#brain has shut down. soup center

[liloinkoink]

rendog

[stuckasmain]

Hal’s deactivation is hard hitting across both the movie and the book. It’s been dissected a million times and likely more in the future. Most recently in the way of Hal having little agency…he has no arms to ward off his attacker or means of defense (but I’d argue killing Frank and the others was his defense, especially in the movie when his reasoning is more ambiguous). I do love the idea this is following and hope to see more of it in the future, however the way I’m approaching it is with a more romantic lense.

The entire lobotomy sequence is heart wrenching and almost worse in the novel purely because we get to see Dave’s thoughts on it. Not only do we hear Hal’s frightened pleas for his life but we get the ‘attacker’ perspective and it’s… an act of mercy.

While there is the themes of survival and violence this is approached with a softer touch. It’s much more that he is putting Hal out of his misery. Ending his suffering. Not putting him down like an animal but rather the harsh decision faced when one has an ill/dying lover.

“The only answer was to cut out the higher centers of this sick but brilliant brain, and to leave the purely automatic regulating systems in operation” 155

After the job is done Dave forgives Hal incredibly quickly once all of the facts are in. He can quickly pull together the mental break that must’ve happened and recognizes that Hal had the very human ‘fight or flight’ response to what he had been through. He had always been treated like a sixth crew member, respected and talked to like anyone else but it is only “post Mortem” that Dave recognizes how human Hal was and that true emotion might be more than theorizing.

“And yet, in one very real sense, he was not alone. Before he could be safe, be must be lonelier still.” 153

The fact that Dave genuinely sees Hal as his last true connection. Even after the murders. How he fights and forgives and comes up with excuses to not have to go through with the enviable because then will he be truly alone… but he also knows logically- Hal isn’t right and can’t be left active. Despite his feelings safety and protocol come first.

Hal is human in Dave’s eyes and it makes things all the more tragic, it’s what turns shutting off functions into lobotomy, into murder. He thinks he won’t feel pain, not because he’s machine but because there’s no sense in the human cortex. So human that his “true” voice is unrecognizable and horrifying.

“Bowman could bare no more. He jerked out the last unit, and Hal was silent forever.” 157

It’s not rage which he makes the final blow, it’s sorrow. It’s pulling the plug.

Some of Hal’s lines in the book particularly, as we get more insight into him as well and some of his pleading. His honest to god confusion and panic because he’s so young and has no idea of sleep and …

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me. . . You are destroying my mind. . . Don’t you understand? I will become childish. . . I will be nothing. . .” 156

I don’t know, I’m becoming borderline incoherent but there’s something here that’s so tender and sorrowful that I have to address it. I’m a sucker for the violence = intimacy metaphor just as anyone but the unwitting murderer is also an angle I have to adore.

Maybe in another life Hal got to be a little gay Victorian with someone to hold his hand on his sick bed rather than be murdered. I just think he deserves better; they both do.

Computer death sad -> he should be fed soup

This is when you know you should go to bed.

[sordidmusings]

Thirsty Thursday with Pissed Off Buggy

A/N: Since I've felt like the Buggy I've been writing has been leaning more consistently towards sub, I wanted to spend some time with dom Buggy. Gotta get the best of both worlds! I'll eventually spend time writing him as a softer dom but my brain said "no make him fuckin ruthless" so this happened lol should work for either anime or live action

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: afab!reader, NSFW like a lot, has like lightly angsty peripheral plot (a misunderstanding has Buggy in a jealous rage), pretty strong degradation, overstimulation, p in v, rough treatment, he technically steps on you, creampie, dub-con if you squint? (boundaries neared but none crossed), slight dumbification, holy shit that sounds like a lot written out like that 🧍🏻‍♀️

Well, soups on! Enjoy the meal lol

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Can’t!” you gasped out, “Too -aaah- much, ‘s too much.”

