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[stockholdingsposts]

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[primelandscapers1]

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[grandisknight]

afternoon treatment | zayne

summary: Zayne follows the "doctor's orders" in order to feel better.

tags: suggestive, established relationship, gn!reader (no specific descriptors), soft zayne, medical kink, 'doctor' kink, kissing, medical procedures (auscultation), medical inaccuracies (in a sense), chest mention, straddling

wc: 2.2k | ao3 | kinktober in deepspace masterlist

a/n: relax time affinity 80 with zayne and that one liner he has. that's it, that's the tweet.

Afternoons at Akso Hospital were always the busiest, from routine check-ups to meetings alike. Staff and accompanying patients hustled through the halls and hushed rooms—there was always something happening, and the cardiac surgery department was no different.

Yet, today seemed to offer Zayne some grace and time to reside in the chilled comforts of his workspace. The morning surgery went well, and his next procedure wouldn’t be for another hour or two. 

Therefore, he’s rewarded himself with a simple diagnosis report. The file was lighter in subject, easier to digest in comparison to what was usually on his plate. In his mind, this was a well-fitted solution to kill some time before returning to sterile scrubs and tense operating rooms.

Glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he looks over their exterior when a soft series of familiar knocks reach his door.

“It’s open,” he calls out, rectangular reflection returning to the onscreen data. Without missing a beat and sparing another glance, he adds on, “Weren’t you supposed to visit a No-Hunt Zone today?”

“Finished my observations earlier than expected,” you chirped, pushing the door to a close and striding towards his busy desk. 

Recent reports of Metaflux fluctuations had consumed your bright morning with Herte Knaves running amok. Nothing out of the ordinary from your usual line of work, easily dealt with in a couple of bulleted blows. Their dispersing remains flecked the air in a quiet flurry that reminded you of snowflakes—naturally, your feet led you to the pristine floors of Akso soon thereafter.

Curiously, you sidestep to shadow his focused form, gaze altering between the wall of text and precise clicks of his keys. “Thought you were on break, but it seems like you’re working,” you mumble, in awe of his steady pace. “As always, Dr. Zayne.”

He speaks with an obvious, “Well, I am at work. The call is coming from inside the house.”

“Zayne,” you punctuate. His sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed, and you cross your arms in turn. “You know what I mean.”

A faint chuckle passes under his breath. “You’re accusing me as if I’m in the wrong.”

He was not, actually—far from it. That goes without saying when you were in the middle of his office, imposing during said work time. But you’ve been in his graces for nearly a year now, and know well enough that it was only around this time in the afternoons would he be able to catch a breather.

You shake your head, putting on your best voice before coming to your defense. “No, but the doctor’s orders require you to take a break.”

This catches his attention, fingers slowing their clicks and chair swiveling to face you head on. Slight confusion quirks his brow, mirroring your folded arms in observation. “And pray tell, who would that be? Last time I checked, only one of us is a certified surgeon in this room.”

Your eyes instinctively dart to his stationed badge, credentials on full display against his chest pocket. He had you beat there, at the very least.

“You may hold a degree for medical hearts,” you start, taking a step into the space of his parted knees and tapping your chest. 

“But I hold the degree to your heart.” Your finger redirects to the meeting point of his neckline, resting above the aforementioned muscle.

“Is that so?” The corners of his lips lift, amused by your display and newfound authority. “I was unaware of such a professional. Surely, I would’ve remembered seeing someone as dedicated as you during my studies.” 

He takes the chance to brush away a strand of hair hugging your cheek, neatly tucking it behind your ear. Gentle appreciation fills his comment of, “Would’ve made them much more enjoyable, too.”

“That’s besides the point.” You wave him off, though it doesn’t fan away the heat blushing your ears, sensing his underlying meaning. 

Returning to your self-presumed role, you nod. “As your dedicated and completely legitimate doctor, I believe you’re showing concerning symptoms.”

Zayne hums, withdrawing his hand. “I’m afraid your assessment is lost on me. What exactly are these symptoms?”

“Well, my patient seems to love working overtime. This can cause unnecessary stress to the body and mind, for one.” 

You lift one knee to bracket his, the other following in suit—Zayne adapts rather quickly, leaning back to give you space as you carefully straddle his waist. His arms naturally circle around you, hands hovering your tailbone to keep you steady.

Neatly settled on top, you continue with your mild lecture of reported observations. “Even though he should be using the precious time in-between work to give himself a well-deserved break, he does the exact opposite.” 

“He is on a break,” Zayne says to his defense. “It’s barely considered heavy work.”

“Doing any kind of work during down-time does not count, mister,” you chide.

You gently tussle his bangs, pushing them to the side and revealing his forehead. Smoothing over the skin above his brow, your eyes searched his expression before noting a shadow of fatigue beneath his lashes. He really was working himself to the bone, even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

“A dire symptom of a workaholic is when his skin is faring worse than usual,” you exaggerate. “Your eye bags are so prominent they could be checked in at the airport.”

“It’s not that bad,” he murmurs, eyes crinkling at your touch. They flutter to a close when your hand slides to cup his face, thumb brushing the high of his cheekbone in gentle care. “The lighting just makes it seem worse for wear. I’m fine.”

“I beg to differ.” You slowly trail downwards, caressing the side of his neck with a pursed lip. 

His pulse point thrummed nicely against your fingers, and a curious press elicited a low sigh from him. Unexpected, though the sound was music to your ears and had butterflies rampant in your stomach. A part of you wanted to hear more of the gravelly timbre that rarely made an appearance—you knew what needed to be done.

Picking up where you left off, more of your self-declared medical ramblings followed. “See here? Another symptom, such a fast pace surely isn’t for the faint of heart. Your apical pulse,” to which your fingertips lightly drag themselves towards, “can’t lie to me.”

Zayne is breathless by the time he formulates a response in sincerity. “How can we go about a treatment plan, then? It seems pretty serious.”

A slowed, purposeful pronunciation follows soon thereafter. “Doc-tor.”

Your heart skipped not one, but two beats—dangerous, surely, but it fell short in the face of Zayne’s steadfast compliance. He peers up at you, factually smitten and framed softly by the office lights blending the contours of his face. You raise your other hand to hold his fine face between them. Admiring, in awe of all that he was.

“There’s only one known treatment option, I’ll have you know.” Unable to hide your smile, you quickly add, “Might require mouth to mouth if things go south.”

Zayne’s pools of hazel flick to your upturned lips, before meeting your mischievous stare with a hint of his own.

“Is this truly scientifically proven, or did you come all this way just to kiss me?”

“Yes,” was all you offered to his question, before placing an airy kiss to his cupid’s bow. 

A second found its way to the bridge of his nose, laid over the slight ridge you adore before another rested between his raised brows. His eyes flutter to a close when your lips gently pressed to his temple, stilling at the contact. Slowly, you leave a trail of love across his cheeks, pausing once you meet the corner of his mouth.

Your thumb brushes against his lower lip, smiling at the way he parts them so readily for you. His chin tilts in the direction of your touch, mouthing the chase. A flush of pink sinked into his skin, a perfect peach for you to sink your teeth into.

“Tell me,” you say softly. Your fingers curl underneath his chin, observing the lidded gaze that follows. “Does it hurt anywhere?”

A tender exhale pushes past those very lips. “Right here,” he quietly admits. Closing the distance until you were only a breath away, his eyes focused on the plush of your mouth. “Please, Doctor.”

The union was gentle and warm, a kiss so kind that the same sentiment blossomed in your chest. Traces of a sweetened coffee picked from the hospital’s cafeteria and warm amber from his collar consumed your senses.

Zayne held you closer, chest to his and enveloping in a tender embrace. His hands traced the curve of your back, following your spine to gently cradle your head. Just to keep you this close, he was restless—realizing that he needed this more than he thought. The smile that cracks through another kiss is a testament to it, sealed with a deep breath of contentment.

It was perfect, a moment in time where your thundering heartbeats were equally matched. The world was nothing but a witness to the seconds spent in meaningful lip-locking.

“Mmph,” you groan unceremoniously. 

Something firm brushed against your brow, pulling you out of the sweet trance. The culprit looked back at you in its silver rimmed and glass glory, sliding down the bridge of Zayne’s nose.

“Hm?” He leans back, noticing your discomfort. “What’s the matter?” 

You contemplate on telling him, partially distracted by the puff of his lower lip. It has a sheen of your affection, and you were sure you looked no different in his eyes.

“Your glasses are falling,” you admit. You reach for the frames, intending on pushing them back to the high of his nose.

Zayne pauses your wrist then, a warm mirth in his gaze. “These are in the way, are they not?” He guides your hand, allowing the glasses to depart from his face and settling it on his desk. 

With or without the specs, he truly was handsome—the kind of beauty modeled in Greek busts, from the contours of his cheeks to the sharp angle of his brow bone. You’d have to thank his parents the next time you see them.

He sneaks in a kiss, no longer obscured by the barrier and face perfectly pressed to yours. “My Doctor seems to be distracted,” he comments, taking in your wandering gaze. A cool hand graces the crowd of your head, patting softly. “What are you planning this time?”

His touches brought you out of your daydreaming, and you nod. Hands settling on the curves of his shoulders, you slide them upwards with a murmur of, “I should check your apical pulse again.”

Your eyes wander to the space behind him, a stethoscope only a grab away. With some effort, you spare a hand to reach for it, rising from the chair to a degree. 

Zayne noticeably stiffens at his newfound view—your chest in his face wasn’t something on his agenda for today. The breath in his throat hitches, recognizing your fragrance. Comforting and pleasant, a piece of home warmly enhanced by your skin.

By the time you successfully have the medical device in hand, you nearly drop it at the feeling of his nose digging into your chest. 

“Zayne? You’re—mmh?!” His hands find their way to your midsection, holding you still as he inhales deeply. You only hear him hum between muffled fabric, and your mind dizzies at the heatwave the mere sound sends to your core.

He pulls back with a soft sigh, the peach of his skin notably deepened to a soft rouge. Zayne guides you back to sit proper in his lap, reaching for the stethoscope in your surprised hand. Carefully, he places the ear tips into place for you and brushes your hair back in the process. Nonchalant, as if he didn’t spend the last waking moments happily buried in your chest.

“If you’re checking my pulse for me, I hope you’ve read the hospital’s code of conduct.” He drops his hands then, patiently awaiting your auscultation. In the reflection of his coy stare, you find that your own blush is faring far, far worse than his.

“Right, right. I did, trust me,” you say in confidence.

You, in fact, did no such thing. But memory of past appointments guides your hand over his heart, chest piece sliding around to count the beats. Not a single count was missed, all perfectly in place and accounted for.

Though, the only thing you could hear was your own heartbeat drumming. It didn’t help that his eyes were entirely focused on you, pointed with affection and observation alike.

“Well?” Zayne hums. “How does it sound?”

“You have a heart, and it’s beating alright.” Your conclusion was far from exemplary, but at least it was the truth.

“That’s a relief,” he laughs quietly. He gently removes the stethoscope, setting it aside. “Realistically, this isn’t how an auscultation works.”

“My methods are just special, that’s all.” You shrug, lightly patting the space that protects the aforementioned organ. “But you seem to be feeling better, and that’s all that matters to me.”

“Mhm.” Zayne presses a kiss to your nose, and offers his gratitude. “Thank you, Doctor. I don’t know what I would do without your care.”

[miguelhugger2099]

OMG imagine the one bed trope w miguel. like idk why itd happen, maybe like they’re scoping out an anomaly in another universe and somehow the portal back gets blocked and they gotta stay the night at a hotel, but miguel and reader are stuck in the same bed (she SWEARS she booked two beds but oops! all the rooms are filled up!) and like oh no they need this hotel!! so at first they’re really rigid and like miguel’s all tense, he’s like “i’ll sleep on the floor” but reader is like “no it’s okay we can share! i don’t move a lot in my sleep anyway” (that’s a lie btw.) so then like miguel’s wide awake in the middle of the night, and reader keeps shifting in her sleep, and they end up in a pretty compromising position if ykwim… and then maybe she wakes up and finds miguel like so flustered and starts teasing him a bit and then things heat up ofc… idk just a thought! it’s been so long since i’ve seen the one bed trope tbh. (fem reader btw plssss)

Forced Proximity

i tried with my best with this 🫠 i wanted to try something new instead of regular p in v i hope that's okay 😭 thank u for requesting! if anything, i'd be happy to redo this when my requests open again

Miguel x Reader, Suggestive/Smut, Word Count: 2,271

Just as you and Miguel were about to shoot your webs at the new anomaly, a black bubbly portal opened up and sucked them up into another dimension. “Dammit!” You cursed, groaning at the convenience of an anomaly escaping. Miguel is already beside you, mask eyes squinted in focus as he clicks buttons on his watch. “Where’d he run off to?” You ask him. “No clue. Trying to track him now but the touchpad isn’t responding.” He grunts and furiously taps his screen but it seems to be glitching. He tries to open a portal back to HQ but it only warbles a little bit before shutting close again. “Let me try.” You lift up your watch to try and press the same coordinates when it responds the same way: a little warping but it shuts close. “Lyla,” Miguel calls out and she pops up between you two. “Run an analysis on our watches.” Her small heart glasses fog up with various numbers and letters, codes that only she knows. “Looks like the watches are bugged, Mig. Probably an effect the anomaly had.” “So we’re stranded?” You rip off your mask and place a hand on your hip. “Yup!” She nods. “For how long?” Miguel pinches his nose bridge with his finger and thumb.

