There were more than a few looks towards the woman walking down the street, all confidence and intelligence.  She didn’t fit in here, that much was clear, with high boots, wide sunglasses and permed, thick, blonde hair, she gave an air of money that was almost unseen in the area.

Then they tell me that my saving grace

Is that I look so stunnin'

She was very aware of the stares but she didn’t care, not today, she was used to this, used to being out of place, and normally she’d send the occasional scowl or wink, depending on her mood, but today was different.

Today she had a goal.

I could indulge all the evil ways

My mind is going

She stopped at a store, buying a bag full of food and a six pack of beer.

Outside again, further down the street, someone wolf whistled and was responded to by her middle finger in the air, turning the whistle to a shout.

She didn’t have time for that, she had a place to be.

As she came to a small street, she paused, looking glaringly up at the sun for a moment, the heat stinging at her skin, and huffed.

Then I'm liable for the human race

It keeps me running, looks so stunning

Soaking up the Gamma Ray

She bee lined for a house, knocking on the door several times, her foot tapping.

“Who is it?”  A male voice called.

She snorts.  “Yeah, like you don’t know.”

At that, the door opened, Chuck frowning at her.  “How am I supposed to know?  It’s not like I get many visitors in the first place.”

Preparing for an early grave

Gotta do somethin'

“Uh huh.”  She pushed her way in, ignoring his slightly annoyed look. “And I suppose you’re too hungover most of the time too?”

“Exactly,” He followed after her, frowning.  “Why are you here anyway Caroline?”

Caroline raised an eyebrow, looking over the top of her glasses, revealing shining brown eyes. “End of the world and all that?  Ring any bells?”

Chuck blinks. “Oh.  Right.”  Then frowns. “Don’t you have anyone else to be spending it with?”

She scoffs, pushing her glasses on top of her head, and unpacks the things onto his table, revealing mostly snack food.  “Please. I have the best seat right next to God.”

He sighs.  “Caroline, I’ve told you-”

“Tell me all you want Chuck, I know the truth.”  She said in a little sing song way, stepping over to the fridge and putting the beer inside. “You know, clairvoyant and all that?”

Dry food will be fun to consume

Won't it be something? (Won't it be something?)

“Clairvoyant or witch?” Chuck asked, stepping forward and grabbing a bag of chips.  “Honestly, it really is questionable at times.”

Caroline snorts in amusement.  “Bit of both, but you know that.”

“Yeah, because I’m a prophet.”  He said through a mouthful of food.  ”I have to know these things to write it all down.”

And then I'll illustrate my great escape

If the end is coming

“Right.”  She drawled out, grinning.  “You’re something else Chuck, you know that?”

He shrugs.  “It’s not like I like this anymore than you do.”

“Maybe,” She digs through the cupboards for a glass, filling it with water.  “You could at least make it cold you know, some of us want to die out still in some sort of healthy condition.”

“I’m not God!”  He exclaimed.  “Even if I was, the warmth is a lot more appealing.”

2012 so the Mayans say

It keeps us running, Keeps us sunning

Soaking up the Gamma rays

“Heat, yes, scorching sun, not so much.”  Caroline grins, leaning against his sink to watch him.  “We’ve got plenty of time to argue this you know, but I know who’s going to win.”

Chuck rolled his eyes and went back over to his desk, still eating away at the chips in his hand. “Come on, I’ve still got to write this out, give me a break.”

“You’re…you’re seriously going to write this out?”  She asked, following with a deep frown.  “Despite everything that’s happening, that’s your main concern?”

“What else would you have me do?”  He asked, fixing up the paper slightly skewed on his desk before sitting in front of his computer.

“Oh, I don’t know, fix things?”

There's a thought that 

When it does come 

The flood will set us free

Chuck sighed. “What?  You don’t think I would if I could?”

She folded her arms. “How long are we going to play this game Chuck?  I was the one that led Sam and Dean to you in the first place, then I stayed, sure, partly out of curiosity, I wasn’t sure at first, but then because I realised you needed it, no matter who you were.”

“Needed what?”  He asked.  “I’m doing fine.”

“Company.”  She said bluntly.  “And you can't tell me-” She was cut off as her phone started to ring.

Chuck glanced around at her a little guiltily as she answers the phone.

But we don't know

Hell we don't know anything

Anything

“Hel-What?  Woah, Dean, slow down.  What do you mea-” Caroline held the phone away from her ear as Dean practically yelled down the other end.  “Okay, okay, just calm down for two seconds- No, I will tell you to calm down because being like that is going to get nothing done.”  There was a pause.  “Okay, I know you're not feeling better but maybe you can actually talk to me.”

Chuck watched as she disappeared into another room and bit his lip, looking at the half typed page in front of him.

Dean wasn't sure why she always answered his calls, wasn't sure why she turned up for him, especially for this, but there Caroline was, looking as if it wasn't the end of the world and she wasn’t there to die, two pistols in hand.

“What?”  She asked him.

He was trying not to smile and shakes his head.  “Nothing. Just wishing I could’ve seen more of this side.”

“Show ain’t over yet Dean.” Caroline said, striding past him. “Now come on, we going to stop this or what?”

Dean sighs.  “Yeah, let’s go kick some ass.”

Caroline beams back at him.  “You do this every day don’t you?  It’s all normal?”

He scoffs, matching her stride.  “Normal?  Does that even exist in our line of work?”

“Depends on what you get used to.” She said.  “Mind, I guess end of the world shouldn’t really be on that list.”

“Sweetheart, if it’s just you and me, I really don’t mind.”

Chuck hit print on the page, carefully folding it up and slipping it into his draw before clearing what was on the screen, already typing away when she walked back in, looking grim.

It'll take a lo-ot more than that

To set us free

“Was it necessary to allow Sam to do that?”  She asked and he faced her, surprised.

“What?  You didn't see it?”  He asked, a little too earnestly.

It'll take a lo-ot more than that

To set us free

Caroline's eyes flash dangerously.  “We both know it doesn't work that way, so don't be a dick Chuck.”

“Hey, I'm just asking.”  Chuck holds up his hands a little in surrender before returning to his screen, but can feel her gaze boring into his back.