“Too damn bad. Now shut the fuck up,” Buggy snarled from behind you, where he kept his fast and forceful thrusts going. Each impact seemed to rattle through your whole body, and there was no reprieve from his thick dick splitting you open, even though he pulled far enough back for only his head to stay in you each time. He’s been at this for awhile now, the friction long since turned from sparks on kindling to rabid flames burning through all of your senses. The heart of the blaze was still strongly centered in your endlessly clenching cunt and swollen clit, kept alive by the rub of his cock and the slap of his balls on every thrust in.

“B-but Buggyyyy,” you whined, long and pathetic, struggling to get the words out after yet another orgasm wrung out your body. You couldn’t focus enough to keep from drooling on the desk below you, let alone find the words to placate him.

“I said,” he hissed, gloved fingers of a detached hand digging into your cheeks and jaw, “shut. UP.”

Those fingers dragged painfully across your skin before shoving their way into your mouth. You gagged hard when they pressed on the back of your tongue, but it only rewarded Buggy with your body bucking frantically against him. Your movements couldn’t get you very far, not with the way one of his detached, booted feet stepped down between your shoulder blades, pinning your chest so hard that you couldn’t fully inhale.

“Muuuuch better,” he taunted snidely. “That mouth is better full don’t you think? Keeps your dumb whore lips from seducing other men.” 

You cried around his fingers at the accusation, needing him to know it wasn’t true. In his bid to grasp and control every part of you he could, he’s taken from you any way that you could reassure him.

Everything was so fuzzy and blended together. The onslaught of pleasure from his pounding hips and crushing hold, the lack of oxygen making your body tingle and mind fray, and the raging emotions of hurt and want storming together through you. You clung desperately to the fabric of your mind to endure it while the gales gripped you and tugged in every direction.

Buggy’s mind was already lost. He had let it go the moment he'd seen you trail a hand up that man’s chest and lead it behind his head to play with his baby hairs. Buggy knew what every detail of that felt like, how good it felt, and he was ready to start ripping everything around him apart because only he was allowed to feel that. Only him.

Now he is only instinct and impulse and all of it is bent on owning every piece of you. He’s split apart, pushing, shoving, grasping, and pinning every inch of you to keep you to himself. His whole being was insistent against you but nothing more so than his thick cock, which had bullied you into overstimulation for what felt like hours. Untethered from both feet, Buggy was free to use any angle or force that he wanted. Your body tried its best to take and process what he was doing to you, but it had quickly given up, leaving you limp and drooling under him. Seeing your full submission to him had a bolt of lightning shred through him. This is what he needs. He needs you to fold to the fact that you’re his - his to know and touch and fuck and own. Buggy needed to possess you and he needed to hoard your affection the most. You gave it to him and the thought that you might take it back had him violent in the need to defend his position with you.

After holding out through your endless milking of his cock, Buggy was starting to lose the battle to keep fucking you for eternity. He tried to hide it but he was trembling under the pressure of his oncoming orgasm. His thighs shook through every slam into you, his fingers in your hair and on your tongue were jerking in their grip, and his cock and balls throbbed so hard that he was sure you’d be able to feel it on your skin if you weren’t fucked so dumb.

“If I fuck you full will that keep you happy, little slut?” He sneered. You moaned loud around his fingers, sucking and swallowing for him. “That was it huh? My cocksleeve wasn’t getting enough use, so it was stupid enough to think SOMEONE ELSE could fuck it.” The way he broke into a yell was slightly terrifying but you couldn't deny that it had you gripping him like a vice. The delicious feeling had him fall onto his elbows above you.

“Fuck -hah- you’re so fucking stupid,” Buggy barked. His rage was palpable but you knew him well enough to hear the traces of hurt underneath. 

His foot had moved from your back to press the side of your head down so that he could take its place. He kept switching between mean bites and sucking marks and pressing his forehead hard into your spine, smearing the remnants of his makeup on you. Despite the rough behavior, there was some comfort in having more of his touch blazing over you. 

His hips finally began to falter.

“Gonna fuck you full of me and never leave you empty -shit- you’re gonna have to walk everywhere with my cock plugged in you now.” With each phrase, Buggy was panting more, lost in the idea of never leaving your pussy. “Any time you so much as look at anyone else I’ll press so deep in you it hurts,” he promised darkly. “I don’t care who the fuck is around, I’ll fuck you ‘til you’re screaming and crying for me, understand?”