“Well, most part-time spiders are off doing other missions in other dimensions and the other half of them have the day off. No one will be available until morning.” “So, we’re staying the night.” You lift your arms up and slap them down. “I’m finding a hotel.” You turn and look around for any around you two. Miguel sighs and faces Lyla. “Is there another way home? Are we safe from the glitching?” Lyla nods, pulling up frames and data for him to look at. “Safe from glitching. Probably just a program issue. Maybe an update issue. Unfortunately, not even Margo is at HQ so your next bet is waiting for a spider to portal you two back.” She explains and glitches out of the air. He tries to find a new solution but comes up short, deciding to just accept it before he grows angry. Miguel hears you calling his name as you run back to where Lyla and him were standing. “Okay, I found a hotel! I talked to this lady up front–luckily the currency is the same as yours–and we got extra lucky,” You huffed with a wide smile on your face. “They’re pretty busy but she managed to get us a room with two beds and two bathrooms. Left her a tip, hope you don’t mind.” You placed your hands on your hips and continued to grin at the frown on his lips.

Miguel rolled his eyes and called for Lyla, her little form glitching back and perching on his shoulder. “Lyla, get back to base. Let the others know we’ve been stranded and call for backup whenever someone’s available.” Her vibrant yellow glare shifts as she moves, her hand coming up in a salute and a police hat glitching on her head. “You got it, boss! Have fun you two!” She giggles and phases out. Miguel passes by you coldly, heading for the hotel where you booked for the night. You yawn behind him, just wanting to rest after a wasted day of failing to catch an anomaly. You walked through the hallways of the hotel, checking down at your key for the number of your room. Once you found it, you slipped the keycard on the lock and opened the door. “Home sweet–” You cut yourself off after peeking into the room and what greeted you was a singular bed. “Wha–?!” You glanced back at the roomkey number and the plate outside, finding the two matching that this was indeed your room for the night. “I swear I asked for two–” “I’ll take the floor.” Miguel grumbles behind you, his entire frame stiff and rigid. You take a look up at him and his face is unamused and staring straight ahead to avoid your eye. “No, it’s–it’s fine,” You chuckle nervously and walk over to the bed. You pat the edge of it and try to convince yourself and Miguel that everything was fine. “There’s so much space. It’s like–what– a king size? We have plenty of room to share!” Miguel doesn’t seem convinced in the slightest, already making a move to grab a pillow. “I don’t even move that much in my sleep! Promise! Pinky promise.” You hold up your pinky to Miguel and he stops to stare at your hand with a deadpan expression. “Fine.” He grunts, placing the pillow back down and not wanting to deal with you any further since he was exhausted.

You, in fact, actually do move a lot in your sleep–Miguel figured out. He really was exhausted and expected himself to pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow but with you next to him, it was like the energy hadn’t left his body. He laid there straight as a pole with the blanket at his chest and staring at the ceiling. You were in dreamland, snoozing and sprawled on the mattress– blissfully unaware of Miguel’s misery by the situation at hand. You shifted around in your sleep, your hand hitting his shoulder or your leg bumping against his ankle. Miguel could handle it. He’s spent many uncomfortable all-nighters so he thought to himself that one more wouldn’t be too damaging for him. It wasn’t until you moved further to his side of the bed that had Miguel’s heart racing. You turned to his side, throwing your leg over his and your arm draped around his neck to bring him closer to you. His arm instinctively went under your body and held your waist while you pressed yourself against him, so as to not make the position uncomfortable for either of you. Miguel’s cheeks burned while you nuzzled to his chest, acting like he was some sort of teddy bear. He hoped his heartbeat wouldn’t wake you from your slumber. Your thighs were close together and any closer you’d start accidentally grinding on him. Miguel looked back up at the ceiling and prayed that you’d move soon.

His prayers were not answered. You woke up after feeling a bit too much heat and it became unbearable to sleep through. You blinked away the sleep groggily, wondering why the pillow you had been on had gotten a little more firm. You lifted your head to see you weren’t on your pillow but basically cuddling up against your boss. You looked down to see your legs intertwined together and turned your head to apologize when you stopped seeing Miguel’s cheeks flush red. His eyes did not meet yours but you felt the pounding of his heart. A smile curled up on your lips, apology wiped off your mind and instead leaning into wanting to taunt him for how shy he’s acting. “Miguel,” You tease with a bit of laughter. “Aw, c’mon. A little accidental cuddle gets you nervous?” Miguel glares at you from the corner of his eye. As you laugh, you continue moving against him. You don’t notice how he takes a sharp inhale when your knee brushes against his crotch as you lift yourself up. Your hands rest on either side of his head. “Did you even sleep? Or did you just stay up all night like some perv?” You snort, having the time of your life seeing your usually sulking boss look so cute with red scattered across his cheeks. Miguel squeezes your waist then uses both his hands to grab you and force you down on his thigh. You gasp in shock, all playfulness leaving your body as your core hits his firm muscle. The action ignites a spark in your chest that sends it straight between your legs, making you whimper, all in a split second.

You snap your head towards him, cheeks already burning and mouth dropped open in shock. Miguel meets it with a cheshire like grin, his own blush on his cheeks but less now that you’re  more flustered than him. “Careful,” He says. “Wouldn’t want to be some sort of perv, huh?” You could’ve sworn his voice dropped down an octave. You stutter, unable to respond back as he rendered you speechless. His thigh flexed and it sent a jolt up your spine with your cunt throbbing which he felt. Maybe it was him being tired, drained from the day that he was acting out of character. Too tired to care about the consequences while his mind clouded and numbed his usual feelings. For now, he enjoyed the way your hands gripped onto his shoulders, cute eyes wide open and feeling the delicious beat of your pussy on his thigh. He rubs your hips on his thigh, his muscle flexing to put some stimulation to your pussy. You squeak and lean forward as the pleasure runs through your body and makes you grow hot. “Miguel…!” You gasp and moan. You automatically grind yourself on him and his grin widens, leaning back to see the show. Miguel feels your wetness seep through the thin fabric of your suit and panties onto his own suit. He phases just a small part of his thigh out his suit to feel just how wet you’ve gotten with a little teasing. “Already?” He murmurs and your cheeks burn brightly. “You like this, huh?” “Fuck…” You huff out, hanging your head to not meet his gaze. Your nails dig into his shoulder as he moves your hips. “C’mon. Show me how much you like this.” You know he was only doing this to get back at you for teasing him, for booking a one bed instead of two and with how his patience had run out from being stranded here, you decided not to test that anger anymore.

So you slowly moved up and down his thigh with a soft whimper, shutting your eyes close while you did so. Your breathing grew heavy, and you shook with every slight movement on his end. Slowly, you picked up speed, the lust flooding your mind and the pace you were going at hadn’t been enough. You humped his thigh faster, still opting out of looking down at him. “Shit…Not enough…” You murmured under your breath, not thinking he’d heard you over the accumulating wet sounds on his skin and shuffling of bed sheets. “Let me help.” You hear him say and feel his hand by the zipper of your suit at the nape of your neck. Weak from your pleasure, you let him tug your suit off your torso. Miguel tapped your thighs as a signal to lift yourself up while he slipped the rest of it off you. You were now bare in front of him, his hands placed back at your hips. You still felt embarrassed, trying to cover up your chest with your arms and hands. Miguel wasn’t having it, growing annoyed at you covering yourself. He cupped the back of your neck and pulled you flushed down on his chest. “Keep going.” He growled. The rumble of his voice went straight to your cunt once more, succumbing to him as you began grinding yourself on him, skin to skin. Your folds smeared your juices on his thighs coating him in your wetness. The swollen nub of your clit rolled deliciously between you and his thigh and you panted softly as you tried chasing you high.

“There you go. That’s it.” Miguel murmured, bucking his thigh to your pussy to the same pace of your humping. He held your hip with one hand to help you and his other hand raked up and down your back, his talons scratching your flesh. “You’re doing so good. Good girl riding my thigh, yeah?” He purred which made you groan and buck your hips faster. “Miguel…” You breathed out. “More, more.” You pleaded. His talons pricked your skin. “Cum on my thigh first and maybe I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Peter B. met you two once the portal fully opened up in your stranded dimension. He greeted you with a smile, Mayday babbling in her carrier. “Hey! Glad you guys survived the night. Took a minute to get you guys. Sorry about that.” He playfully punched Miguel’s and your shoulder. You beamed at him and held Mayday’s little hand, wiggling it around softly enough to make her giggle. “Hope it wasn’t agonizing.” Peter chuckles to you. You chuckle back and step away from Mayday, giving the two a smile. “Not at all. He’s surprisingly good company.” Miguel doesn’t react behind you. “Oh, yeah? Must be going soft. Big guy isn’t just pleasant for anybody.” Peter says. “Funny how things work out.” You grin and turn around to peck Miguel’s cheek and walk towards the portal. “I’ll see you guys later?” You give a wink and slip into the portal, your body phasing out and leaving the two men behind. Peter gapes at the warping space where you had just left and slowly turns to Miguel to see his friend, very much stiff but his face has a slight tint to it. “Did something happen–” Miguel shoves his face aside and phases his mask over his head to hide his cheeks. “Cállate.” He mutters and enters into the portal towards his dimension.

Peter gets snapped out of his stupor by Mayday babbling and waving her arms around as if cheering Miguel and you on. Peter looks down at her and grabs her little hand in his. “He’s growin’ up, huh?” Mayday squeals.

[a-bottle-of-tyelenol]

little izuku & cg/big brother hitoshi headcanons !!

— request by @dragon-queen21 —

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

💚 - izuku has been regressing since middle school and he usually regresses to an age range of 2-4. he’s quiet and incredibly self sufficient after years of raising himself under a working single mother. even while regressed, he maintains a journal where he meticulously logs things and data collects about what he likes and doesn’t like. he has a system and it works for him. when he starts training for, and starts attending, ua, his regression gets knocked to the back burner while he focuses on everything else happening in his life. it basically leads to a year of him burning out and impurely regressing because he keeps putting it off.

💜 - hitoshi finds out about it when he joins the hero course and moves into the dorms. he’s a chronic night owl and while you’re not supposed to leave your dorm room after lights out, that’s a guideline at best and aizawa has too much favoritism to actually punish him for being out and awake at three in the morning. he finds izuku huddled up in the commons, crying after a nightmare, and genuinely stands there awkwardly for like thirty seconds before sighing and deciding that the better thing to do is to comfort him. of course, this leads to a lap full of his sobbing classmate/rival and a VERY awkward conversation in the morning where izuku spends two hours writing a super long text explaining age regression and apologizing for his behavior and hitoshi just responds with “ok 👍”

💚 - it leads to a never-ending cycle of little izuku seeking hitoshi out constantly since he’s the only one that knows about his regression and then big izuku furiously apologizing in the morning, swearing that it won’t happen again (and it always goes). little izu is very attached to hitoshi— he views hitoshi as this insanely rad older kid (you know, like a little brother would) and hitoshi is really uncomfortable with the attention but it’s like… a pleased discomfort. he’s never had anyone treat him like he’s the coolest thing ever so he just rolls with it. eventually, hitoshi tells him to stop apologizing after the fact because he doesn’t hate hanging around a baby that looks at him like he’s the literal definition of awesomeness and that leads to them having their first ACTUAL conversation about it.

💜 - they’re both autistic but in very different ways so their dynamic struggles just as much as it works. Izuku is very understimulated all the time (especially while small) so he’s constantly talking, stimming, and seeking out things to do. hitoshi, meanwhile, is insanely easy to overstimulate but he knows that if he says anything about it, izuku will shut down and never speak again just to make him comfortable and that’s not what he wants. the solution is a truly incredible amount of parallel play while they listen to hitoshi’s safe playlists music or while hitoshi wears noise canceling headphones (that one usually only happens when he puts on a show/movie for izuku or has had a really bad day). sometimes hitoshi will use little izuku to help him study because the kid’s literal special interest is heroics, he’s got an insane memory, and hitoshi has neither of those things so going over study cards with izuku or making up games quizzing him is both fun and beneficial for hitoshi’s grades.

💚 - hitoshi struggles a lot with physical affection while izuku is very tactile. it leads to a lot of back and forth where they try to figure out the middle ground or ways of signaling when something’s okay. hitoshi is fine with hand holding (as long as he has sleeves that can cover his hands or he’s wearing gloves) and he can cuddle in small doses, so that’s 95% of what izuku initiates. he’s always holding hitoshi’s hand and he’s very sweet and considerate about making sure that hitoshi’s okay with it (to the degree that hitoshi has to constantly remind izuku that he, hitoshi, is the older one who should do all the worrying). in return, hitoshi gives izuku a lot of large stuffed animals wearing his shirts (or cologne for smaller things) so izuku has something to cuddle with still. izuku’s favorite is this really dumb looking stuffed crow that’s wearing yellow rain boots and a yellow bucket hat that hitoshi offhandedly won him during a festival (could be school festival or the class deciding to go out for the weekend). hitoshi has no idea why he likes it so much but izuku is obsessed with it.

💜 - because of izuku’s excessive cataloging, it’s actually really easy for hitoshi to take care of him. they weren’t really friends prior to this point so most of what he learns about izuku comes from his journals. he learns his favorite food, his favorite toys, his favorite movies and tv shows, his favorite sensory objects, and what he enjoys doing; and, for the most part, a lot of this stuff either overlaps with izuku when he’s big or he states in his journals where his interests deviate and his theories for why that might be. it gets to a point where hitoshi will overhear someone asking about what izuku might like for his birthday or a holiday and he’s just able to answer despite the fact that he and izuku rarely hang out around other people so practically no one (except iida, uraraka, and bakugou) know that they’re even friends. it also means that hitoshi knows about izuku’s triggers and a lot of the traumas that he’s experienced. there’s a lot that izuku purposefully redacts when he lets hitoshi read his journals, but there’s still a lot there that makes hitoshi realize that they really aren’t that different after all.

[linkemon]

Confession headcanons

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here.

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Other headcanons from this series can be found here.

Part 2 | Part 3 of the confession headcanons.

This part contains: Malleus Draconia, Idia Shroud and Kalim Al-Asim.

Malleus Draconia

• Malleus' confession of feelings involved a number of obstacles and misunderstandings, although happily resolved.