It'll take a lo-ot more than that

To set us free

“Uh huh, and you’ve managed to avoid my question.”  She said.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say, I don’t have any control.  Sam thought that doing this would help, that he’d be able to break Lucifer’s will and put him back.”  Chuck typed away and then spoke very quietly under his breath.  “Brave, but foolish.”

It'll take a lo-ot more than that

To set us free

He jumped as Caroline came and leaned against his desk.  “So then damned well stop it Chuck, or what?  Are you enjoying this?  You like the mess that’s been made?”

“Do I look like I’m enjoying this Caroline?”  He asked, gesturing the half empty bottle of whiskey.  “I mean come on, I’m hardly functioning.”

It'll take a lo-ot more than that

To set us free

Caroline gives an impatient huff, pushing off the desk and storming off back into the kitchen, Chuck rolling his eyes as he hears her rummaging through the cupboards and draws. A little nervously, he gets up and follows her.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Helping Dean.”  She snapped, pulling a small pouch out of her pocket.  “I can’t go and save the idiot, but I can at least give him a little help from here.”

“You can’t go?”  Chuck asked, tilting his head a little.

They say that nothing in our lives is free

Keeps us runnin'

She glares up at him for a moment, raising an eyebrow.  “Not unless you want me to?”

“Of course not!”  He said quickly.

“Then stop bloody being a dick!”  She threw up her hands for a moment, exasperated.  “Honestly.  No wonder the angels are the way they are, they learnt it from you.”

Chuck opened his mouth, but then quickly shut it again, watching her work.

Then they tell me that my saving grace

Is that I look so stunnin'

Her spell work was quick and efficient, Chuck watching as she made it look effortless, rolling her neck a little before lighting a match and throwing it into the bowl.

“That was my good bowl.” He whined, watching as it burned and she rolled her eyes.

“I’ll buy you a new one if you were that attached.”  She growled.

Turning to the kitchen window, she flung open the curtains, letting the light stream in, making Chuck shield his eyes.

“Is that necessary?” He asked.

“The spell needs sunlight to work properly.”  She said and then shoots him a look.  “Not to mention your damned house needs it.”

“Yeah, but hungover me doesn’t.”

“Too bad.”

Keep on sunning

Soaking up the Gamma Rays

Caroline draws in a deep breath before letting it out slowly, looking at the burning bowl worriedly. “Hopefully…it’ll be enough.”

But it'll take a lo-ot more than that

To set us free

“What was it?”

“Protective luck.” She said.  “I just hope we’re not too far away.”

It'll take a lo-ot more than that

To set us free

“I’m sure we won’t be.” He said gently.  “They’re lucky to have you.”

Caroline was still staring at the bowl.  “Yeah…but I feel like I should be there still.”

Chuck gives a weak smile before heading to a cabinet and pulling out two glasses.  “Come on, come have a drink with me.”

It'll take a lo-ot more than that

To set us free

She looked at him, slightly amused.  “Drinking? That’s your solution?”

He shrugs.  “Seems as good as any.”

It'll take a lo-ot more than that

To set us free

Caroline sighs and nods in defeat.  “Fine.” She follows him back into the other room, where he sits back at his desk and she pulls a chair over, watching him pour the drinks.

A small smile reaches her. “Well, I did say that the best spot was next to God.”

It'll take a lo-ot more than that

To set us free

Chuck shakes his head, returning her smile.  “Then I guess there’s nowhere else I’d rather you be.”

“Oh, admitting it now are we?”  She asked, taking the glass and missing his small shuffle in front of his draw.

It'll take a lo-ot more than that

To set us free

“Not a chance.”  He said, smiling.  “But I’ll drink to the possibility.”

Caroline rolls her eyes and leans forward, clinking their glasses.  “To the end of the world then?”

“To the end of the world.”

It'll take a lo-ot more than that

To set us free

[little-lottie]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @frostbitebakery <333 Here’s a birthday fic for the Steve x Bucky coffee shop meet cute prompt. Hope you enjoy it!

Also based on Seb’s look here

Steve doesn’t need to check his phone to know he’s late, probably even later than he thinks, and he’s decaffeinated, trying to outrun an apocalyptic black cloud that’s hot on his heels and threatening storms.

Rain isn’t the only thing breathing down his neck today either. It’s Tuesday morning, which means his Tuesday morning deadline has tiptoed past the point of pressing and has bolted headlong into the realms of urgency.

Steve’s grumpy, that’s for sure, but he’s not stressed as such. He’ll meet the deadline, because if nothing else, he gets shit done. He knows he’s good at his job, it’s just that some people would like him to be good at it a hell of a lot quicker, and right now his inspiration is running dry. The current job, a concept illustration for a children’s story that’s heavy on both space adventure and morals, is almost complete — there are just a couple of elements that still niggle. Steve takes the last two steps to his favorite coffee shop at a run and reaches the door just as the water hits, a torrential downpour that catches his heels and the back of his jacket as he crosses the threshold. When the door clicks shut behind him, muting the drum roll of rain, it brings other sounds into focus.

Steve thrives on this, the background noise as he works; the hiss of steam, the mechanical grind of coffee beans, the clunk of the group heads slotting into place in the machine. It’s like a soundtrack humming in the back of his mind like white noise. His brain just works better this way, and it’s not like Maria cares where he works, as long as he gets the job done. Wanda waves to him from behind the counter before pulling a face which is probably aimed at the man bumbling for change at the till, but could in all likeliness be directed at Steve. He feels the corners of his lips tug upwards either way.

The smile lands oddly, feels strange on his face like the requisite muscles are only just waking up, resisting as they get to grips with the gesture after hours of frowning. Steve groans because it’s 11am and it’s pretty fucking depressing that this is his first smile of the day.

It’s with a sense of unearned triumph that he settles into the last available window booth and reluctantly puts his laptop bag on the table in front of him. He glares at it, knowing what’s waiting for him when he sets it up and opens the file he needs.

The colors weren’t right the last time he looked, and they still won’t be right when he looks again. Burnt orange isn’t alluring enough for the protagonist’s home planet, a kind of siren-song Saturn that draws passing starships into its orbit. Unless Steve gets a timely hit of inspiration, it will stay that way, hostile and fierce, and not at all what the author intended. Steve rubs his forehead. He really needs a coffee.