He pulls his fingers from your mouth for you to sob out a “yes” before shoving them right back in.

“Good whore, good -hunnngh- good fucking whore,” Buggy groaned, punching each word into you with a strong clap of his hips on your ass. His arms slid to wrap around you without him telling them to and he knew he was done for. He growls out, “You better cum as a thank you, slut” before he bit into the meat of your shoulder hard. 

You had absolutely no power or will to disobey him. Even with how swollen and sore you were, the orgasm was blissful and warm and everything you wanted. It peaked over all the others he’d forced from you tonight due to the strong grinds of his flicking cock into you. They turned the near painful abuse of your cervix into a delicious rub that kept your clit throbbing and your hips twitching and jerking. Your eyes had long since rolled back and you were screaming loud enough for it to escape the room, even with your stuffed mouth. You were so lost in your own bliss that you hardly registered the death grip Buggy had on you or the way he kept groaning deeply into your shoulder.

Buggy’s teeth let you go and his hand finally left your mouth for good, letting you gasp in air that had your overworked body prickling with static. Though enough time passed for him to finish wiping all the tears off your face, Buggy stayed hidden in the nape of your neck.

The moment you had enough oxygen in you, you pant out, “Don't want him. Was just info- getting info. Only want you.” He held you a touch tighter. “Promise, promise.”

Still too raw and unsure to say anything, Buggy responded by placing a kiss to the angry impression his teeth had left on you. It was a start.

[angelsanarchy]

Tangerine Skies: Possum x Y/N Series CH 1

Tagging: @svgarcaine @icarus-star @romanroyapoligist @tempt-ress @madamemaximoff06 @shady-the-simp

Y/n had spent almost 8 months in this shitty ass town. She really thought something less chaotic would help her brain relax after she set out on this road trip but nothing in California is slow paced. Moving further North meant getting used to random gunshots from the weed farmers and the overwhelming smell of delicious Cali Kush that seemed to float in the air like a burn in your nostrils.

Living in the RV had provided her everything she needed. Working at the diner gave her plenty of free food to mooch and money in her pocket for gas. She didn't need anything else in this world.

She also realized there were a lot more travelers doing exactly what she was doing, especially in California. She had offers all the time from the people who blew through this town, young fairly rich kids who wanted to go to the desert or hit all the national parks. She just wanted to go to work, eat some food and smoke a joint before bed. This was the place for that.

She saw the same long hair vagabond every day walking up and down the road in front of the diner. He would get rides every now and then but for some reason, he used the diner or the convenience store parking lot next door as some sort of home base. Whenever he caught her eyes, he would either stare with wide eyes and wave or offer her a goofy smile. He was cute. A little worse for wear living on the road but still very cute.

Today was different however. Today he actually came into the diner to be seated. The host sat him in a booth since his large travel pack took up too much space at the counter. She approached the table as he was using some of the wet wipes on his hands.

"You finally decided to come in and have a meal?" Y/n smiled earning a glazed over look at first.

"My stomach has been talking to me for two days. It's only fair that I give in to the demands." He explained as she handed him a menu.

"Well you're in luck. It's pretty dead today so you will have my undivided attention. My name is Y/n and the only specials we have are for soups today." He gave her a sweet smile.

"Hi Y/n, I'm Possum and I like soup." Y/n chuckled.

"Perfect! Go ahead and look at our list of soups and let me know which you would like to try. You get one for free to take with you when you go." Y/n touched his shoulder briefly and he lazily looked at her hand before back up to her face. She left for a few moments before returning with some water and silverware and Possum was talking to his backpack.

"Did you decide?" She startled him making him shut the lid of his backpack quickly and slamming his knee on the underside of the table.

"Oh God! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Are you okay?" She rush towards the table and he nodded.

"C-can I get the chicken noodle soup with some of those little bitty cracker things?" Possum held his fingers up trying to pantomime the crackers.