• He wrote about you many times in letters to his grandmother. And although it made him realize the fragility of relationships with humans, grandma was also very happy knowing that her grandson had experienced such deep love. She really wanted to meet you, even though you didn't know it at the time.

• Draconia's biggest fear and block from telling you how he felt was the fear of loss. In various aspects of it. He was aware that he would certainly outlive you, and from time to time the thought of you returning to the world you came from floated in the back of his mind. In addition, you were his first real friend, not counting the people who were with him every day. Rejection could cost him the entire relationship.

One most ordinary night, he simply realized that the risk was worth trying to tell you how he felt.

• Malleus sprang into action with eager vigour. Unfortunately, these efforts were somewhat misdirected. It took Lilia to clearly explain to him that the customs adopted among fae do not necessarily translate to humans. He was forced to do this, as it were, because after you threw away his family generational necklace, the clouds over Diasomnia were darkening day by day and a disastrous downpour with lightning was brewing.

Meanwhile, you were simply afraid that Grim would destroy such a valuable and expensive gift. You had absolutely no idea of the additional meaning it carried.

• The second attempt was definitely more successful. Malleus gave you the rose seeds he grew in Briar Valley. Planted in Ramshackle, with his magic they turned into a field of red flowers. Combined with the moonlight and the fireflies dancing around you, it created a wonderful atmosphere that you will remember for a long time.

It was then that the fae confessed to you that he had been smitten with you from the very beginning but it was your friendship, so precious to him, that turned into something more. The fact that he knelt down in front of you and promised to give you everything you wanted made you think for a moment that he was going to propose to you. Initially, that's what he planned, but Lilia talked him out of it...

Idia Shroud

• It's not that Idia didn't know what love was. He had played so many otome games that while he wasn't an expert, he certainly wasn't a noob. However, without Ortho's help, he would not have correctly recognized its signs in real life.

• He started by avoiding you. The rapid heartbeat and red tips of his hair were becoming more and more frequent and it was difficult for him to control them. So he found the best solution he could come up with, which was to lock himself in his room. He avoided you as much as he could all over campus.

• His brother, although he quickly understood through data analysis what was happening to him, did not think it was good to raise the topic too early. Initially, he wanted to give Idia time. Time was clearly running out because the robot, seeing you once again look sadly at the tablet and gave it a wide berth, decided to act. He prepared a series of tests to convince your older brother that you reciprocate his feelings. Of course, Shroud hid under the blanket, mumbled to be left alone. Although he pretended to be uninterested, the speech actually sparked hope in him.

Maybe this time he wasn't a total knight nerd and side hero? Maybe he could play the lead role for once?

• He did what he does best. He designed a program that allowed him to send a request if you wanted to be his girlfriend. At worst, he was going to pretend it was a mistake.

When he saw that instead of checking the tick box, you had come to Ignihyde, he immediately paled. You had to knock on the door, telling him that you wouldn't leave until he explained to you what was actually going on and how this confession related to his constant avoidance of you.

Idia just stuck his head out of the crack, stammered and said that he was like the worst NPC you've ever seen but if you let him have some time, maybe he'll become a main character worthy of you.

Kalim Al-Asim

• Friendzone should be his middle name. From the beginning of your relationship, he sent you signals that you considered romantic. Until you started spending more time with him around others and you found out that Kalim treated them the same way he treated you. That's when everything started to get confusing for you.

• When you tried to tell him that you liked him very much, he replied that he liked you too. When you said more, he said more, more. And when you said he was more than a friend, he said you were his best friend. He did all this with such a wide smile on his face that you didn't have the heart to explain to him the true meaning of your statements. You knew the sincerity of his words. Few people in the NRC matched him in truthfulness. But it was incredibly frustrating for you.

• Grim knew exactly what was happening, seeing your hearty eyes every time you left the desert dormitory. He calculated in his head how many cans of tuna he would get if you got together with the prefect of Scarabia. This prompted him to not-so-subtly blurt out to Kalim that you were romantically interested in him. In return, he received a promise of a container of fish delicacies.

• The boy was in great shock but in a positive way. He didn't know what to do with all his joy, so he grabbed the first flowers in a vase he had at hand and ran towards the flying carpet. You weren't expecting him at all in the evening, dressed in your pajamas and ready to go to bed. He hugged you so tightly that he almost knocked you over and that was before he even remembered that he hadn't told you why he actually came...

[zeebee3]

Dramione Month Day 6: Legilimens

Draco/Hermione

NSFW

Continuation of Day 5.

---

She broke the kiss a moment later.

“You really want this? It’s not just because I’m here and you’re—”

He cut her off with another slanting kiss, putting as much into it as he could. When he drew back, she was panting. 

“I’m only here and hard because of you,” he murmured. “Or did you think I needed a refresher on Interrogative and Defensive Mind Magicks?”

She blinked up at him. “Well…they’re very useful…it’s always good to hone skills.”

“I’m a natural Occlumens,” he reminded her. “And the skill transfers the other way, too.”

Her hands slid from his shoulders down to rest over his chest. Little hands, but strong. His heart pounded below her palms.

“So then…why did you come along?”

“You asked me if I’d be willing to attend the conference. I am.”

It was clear the answer surprised her, but then she huffed an incredulous laugh. 

“You came all the way to Zürich for a conference on a subject you’re naturally adept in just to, what, placate me?”

He shrugged a casual shoulder. “It’s quite a nice city. Incredible architecture. Amazing views.”

He dared to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, fully unobstructing his currently perfect view. When she huffed again, he couldn’t hold his smirk, gazing down at her with open affection. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she accused lightly. “Had you never considered just telling me how you felt?”

Countless times. A nearly unending thread of conversation in his head, scenarios built and summarily dismantled when reality tapped politely against his skull. The concept of confession was not new to him, but it still felt unfamiliar.

“All the time,” he murmured.

When she wet her bottom lip, he wondered if she could taste him still.  

“I’m sorry but I’m finding it a bit hard to believe that. You’ve always been so aloof. I’m a very perceptive person but until tonight, I had no idea you thought of me as anything but a mildly irksome colleague.”

“Mildly? You drive me mad.”

“So you’ve said. But you’ve never once…you’re always so reserved.”

Restrained, he wanted to correct, but she was close enough. 

“I have been, yes.”

The validation settled her slightly, shoulders dropping down. Total relaxation would be even better, so he inhaled deeply and offered himself up.

“I have all the data to back up my claim right here, if you’d like to practice honing your skills?”

“What, you mean…?” Her eyes flicked to his forehead, then back. “Really?”

Blame it on the lingering delirium of her kiss, or the pounding of his heart, or the unrelenting interest straining toward her, but in that moment, inviting her into his head seemed like the most logical solution to a very easy-to-solve problem. Let her see what he felt for her, and then she’d know and he could do something about it.

“Mmhmm.” He stroked the hinge of her jaw with his thumb, then let his fingers slide down the side of her neck to rest on her shoulder. “Get your wand. Have a look.”

It was, evidently, an easy choice for her, too. 

He’d been at the end of her wand tip before, many times, but in this instance, his only concern was for her. What would she think once she knew? He braced himself. 

“Legilimens,” she incanted, eyes locked on his, and then she was inside his head, and he let her see. 

Her striking amber eyes were first, as they always were, featured in flashes of memories: seeing them deep and thoughtful, sparkling with delight, narrowed in annoyance. 

And then her lips — he did his best to skate through those thoughts as quickly as her Legilimency allowed, pulling forward specific examples instead of his increasingly depraved ramblings. 

Across the refectory, sipping tea then shooting him a bemused smile over the rim. Leading a debriefing, commanding the room easily. Hunched over her desk, wand in her curls, exhausted but breathtaking. And all the associated feelings those moment had elicited in him: butterflies, hot arousal, yearning. 

And then he offered her specifics. A glimpse down her blouse, and the fantasies it had fueled for weeks, a rush of images that had never existed but were so clear, so often imagined, that they may as well have. 

And then a very real memory, offered to her as final proof for everything he’d claimed: a view down his abdomen, watching as he pinned the toy to the mattress, thick cock burying into it over and over as his thumb rubbed lazily, soothingly at the silicone clit. Whispered words, low and agonized, heralding the end. “What a good fucking girl, Hermione.”

She left his mind with a shudder. 

He was leaking all over himself, pants damp with his want after having re-lived so many moments he usually parceled out, but his attention was riveted on her. 

“See,” he managed, voice rough. “All the time.”

“I’m…” Her eyes were slightly glazed, cheeks flushed. “Overwhelmed. Oh gods. That’s…so much.”

He grimaced. “I tried to stem some of the images but you kept—”

She barked a laugh, tight and wild. “You, Malfoy. It can’t be—oh gods there’s no way—”

Desire shot through him, mixing potently with pride and affection. Holding her eye, he gently, carefully, gripped her wrist and slid her hand from his chest down his abdomen, stopping the buckle of his belt. 

“Go ahead. Find out.”

A small rotation within his hold, and then her palm was cupping him, eyes widening as she mapped him. 

“Oh…Godric.” Lips parted, eyes dropping — he preened. “Fuck, you’re…”

She found the tip and squeezed it lightly, seeing the pleasure in his face, then stroked him all the way up to the base. He had to bite his lip to stem the pathetic noise burning in his throat at her confident touch. 

“Can I see you?” she asked, the question tinged with wonderment. 

“Fuck. Absolutely.” He went to undo his belt but she got there first, batting his hands away and working the leather through the silver buckle. 

Her eyes only broke from his when the zipper snagged at the bulge, looking down to work over the obstacle begging to be set free. As soon as his fly was undone, she pulled at the waistband of his black briefs and dipped her hand inside. He sucked in a breath when her knuckles skimmed his pelvis and then hissed it out when she found his cock. 

“Oh…” The word faded as her lips parted, eyes rounding, and then she was tugging at the waistband, baring him to the room. “...fuck.”

It was silly to be proud of something he’d had no role in obtaining, but the feeling surged in his chest all the same. 

“You can touch,” he whispered, “if you like.”

She didn’t hesitate, her hand smoothing up his length in a single, devastating glide that made his next blink labored and sluggish. The number of times he’d imagined this very act–

The little crease between her brows was back, hinting at a busy mind. He wanted so desperately to know what she was thinking, except that she was still stroking his cock, and he’d been hard for her for years, and coping with the situation was getting dicey, let alone unpacking it in real-time. 

Maybe she’d get him off and then he’d be able to think fully; he’d make it up to her twenty times over. Or maybe he should pull her hand off and make it up to her first. Yes. That was the better route.

He was about to do just that when she squeezed until her middle finger and thumb touched, eyes flicking up to his when he grunted at the constriction. Oh…fucking hell. 

“This is…” She let go of him to grip her wrist, and a little sound of despair escaped when her fingers touched easily. “Jesus fuck, Draco.”

He wanted her hand back on him; was nearly dizzy with want and from standing for so long on only two of his available legs. 

“I told you. I don’t fit the standard size.”

“No, you most certainly do not.” She reached for him again, squeezing then stroking. “Right. Get on the bed. Straightaway.”

While her enthusiasm was intensely gratifying, he caught her elbow and pulled her to him. “Kiss me again?”

“I’m going to kiss you lots,” she assured him, but went up to press her lips to his obligingly. He leaned into it, turning it long and languid, savoring her. 

“I’m about to be nearly incoherent,” he explained softly, pecking another compulsive kiss to her lips. “Wanted one more to remember.”

She scoffed, amused and pleased. “Ridiculous man.”

“Want back inside my head?” he offered dryly. “I’m pathetically into you. There’s a massive chance this is going to kill me.”

She hummed a warm, alluring sound, and finally succeeded in tugging him to the bed, letting go to climb up and settle onto her back. “It certainly seems so. Trousers off; shirt too.”

From her place on the bed, she watched as he hurriedly undressed, tossing his shirt to the side and then kicking off his trousers, leaving everything in a rumpled mess. When she sat up to pull her own shirt off, he had to wrap his fingers at his base. 

“You should be on top,” he said, trying to keep a level head as she revealed dusky nipples, the well of her navel, a tidy strip of curls. “You’ll…uh, you’ll have more control over the depth and pace.”

She shook her head obstinately, tossing her knickers aside and then bringing her knees up, feet wide. “I don’t want the control — I want to feel you on top of me, breaking me open.”

He had to squeeze his eyes shut against the double-punch of her words and body. “Don’t—Merlin fucking hell, Granger. Fuck.”

“I trust you,” she promised. “You showed me what you want. And I want you to have it. If you don’t believe me, then come have a look for yourself.”

It wasn't an idle invitation, he knew, and so he took it, needing to be sure. A wand wasn’t necessary for him; neither was opening his eyes or his mouth. He just felt for her behind his lids and whispered the word to himself, slow and curling. Legilimens.

She’d been ready for him; had the image front and center for his consumption. He devoured it. 

A view down her abdomen, muscles tensing, legs wide, the toy in her hand glistening with every retreat, every thrust forward met with a burst of pleasure. Thick. Almost as thick as her wrist. 

”It’ll fit,” she whispered, in his mind and out loud. “See? I’m so good at taking it.”

The reality of his present circumstances hit a moment later. He was inside her mind; she’d let him in and wanted him to know—

He was on the bed a moment later, crawling over her, pushing her thighs wider to fit himself between them, scrambling to get out of her mind before he fully lost control. He had just enough coherence left to look down, wanting to memorize the sight of himself resting over her pelvis, when she instantly foiled any plans at retention by dropping a hand and pressing his length solidly against her. He felt the soft heat of her belly, the raw need conveyed in her touch, and groaned, oozing precum into her navel.

“Gods,” he whined, hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Please, can I–?”

She encircled him, pushing him lower. “Absolutely, yes.” 

He took over, as she’d requested, but despite the memory she’d shown him, knew she needed preparation. Lips pressed to her throat, and then her collarbones as he supported himself on a forearm beside her head and sank a finger deep. She rocked up against his wrist, keening again, and grabbed for him, fingers raking into his hair. 

One was easy, two were snug, three were a stretch. 