That’s when he notices a waiter hovering around the table like an answer; Steve’s very own planetary alignment. He all-too-briefly wonders when the cafe started offering table service, but he shrugs it off. Anything that saves him jockeying for position in line is a win as far as Steve’s concerned.

The guy takes the last step to Steve’s table and starts to speak. “Can I get—?”

“Yes!” Steve cuts in gratefully, the word a relieved rush of breath. “God, yes. Double shot Americano, please.”

It’s at that point Steve looks up properly, takes in bright eyes, long dark hair, broad chest, bite-swollen lips, and everything else beautiful that he can’t fully comprehend all at once.

The waiter blinks slowly, and Steve is just starting to think he’s accidentally asked for the guy’s phone number instead of his coffee when the man’s face lights up in a slow grin.

Steve fidgets in his seat, a hot, fat raindrop of lust falling low in his belly. He tries to keep his composure but a blush sells him out.

The guy purses his lips as though he’s trying to tame a smile and says, “Sure.” His voice is husky and rough, yet it somehow soothes all the spiky edges of Steve’s morning personality. “You want milk?” A simple yes or no would do it, but Steve hasn’t found his voice just yet. He knows it won’t be hiding in the depths of sparkling gray-blue eyes, but at least now he knows exactly what color that planet should be. The guy waits patiently, completely unaware that Steve’s an idiot who thinks that maybe he’s just found his muse.

“No, thank you,” Steve answers eventually, too late to be considered normal, and pulls his laptop out with renewed enthusiasm. If he doesn’t, he’ll watch the guy’s ass all the way back to the counter. To the backdrop of chinking crockery and chatter, Steve opens his file and starts coloring. He tries to focus on the job and not the gorgeous new waiter — he must be new because Steve comes in every week, and let’s face it, Steve would definitely remember seeing him.

On his left, a mug is placed on the table. There are words of gratitude on his tongue, but he stumbles in confusion when a plate slides down alongside it. He looks between the man and the plate, where a tempting apple turnover is sitting pretty and begging to be devoured. “Umm…” Steve glances up to find the waiter standing there with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, looking expectant and arguably more delicious than the pastry. “I didn’t order this.” “No,” the man says through a huff of laughter. “But technically, you didn’t order the coffee either.” “Huh?” Opposite him, the man slides into the booth, light bouncing off his shirt and drenching his eyes with even more blue.

Steve’s eyes dart left and right, looking for whatever it is he’s missed. The guy waits, nips the side of his bottom lip, and says, “So… can I get my jacket now?” “Your what? Wait—what?” Then Steve realizes he’s leaning against something. Something leather, with zippers. Something that looks very much like a jacket. Finally it clicks. “You don’t have a name badge.” The man’s grin widens. “Oh shit. You don’t work here do you?” “Nope.” The guy looks so smugly amused as it is, he doesn’t even bother to pop the p.

Steve should apologize, grovel, accept this moment of mortification, but this is the exact situation that forces that chip on his shoulder. He’s annoyed with himself, and this guy, with his unaccountably hot hair and breathtaking jaw line that Steve wants to trace with his thumb, and his teeth, and maybe also…

This is definitely a problem. Steve decides to throw some sarcasm at it. “Make yourself comfortable.” The guy’s grin doesn’t waver, but he does throw a look of disbelief Steve’s way. “Wait, are you actually pissed because I brought you breakfast?” It seems unreasonable now, but Steve’s sticking with it for the time being. It’s probably petulant to come right out and say yes, so Steve ends up huffing through his nose like one of the indignant purple space dragons on his screen.

The guy laughs on a gulp of coffee and Steve wistfully hopes he might do something embarrassing like splutter, if only to break Steve out of the infatuation he seems to be developing.

Steve waits, then sighs as the man recovers with his dignity still intact. Figures.

“You always this much of an asshole when someone does something nice for you?”

Steve meets his eyes when he says, “Yeah,” and hopes his face says what of it. “But, I genuinely thought… I wasn’t trying to get you to pay for me.”

“Too late,” he replies firmly. “Drink your coffee.”

Steve watches the man lick across his bottom lip, a path he’d like to trace for himself, eyes lingering when he knows they shouldn’t. He hasn’t felt like drawing for himself for months. Now he’s opening a new canvas and he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“I’m Bucky, by the way.”

Blinking stupidly, Steve drags his eyes up from the screen. “Steve,” he offers stiffly in return.

The smile he receives in response is quite possibly the most stunning he’s ever seen. ~ They don’t talk for a full fifteen minutes, but Bucky doesn’t leave either. Every now and then, Steve steals a surreptitious little glance and adjusts the sketch, and his pants, accordingly.

Steve’s squinting at the screen when Bucky shifts, clearing his throat quietly. “What are you doing?”

“Work,” he mumbles, glaring at the turnover which isn’t really fair because it’s not the pastry’s fault that Steve’s obsessing over the perfect lines of Bucky’s hair, the way the strands should curl just a little around his ears.

Bucky makes a noise around his mug. “Wow, don’t hold back,” he snarks, but he doesn’t look pissed at all.

Steve’s eyes flick up. He’s just as startled this time around as the first time he set eyes on him, and every reference check in between. “I’m not telling you my life story. You could be anyone.” Bucky narrows his eyes and tips his head in consideration. “Alright, first off, if work is your life, that sucks. Second, how do you make friends if you never speak to strangers? ‘Anyone’ has to become someone somehow.” Steve thinks of a few quick fire comebacks, but they’ll lack the required punch if he can’t look this guy in the eye when he delivers them. Which he can’t, because Bucky’s too damn beautiful. He sits in silence instead. “Forget I asked,” says Bucky, shaking out a sugar packet and ripping the end with his teeth. He doesn’t put his hands up in surrender, but Steve gets the idea all the same. “I’m an illustrator,” Steve concedes, more willingly than his tone lets on. “Fiction books mainly.” “Really?” Bucky’s face suddenly becomes animated as he leans forward on his elbows, voice excited and Brooklyn heavy. “What’s that one about?” “A cute kids book about aliens. It sounds trite, but it’s actually really good. I’ve worked out one of the issues, but there’s still something missing.” He inclines his head to the window where droplets chase each other down the pane; feinting, sliding, mapping paths in a stop-go pattern of rainy day gloom. “I’m not feeling landscapes today.” Bucky sits there for a while and Steve wonders if he’s zoned out, uninterested.