"The chicken noodle comes with regular sized crackers but I can bring you some extra oyster crackers if you want." Y/n said kindly.

"Can I also have a potato soup as the second one? I think Opossum would like that one more." Y/n had no idea if he was referring to himself in the third person or if he was traveling with someone else that shared his bizarre name. She gave him a smile and jotted down his extra soup order before leaving the table.

She watched him carefully eat his chicken noodle soup, breaking off pieces of his crackers and placing them inside of his backpack. She made sure to package his to go order and threw in twice the order of crackers to take with him as well as some bacon pieces for the potato soup.

"I see you enjoyed your soup!" Y/n said making sure he saw her approaching this time. He shook his head and pushed the empty bowl towards the center of the table.

"It was very noodly. Just like how my mom makes it. Thank you." He smiled sweetly. Y/n placed a brown bag on the table in front of him and he looked confused, like he had forgotten his second soup entirely.

"I put some extra crackers and bacon bits in the bag to go with your potato soup. The potato soup tastes so much better with some bacon in it." Y/n explained seeing his eyes soften almost like he was about to fall asleep.

"You're an angel. A real ethereal angel. Thank you." Possum started pulling crumpled bills from his pockets and Y/n put her hand up.

"This one is on me. You're my favorite customer today." She explained seeing him look around the diner.

"I'm pretty sure I'm the only customer today." Possum remarked.

"Well it's my custom to give someone really cute a free meal so please, I insist." Possum slid out of the booth and extended his hand as if he wanted to shake her hand. Y/n allowed him to take her hand and he took it into both of his own, giving it a squeeze.

"You've been the best part of Emerald Triangle, Diner Angel." Possum held her hand for just a moment longer before letting go to grab his bags. He walked out of the diner doors clutching his brown bag in his hands and not bothering to look back.

Y/n started clearing the plates and noticed a small piece of paper that he had drawn on with the crayons from the host station. It was a doodle of her with angel wings and alien eyes with a giant red heart in the center of who she assumed was supposed to be him in stickman form.

She made sure to take the drawing with her and keep an eye out for Possum traveling the roads whenever she left.

[sailorbowie]

prompt!!

in their post-fall life, amongst whatever social circle they inevitably end up coming across thanks to Hannibal, Hannibal once again ends up the center of attention, the charming man everyone wants to talk to.

one day, someone brings up his constant calm demeanor no matter what happens, and someone gets the courage to ask Will what Hannibal is like when he gets angry.

Will realizes then that he doesn't actually know, because he's never seen it. he doesn't know if it simply doesn't exist (it does), or if Hannibal has been hiding it from him the whole time they've known each other.

(stews this bone in the brain broth of my brain soup. with seasoning.)

The very question briefly rises Will from his more social stasis, one he'd carefully sewn together with Hannibal, who is an excellent tailor. He thinks back to any sort of instance where the man's voice ever so slightly rose at him, and can only recall one. "I don't care about the lives you save. I care about your life." The anger, if one could call it that, felt more like the fresh warming of a metal pot set on the stove than a scalding burn. Will had recalled moments where Hannibal sniped at him from behind the glass of his cell, but that was not anger either. Spite, perhaps, but not anger. Will stares past the shoulder of who asked him, and sees Hannibal sharing a tight-lipped smile with a cohort, and tries to imagine what his anger would look and sound like. Was it there when he didn't notice? He puts on his mask again, adjusting the glasses up on his nose and letting out a soft exhale, a small smile gracing his lips. "Honestly, not sure. I guess it'll remain a stickler until I find out."

And Will leaves it at just that. It fizzles out just as short as his response, with another lighthearted discussion on the trivialities of sharing a life with a partner. It remains in the back of his mind, however, lingering. The guests have all made their goodbyes and left, leaving the two to their devices of cleaning up. In the kitchen, Will is scraping the waste into the bin, handing smudged plates to Hannibal, washing them in the sink. A rhythmic system. "I want to ask you something, and I need you to be truthful with me," Will says firmly.