He panted against her breast then withdrew his fingers to work them over her clit, licking his way up to her mouth, muffling her moans. 

She nipped at his lip, sucked it, then broke off to pant, “Inside.”

It was overwhelming. To stroke himself and feel her arousal coat him; to push against the source of it and be slowly welcomed in. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his back as he eased himself inside, the way made easier once she’d taken the broad head. 

Her breath left her in a gasp as he reached under her lower back to lift, adjusting the angle until he could sink in to the hilt. It was better than even his most careful fantasies, the ones that he sat with for days, stitching together until it felt real enough that when he fucked his toy, it truly felt like her.

It hadn’t though – not even close. Where the silicone gave way, she hugged. Where it dried, she was soaked and getting wetter. And when he reached between them to thumb at her clit, she stuttered out his name.

It was the response to his call that he’d yearned for; he kissed it off her tongue, then called it forth again and again until her nails were biting into his skin and the end was reaching for him with two, tight fists. 

“You feel–” There weren't any words. “You’re so–Is this–?”

“So good,” she panted. “Gods, you feel so much better.”

He didn’t need to ask than what, not when his own toy would now be relegated to second place; to the bin. But despite all his fervent practice with it, it seemed the toy had been insufficient stamina training when he was inundated with her. The barrage of sensation – her scent, her touch, her sounds, her pleasure – was breaking him down until he was careening to the edge, doing whatever he could to pull her over with him. 

“Is it enough?” He worked his thumb over her clit, palm warm and heavy above where he could feel – fuck – feel himself thrusting inside. “What can I do?”

“Just don’t stop,” she moaned.

Well. Then he was about to fail her. 

If only he could get his tongue between her legs without needing to move–

He dropped his forehead to hers and offered her a thought, rich in detail, saturated with desire: the slow, steady suction of a mouth, the wet curl of a tongue strumming; relentless, endless pressure.

“Draco,” she whined. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

Her body closed down around him, arms and legs and inner walls until she was shaking and, blissfully, miraculously, coming. The constriction was like nothing he’d ever felt, the pulses strong and coaxing until he was stammering out her name, orgasm wracking through him and into her, mind and body. 

When coherence slowly returned, he eased out of her mind but let his hips rest heavily against hers, luxuriating in the little aftershocks. Her arms were slack around his shoulders, mouth ajar against his, catching her breath.

“Holy shit,” she panted. “Jesus, that was–holy shit.”

“Should have asked,” he mumbled, giving her a lazy kiss before slipping sideways to nuzzle into the crook of her neck. “The mind thing. And the coming inside thing.”

“Both were…” She huffed a laugh, sliding an arm up his back to card through his hair. “Gods.”

“Good.” He exhaled, exhausted and the most sated of his life. “Good.”

“Better than good.” Her fingers swirled through his hair idly. “You ought to be up there leading the seminar.”

He huffed a laugh against her curls. “Ah, yes. How to Make a Witch Come with Thoughts. Lesson one: be pathetically desperate for her, and uninhibited with letting her see it.” He raised his head to slant a grin down at her. “Think it’d be well attended?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure.” Her responding smile was cheeky, the edge of her lip caught in her teeth. “Should I practice the first lesson, and you can give me pointers?”

She kissed his cheek then encouraged him over onto his back, following him over to sit over his hips. “Okay, Draco. Lesson one. Ready?” 

Mouth dry, he nodded. Her eyes were fond as they held his, the amber as warm and inviting as her soft word.

“Legilimens.”

(fin)

[writing-until-i-drop]

What's In A Name? Chapter Seven

Meg Harding and Kate Carter were inseparable until their friends died five ago, then she ran to New Orleans to save lives as a paramedic. But when Javi calls on his two oldest friends to help him collect data, counting on their matching natural instincts for tornadoes, Meg goes home for the first time in years. That's where she meets Tyler and the rest of the Wranglers, the YouTube storm chasers her dad likes to watch, and finds herself fitting in more with them than with Storm PAR. Meg only plans to stay for the week but will it be easy to leave when the dust settles?

If a certain cowboy has a say in it, nothing about leaving is going to be easy.

A/N: Time to get back to taming tornadoes

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Meg woke with the sun, giving Tyler a kiss on the cheek as she snuck out of bed, sliding her pillow between his arms. She poked her head in Kate’s bedroom only to find it empty, could she have been in the barn? Meg rushed down the stairs and out the front door, ignoring the rain, and Cathy shouting after her, a glimmer of hope in her chest. Kate was sitting at the desk, flipping through her old research, wearing the same clothes from the night before. She looked up, grinning from ear to ear and Meg felt herself getting excited, smiling back.

“Are we back?” Meg wasn’t sure what she would do if Kate said no, she needed her best friend back, her other half, her matching shade. She wanted them to be on the same page just like they used to be. 

“We’re back, Mud Bug.” Meg shouted in excitement, jumping in the air. “Think Tyler can get me a new model up and running?” 

“You bet your ass, baby.” Kate hugged her tight, spinning them both around, their unbridled laughter filling the barn for the first time in a long time. “What changed your mind?” 

“You, my mom, Tyler,” Kate shook her head as they pulled apart, “He asked me how much more I was willing to let that tornado take from me and I realized I’d already let it take three of my friends, I wasn’t going to let it cost me another. Not you, not when I just got you back.” 

“You’ve always had me, Katie my Lady,” Meg hugged her again. “And we’re going to finish this together, for them.” 

“God, I’m so glad you’re doing this with me.” 

“Always,” Meg was grinning from ear to ear, matching the expression on Kate’s face. “Want to help me wake Tyler? Like we used to do with Jeb?” Kate snorted, 

“Definitely.”

The two girls strolled back towards the house, soaking themselves from head to toe. Cathy spotted them from the kitchen, smiling at their intertwined hands.

“I’ll cook breakfast, you’ll be needing it.” They thanked her, giggling as they trekked up the stairs. “But you’ll be cleaning up all that mud you’re tracking!” A small price to pay. When they got to the guest room, Tyler was still sound asleep, clutching the pillow, and with a mischievous glance, the girls threw themselves on top of him.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up!” 

“Huh? What?” Tyler struggled beneath their combined weight, blinking up at them. They were wearing matching grins, their drenched clothes soaking him and the sheets in seconds.

“We’re gonna do it, baby,” Meg wheezed happily, Kate wriggling on top of her.

“Do what?” Tyler asked, his voice raspy from sleep.

“Tame a tornado!” Kate cheered, beating excitedly on Meg’s back. “Get up, come on,” Meg and Kate scrambled off of him, heading straight out of the bedroom, Tyler calling after them. 

By the time Tyler got to the barn with his laptop, Kate had all of her data laid out on a workbench and Meg was up in the loft, using the pulley system Jeb had helped her install to lower barrels of solution to the ground. 

“Mornin’, darlin’,” Meg called out, tearing up her hands as she slowly lowered one of the heavy, yellow  barrels. “Kate, babe, you know where I left my gloves?” 

“Tyler, can you toss her the red gloves on that desk over there?” Kate pointed towards Parveen’s desk, which had been uncovered sometime in the night.

“Yes, ma’am. So, we’re doing this?” 

“We’re doing this,” Kate and Meg responded together, making him smile. He grabbed the gloves and climbed up the ladder to the loft, passing them over to Meg.

“You gotta stop sneaking out of bed in the morning, baby,” She rolled her eyes, giving him a peck on the lips.

“I’ll write it in my vows,” Tyler was staring up at her like a man in love, smiling softly with expressive eyes. She kissed him again, cupping the back of his head. Tyler’s lips were soft and warm against hers, his tongue slid across her bottom lip but she pulled back. “You know, I’m gonna find you gettin’ Kate that new model pretty sexy.” 

“Yeah?” He grinned, 

“Yeah.” Tyler bit his bottom lip, looking more handsome than Meg thought he had a right to, watching her turn back to the barrels before sliding down the ladder and joining Kate at the workbench. Meg took a minute, watching two of the most important people in her life, standing side-by-side, huddled close over a laptop. 

Meg wanted to get used to this, being back in the barn, watching Kate be smart, the excitement of an upcoming chase brewing in her chest. She could see it now, Lily working on Cairo at Parveen’s old workbench, Dani fixing up Tyler’s truck in the middle of the barn, Boone editing videos at Jeb’s desk, Dexter working on the scientific instruments in Addy’s corner, while she checked over her supplies. It would be like old times but different in the best kind of way.

Cathy made them break for breakfast at some point, preening like a proud mother hen that they were getting back to Kate and Parveen’s research project. Afterwards, Meg took the time to mop her and Kate’s muddy footprints from the floor before rejoining the duo in the barn. Only to be turned around by her shoulders by Kate and pushed back towards the house,

“Time to get dressed, Mud Bug.” 

“We goin’?” 

“We’re going,” Kate confirmed, “You ready for this?” She held out her hand,

“Born ready, babe,” And for the first time in years they did their secret handshake. “But I’m gonna need to borrow some clothes.” 

Dressed in Kate’s jeans and a Sooner jersey tied off at the waist, Meg did a check of everything she had left in her medical kit after the tornado from a few nights before, making a mental note of everything she needed to restock on. Mostly bandaids, gauze, and alcohol wipes. 

“Did you mean that, what you said in the barn?” Tyler came up from behind, kissing Meg’s neck. She leaned back into his chest, reaching up to cup the back of his neck, his arms wrapped around her waist.

“About bein’ ready to chase today?” Her squeezed her hip and it dawned on her what he was talking about. “About needing my gloves to move those barrels?” Her palms really were torn up but she had taken a few minutes to bandage them up.

“Are you always going to be like this?” Tyler kissed her neck again, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Obstinate? A pain in the ass? Teasin’?” His teeth grazed over her pulse point, stealing some of her desire to go chasing instead of staying in Cathy’s spare bedroom all day. “You askin’ me about what I’m gonna write in my vows, Arkansas?” Tyler hummed, covering her neck in kisses. “We’ve gotta go, Ty.” 

“You gonna answer my question?” Meg turned in his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck, taking in the moment. Tyler was too handsome, standing there in an orange flannel shirt, wearing a backwards baseball cap, staring down at her with those big green eyes of his. “I know it’s only been a few days, darlin’, but…” He trailed off, eyes squeezing shut. “I feel like-” He exhaled sharply. “I’m not good with words, baby.”

“You’re doin’ fine, Ty.” She brought him down into a kiss, “I’ll be writin’ it in my vows, hell, I could write them tonight, but,” He caught her lips in another, needy kiss. “Let’s give it a little bit more time before we call the preacher though.” Tyler kissed her until she was dying for air, her mind consumed by thoughts of him. 

What would happen when she went back to New Orleans? Her heart hurt at the thought but she couldn’t just abandon the life she had built there to what, see if when the adrenaline faded they were still infatuated with each other? It wasn’t practical, it wasn’t responsible, but a part of her wanted it more than anything in the world. 

“Let’s go tame a storm, baby,” Meg pulled away first, Tyler not releasing his hold on her waist. His eyes went wide, cheeks flushing dark red, “What?”

“You’ve got a really delicate neck, darlin’.” Meg groaned, knowing exactly what had happened.

“I bruise like a peach,” Cathy was going to have a field day when they got downstairs. “Let’s go.” 

Downstairs, Cathy sent Kate to the truck with a bag of sandwiches and Tyler with a cooler, pulling Meg into the kitchen for a quick word. 

“Is it time for me to call Rabbit and declare myself a winner?” She gently touched Meg’s neck, inspecting what she was sure was only a small hickey. Meg batted away her hands,

“No, there are no winners yet.” Cathy perked up,

“Yet?” Meg rolled her eyes, hurrying towards the front door. “Yet?” Cathy called out after her, throwing her hands up in exaggerated frustration as Meg basically threw herself in the backseat, telling Tyler to step on it. 

Kate could not sit still, she was far too curious about everything in Tyler’s truck to not look around like a kid in a candy store. She was fully slipped out of her seat belt, dangling over the center console, digging through everything on the floorboards.

“What are you two getting into?” Tyler asked, focused on driving but getting increasingly more distracted. Meg’s hand touched something that crinkled beneath the driver’s seat and hollered in excitement when she pulled it out.

“Cheese Doodles, hell yeah!” She tossed one back, it was only mildly stale. “Ooh, Sour Patch Kids.” 

“Stop it,” Tyler admonished, Kate settled back in her seat but didn’t stop snooping.

“You have a lot of stuff in here.” She flipped down the visor,

“Yeah, that…that’s a mirror.” Tyler sounded so done with them as Meg continued to list off every snack she found tucked away in the back. Kate opened the glove box, signed photos of Tyler spilling out. Meg burst out laughing as Kate reacted in a mix of horror and embarrassment, quickly shoving it closed. “Have you ever been in a car before?” Kate’s embarrassment didn’t last long though as she started flipping switches Meg knew she shouldn’t be touching. Meg, instead of saying anything, just sat back and watched the show.

“You got a lot of gadgets.” 

“Don’t touch that, there’s guards there for a reason,” Tyler warned but Kate went about what was decidedly not her business, flipping each of the red safety guards.

“What do these do?” Meg laughed, watching Tyler try to stop Kate from setting off the rockets and then trying to keep his composure when she did. Kate, to her credit, immediately apologized and stopped messing around with things. 

“Alright,” He pointed at the weather map on the screen showing three storm cells, “What about these two little ones just west of Enid?” 

“Yeah, but this one to the east has the sky all to herself,” Kate pointed at the screen. Meg rolled her eyes, texting Lily about the whole fireworks thing.

“Yeah, I’m not falling for that one again.” Kate threw Meg a “can you believe him” look that had her giggling and Tyler sighed. “You serious?” 

“Tell you later.” 

“Baby, tell her not to be mean to me,” Tyler whined, reaching his hand back. She squeezed it, loving that he was keeping her included even though she was in the back seat.

“Katie my Lady, tell the man which direction to go.” 