“Well,” Bucky says after another beat, “it rains on Venus.” He offers the information with a tiny shrug, almost like he’s embarrassed, but he expands anyway. “It’s sulfuric acid and mostly it evaporates before it hits the ground, but something like that could maybe look good.” Steve pauses as a little spark ignites and catches. “That’s perfect,” he mutters, sliding his glasses back on. He’s so focused he almost misses the delighted flush on Bucky’s cheeks. ~ Steve gets absorbed in beguiling blue planets and portrait sketches alike, darting from one file to the other with a twitch of the mouse when he panics that Bucky might be able to see through the back of the monitor and catch him out. When he next looks up, the rain has lightened to a steady pitter patter, and Bucky is watching the world outside with a dedicated fascination. Steve follows his line of sight, wants to see what he sees, but his eyes are only focused on the short range, the boundaries of which seem to encompass a half meter radius around Bucky. On the glass, the raindrops join together, slide faster. “So you’re not a barista?” Steve asks, if only to get Bucky talking again. “Actually, yes,” the guy smiles, turning to Steve as though he wasn’t as lost to the view as Steve thought. “Not here though. I’ve just moved back into the neighborhood.” He shrugs. “I’m avoiding unpacking, but don’t tell my conscience — it thinks I’m here because I don’t know where I packed the coffee.” Steve grins. “Your conscience is gullible. Everyone knows you should always label the kitchen box.” “Well, exactly.” Steve’s brain skitters and he wonders if it’s possible to absorb Bucky’s laugh into his skin. Like lifting a stuck stereo needle, he shakes his head and goes to ask Bucky where he’s moved from, but his phone interrupts.

“My boss,” Steve says off-hand, flicking the phone an inch to the right where it proves to be just as irritating. “She probably wants to know what my status is on this job.” “What is your status?” “Annoyed.”

Bucky laughs in surprise, fizzing Steve’s blood like a caffeine hit.

“She can wait. The client doesn’t want to see the first concept until tomorrow anyway.” “I can leave,” Bucky suggests. His tone is light but Steve can tell he’s sincere. “If I’m, you know, intruding.” Steve laughs. He can’t help it, because technically Bucky is intruding. But so is Steve — this was Bucky’s table before it was his.

Steve’s still chuckling, and Bucky is narrowing his eyes on a smile as though he doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

“No,” Steve assures him, maintaining eye contact. “You’re alright there.”

They hold each other’s gaze, unclear if they’re flirting or just engaging in a standoff, until the spell breaks when Steve misjudges the distance to the table and puts his cup down a little too forcefully.

Bucky grins. “I’m distracting you though, right?”

Keeping his smile under wraps, Steve reaches for the sugar, wondering if his back and bicep are flexing in the same way Bucky’s did earlier. Steve can feel Bucky staring, and takes a little while longer finding the right sachet.

When he turns back around, he catches Bucky in the process of pretending he’s been reading his book all along. The last bitter edges of Steve’s bad mood evaporate like acid rain. ~ At some point during the last third of his coffee, he leans back, looks at the art as a whole and nods with satisfaction. He’s not too proud to admit that the sci-fi rain is the detail that really makes it. Bucky looks absorbed again, this time in his book, and the truth is, Steve wants him back.

“So, you live…?” He trails off, unsure where he wants to take the sentence now Bucky’s eyes are on him again. “Nearby?” Bucky offers when Steve fails to finish. “Alone?” he adds as an alternative in a low, teasing voice. Steve ducks his head. He knows he’s blushing a little under the attention. He’s waiting for the guy to notice, to drop the flirty banter and the punch line, and leave with the half eaten pastry. Instead Bucky is tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and he almost looks a bit charmed. Steve watches Bucky’s fingers run through his hair again, then follows the sweep of his cheek back to his eyes. They’re bluer now. It could be the bright beam of sun cracking through the clouds, but it could equally be mischief. Steve finds himself moving to adjust the gray-blue orb on his screen; he’s going to need a shade from somewhere amongst the palettes he’s previously used for Mediterranean seas and butterfly wings.

Meanwhile, he still hasn’t finished that damn sentence. “Whatever you want to tell me,” he shrugs with a crooked smile to match, “I could be anyone.”

“Or someone,” Bucky says, flicking his eyes up to meet Steve’s with an air of punctuation. Bucky closes his teeth down on his lip, and Steve feels the sharp pinch as he mirrors the action. “I live two blocks from here.” “Cool.” Bucky grins through a squint, playfully mocking. “Very cool.”

Steve rolls his eyes, for lack of something smoother to do, and Bucky laughs.

“It’s really nothing,” Bucky continues, rubbing his knuckles along the scruff of his jaw. “An empty shell and a pretty shitty one at that. I need to get furniture. I don’t even think I actually packed coffee so my conscience can rest easy.” Steve feels himself staring, watching the way Bucky smiles, devil may care, and how he stretches his arm over the back of the chair, shirt fabric stretching even more. He wants to kiss him, wonders what it would feel like to help that shirt out a little. Thinks that maybe the daydream of holding Bucky’s weight to a wall with his hips as they moan into each others’ mouths is the hottest thought he’s ever had. Opposite him, Bucky remains unkissed, picking up stray sugar crystals from the rim of his mug with a tongue moistened fingertip and delivering them into his mouth. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it. Steve gapes while a whole new daydream gatecrashes his mind. Steve needs to occupy himself before he loses it completely. As he slides across the bench, Bucky startles.