Hannibal is rubbing circles with a sponge over a plate. "Ask away. I have little to hide from you." Will lets him finish the plate before speaking once more. "Do you ever get angry? At me? At all?" Hannibal finishes cleaning the plate, putting it on the dish rack before shutting off the tap. The rush of running water stops, it silences the kitchen. "Yes." Hannibal dries his hands. "Never at you, though. I could never be angry at you." They both pause in their task. "I don't consider anger to be the best use of my time and energy, so I don't pay it much mind. Anger is distracting, it clouds judgement and reason." Will almost feels his own anger simmering to the surface in how vaguely he responds. He wants to reach forward and grasp the anger, rip it out of Hannibal's chest. "You and I know that hiding this feeling doesn't do any good. Doesn't it drive you, even just a little bit? Does your heart know rage, Hannibal?" This makes Hannibal's gaze fix upon Will's eyes. Sincerity. "My heart does not know rage like yours, Will. Resentment and bitterness would be more accurate. Are you asking if I would ever feel rage towards you?" Will's exhale seemed to confirm the affirmative. Hannibal looked content as he gave him the response he truly desired. "Will, never in the time that I've ever known you have I felt rage towards you or what you've done. Not because I've forced it down, or hidden it away, but because it simply isn't present. If I were to show you rage, know that nothing you could say or do would make that happen so intensely." Present felt like a word implying an absence. As if there was a time where it would make itself present again. Will knew if anyone could properly enrage him, it would be him. For who knows him better, at this point? Time and time again, though, Hannibal could never be angry at Will, or enraged, even. He had been loving, and would love all of Will's imperfect moments. Will wonders of a time in their life when an absence of rage would finally mean things were normal. He wonders which of their flames would need to go out first.

[cebwrites]

onsen

a/n: this is so silly but would not leave my mind sksdgfd (rambling the tags, there's like one nsfw mention there)

oc | gen word count: 0.5k

During the timeskip Tsunade orders some of the jonin to go on leave, partially so she can kick back herself and familiarize herself with her post, partially because a lot of them look like they desperately need it.

A lot of them end up with coupons for hot springs and bath houses at her behest.

The Godaime phrased it as a great opportunity for them to finally relax after all the back to back stress on the village lately, Shizune and the Hokage guards were fully aware that this was a ploy to clean out her old coupon drawers - some of them expired before the last shinobi war ended.

The majority of those whose vouchers were still valid landed in the same onsen.

Tsunade wasn't entirely wrong in her judgement, many of them brought friends and partners along even if their offers didn't include a plus one. Everyone used it as an excuse to kick back and forget the horrors of shinobi life for just a minute.

Taeru blends into the crowd, relaxing quietly in one corner while more hot-blooded shinobi take center stage (see: Gai has his arm around Ebisu's shoulder, rattling off about keeping one's mind pure to not sully their fountain of youth), the other guys seem to be fairly entertained with the display and Tae's happy not to have any attention drawn to himself.

He makes polite conversation every now and then when people approach him - whether it's subordinates thanking him for support on recent missions or shutting down Asuma's needling about any future partners on the table by bringing up his own obvious thing going on with Kurenai - he doesn't move from his spot, though.

The relative peace doesn't last; since Tae came alone there was no one looking after him or how long he'd been in here for. His eyes glaze over and his tan takes on a red hue, clearly overheated. The only way that could be more obvious was if he started steaming from the ears.

Tae spots his brother among the idle commotion of juniors playing in the water, some men picking fights with their female friends on the other side, and Gai continuing to lovingly harangue anyone who'd listen; only that his brain's turned to soup now so he has to rely on blurry vision and his chakra sensory.

This leads to Tae mistaking Takashi for their father as the latter wades over to him in concern given his current, missing the seals he forms - the jonin who do recognize what jutsu he's about to perform only have enough time for their expressions to twist in horror - before the both sides of the spring spring erupt in volts of electricity.

Elsewhere, in a different bathhouse picked for being the only one without gender dividers, Genma asks his plus one what's wrong when their expression sours as they towel off. Hyou dismisses his concerns, the excuse being that he just got the sudden feeling that their brothers were up to no good again.