“Don’t start taking his side,” Kate sassed with a laugh, pointing Tyler in the right direction.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Hey!” 

Taglist: @theforevermorereject @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @sinners-98-world @nerdgirljen @candlejuice @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @football1921 @katiemcrae @emma8895eb @itsdesiree86 @closetspngirl @lostinwonderland314 @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @winterassassin1804

Next Chapter

[stockholdingsposts]

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[chuuyaspinkmotorcycle]

Day 17: Nonverbal Communication

The first time it became apparent they needed a system of communication for only themselves, it was shortly after officially becoming Double Black. 

Dazai had gotten himself captured to gather intel and the plan was for Chuuya to save the day. 

Simple enough, right?

Unfortunately, no – not with Chuuya’s rash aggressiveness, according to Dazai, and not with Dazai’s inability to communicate, according to Chuuya. 

When the slug decides to raid the building /before/ Dazai has gotten his main piece of needed information, it’s a problem.

When the mackerel yells at Chuuya to stop attacking before he kills someone, it’s an issue.

And in the end, when they manipulate the situation enough to get the information out of a dying enemy, their victory is only met with glares at each other.

They knew they had to fix whatever their deal was – especially after Mori heard about their almost-failure – and enlisted the help of Kouyou and Hirotsu.

The best solution was torture to both of them: locked in a room with only themselves and a set of notecards with words and ideas they had to create hidden symbols for.

It took five hours before Dazai got over messing with Chuuya enough to actually do something. 

(Chuuya didn’t know it at the time, but Dazai teasing him for so long was the brunet actually testing the expanse of Chuuya’s expressions to find a pattern, and even then Chuuya was so unpredictable that Dazai had to abandon multiple hypotheses.)

Chuuya, for his part, had noticed small things in how Dazai moved about during his teasing, guard up as he tried to predict Dazai’s next action of torment.

Neither remembers how they figured out their signs, but it worked.

Soukoku’s success rate remained 100%, and the Port Mafia thrived.

Until one-half of Double Black left.

That was four years ago.

“Oi, Dazai!” Chuuya calls out. He locks eyes with the man across the room, the brunet wiping away the blood from his nose. Chuuya blinks once, tilting his hat back up as he jumps up and to the right, using gravity to lighten himself.

He kicks the hitman in the head, knocking him out. Behind him, Chuuya hears the bang of Dazai’s gun going off, likely pointed at the other hitman who’d been aiming at Chuuya.

They’re on a mission, a routine wipeout of an organization that’s been threatening both the ADA and PM.

Within mere minutes, they’ve established control of the area, their other allies coming in to retrieve the enemy organization’s data.

Dazai strides over to Chuuya, the smallest of limps in his gait, which does not go unnoticed by the redhead. The bastard pokes Chuuya in the cheek, a shit-eating grin plastered over his face. Chuuya reaches up – feeling a tightness in his shoulder that he ignores – and flicks him on the forehead for it. 

“Oww, chibi’s so mean,” Dazai whines, rubbing his forehead. 

“I’ll show you mean, bastard,” Chuuya says, rolling his eyes.

With their part of the mission done, they’re free to go. Both organizations are well-capable of handling clean-up.

The second they’re in Chuuya’s apartment and walk into his bedroom, he rounds on Dazai, moving the brunet’s tan jacket out of the way in order to untuck his shirt. 

“Lemme see,” Chuuya murmurs. He raises his shirt, immediately spotting the swelling bruise on his hip. 

Above him, Dazai is still, hands frisking around to find purchase, only to settle on Chuuya’s shoulders. Chuuya wouldn’t be surprised if the mackerel hip-checked something earlier today and the only reason it’s swelling now is because he hip-checked something else during the fight.

“You’re such an idiot,” Chuuya whispers, thumb rubbing gentle circles along the edges of the bruise before leaning in to place a soft kiss. He straightens, meeting Dazai’s eyes and watching the growing red on his – unfortunately – pretty face.

“But I’m Chuuya’s idiot,” Dazai sing-songs, a genuine smile accompanying it. 

Chuuya tries to ignore his own burning cheeks, instead ducking and tugging on Dazai’s arm to follow him further into the house. “C’mon.”

Dazai doesn’t budge. Snaking an arm back around Chuuya’s shoulders, Dazai tugs him in, fingers dancing across his shoulder. Dazai pokes into the muscle on top. “Ah-ah, not until you tell me about this.”

Chuuya doesn’t even know how the brunet noticed earlier.

“Pulled it at the gym this morning,” the redhead grumbles, rolling his eyes.

Dazai tries to pull him in further, throwing his other arm around Chuuya as he says, “Aw, my poor slug! How will the mafia function without him?!”

“Bastard,” Chuuya scoffs, shoving away from him. He can feel a smile on his face that he can’t seem to force down as he changes clothes.

He leaves Dazai to change and goes to the kitchen for only two things, then moves to the living room. There, he finds Dazai patiently waiting on the couch, blankets ready and remote in hand as he scrolls for something for them to watch.

Chuuya sits next to him, relaxing as gentle fingers find his shoulder and begin to massage. Beside him, he presses a towel-wrapped ice pack to Dazai’s covered hip as Dazai throws one of the blankets around them.

In this bubble of warmth and safety, they don’t need words. They only need each other.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I wonder, do you think set up wise, things may have gone better if there was a kwami swap from the start? As sometimes I do think so.

Plagg I think could've been a solid foil to Marinette and could cover what she needs growth wise, as she can pile too much on her plate, over involve herself, and I really can't think of too many times that she really puts herself first it's usually others more than her and sometimes I feel she needs to self prioritize. So I think having the lazier and more self prioritizing Plagg to work off of could've been a benefit. It's also bonus that they'd be a hilarious lead duo.

On paper there's merits to Plagg and Adrien, who does need to rebel against his father and Cat works off his want for more independence, but it just never went anywhere. And sometimes I feel Adrien should've gotten a kwami that's more direct and involved with him. Tikki I could see pushing Adrien to make changes in his life if he's unsatisfied with it, talk with his father and try to work things out, initiate with others, help others not just stand by and leave others to do something. Additionally, I do feel Adrien was looking for someone to fill the void his mom left, and with Tikki having moments of being affectionate and supportive (though more s1), I could see her fitting into that spot.

I think it also makes more sense if they had been mixed up given that Marinette and Tikki are initiators while Adrien and Plagg are reactors.

I know at the core we just needed better writing and the canon matches could work just fine, it's just given who the characters are and what I see they need growth wise, I kinda wonder if kwami swap would've been better. Especially now knowing that Fu didn't complete his training, it is possible he didn't make the best choices.

Okay, so, before I get into this, I want to note that I have nothing against kwami swap AUs! Every time I come across one, I give it a read because I like seeing what people do with the concept. HOWEVER, I have noticed that none of them even try to deal with the elephant in the room*. Namely that Adrien would be a terrible ladybug.

The ladybug power is all about creative thinking. More specifically, it's about high-stakes, in-the-moment, quality creative thinking. That is canonically not Adrien's strong suit. It's Marinette's. So while Marinette could probably wield the black cat without issue, I just don't see Adrien working out long term unless you rewrite major aspects of his personality and I don't want to see that. I think Adrien is fine as-is and works perfectly as Marinette's foil.

I think you can get away with giving him creative thinking skills that work when he's got lots of time to think about a problem - I often give him those and make him read like a scientifically minded guy who needs data and analysis to further contrast Marinette's in-the-moment thinking style - but making him able to be the ladybug would make him not Adrien in more ways than one.

The second way is that ladybug is a leadership role. Ladybug is the one who gets the lucky charm and comes up with a solution that needs to be enacted NOW, so it requires a take-charge attitude and a willingness to boss people around. That is not Adrien. Adrien is a natural follower and that's a good thing. Teams require members who are willing to follow the leader. If Adrien was more of a leader who constantly questioned Ladybug's choices and tried to present his own ideas mid-battle, then their team wouldn't work. Similarly, if you made Adrien the ladybug, then you'd have to make Marinette a follower to balance leader!Adrien and those are just not the characters that we know and love.

It's far simpler to make a few minor tweaks to Plagg and Tikki because, while I love them, their roles aren't super well defined. You can make Plagg more willing to give advice and Tikki more willing to give support and guidance without feeling like you've gone against core aspects of their characters because they already do those things. They just don't do them super well.

You can also bring in other characters to shore up these two's weaknesses. Mentor characters are generally supposed to give occasional advice, but let their mentees do most of the work, so it makes sense to dial back Plagg and Tikki to occasional advice givers and dial up Alya and Nino to more active teammates and friends. At least, that's what makes sense to me. I want the kwamis to be important, but not more important than the friends.

*When I say that nobody deals with the Adrien-having-to-think-like-Marinette-for-this-to-work problem, I mean that I've yet to see a fic or comic that actually showed a traditional akuma fight. They all skip those. The most you may see is a Lady Blanc or a Gabriel takedown or stuff like that. And if that's all you're doing? Then switch away! Adrien's only a bad ladybug when the fight requires him to think like a ladybug as we saw in Reflekdoll.

[ninjagirlstar5]

AVA Chosenweek - Day 1: Stargazing/Cloudgazing

Ignore the fact that this is literally minutes away from midnight on the 28th where I'm from, I was a lot more busy than I thought I'd be-

I'll just clean things up in the morning but enjoy this little piece of writing I did for day 1!

Edit: Did the clean up, and here's an AO3 link!

When Chosen had first stepped into Minecraft, it wasn’t anything he had expected.

Well, seeing the red rocky terrain with lava almost as common as the Sea of Data’s waters and dangerous mobs in nearly every corner wasn’t the best first impression for a game he had never touched before, let alone heard of. But once Mango had led him to another Nether Portal, the scenery had quickly become something remotely familiar: a lush forest of grass and trees as far as the eyes can see and a river flowing nearby. It was just a little bit different from what he’s seen in the OuterNet.

Different as in, Minecraft is literally a world made of blocks. Blocks that he can break down and pick up, suddenly having an inventory where he can pick and choose what he needs with just a glance in his mind’s eye. And with just a wave of the block in hand, he can place down those blocks and build whatever he wants, even a platform he can hop on to reach a ledge he can’t get to. Not that he needed to, having the ability to fly and all, but Chosen had seen Mango do it a few times as he and his child helped scope out the area.

An area where Chosen can make his new “house.”

Well, the “house” they’ve started making was less of that, and more of a hole dug into a cliffside and blocked off with (temporary) cobblestone for the front, and a wooden door. He's not sure why Purple was so insistent that they use this spot in all honesty.

Maybe it was because Chosen had been chilling on the cliff and he had taken it as a sign that he liked it.

Maybe it was because it was the exact same spot where Mango and Chosen had stopped to rest during his first day exploring Minecraft.

Or maybe it was because the view was as nice as the OuterNet’s Data Bay and decided that it'd be good for Chosen to see it every time he woke up.

Chosen wasn't sure and he didn't really ask. He simply thought about it for only a minute before deciding it was “good enough” as a base. But when he had said that he'd need a house made of stone to avoid accidentally burning anything down, Purple immediately jumped at the chance to suggest that they build Chosen's new house into the cliff. Despite his surprise, Mango had backed his child up on their idea so long as Chosen approved and, well, he couldn’t really bring himself to say “no.”

And that was that.

Chosen was lying in a bed in his new “house,” staring at the ceiling they had dug out into a decently sized square and torches to light up the room to prevent monsters from spawning in. They had made decent progress between the three of them, with Mango helping Chosen with crafting and building the balcony while Purple measured out how much space he would need living in this base. But they had just finished the balcony’s staircase around the cliffside when Mango and Purple had to leave due to how late it had gotten. They needed to attend to their lives back in the OuterNet, Mango juggling his jobs and Purple with her classes, in order to pretend they had some kind of normal routine that didn’t involve hiding a(n ex-)terrorist from the world. And now, here he was, all alone in this tiny Minecraft bed that was surprisingly soft…

And Chosen was unable to sleep.

Figures.

Chosen sighs, dragging his hand down his face. It’s not as if he didn’t like the idea of living in Minecraft. It was probably the best option considering his circumstances, even if it wasn’t a perfect solution.

It just didn’t fully sit right with him.

Not when it felt like they were, in a way, running away from a fight.

Running away from their problems.

Running away from their own crimes.

Chosen furrows their brow, feeling a familiar urge rise in their code. It was an itch of wanting to do something when they didn’t have to do anything. When they had to lay their head down and close their eyes to sleep.

But they haven’t been able to do that in a long time, forced to jump from place to place just to avoid getting arrested by RocketCorp. And just when they were finally letting their guard down at Mango’s house…

Chosen swallows.

They don’t want to think about this.

Not right now.

So Chosen pushes the covers off of them and gets out of bed. They didn’t plan to do anything that took up too much energy, not tonight. They weren’t in the mood to go fight a random mob in the forest. No, they just wanted something small and quiet to do. Chosen passes by the crafting station as they walk, their mind blank on what they could even make without wasting resources. They didn’t want to get scolded by Mango if they did that so Chosen left it alone for now. Instead, they step outside for some fresh air.

The balcony wasn’t completely finished and was made out of wooden planks as a placeholder until they create more “aesthetically pleasing stone blocks,” Purple’s words, not theirs. Honestly, Chosen doesn’t really care too much about decoration as long as they had a roof over their head. Although some railings would be nice since they didn’t want anyone to fall over the ledge. They wouldn’t be able to recover unlike them, who can fly. But Chosen didn’t bother to make some even though they had the wood to do it. They just sat down on the edge and stared at the view.

The stony shore biome where his base was placed overlooked an ocean where it meets the mouth of a nearby river which flows through a meadow and goes on as far as the eye can see. The sun has long since set, with the moon taking its place with a soft, white glow. In its own blocky way. The chill of the night made Chosen shudder but they didn’t move from their spot. They simply let it envelop him as they take slow, deep breaths. They can hear mobs in the distance hopping around on land or splashing in the water but they weren’t approaching and that was more than enough for them. As long as the mobs don’t bother them, then they won’t go out of their way to attack them. At least for tonight.