“Cutting out on our date?” “Call me old school, but this isn’t what I’d call a date.” Bucky leans back, all broad shoulders and sunshine smiles. “What would you call it?” “An embarrassing misunderstanding.” “The start of every good rom-com,” Bucky intones. Steve sucks on his cheeks to keep his lips from curling with amusement, and pulls his face into an expression of disagreement. “You witnessed it too, right?” He bends to grab his wallet and hide his smile. “I’m getting another drink.” “Cappuccino, please,” Bucky orders casually. Steve looks at him incredulously. “I’ll take a muffin with that.” “Will you?” Steve challenges. Part of him is tempted to tell Bucky to get his own coffee just to be a jerk, but he genuinely likes the guy. “Eat in or takeout?” He tries to hide any inflection that might expose his preference either way. “Well your stuff’s still on my jacket so I guess it depends on what you’re doing,” Bucky smirks, shameless about his lack of subtlety.

Steve turns to the counter with a smirk of his own. The queue is clear when he gets to the till. Wanda is leaning on the worktop, chin in hand, following Steve’s progress as if she’s been watching their table for far too long. Her knowing smile says it all.

Steve sighs. “He told you didn’t he?”

Her lips turn down in a parody of sympathy for approximately two seconds before they curl back up again. “Seriously, Steve. Since when do we offer table service?”

“I know, I know,” he groans. He feels like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Wanda.

Her low giggle follows her as she moves to start the drinks, but she still glances over her shoulder especially to tell him, “We could have a lot of fun with this.”

He tries for his best deadpan tone when he says, “We could, but let’s not.”

She turns her delighted grin back to the milk.

With Wanda busy, Steve finds his gaze pulled back towards the window, drawn by the gravity of one particular booth where a shock of morning sun has barged through the storm clouds to frame Bucky’s shoulders and spill in his hair.

Steve sucks in a breath. There’s an easy way out if he wants it, but he’s not really one for easy.

~

Steve returns to the table with fire in his belly and a decision made.

As he approaches, Bucky looks up and around quickly, hair flicking away from his face with a little whoosh. Steve can’t help wondering what it would look like fanned out on his pillow.

Steve puts a takeout cappuccino in front of him with one hand and holds out his leather jacket with the other.

Bucky’s brow flickers into a frown, eyebrows drawing in because he thinks this is his cue to leave. He blinks like he’s startled and disappointed and trying not to show it. It’s obvious he’s wondering whether he’s misread this entire encounter. Steve doesn’t like being on the instigating end of that look. “Figured if you wanted some help unpacking those boxes, we better get the drinks to go,” he says, lifting his own takeout cup. Bucky’s frown wavers, transforms into another full beam smile; the best yet. “You can help?” “I think I can lift a few boxes,” Steve says, tilting his head and his smile. Bucky skips the obvious joke about Steve’s bulk, doesn’t even look him up and down, and Steve’s impressed. “Nah, I meant because of your deadline.” “I, uh, actually finished the job,” and yeah, Steve’s a little bit shocked himself. He opens his mouth to speak again, words ready and willing to help him dig his grave, possibly force a foot in there too. “You umm, helped. You know… inspiration.” He pauses, can’t look in Bucky’s direction because nothing good will come of him seeing Steve blush. “Or something,” he adds, before clearing his throat. Bucky doesn’t laugh like Steve thought he might. His voice is still playful, but softer, when he says, “Does that make me your muse?” Steve groans, follows the grooves of his cardboard cup with a finger to stop himself reaching over the table. “Thanks for making this infinitely worse. Do you want my help or not? I’ll unpack anything but your underwear,” he jokes. “I don’t wanna sort through that box.” “You might when you see what’s in it,” Bucky purrs with a filthy grin.

Mind tripping happily, Steve finds he doesn’t actually want to argue with that.

“Sorry, should strangers not say things like that?” Bucky teases.

Steve’s lips are happy to play out a responding grin. “Shut up, Bucky, we’re going.”

The way Bucky rushes to his feet makes Steve laugh all the way out the door.

[anipwrites]

24- 29 :)

24. favorite scene you’ve ever written

I think my favorite scene I’ve written ever is probably either when Nathanael gets reakumatized in A Darkened Soul, when Nathanael is fighting Ladybug and Chat Noir in the same story, or when Le Dessinateur, Reflekta, and Princess Fragrance all fight Ladybug and Chat Noir in The Disposables. Or when Nathanael meets and talks to Master Fu in Ain’t Clowning Around. Or literally whenever a clown appears in Ain’t Clowning Around. Its so hard to choose just one.

(Skips 25 to put it at the end)

26. story you’re most proud of

Honestly? It’s not the most popular one, but I’m really proud of Ain’t Clowning Around. Its nowhere near finished, and I’m hoping to make it a series, but its the first time I’ve ever bent canon this far and I think it’s going pretty well. Alternatively, A Darkened Soul, because it’s the first time I’ve ever finished a fanfic that wasn’t just a one-shot. And Last Christmas, because it was directly based off of my favorite Christmas song in all eternity, and I actually DIDN’T just copy and paste the lyrics into the fic like I do with any other songfic, and it came out really well imo, so.

(Skips 27 because that gets long too)

28. worst review you ever got 

“I'll be honest: I expected this to be a bit more... Serious and mature.” on ff.net, The Disposables, Chapter 2. Like, geez, if you want ‘serious’ and ‘mature’ then write your own. Its going to be fairly serious, but you need a bit of comedy between the serious to relax, right? I think. Unless this guy just loves to orgasm off seriousness in fanfic or something. Like, Chill, my dude.

“Why didn't Nathaniel just draw new clothes? XD” on ff.net, THe Living Nightmare, Chapter 3. I mean, I’m just being salty with this one, but. Wow. Its almost as if he’s not going to do that neXT CHAPTER. HE WAS GONNA UNTIL IVAN’S DAD GAVE HIM PAJAMAS TO WEAR HOLY SHIT DUDE.