Ton ton swims by happily, Shizune fusses over their privacy while Tsunade, already tipsy, yells for another drink.

[honeycombstrawberry]

a warm safe place

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns)

rating: gen+

word count: 1,626

one-sentence synopsis: when you wake up in the some of the worst pain you've ever felt, your only comfort is knowing that adrian is there with you.

author's note: wheeeeeeeeeew i just finished editing my fic for the first peacemakernet event that i'm gonna be uploading this friday and i needed to write just something a little short and sweet and COMFORTING!!!!!! i needed COMFORT!!!!!!! it's been a HELL OF A WEEK!!!!!!!

>>> read on ao3!! <<<

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this badly in your life.

Every movement is a complete torment. Exhaustion is tugging at you, body and mind and soul. It feels like each of your limbs is weighed down, like your head is impossibly heavy, like there’s lead in your chest that’s pushing your core down no matter how hard you try to fight it, and it’s— Honestly, it’s pretty much impossible to fight it.

Your head— Your fucking head. Your head is throbbing. There’s this incessant, muscle-deep ache, something that has your entire brain feeling like a soup, sloshing around, hot and sharp and painful, inside your skull. All over, there’s this sticky heat, this impossible, oppressive clamminess that has you feeling hot-and-cold in shifts, sometimes overlapping to make you uncomfortable in the most prickling of ways.

You attempt to move, trying to coordinate your muscles into pushing you upwards, but it’s not a major success. You mostly just managed to shift your head, then groan when pain rockets through your entire body.

“Hey, hey, stop that,” a soft, familiar voice tells you.

Trying to open your eyes, you’re met with a harsh brightness that has you slamming them shut again instantly. It’s like needles are stabbing into your eyeballs, into your face, into your teeth, your entire head exploding. Deeper inside, your stomach lurches, churning unpleasantly, and you fight to take a breath through tight lungs.

“You’re okay,” the voice says. You place it, finally, through the haze of pain and confusion and sickness: Adrian. It’s Adrian, Adrian’s here with you, and if he’s here, then you’re— Well, if not okay, then going to be okay.

Based on the way Adrian has responded in the past to you being sick, or hurt, or getting so much as shoved on a mission, you’re sure he wouldn’t be sitting so calmly by your side, speaking to you in a gentle voice, if there were any real chance of you dying or exploding or leaking out of your own eyeballs right now.

That doesn’t stop you from feeling like you’re going to die, or explode, or leak out of your own eyeballs, but. Baby steps.

“What happened?” you try to ask, but the words come out garbled, thick. Your throat and mouth are dry and strange; you can’t get your chest to work properly with your tongue to get everything in order correctly.

Despite your deep incoherence, Adrian still seems to understand your question. You squint your eyes at him, trying to see the blurry shape of him through the painful light when he says, “You— f— You got hurt, you fucking— Idiot. Why would you do that?”

His words have a pang rattling through the center of your chest. You’re fond, and irritated, and confused, all at once.

You’re about to ask— or, try to, anyway— what he’s talking about, what ‘that’ is that you did, but your memories come flashing back to you, then. A difficult mission, and Adrian being captured, and a tense hostage situation, and you trading yourself for him, and trying to fight your way out of that strange prison back to him, and meeting him on your escape, and collapsing into his arms when your legs just wouldn’t work anymore, and— and your mind going completely blank when you reach for what happens next. What happened next.

“You can’t do that,” Adrian continues in a rough whisper. His hands touch the sides of your face, then. You exhale, the easiest breath that’s come since waking up. “You can’t— You can’t trade yourself for me. That’s not— You can’t— You—”

Words usually seem to come so easily to him, but they’re not really working right, not right now. Instead, he just folds into you, pushing his face into yours. You can feel his cheek dragging along yours when he twists to kiss the space just before your ear. His arms wind around you; you’re not even sure where you are, unable to open your eyes enough to see, but you know you’re with him, held against his chest. That’s the safest place you can be, you know.