Tonight, they simply stared at the sky.

Honestly, there wasn’t anything that interesting in Minecraft’s sky. The clouds weren’t as malleable or easily formed shapes like the OuterNet, restricted by the game's design of blocks for nearly everything. It’s not as if an occasional shape can’t naturally form like any other cloud in the OuterNet. It simply wasn’t as recognizable for Chosen in the world of Minecraft. Perhaps it was even less interesting than the times he would gaze at the sky on the roof of the home he actually wished to return to.

But the sky was no less beautiful than before, the stars glimmering down at him alongside the moon. In fact, Chosen still found it amazing even after the initial wave of awe had passed by after his first day in Minecraft.

And just staring at the sky of Minecraft reminded Chosen of one important fact that even the OuterNet couldn’t free him from:

There were no PCs of all the Creators in this world.

No IP address written across the sky, too tiny for most sticks to see from down below but still hovering above them all.

No distracting lines that criss-cross each other to represent a PC as he tries to pay more attention to the clouds and stars.

No reminders of what he had escaped all those years ago.

Just a giant, vast atmosphere that greeted him the same way it did when he first stepped into Minecraft’s main world.

It was wonderful. Like an invisible stone in his gut dissipating without another word.

Here, Chosen didn’t have to see a single PC as he stared at the sky.

Here, Chosen can just stare at the sky simply because he can and bask in its beauty.

As the wind blows through his hair, Chosen lets out a soft sigh. It wasn’t much, but stargazing at least gave him the feeling of doing something, despite how little he has to do. Despite how much this new “house” did not feel like a “home.”

But it was nice.

Nicer than anything the sky of the OuterNet could provide him with.

And Chosen, upon feeling a wave of calmness approaching, embraces it.

Just for tonight.

[sharpsuite]

BONUS PROMPT FOR @cartelheir bc i love vivi and wish to spoil:

↳ NONVERBAL MEMES ↳ [ nap ] for your muse to fall asleep against mine

   Chishiya stares with BARELY concealed surprise as he feels Pat slump against him, burying her head against his shoulder. This doesn’t happen to Chishiya. People don’t so much as reach out to touch his shoulder or arm to pass by, let alone fall asleep against him. It’s like they can all see the void that he is, that there’s something wrong. He swallows down the bitter sensation that threatens to crawl out of his chest like ROT easing through cracks in the wall and focuses on the warmth and weight at his side. Pat is here and she’s fast asleep against him.

   He doesn’t know what to do about that really. Does he stay? Does he try to move her to a more comfortable position? Wake her? He tosses the lattermost option out before the thought is even done. She’d looked exhausted even before she fell asleep, like what rest she had been getting had been stressful. He cranes his head a little bit to study her face. She looks PEACEFUL like this. Probably one of if not the most peaceful he’s seen her since – ever really. Certainly since they'd returned from the borderlands and since her husband was dead and seeking refuge with him. It’s strange to come to terms with the thought someone can look at him and feel safe enough to sleep. It’s also strange to come to terms with the thought he’d once asked her to not leave him as he bled out. Strange, but not bad.

    Uncertainty ensures that each movement he makes is slow so as not to disturb her. He doesn’t have any reference for this situation. He’s never cuddled with someone, never fell asleep against his mom or had any friends. But he doesn’t want her uncomfortable now or later. He takes a very GRADUAL approach to shifting her off the sharp edge of his shoulder and towards the edge of his chest in front of the scapula, brown eyes focused as he makes sure not to wake her. She doesn’t wake, and he hesitates with a now semi-free arm. What does he do now? It makes him feel stupid, because no normal person would struggle with this. But HE does. Is he doing this right? Wrong? There’s no guide to tell him, no mathematical equation that offers a simple solution in the form of quantitative data. 

  He reaches down and gently pulls the blanket up further to keep her warm, head tilted to the side to keep track of her breathing and making sure he hasn’t woken her. It’s a TEMPORARY relief from the dilemma of what to do. It’s over too fast and leaves Chishiya right back where he started. Ever so slowly he lowers his hand, as if he’s afraid to get BURNED, until he’s gently resting an arm around her. The burning isn't quite imaginary though. It takes him a moment to realize that it's his lungs burning ; he has been holding his breath the whole time since he lowered his hand. It’s RIDICULOUS and he can’t help rolling his eyes at himself over how absurd he’d behaving. ( Except it's not that absurd, because this isn’t natural for him and it takes time to learn. ) She seems more comfortable like this at least so he takes that as a sign he did something right.

   His free hand reaches for the remote and he turns off the television, plunging the living room into a comfortable darkness. It feels a bit better, where his struggles aren’t as OBVIOUS. He’s always hated failing, not being good enough at something. It’s never been something like this though ; only a skill he hadn’t yet learned or a branch of knowledge he’d never pursued. Not basic interactive skills. His mouth twitches slightly at the thought and he focuses instead on the steady breathing and peaceful quiet.

   Maybe he should sleep too, but sleep didn’t feel anywhere near close to happening. His free hand lingers by his side before Chishiya lifts it to gently comb through her hair, chin hesitantly resting against the crown of her head. It’s REPLICATION – remembering what she’d done and mimicking it to the best he can. Tentative touch turns a bit more confident with time, more stable than the flighty feather-light nature of it before. It’s nice. It’s terrifying. He's not sure what he's going to do when she wakes up.

   He turns his head to the side so his cheek rests against her head and watches the gradual change of night to morning through the blinds. 

[neostriatum]

I need that dark in a little more light

[Dreamwidth] [SquidgeWorld🔒]

They weren't getting anywhere fast, not anytime soon.

-

At first, he wasn’t certain it was a good idea to have his back to a wraith. Scratch that – definitely a bad idea, and if he didn’t have that gnawing pit in his stomach that was simultaneously an itch for food and mortal terror about his sister, he might have insisted they take up different rooms for their work.

His stomach grumbled, and he felt vaguely guilty about it, pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt further down over his hands. The SGC was on the cool side on a good day, even with all of the provisions included to make sure the energy flows for their gate were properly insulated, but the oncoming creep of a lowering blood sugar was making him clammy.

Glancing over at Todd, he didn’t see any sign of hunger, but then would any wraith divulge such a weakness to a human? Probably not, and Todd seemed less inclined than any other wraith he met. The other- well, man, yes, not just wraith, was typing idly at the keyboard in front of him, deftly analyzing data from the nanites Jeannie was infected with.

A part of him still couldn’t believe his attempt at persuasion worked. He would have liked to think it was because the cause was just, but it was more probable that Todd simply understood what it was like to lose a relative. Being Kolya’s and other Genii’s plaything for years on end didn’t help, he thought, and he glanced away before anyone but the guards could notice.

Sheppard knew more about this, knew- knew an incredible amount more about people, in those vague ways that made people make sense. Not the analytical way, breaking them down into parts, but intuiting those little social mores that had only baffled him with their circumspect nature. At some point in his life he had tried to do that, but one look at Rod assuaged him of any ideas to imitate the impeccably off-putting suaveness he likely would have become if he attempted to emulate Sheppard. Some things were best left to cool people and alternate universes, he decided.

Beside him, Todd made a quiet noise, shifting from one computer to another. They had multiple set up, a daisy-chain of laptops that had been retrofitted for simulating various programs in the nanites. While they both had some more detailed ideas about how the nanites were repairing cells – and what materials these nanites were even using, given their synthetic nature – the key components were evading both of them.

He looked at his own computers, with the hundreds of thousands of lines of programming for a single nanite, and its communication structures, and the close-up photographs they managed to acquire from Jeannie’s blood samples. Engineering he could do, and he was, but this… much as he was loathe to admit it, this was beyond his skillset. Todd had lived and breathed the threat of the Pegasus Replicators, and made leaps of intuition he never could have.

Todd ducked his head when his stomach grumbled again, and he felt his face warm in embarrassment. Fuck, He realized with self-reflective dread, He knew I was hungry the entire time, and didn’t say anything.

As if to highlight his own thoughts, Todd rumbled to himself, making all the guards around them stiffen in nervous anticipation. They were all roundly ignored, though, when Todd turned his head to look at him, “You should eat. We shall be working on this for a while, and there is still enough time to do so. It will do me no good if you collapse.”

Glancing at Todd, and then to the array of computers, it wasn’t difficult to calculate who was most likely to complete this work – and to do it accurately. Jeannie’s scared face when she agreed with him to be put into a hopefully-temporary coma while he worked on a solution echoed in his mind, and he sucked in a breath, clenching his hands around the sweaty cuffs of his sweatshirt.

“So, uh, about that,” He said, tilting his chin up. Todd turned to face him more fully, and he didn’t know if the gauntness was just how wraith looked, or that it was particular to Todd’s circumstances. He didn’t look away from the assessing gaze, and so was able to see the spark of recognition in the other man’s eyes at- at whatever he had observed, “I might just have a solution.”

-

Author's Notes

Title from Fall Out Boy's song Save Rock and Roll. Since this is tagged for suicidality, on SquidgeWorld I've followed the site's recommended guidelines and locked the work to users-only over there.

[literally-in-too-many-fandoms]

Wreck When I'm Without You

Fire Emblem: Three Houses Fanfic

characters: Linhardt von Hevring, Caspar von Bergliez, Ashe Ubert

Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff and Angst, Established Caspar/Linhardt Relationship, Polyamory

. The new year at Garreg Mach University brings a series of crises to the happy relationship of Linhardt von Hevring and Caspar Bergliez, and to Caspar's new lacrosse teammate, Ashe Ubert.

Between unexpectedly attractive teammates, getting cut off from family, and navigating new social situations, these three are going to navigate an eventful year. And as we all know, the best solution to any problem is to panic and avoid communicating your needs to the partners and friends who explicitly offer to care for you.

They'll figure it out, probably.

Chapter 1: all my emotions feel like explosions when you're around

Sophomore year of medical school was honestly two years further than Linhardt expected to ever get.  So even though that was when this tiny piece of perfection he’d carved out for himself began to crumble, Linhardt was merely grateful for the time he had had.

Okay, that was a lie. 

He was full-on panicking.

First, there was a series of emails from the university and his bank. 

[Tuition payment method has been changed] [Please confirm your billing method] [Your Upcoming Tuition Payment] [New Billing Statement Available] [PLEASE READ: Tuition payment options]

Second, there was the error message he got when he tried to message his father. 

The text chain was old: scattered check-ups with one-word responses, a message on the holidays and birthdays.  The last text was dated three months prior, when his father had asked him to come home for a distant relative’s funeral.  Linhardt had begged off with an excuse about a term paper.  His father had responded that of course, he should prioritize his studies, as long as his civic engineering minor wouldn’t impede his business major.  Now, his newest message bounced.  A physical representation of how it always felt to communicate with his father.

Third, Caspar was shouting (this was not unusual) that they were out of milk again (this was also not unusual) and asking Linhardt to order some from the store pretty please (this was also also not unusual). 

What was unusual was that as Caspar stumbled into the room, pulling his jacket on one shoulder, a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth, he stopped before he approached Linhardt’s bed.  Usually, Caspar did not hesitate before bodily scooping him out of his blanket cocoon, ignoring Linhardt’s protestations.  This was their deal.  Caspar would wake him up before practice or games on Saturdays, because otherwise Linhardt was liable to sleep through the whole day without seeing his boyfriend, given that Caspar had work in the evening.  Linhardt would not protest too much because this was what he wanted from university.  Good research, and the chance to be with Caspar.

What hurt most about it, was Linhardt had been excited about today.  His next research project for school was interesting.  New data from Lysithea, who was the bright star up and coming in the biomed department, with her statistics background.  Professor Hanneman had suggested some promising studies on the degenerative disease which linked to certain “crest” genes.  He’d been up late studying and was looking forward to waking up in order to read more.

But then he’d glanced at the cascade of emails.  His father’s radio silence.  And now Caspar was hesitating, eyes caught on his.  Caspar was, for all his faults, unerringly honest.  Linhardt had never known him to hesitate.

There was a honk from outside. 

“von Bergliez!  Do not make me tell our lovely team captain that you made us late again!”

And then Caspar blinked, and the hesitation was gone; he swooped over, one arm under Linhardt’s knees while the other tucked the blanket around his shoulders and lifted him up and close to Caspar’s chest.  He started talking around the piece of toast in his mouth.  It was spraying crumbs across Linhardt’s favorite blanket, and it was somehow still endearing.  “—‘n can you help me wi’ the one reading assignment for Prof Eisner, I know I can read, but in their class I feel like I can’t—”

It was almost lucky that Caspar didn’t give him even a breath to respond, because Linhardt couldn’t formulate words.  There was no space in his brain between the sudden onslaught of nerves that those emails had inflicted.  One thought screamed he needed to tell Caspar right now because rent was due soon and Linhardt didn’t have a job or steady income if his father had cut him off.  Another thought choked it, that Caspar could never know because Caspar was putting himself through college on a partial lacrosse scholarship and part-time job for Linhardt.  Caspar was at Garreg Mach because of Linhardt and if Linhardt failed at this, all his work would be for nothing.

There was a breath of quiet weightlessness in Caspar’s arms before he deposited him on Linhardt’s favorite study spot, the corner of the couch with the good pillow behind his back.  There was already a cup of tea on the coffee table.  Caspar swallowed the last of the toast and pressed a kiss to his forehead.  “—Thanks again Lin!  Text you after the game, I’ll try not to need stitches again this time!”

And then Caspar was gone, the whirlwind out the door, accidentally scraping the doorframe for the nth time with his lacrosse stick on the way out.

Linhardt was stuck in the aftermath.  The house was silent.  There was birdsong outside, the robins startling to trickle back after the winter.  Ferdinand’s and Caspar’s yelling from the car before it drove away, blasting what had to be Dorothea’s music from the speakers.  But the house held that kind of quiet after a storm had blown through.  Usually Caspar was the only storm that inhabited.  This time, the winds howled inside Linhardt’s head.