“They're being mean to them because they murdered six kids to try and get out and commit more genocide to be free, taking their souls. Oh, and they can shoot energy beams. And fireballs. And summon hordes of flies.It's called "reasonable suspicion" or "reasonable concern". Every single monster can do magical attacks of some kind in the game as we saw. And can claim souls after killing a human. No normal human can do that. Humans have every reason to be A LITTLE AFRAID of these monsters, dude. It's not just a matter of "cuz they're different". I see that over and over again with Undertale works, and every time I have to shake my head. It's just simply a lie to say it's simple racism. This isn't like being afraid of black people or Asians, where the only difference is skin color. No black person can teleport around, or have bones pop up to barrel into you, or shoot magic spears!” SurfaceTale, Chapter 1, Fanfiction.net. Like, okay, this was the VERY first review I got on this story, and it was my first time writing fanfiction in a really long time, and I had written it together with my friend, and I was so excited to finally put it up and then I got THIS in my inbox. Honestly probs one of the reasons I didn’t continue it.

29. favorite story/poem of another author

*sigh* okay lets GO 11 PM CONFIDENCE DON’T FAIL ME NOW

“The Weight of Jade” by @thelastpilot​

“Illusions and Illustrations” by @nobodys-pearls​ (is this the right one omg)

“The Akuma Hunger Games” by @queenkubdel​

Thats about it thats all I can remember off the top of my head I am SORRY but also these stories both inspired me the most to write. Like, Illusions and Illustrations inspired me to write Casual Villainy (which lead to A Darkened Soul) and Ain’t Clowning Around (which lead to about everything else), and Illusions AND Jade both are like *wipes tear* writing GOALS OH MY GOD. Like the Warriors series is what inspired me to write in the first place but these two are what inspired me to write AGAIN OH MY GOD

And Akuma Hunger Games is a good read for a few laughs and its genuinely entertaining and I think about it when I’m sad to cheer me up sometimes.

NOW BACK TO THE ONES I SKIPPED Y’ALL ARE IN FOR A RIDE

asks for fanfic writers

25. favorite line you’ve ever written

Oh my gosh. So hard. I’ll just post a few favorites. Just a warning that some aren’t as eloquent and symbolic as you might be expecting from an author lol.

This is where this starts to get long, so read below. (I can never keep these short dammit)

“The Evillustrator stood before her. But most importantly, her son did. He was hurt, and he needed to be saved from the beast that had taken over him.

The only problem was he clearly didn't want help.”  A Darkened Soul, Chapter 2

“Feline fucker”  ADS, Chapter 2

“The Evillustrator heard her and scoffed. "Do you really think you can stop me with those?! Fat chance, Lady Bitch!"

"Hey! Language!" she huffed, crossing her arms as she looked around for any indication on how to use the round stones in her hand.”  ADS, Chapter 2

““...well, I mean, he didn’t say anything, but he was there, and to be completely honest neither of them had to do that. They could’ve just left me there, and I’m really glad they didn’t. It’s almost like… I dunno how to explain it, but it’s like… I mean, they’re the heroes of Paris. They deal with crazies all the time, they don’t really have to stop and help each and every time. And yet, they do it anyways. They definitely helped Paris that Saturday, but they took a bit of time and helped me too. And I’m grateful.” Nathanael took a breath. “They reminded me that people make mistakes, but in the end, I still have friends to fall back on. Whether it’s Chloe tormenting us, or Ms. Mendeleev talking shit about our grades, or if we just woke up on the wrong side of bed, we have people to support us. And I’m grateful for that; some people don’t have half as much. And I hope that I can find the courage to be a support system for someone else.””  ADS, Chapter 4

“He felt a sharp burning seize his chest and his heart beat fast with adrenaline. He wasn't going to let this happen if he could stop it. Nathanael Kurtzberg was not going to be to blame for some poor old man dying from a construction accident. He was there, he could do something, so he would. Or at least try his best. His grip against his sketchbook shifted into a one-handed gasp as he rushed forwards. He wasn’t aware of the fact that he was shouting for the man to ‘look out’, was barely aware of the fact that he was actually doing this until he grabbed the old man and pushed him aside, away from the path of the falling brick.” Ain’t Clowning Around, Chapter 2

“all he saw was his reflection in the mug, and he didn't much like what he saw. A too-short, too-scared boy with no one who cared for him, not even his own parents. How pathetic. He only felt more pathetic when he looked up and saw the sympathetic look in the old man’s eyes.” ACA, Chapter 2

“‘You wanted to drown Marinette and Chat Noir!’

Monster.

‘You wanted to torture me!’

Monster.

‘You wanted to work for Hawkmoth!’

Monster!

That’s all he was, all he was ever going to be, a monster! Why was he cursed like this, why did he remember so much, why! Had he really wanted it? Had he really wanted all of that?! If given the chance again, would he accept Hawkmoth’s deal with open arms?! Was he just a tool?! Would he say no, was it possible to say no?!” ACA, Chapter 2

“A sudden flash of color caught his eye just enough for him to turn his head slightly, and he felt his heart skip a beat at what he saw. It was the clown. It lifted a finger and beckoned for him to come closer, to cross the street and hear whatever he had to say. Every instinct told him to run, his brain was screaming for him to fight or fly, he felt his muscles tense for a sudden outburst of energy. And yet, something was telling him to come closer. This clown clearly wanted something, maybe he had dropped an ID or something and he was trying to give it back? Curiosity began to overtake the panic in his brain, and he almost crossed the street.” ACA, Chapter 3

“Nathanael Kurtzberg was not having this voodoo crap.” ACA, Chapter 3

“For maybe the second or third time that day, adrenaline tore its way through his veins and he punched the clown in the face, right in the nose, and felt a satisfying crack.” ACA, Chapter 3 (This line and the other one are one after the other but they’re favs for two different reasons so)

“He wouldn’t have to deal with Chloe and creepy clowns if he was dead.” ACA, Chapter 4. Me too, Nathanael, me too.

“What the hell was in that tea that old man gave him earlier?!” ACA, Chapter 4. Pfffft bahahahaha

“Soon he barely even felt her there, barely even felt the pencil in his hand or the desk under him. He just felt his eyelids getting heavy, and his body felt weightless. His pencil was moving in his hand, but it felt distant, unattached. The lamplight dimmed as the word vanished behind his eyelids.” ACA, Chapter 4. First time I’ve ever really written someone slowly falling asleep while doing something, and after getting some help on it, I really like how it turned out.