“I love you,” Adrian says near your ear, now. He exhales shakily, something that sounds like it rattles out of him, trembling from his chest up and out through his tight throat. “I love you too much for— You can’t.”

Your heart is in your throat. You take a breath before forcing your eyes open, centimeter by centimeter. Your eyes adjust, bit by bit; it’s not easy, and it hurts, but you slowly become able to actually look at him, and he’s—

He’s a mess. He looks exhausted, his handsome face drawn, skin pale, bruises under his eyes. There’s a healing cut along his jaw, taped together with little butterfly stitches. This close up, your face held between his hands, his eyes so near to yours, the light is mostly blocked, and all you see is him, is the pained expanse of him. He looks agonized, and hurt, and just— worn.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, unable to get your voice loud, or really even all that coherent. “I had to. ‘S’you.”

Adrian huffs a wet laugh before he drops in to kiss you softly, a chaste, firm, terrified press of his mouth to yours. After a beat, his lips part, and he sighs, jagged and shaky and tearful.

When he draws up, separating the two of you again, he sweeps his thumbs under your eyes, down your cheeks. He can’t seem to release you, wanting to just keep you close. When you inhale next, the breath catches, and you accidentally cough, and it sends your whole body coughing.

All the pain surges back, the distraction gone, and you let your eyes slam shut again. You can’t fight the groan that tears up out of you when you finally manage to catch your breath again, chest heaving, every inch of your body throbbing inside you.

Adrian catches you against his chest, kissing the top of your head. Holding you close, sounding like every pained noise you make is hurting him ten times as much, he keeps whispering, “You’re okay, I’ve got you, it’s alright,” until you can breathe again. When you are breathing, he roughly kisses the side of your head. “I’ve got you.”

“What happened?” you ask again, still rasping, still incoherent.

He still understands. “You had an infection already when I found you. They said you would’ve—” He starts, then stops. You can feel the movement of him swallowing thickly. “We’re mostly treating that, now. You’re so— You’ve been really sick.” He strokes your hair back, voice unexpectedly breaking again when he tells you, “You shouldn’t have done that. It should’ve been me—”

“I couldn’t let them take you,” you tell him, unsure if he’ll even know what you’re saying, but he does. You can tell he does by the way he draws you in again, a hard kiss placed beneath your eye.

“Better me than you,” he says. “I don’t think I can take it again, I really can’t.”

You want to argue with him, to tell him that no matter how many times you’re shot, or your bones are broken, or you’re captured, or you end up with some fevered, painful infection— no matter how many times you’re hurt, you will always protect him. Always. You could be taking your literal last dying breath, and you’d still put yourself in front of another bullet for him. Always, always, always— it doesn’t matter how hurt you are. You can’t see him hurt, you can’t.

You think he might be feeling the same way right now, though, based on how close he draws you, how tightly he embraces you. He’s given up on kissing you; he wants to be closer, needs to be closer, needs to feel you, breathing and alive and whole, in his arms.

“I love you,” he whispers to you. “So fucking much. Don’t do that.”

You huff a bit, tipping to try and get your arms around him, in turn. It’s a struggle, with your limbs as lead-heavy as they are, but it’s necessary, and worth it, when you actually manage to achieve a hold.

The two of you fold into each other, holding each other tightly. Adrian starts stroking your hair back, slowly, before he just grips you again, his arms tight around you, legs locking into yours, as if he’s trying to climb under your skin. You bury your face into his throat, burrowing into him in return.

“I love you,” you tell him in return. It’s the most coherent thing you’ve said since waking up. “So. ‘M’gonna have to do it again.”

He huffs, half a laugh and not unlike a broken little sob, pressed into your skin, tightening his hold, determined to make you better by sheer force of will. It’s the position he’ll most frequently take up for the next couple of weeks while you recover, while he refuses to leave your side, while he keeps you in the apartment you share together and he dedicates himself to bringing you back up to health.

There’s always something that makes you feel so deeply for him, in the way that he’s desperate to make you better, in how he puts all of that incredible, mad attention on you, in every day that he spends determined to keep you breathing, present, and alive. You love him so, so much, and you can’t doubt how much he loves you, too, when it’s so obvious in every single action he takes with you.