He took a deep breath.  Deep breaths were conducive to clear thinking.  Linhardt had learned breathing exercises early.  They got him through high school, through panic attacks, through the worst possible dinner parties that his dad’s company hosted.  The winds quieted.  They still swirled, thoughts like detritus cast back and forth across his head, each important and incomprehensible.

The first one to parse was not the clear-cut, easy to understand bank statements. 

No, the first thing that his mind wrapped itself around was the quiet knife through his ribcage that his father had blocked his number, and cut him out entirely.  It was not surprising.  Waldemar was a proud executive of his own company, from a long line of graduates from Garreg Mach’s school of business.  He had one plan for Linhardt, one that allowed no deviances.  Waldemar had thrived under the same plan; Linhardt had long since stopped trying to convince his father that the same path would only choke him.  There was a sense of loss there, but it was muted.  He’d resigned himself to this outcome when he’d committed to trying med school out for the hope of his own future.  He’d thought, in some abstract way, that his father would at least have the dignity to text him first.  Call.  Ask for an explanation.  Not just slam the door and leave Linhardt virtually penniless on the other side.

The second to make its way to manageable in his head was the university emails.  They were easy to follow.  Fake-sympathetic language about his payment being declined.  About the grace period while he arranged for the next payment.  The number of zeroes on the tuition payment stacked up like stones in his throat.  They far outnumbered his current bank statement.

This spawned quieter questions in the back of his head.  How fast could he get a job, could he juggle the major and minor and honors and a job, how much was this going to impact his sleep schedule?  If he couldn’t make it through university, would he be stuck at a dead-end job til he died of a disease he should’ve been treating as a doctor?

Eventually, Linhardt extracted one arm out of his blanket cocoon and reached over with slow hands to the mug of tea which Caspar had left for him. 

It was in Linhardt’s favorite mug, with a cartoonish fish that said “Women want me, fish fear me”, except Caspar had taken a sharpie to it and crossed out “women” and wrote his own name.  The tea had long since gone tepid.

There was a tight grip of cold fingers wrapped around his stomach, but Linhardt quietly diagnosed it as psychosomatic and likely the aftermath of not having any solid food in almost 24 hours and then extreme emotional stress.  He took a sip of lukewarm tea that had steeped too long, but it was soothing on his throat.

The one tumbleweed left bouncing between his ears was Caspar’s hesitation this morning.  Was he nervous about the first game of the new semester?  No, that wasn’t like him.  And no assignment had ever stumbled Caspar truly, for all that he struggled in any subject that wasn’t his practical classes for sports medicine.

No answer rose to him, no matter how long he tossed it back and forth. 

And Linhardt had always understood Caspar, had been close enough to him in their childhoods to see him in every mood, and had long since discovered that Caspar’s relentless optimism and drive ignited something in Linhardt himself.  They’d been together since junior year of high school, when Caspar burst into his room and said a very long string of words which amounted to him having a conversation with Dorothea and she had told him that boys could have boyfriends too, and Caspar had run directly to Linhardt’s house to ask him to date him.

And that was the thought that haunted him, even as Linhardt put away his med books and started planning to save his future from collapsing around his ears.  The thought that there was something about Caspar he didn’t know or understand.

////////////////////////////

Caspar was having a crisis.  This was pretty new to him, all things considered, since the last problem he couldn’t solve by yelling or fighting was also the one he’d worn the longest, and to this day he didn’t know how to shake off his father’s dismissal.  He’d yelled his way through a sexuality crisis in high school, through finding a part time job, through 5am lacrosse practices, just to name a few.  Crises he couldn’t solve by yelling were not usual.

The current crisis was just a few inches taller than him, had silver hair, and had managed to win Edelgard’s respect within the first half-hour of the new season of lacrosse with his pinpoint accuracy. 

Now, falling for the new guy on the lacrosse team was maybe not as big of a crisis as it once might have been.  It wouldn’t have been a problem at all, were it not for the sleepy pile of blankets and green hair which Caspar had left at the house this morning.  See, Caspar and Linhardt had not much talked about their relationship; their friendship had morphed naturally into something more after the year in high school when Caspar realized it was possible to like guys.  They already knew each other so well that there was no need for discussion or boundary-setting.  Linhardt had kissed him once on the forehead, shocking Caspar into three minutes of stunned silence, and then it was smooth sailing for the rest of their partnership.  Moving in together at college hadn’t even been a conversation—especially since it was the only way Caspar could afford to not live on campus. 

So, it wasn’t so much that liking Ashe was a problem.  It was that he liked both Ashe AND Linhardt, and had no idea how to bring up the conversation with his boyfriend, without potentially breaking something he couldn’t live without.  Sometimes Caspar felt left behind by his boyfriend’s genius, or maybe just that he was running a different race entirely and had no real context for how far ahead of him Linhardt stood.  He knew Linhardt wouldn’t drop him, no matter that they were in different sports.  But sometimes when he saw the way Hubert and Ferdinand smirked in the same way when they won a match together, and he wondered if Linhardt would always be happy with him in a different arena. 

He and Linhardt worked because they’d never known life without each other.  Too much change, and Linhardt might realize there were other paths of less resistance. 

But Caspar had managed to get Ashe to smile before their match, and Caspar’s heart had raced. 

Ashe had dimples.  His quiet chuckle filled Caspar’s chest and then when it morphed into a full-blown laugh, Caspar felt the same warmth of pride as when he managed to get Linhardt to smile.  And their friendship felt almost as comfortable: they both babied the stray cat which haunted the gym and when Ashe admitted to feeding it in the mornings, Caspar had grinned and shown him the bag of cat food which he stored at the front desk for that express purpose.  Ashe tutored him in literature class.  Caspar had become Ashe’s unofficial tour guide around the school.

The additional problem was that Ashe’s calendar was formatted the same as Linhardt’s.  They color-coordinated their notes in similar patterns.  And Ashe laughed at the same jokes which made Linhardt chuckle.

There was some math in there that Caspar couldn’t figure out.  Him and Ashe were great friends, and Caspar couldn’t stop wanting more.  Ashe and Linhardt had never interacted and it was simultaneously Cas’s greatest hope and deepest nightmare that they would.

“Eagles,” Edelgard’s voice cut through Ashe’s laughter.  She was getting ready to give her pre-game speech.  Caspar’s heart was still racing.  Petra nudged him, and he knew his cheeks must be burning too—hopefully she’d think he was just hyped up for their first match of the season.  He always got a little too into it, as Hubert said.  “Form up!”

Ashe continued to grin as they walked over.  Caspar wanted to pin that smile to his jersey collar.

Edelgard was talking—something about “a strong start to the season means more than simple numbers on the scoreboard” or some such—and Ashe was listening intently.  Caspar, not so much.  Edelgard’s pre-game pep talks were not important, he’d come to realize.  He needed to listen to her during games and needed to pay attention if Hubert started looking like he was going to strangle Caspar with his own intestines (this was a separate look from his usual murder-face).  But right now, Hubert had his smug smirk as though he’d helped Edelgard write this pep talk.  Right now, Caspar could bounce back and forth on the balls of his feet to get out the constant energy thrumming in his veins (while glancing intermittently at Ashe’s focused expression, because he realized that Ashe’s freckles were brighter in the sunlight).

“—and I am proud to be an Eagle, on this, the start of our new season!”

The rest of them gave a pre-match battle cry, as across the field the opposing team did the same.  Caspar was a moment behind, but they moved as one out on to the field.  It was still too early in the year for the warm spring and the best field conditions, but it hadn’t rained in a few days and the chill was easily driven away by the weak sun and the way Caspar’s whole nervous system lit on fire when Ashe nudged him—and Caspar physically had to shake his head, shove the warmth away, because there was a hole in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Linhardt shutting the door in his face.

The opponents were some no-name team from a no-name college which Caspar only knew because Linhardt had laughed when he’d gotten their letters in senior year.  Linhardt had gotten a lot of those college letters in senior year.  If Caspar asked, he’d tell him about their programs or look up their lacrosse team.  He’d offer to call them on Caspar’s behalf.  To ask about their scholarships.  But Caspar only applied to Garreg Mach.  Their lacrosse program was not the best, nor did they offer the best scholarships.  But once he knew that was where Linhardt was going, that was the only option for him.  And he’d been happier the past two years than he could ever remember being before.

So Caspar shook his head again, only nodded in return to Ashe’s mildly nervous smile.  He readied his lacrosse stick and fell in behind Edelgard at the line.  If he couldn’t fight or yell his way out of this crisis, he would ignore it.  And one day he’d learn to bear it like he bore his father’s lack of interest.

That day was not today though, because Caspar kept getting so distracted by Ashe’s freckles that he managed to get clocked over the head when the opposing team checked him. 

They finished the match but Caspar’s vision was still swimming.  Petra was worriedly buzzing around him and Edelgard was muttering something disparaging, but the only thing Caspar could focus on was Ashe’s face.

“Caspar, are you okay?”

Cas grinned back, unable to contain it.  “We win?”

Petra sighed and Hubert said something that contained a lot of numbers and statistics but amounted to yes. 

“Then… ‘M doin’ great!”

“Guys, I think he might have a concussion,” Ashe said, and turned away to look at Edelgard, at Coach Jeritza.  Caspar frowned, and reached out for him again.  Ashe obediently grabbed his elbows again, kept him upright.  Caspar was delighted to find that he could support his weight.  Ashe was so strong!

“Yes, he is having a concussion again.” Petra said, and Caspar realized with horror he probably said that aloud.

“Take him back to his place, Linhardt will take care of him,” Edelgard said.

Somewhere in his mind, part of him balked at that.  Wasn’t that the thing that he was so preoccupied about this morning?  But right now, Ashe was warm, and Caspar could lean against him.  And if they were back at his place, Linhardt could help—Linhardt always helped.  Caspar wanted to know if he and Ashe took their tea the same way.

“—you don’t need tea, Caspar, you need a nurse,” Ashe was saying, but Ferdinand and Edelgard were talking over both of them, and before Caspar knew what else was going on, they had bundled him into Ferdinand’s car. 

////////////////////////////

The semester was going “great.”  It’s what he told Lonato on their weekly phone calls.  He liked his classes, and the profs were great.  The lacrosse team that he’d joined due to his little siblings’ gentle bullying was great.  The campus was great (though the food was only tolerable since he didn’t have his own kitchen and the dorm kitchen in terrible shape so he couldn’t cook anything) and he was making great friends.  These were not lies, technically.  Lonato always joked that he was losing his eloquence as a Lit major if everything was only “great.”

Ashe could amend those statements: His classes were interesting, and his profs were very supportive.  The lacrosse team was the perfect kind of insanity and only sometimes made him miss his old team.  The campus was something out of a fairy tale, all old stone and vines.  And he was making new friends, while ignoring the urge to make anything more than that with Caspar.  Those were also not lies.  And they gave a better impression that he was adjusting well to the sudden transfer to Garreg Mach halfway through his college career.

And he was!  Adjusting well.  Comparatively.

This particular Saturday morning was maybe the first time the whole semester that he’d thought about going back to Gaspard.  And it wasn’t that it was bad, per se.  Today had been good, a strong opening match to the season.  His teammates were wonderful, and Caspar had been in rare form: captivating in the way he moved, the way his erratic energy coalesced into an unstoppable force on the field.  Ashe was more than happy to have Caspar lean against him in the car, though he did not appreciate that Caspar had to be delirious with a probable concussion for it.

The problem was that they were going back to Caspar-and-Linhardt’s house. 

Ashe knew that Caspar was in a relationship.  It was hard not to: Caspar talked about Linhardt like he’d hung the moon.  The other lacrosse teammates spoke of Linhardt often, hung out at their shared house off-campus on the weekends after practice.  Ashe always begged off.  He enjoyed his friendship with Caspar, and tried very hard to remind himself constantly that it could never be more than that.  Anytime Caspar-and-Linhardt came up, Ashe tried to be respectful.  He didn’t know if he was afraid that Linhardt was secretly a terrible person who Ashe could then resent, or that Linhardt was secretly the best person ever.  Or maybe he was afraid that Linhardt would see through him and know he had a crush on his boyfriend and banish Caspar from talking to him ever again.  Whichever outcome, it would change the easy friendship he had with Caspar. 

But there he was, Caspar potentially injured beside him, bundled into the car as Ferdinand monologued, unconcerned, about some training plans he had discussed with Edelgard (which Edelgard was going to throw out the window, honestly).  He didn’t know how he’d got there.  Why hadn’t any of the other guys come with them?  Ashe didn’t want to take Caspar back to his house and meet his probably-perfect boyfriend and be immediately crushed that he’d be alone forever.  But Petra had plans afterwards with her partner, and Edelgard and Hubert were busy planning training regiments, and Caspar was already half-collapsed in Ashe’s arms.

To make everything worse, Ferdinand had hopped out long enough to open the door, and Ashe had started helping Caspar up the steps to Caspar-and-Linhardt’s house. 

It wasn’t until he had already knocked that he looked around to realize Ferdinand had gotten back into the car without him.  “Ferdinand?!”

Ferdie waved out the window.  “I am afraid I would be more harm than help in this case!  Linhardt has banished me from their place after last time, anyways.  Let me know when you need a pickup, and I will be over as swiftly as possible!”

“Ferdinand!” Ashe yelled, but the car was already pulling away.

He had just enough time to think longingly of the familiar streets of Gaspard, and his old friends who would never abandon him at a random house.

Then the door opened, and Ashe looked up to see a green-haired man in comfortable, cozy attire, with a disinterested eyebrow raised in question.