““Holy fuck, I’m late!” Nathanael exclaimed, jumping to his feet as he scrambled to get his things together. His alarm had been ringing for twenty minutes already, school was going to start in thirty, and it took fifteen to get over there! How had he missed the alarm?!A quick glance at his phone revealed that the ringer had been switched off.

Nathanael hated his phone.” ACA, Chapter 5. Me too, Nathanael.

“Nathanael swallowed. He wasn’t going to let them get to him this time. Biting remarks tended to cause things to take bad turns when it came to Chloe. He’d have to find another way to defuse the--

“Well, at least he has a mom!” Everyone’s jaw dropped to the floor at Lila’s comment. then Chloe’s eyes narrowed viciously.

Goddammit, Lila.” ACA, Chapter 5. Me too, just--Goddammit, Lila.

““Well, fuck!!” he jumped up and grabbed his bookbag and his hat again.“Nathanael!”“Sorry, I meant frick!”” ACA, Chapter 6.

“Did she understand how much she'd taken from him? Everyone had heard of her little speech about how her locker was her 'private garden' and how those who entered without permission 'broke her soul and stole her privacy.' If some dumb locker was a private garden, his sketchbook had been Eden. And Chloe had just broken in with a steamroller and turned paradise into a wasteland.” The Living Nightmare, Chapter 1

“Why was Chloe Bourgeois allowed to stomp around like some kind of tyrant and crush everyone's emotions underfoot with no consequence? It wasn't fair, it just wasn't, he--

The room took a hazy purple glow as a dark voice dripped like sweet poison into his ears.” TLN (I just love writing people getting akumatized or re-akumatized but this is one of my favorites for just how SUDDEN it is)

“"I… I said no." he felt so much power in that word. Last year, he'd been faced in this situation and had said yes. This simple, two-letter word had so much strength now. He'd fallen before, he'd let him control him before. But not today.” TLN, Chapter 1

“His answer came to him in the form of a sharp pain in his chest. He let out a strangled scream as the pain branched out from his chest and into every fiber of his being. It felt like he was being torn in half, limb by limb, atom by atom, molecule by molecule. As the world went black around him, he thought he heard Hawkmoth's evil laughter. He thought he heard Chloe's mocking cackle.

He thought he saw his fingertips turning purple.” TLN, Chapter 1. Like, Jesus Christ, for how much I hate feeling pain I damn sure love putting my favs through it am good at writing it.

“Wow. Hawkmoth was a dick.” TLN, Chapter 1. ME TOO NATHAN.

“Nathanael hadn’t dared let himself leave the alley. It was still the middle of the afternoon; going out in broad daylight would only bring about more screams and accusations. He didn’t want to face them. He wasn’t ready to.” TLN, Chapter 2

““Uh-oh. Emotions in Paris are never a good idea.” Ivan joked.” TLN, Chapter 2

““Well, I was in my room all emotional and stuff and all of a sudden Hawkmoth’s like ‘lol I am Hawkmoth you’ve failed me once but I’m giving you another opportunity to snatch some jewelry for me.’ ” He grinned when Ivan started laughing at his Hawkmoth imitation.” TLN, Chapter 2. I just imagine Nathanael trying to make his voice go as deep and Batman-y as possible and coughing sometime after that. Little laugh break in a serious story.

“Ladybug continued on about how she should’ve been more careful, more considerate, but to be honest Nathanael had stopped listening. They were standing under a street light, the harsh yellow glow glinting off of her earrings. He could see the vibrant, almost glowing red of them, five black spots crossing the smooth surface in an ‘x’. And Chat Noir’s ring… the glowing green pawpads across the smooth black surface…

He didn’t just want them. He needed them. As everything went dark and he heard a voice telling him to ‘Get the Miraculouses,’ he followed orders.” TLN, Chapter 2. If this line had its desired effect, at least one person reading this story immediately thought, or called out, ‘HOLY SHIT’ when they read this set of lines.

“All he had to do was formulate a good lie to tell this kid, maybe he’d come from a costume party or--

“I’m a costume party.”

The fuck???” TLN, Chapter 3. You know how when you’re trying to decide whether you’re gonna say one of two variations of something and you accidentally end up just mashing the two together somehow?? Or does that only happen to me.

““So how exactly did all of this happen?” ‘Pops’ suddenly asked. “Y’know, the…” he gestured at the entirety of Nathanael’s existence.” TLN, Chapter 3. Me too, Pops, me too.

“He found little bruises and scrapes on his arms and legs when he took off his suit, but he was also pleased to discover that yes, there was underwear under this thing. It just wasn’t his boxer-briefs. They were briefs, if even that, more like a speedo.

He hated speedos with a passion.” TLN, Chapter 3. Because A) I bet at least one person was expecting me to not give him underwear and launch into a detailed discussion of his penis or something and HAH SUCKERS and B) Seeing as the only male underwear I’ve ever handled was my Dad’s, I don’t actually know what teen guys wear, so I had to google ‘what kind of underwear do teenage boys prefer’ AND look at pictures to decide not only what would he have preferred but also what he ended up with instead. I did RESEARCH  for these four lines.

““Je suis le Pire Noël!”

Oh my god. Did this akuma just dab? Four times?!” Shut Up!. Me tOO NATHAN.

“It was the only time they kissed. Because then May happened. And that May may just have been the worst month of his life so far.” Last Christmas.

“Even then, he couldn’t find it in him to blame her. He couldn’t find it in him to hate her. He’d given her flowers, he’d painted a huge portrait of her, he’d given her his love and his time and his devotion and all of the passion he could muster in him and anyone else would see it as a waste, right, but he just couldn’t. Surely, she’d just been excited and hadn’t been expecting things to move so fast. Maybe he’d driven her off somehow? She was far more outgoing than he was, maybe his quiet nature was too restricting for her. But, whenever he looked at Marinette, it wasn’t hate or resent that he felt. Rather, something lost, something he’d been able to taste for a short moment before having it ripped away from him.” Last Christmas

“Is this what heartbreak felt like?” Hell if I know mate Last Christmas

“Ivan was bored out of his goddamn mind.

Fuck Ladybug. Fuck Chat Noir. Fuck da police. Fuck everybody.” The Disposables, Chapter 1. ME TOO IVAN

““I’m sorry, you need me to what?! ” Kingston Damocles’ jaw hung in shock at the preposterous request he had just been given.” The Disposables, Chapter 2. I’m sorry, this line isn’t even all that great, but whenever I think about how I named Mr. Damocles ‘Kingston’ first thing that comes to my mind is *voice in the distance* Sean Kingston. *heavy bass kicks in, shaking the room* Y’ALL WAY TOO BEAUUUUUUUUUUUTIFUL GIIIIIIIIIRL

“Finally, Max. Max was a genius. He was a living encyclopedia, a walking college math textbook, and a computer whiz. He could hack almost anything within minutes… when he felt like it.” TD, Chapter 2. ME TOO MAX.

““That’s like saying the manager of some bakery is fit to rule all of France! Which, by the way, they aren’t! And someone who already has experience should be leading a major operation, and someone who doesn’t should be, like, an intern or something! And, no, Chloe doesn’t count, she’s only been Bourgeois’ intern for two months and has done nothing but sit on her ass and sip on triple-macchiato lattes!” Max said.” The Disposables, Chapter 2. SLAY, MAX.

““You need to be debriefed, you don’t even know what we’re doing or what we know!”” TD, Chapter 2. GET HER, MAX.

27. best review you ever got

Gosh there’s several, hang on. Because I just LOVE getting reviews like they all make me so happy I like to just go back and read them over when I’m feeling down and need inspiration.

“This is seriously incredible like oh my gosh?!?! It's hard to find good Nathaniel centred story's such as this one!! Thank you so much for writing this and ahhhhhhhh!!!!!! Can't wait till the next update!!!!” Pandamonkey12 on AO3, Ain’t Clowning Around Chapter 2

“This is cool i hope a story like this becomes cannon” Saurka on AO3, Last Christmas

“Yes!!! I seriously love this story thank you so much for updating! You are incredible and I can't wait to see what will happen next! Seriously a great chapter!!!!!” Pandamonkey12 on AO3, Ain’t Clowning Around Chapter 4

“This is seriously incredible!! Like ahhhhhhhh!!!!! It's such a cool idea and I can't wait to see what happens next!!!!!!” Pandamonkey12 (Basically Panda Monkey is a great person) on AO3, The Living Nightmare Chapter 1

“https://deusbex.tumblr.com/post/156549006721/the-disposables Keep up the great work! I made you a cover!” DeusBex on AO3, The Disposables Chapter 1 (because HOLY SHIT THEY DREW ME A COVER?!?!?!)

“Ani, you amazing human, this is amazing and it's so well written that it leaves me craving more. I didn't know it would be this good when you brought it up in chat. Just beautiful.” @some-italian​ on AO3, The Disposables Chapter 1

“AAAHHHH! OMG this is so good! Seriously, keep up the amazing work!” VisualSnow on AO3, The Disposables Chapter 1

“IF YOU DO NOT CONTINUE THIS, I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND MAKE YOU. Also, Lol I am Hawkmoth is FREAKING adorable.” SHIPPERHELL on AO3, The Living Nightmare Chapter 3

“I was pleasantly surprised by Ivan having two fathers, which was a pretty good choice. Now Nath just needs to hunt Hawky down and punch him right in the jaw, right hook.” @some-italian​ on AO3, The Living Nightmare Chapter 3

“Wow, at a loss for words, I'm already hooked, so much emotion and sympathy towards him. Great work and have an awesome New Year!” SaturnNights on FF.net, The Living Nightmare Chapter 1

“Tryst me, I'm so far on the edge of my seat I'm nearly falling off! Can't wait to see how it all plays out!” MagicQuill42 on FF.net, The Disposables Chapter 2

Okay so there’s this one fanfiction user called Yellow14, and he comments on every chapter and at the end he always says ‘Keep Writing’ and that just encourages me so much so I started doing it too.

“Woah. I have to say I was not expecting this. It was so... Amazing! From my experience, it seems like you got the villain's personality right, and people actually trying to take selfies with him is pretty funny. Keep it up!” GravityFallsIsAmazing on FF.net, Casual Villainy, Chapter 1. because mischaracterization is the one thing I ALWAYS worry about no matter what, asides from story quality.

“this is totally wonderful and awesome, i couldnt help but smile reading your will definitely be a favourite of mine and others.” Chocolate-cream-pie on FF.net, A Darkened Soul, Chapter 4

Brokenwings35 commented on every single chapter of A Darkened Soul with “I loved the chapter” “Great chapter” and “Awesome chapter” and then on the last chapter said “This story is perfect” and thanks so much omg.

“I absolutely loved this story!” ishipit-myotp on FF.net, A Darkened Soul, Chapter 1. It’s simple, but it was the day after my birthday and I was feeling kind of down because i had the NHS induction ceremony that day. Which you think would be a good thing, except SO many people forgot it was my birthday because they were all focused on my grades and stuff. Including family members. Then we went to J. Alexanders to celebrate my induction/birthday, but I wasn’t particularly close to anyone there and everyone was like ‘happy birthday and congratulations on your accomplishments and your wonderful grades’ and it just kinda felt like nobody there cared about what I liked about me that was ME. It’s kinda stupid, but. Hey.

“Yay Nathaniel! Yay Adrienette! Yay EVERYBODY! This was such an amazing story! I'm glad you wrote it and put it on this site so we could all read it. We really need more authors like you.” GravityFallsIsAmazing on FF.net, A Darkened Soul, Chapter 4. The ‘we really need more authors like you’ part is what gets me because omg that makes me feel like I’m actually good like omg I only ever see those kinds of reviews on like Pilot’s stuff or like super popular fics so to get it on one of mine, let alone one I wrote in the middle of the night sustained by cold medicine?! Oh my god.

“"The world may never know." That moment when a fanfic author starts quoting the Tootsie Pop commercial” Shadow of the Elements on FF.net, Ain’t Clowning Around, Chapter 2. Because OMG SOMEONE CAUGHT ONE OF MY REFERENCES.

And at that note it’s now 12:46 and I have church in the morning I should have been asleep like 3 hours ago but whatevs. Goodnight