Ashe was not ashamed to admit it, but the second he laid eyes on Linhardt, he knew Caspar’s boyfriend was out of his league.  He had the perpetually tired look of all the other overachieving students Ashe knew, but there was the quality of his sweatshirt (nicer than all the ones Caspar wore), the three stacks of old Starbucks cups on the counter, the unimpressed way Linhardt glanced at the mud Ashe would be tracking into his home.  He looked like the kids that Christophe always complained—always used to complain about when he was dragged to Lonato’s fancy dinners.  He was pretty in the way that came with good genes and a good skincare routine.  He probably fit in well among Edelgard with her name-brand cleats, Ferdinand and his outdoorsman club membership.  Ashe was tired of meeting people at this school who could buy new textbooks instead of scrounging through Chegg for used copies or borrowing from a friend of a friend.

Then he shook his head, and tried to squash the instinctive vitriol in his heart.  After all, since Lonato had adopted him and his siblings, Ashe was one of them.  One among the echelon who could afford a big-name school.  And while Lonato only paid the (unfortunately large) portion of his tuition that wasn’t covered by student loans or Ashe’s job, Ashe was still doing better than most.  Better than he’d ever dreamed of.  And even his major—there was a quiet voice in his chest that told him constantly that he should be getting a “real” degree, that he was going to graduate and fall flat on his face in a world that didn’t pay you to read books.  Ashe was in no position to judge anyone for their socioeconomic status.

And then he realized he was still standing, dripping mud and possibly blood onto Caspar-and-Linhardt’s doormat, and Caspar was still mumbling deliriously about the game.

“Uh, I really don’t mean to intrude—” Ashe said, hating every second of this day that had led up to him being abandoned on this random doorstep. 

Technically, he didn’t even know that this actually was Caspar-and-Linhardt’s place.  Were the Eagles the type to haze?  Because this felt like it might be a hazing situation.  He didn’t think that Edelgard was the type, but then again she did get a really intense look in her eye when she talked about lacrosse that was only matched by her fervor in her poli-sci classes. 

“—Um, are you—is this Caspar’s house?  They said to bring him here but I tried to tell them he needed to see a nurse—”

Caspar stirred in his arms.  He shook his head, grinned in that all-consuming way that Ashe couldn’t help but enjoy looking at, and said the clearest sentence in the past hour: “No hospital, Lin’s got me!”

Ashe looked back at the green-haired man, who was still staring back with an unreadable expression.

“—And I don’t even know if you’re Linhardt,” Ashe said. 

“…Unfortunately, you’re at the right place,” Linhardt said, and finally uncrossed his arms.  His voice was languid, tone seemingly disinterested.  “And yes, that one is my problem to deal with, though I have considered dropping him at the ER if he gets concussed again.”

“Nooo, Lin,” Caspar moaned, still leaning half of his weight on Ashe’s chest, blue eyes unable to keep focus on where Linhardt stood but clearly trying.  “Pl’s no more.  It’s… so boring in there.  But, but I’ll stay in m’ room.”

Linhardt rolled his eyes, but then stepped closer, and the first real expression crossed his face.  His dark gray eyes softened to something kind, and some endearment eased the worry line between his eyebrows.  “No, I’m not going to banish you to your room,” Linhardt said, only to shudder and draw back when he saw the streak of red down his boyfriend’s face.  “Urgh, but I’m not dealing with your blood on the couch again.”

Linhardt turned his eyes to Ashe’s, and he unconsciously straightened up.  It wasn’t the stare of someone looking down their nose at him.  If anything, it bordered on introspective, some analysis taking place that Ashe couldn’t comprehend. 

Whatever Linhardt saw in him, it must have sufficed, because he turned and gestured to the kitchen, sighing.  “Well, if you’re nice enough to help Cas through the door instead of dropping him at the doorstep like Hubert is wont to do, you’ll probably be willing to help me clean him up.  I’ll even give you our wifi password for it, if you’ll just get some paper towels and stop that head wound from bleeding.  Cas would probably buy you a coffee but I don’t feel like pay—waiting, for DoorDash right now.”

“I—” Ashe stuttered, stumbled in. 

He couldn’t help but look around in amazement at the living room; there were more medical textbooks in the shelves than in the library, a collection of novelty mugs decorated in between the stacks, and more pillows and blankets than seemed reasonable for any two people to own.  It was the coziest reading room he’d ever seen, and Ashe shoved down the instinctive desire to ask if he could come back here to read sometime.  There was even a bay window with a couch cushion on it!  Ashe was definitely going to have to bribe Caspar into letting him do some homework here.  “—Yes, I can help, but I’m not—I’m just a Lit major, I don’t know the first thing about medicine.”

Linhardt was already walking to the kitchen.  At some point he’d swiped the two bags of lacrosse gear that Ashe had been holding and lugged them over with difficulty to be dropped unceremoniously at the fireplace. 

“That didn’t stop this idiot from trying to give himself stitches the first time he got injured in a game, so I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Linhardt said.

Ashe looked down in horror at Caspar’s face.  For all that he was still visibly drooping, Cas gave him a loopy grin.  Ashe refused to acknowledge that his heart sped up at the expression.

“He did what?”

Ashe didn’t know Linhardt well enough yet to say, but he thought that the way his voice lightened, even as it kept a dry edge, might have been closer to affection.  “Oh yes.  Thankfully I found him before he used an actual sewing thread to close something that only needed a butterfly bandage, but ever since then, I insist he comes here for treatment.  He’d duck out of it if they took him to the nurse.  At least he listens to me, once in a while, or if all else fails I can sit in his lap to make him stop running around the house.”

The kitchen was slightly a mess, but Ashe was struck with jealousy.  An actual kitchen!  Ashe missed having a gas stove… and pots and pans.  There was a crockpot—dirty, caked with day-old food—but it was the brand that Ashe had always drooled over in the supply store.  The kitchen was a narrow thing, but there was lots of counterspace, and there was a clear line of sight back into the cozy living area, and then out into their medium-sized backyard.  There was an old lacrosse goal against the fence.  Ashe imagined Caspar trained out here.

Ashe had to close his eyes against the wave of longing.  He wanted to cook.  There was a certain piece of belonging that came only when you made something and brought it to a table for others to enjoy.  It didn’t need to be spoken; Ashe didn’t need someone to tell him he was good at cooking.  He just wanted people who dug into a meal and gathered strength and joy from shared laughter and shared food.

For a second, as Linhardt led them over next to the sink and pulled out a rather large first-aid kit from some cabinet, Ashe let the cozy-ness of the house pervade him.  The place was eminently lived-in, dirty dishes scattered around and post-it reminders stuck on every conceivable surface, novelty salt & pepper shakers on the table. 

And as he supported Caspar over to lean against the counter, Cas smiled at him—eyes still closed, trusting Ashe wouldn’t lead him wrong.  And he couldn’t help but smile at Linhardt in turn, who handed him some paper towels and gauze, gesturing wordlessly at Cas and digging through the first aid kit with his other hand—scarcely needing to glance or instruct, as though this was a normal routine.

Ashe obediently pressed the wet paper towel which Linhardt handed him against Caspar’s forehead.  The cut was small, and Cas barely winced, but Linhardt at least looked relieved when the blood was cleaned away.  Ashe was almost sad when the blood was cleared off and he had to remove his hand from Caspar’s cheek.

“Thanksss, love,” Cas mumbled, eyes still closed.

“Uh,” Ashe responded, eloquently.

Caspar’s eyes flew open—an actual cognizant expression on his face for the first time since the match.  “Ashe!  Hi!”

Now his boyfriend stepped over, seizing his forearm in a loose but firm grip.  “Yes, you managed to drag another of your lacrosse friends over because of an injury in that stupid game.  You know you can just invite them here, right?”

Caspar’s ice blue eyes flicked between the two of them.  “Uh, haha yeah, no, I know, I didn’t, I—Lin, I promise I tried not to get hurt again this time!”

Linhardt took Cas by the chin, tilted his head back and forth while flashing a penlight in his eyes.  Presumably to check for a concussion.  That sounded like something Ashe had read in a book somewhere.  There was a flash of concern in his gut—maybe they did need to take Caspar to a nurse, because Linhardt was probably great, but he was a med student, not a nursing major, did he really know how to treat a potential concussion?  But then Caspar’s expression cleared, and he grinned, something wide and instinctive.  Ashe’s heart clenched.  It was the lovestruck look that the best writers liked to describe with flowery language, the one lovers gave each other at emotional moments of their journey. 

Ashe was painfully aware he was intruding on something.  The comfortable spot he’d imagined himself in moments previous scattered before him: Caspar and Linhardt were together.  They were happy.  Yet another landscape at this college with all its components already snug in their spots; no jagged edges or missing pieces.  Ashe had been hoping he’d find open spaces he could fit himself into, now that he couldn’t stand the gaping hole in his home back in Gaspard.  But almost everyone else in this school was already in a rhythm, in a clique, schedules unaccommodating of a new commitment.

He needed to leave, now.

“Uh, Linhardt, can I—Can I help with anything else?  I, I should get back to the dorm and work on some homework.  But, I can still help, if you need anything else, or can I get anything else for Caspar?”

The two of them turned to look at him.  Linhardt was still appraising, and his face was back to its apparent trademark blank look.  Caspar’s face tightened and then a grin possessed him again—it was a different one than how he looked at Linhardt.  It was still bright, affectionate.  Ashe had never thought he’d get along well with someone of Caspar’s somewhat abrasive personality, but the honesty in his gaze was something refreshing.  He was lucky to count Caspar as a friend.  He couldn’t hope for anything more than that.

“Wait, Ashe—” Caspar reached out for him.

Linhardt turned to look at Caspar.  They had a conversation in raised eyebrows and then Linhardt sighed.  “I can’t just throw you back out after you brought him here, now can I?  I’ll get you the wifi password and you can have some of our nice tea.  Maybe if you hang out for a little while, I can keep Caspar contained with less effort on my part.”

“Help me with my Lit reading?”  Caspar asked, and the hope in his eyes crumbled the last of Ashe’s defenses.

“You,” Linhardt said, poking Caspar in the chest, “Need to lay down.  No screens.  I don’t think you’ve got a concussion but I’m going to keep checking for the next day.”

“I… I can stay and help, but I don’t want to be in the way,” Ashe said, and the two of them shook their heads—Caspar wincing with the movement. 

Linhardt patted Caspar on the shoulder and pushed him gently back out into the reading room.  Ashe instinctively moved to support his shoulder when Caspar stumbled for a second for balance.

“Let’s get him settled on the couch and I will get tea started,” Linhardt said.  “If you want to take a shower, we probably have enough hot water for that.”

Ashe thought for a second about staying in his sweaty jersey, how it would crust up and he would feel filmy and disgusting for hours, and then thought again about using Caspar-and-Linhardt’s shower and flushed.  “I should be okay,” he said.  “Could you point me in the direction of the bathroom though?  I should just change real quick.”  Even that had his cheeks flaming.  He really had watched too many rom-coms if all his brain could think about was getting caught with just a towel around his waist by his crush, or by his crush’s attractive, aloof boyfriend.

...

CHECK OUT THE NEXT CHAPTERS ON Ao3! see reblog for link!

[vaguelyparker]

Im rewatching Tau and every time I watch this movie I have starker thoughts 😭. The movie is about a young rich inventor whose at the forefront of artificial intelligence technology and he’s abducting people installing chips into their heads and using that data in order to feed his ais. Well the main character comes in and destroys where he usually houses his abductees + his lab and so she has to be chained up in his living space. But he’s on a deadline and she’s his only viable test subject so the two strike a deal so she gets basic human amenities like showers clothes and food and she’ll complete puzzles for him so he can still mine her for data. In the movie she becomes friends with his ai and the two manage to kill him and escape before he kills her and if that isn’t the perfect set up for a starker fic idk what is.

Imagine Tony shortly after Jarvis dies doing everything in his power to perfect his AI tech, he has Dum-E and U but that’s not enough, J.A.R.V.I.S. isn’t working, and he’s fucking desperate so he starts kidnapping people and using them for data extraction. It’s still not enough. Enter Peter, poor and living in a shitty apartment being kidnapped by Tony Stark, someone who’s not that much older than him, probably his celebrity crush. And obviously he tries to escape but with Tonys AIs and his basically impenetrable/inescapable house he’s stuck. Agrees to help Tony with data collection in exchange for being given some comforts because he’s not an idiot he knows he won’t be alive for long but at least he’ll be comfortable while he’s still alive. He’s given infuriatingly easy brain teasers at first and he’s almost offended, finishing it all in an hour and then lounging around bored as hell for the rest of the time. Tony gets home to him snoozing or something and is about to freak before J informs him Peter was able to complete all task in an hour. Tasks that would have taken any one else in his shoes all day. So the tasks get harder until he’s basically analyzing work for Stark industries. All the while he’s becoming friends with J.A.R.V.I.S. And Tony thinks all the test are working, J’s beginning to feel more human. Things are going well.

In the movie there are a few scenes that would obviously have to come up like him buying the main character expensive clothes and skimpy lingerie and her pretending to seduce him in order to stab him. And obviously J and Peter friendship is imperative like Jarvis asking Peter what it means to be a human and if he’s a human, this cold machine that could end him in an instant but was created to emulate someone real, and Peter explaining about love and home and hopes and dreams. Tony nearly fucking tripping the first time J makes a witty remark at his expense or admonishes him for being rude to Peter. & Peter thinking he’s about to die for corrupting his AI because JARVIS had to initiate Tony’s calming protocol but really Tony is just in his room sobbing.

Idk how they end up together- probably a little stockholm syndrome but also best starker!Peter is Peter who ignores Tony’s more cruel proclivities but that’s just my opinion. Or alternatively JARVIS marries them in secret because Peter told him his parents were married and in love before they died and if JARVIS is a person then Peter and Tony are obviously his parents and Peter says one day he’d like to get married and have a love like that, so this was just the obvious solution. Tony going to kill Peter before JARVIS very matter of factly informs him there is a rather impressive paper trail tying the two of them together including but not limited to their marriage license and Tony is very betrayed but also so fucking proud.