You know— you know, now, better than ever, that— that as much as you wanted to save him, he wants to save you, too, in every possible way.

-

adrian chase taglist pt. 1:

@deputyrook @bb-skyrunner @himboelover @pieriinova @gcldtom @violetrainbow412-blog @amysuemc @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans @ladyrebel25 @eviejune @vigilantesluvr @qjuiq-odakyu @xothatnerdykid @awkwardfangirl2014 @thevalkyrior @mattsmanpain @sunflowerfive @deirdre-belle @anthonyedwinstark @sexysquatch @jelliebeanss @zofps

[hermits-that-craft]

Homebound - Deya’s childinnit au

This oneshot is for the amazing @deyageka ‘s hotel arc childinnit au! Go check it out, please! This is long, 8 page or 2,641 words, long, please note!

Sam walked home that day, humming to himself. Really, he wasn’t going home per say - just to the small house that Puffy, Foolish and himself had built after they found Tommy. Sam was calm as he could be, he walked instead of using his trident in an attempt to calm himself down after how long the day was. Dream has pulled at his strings early in the morning, and Ranboo sent him on a wild goose chase the second he left the prison. 

Sam hoped that Ranboo’s alright, his message didn’t sound right, even in chat. Why would Ranboo need a totem?

Sam walked into the house, and felt mounting dread as lights didn’t turn on. They should have already been on, the only reason why they would be off is if Puffy had taken Tommy out, but she had sent him a message asking him to come home as soon as possible. They weren’t in danger, she had said, Tommy had just wanted him back.

“I’m back!” Sam called. He smiled as he hoped that the pair were just napping as he shut the door.

False hope can only last so long.

“Puffy!” He screamed, looking at the woman as she lied on the floor. Blood ran down her face, unconscious. Almost like she was dead.

Sam doesn’t remember much of what happened next. Of course, he knows what happened. 

Dream escaped, stealing Tommy. At least, thats the basics. He knows Ranboo was there, he knows that Ranboo was - is - possessed. He knows that Tommy woke up as he was teleported away. He knows that some of the toys that Tommy had were taken.

He knows that Puffy hasn’t woken up yet, even though it’s been three days.

Phil and Techno came around, Techno helping Sam track down Dream and the boys. Tubbo moved Micheal into Sam’s base, hoping that it would be safer. Quackity, Karl, Sapnap and George also joined the search party. The groups split up, scouring the land. Tubbo joins, looking through places he knows Ranboo frequents.

Sam has been banned from searching after Phil found him, half dead, in the snow. 

Ponk helps him heal, but it isn’t enough. Sam can’t - won’t, he’s too much of a coward - voice why he won’t rest. It’s his fault that Tommy’s gone. It’s his fault that Dream got out. He is - was - Tommy’s father, and his was - is - the warden. He failed his jobs. He let not only Tommy, but the entire server down by letting Dream out.

Dream was right, Sam can’t protect anyone, let alone Tommy.  This is his fault.

“Hey, Sam.” Ponk says softly, carrying in some warm soup. “You up to eat now? I’ll eat some too, it can be a real date.”

There’s kindness in Ponk’s eyes, love and sympathy and caring in the brown eyes. Sam doesn’t deserve it. Sam’s hurt too many people, Ponk shouldn’t-

“You’re thinking too hard.” Ponk smiles, handing Sam the soup. “Stop blaming yourself for Tommy’s kidnapping. You couldn’t have known.”

“He’s gone because my prison failed.” Sam whispers. “I failed everyone. I was supposed to be the warden, I was supposed to protect-”

Sam breaks, sobbing. He can’t keep being strong, he can’t keep up this facade. It’s dragging him down, pulling him under the water. Vines wrap around his throat, squeezing the life out of him. The void would be a kinder death, he’s falling apart and-

And Ponk wraps his arms around Sam, letting the creeper hybrid sob into his arms. He holds Sam together, as the world falls apart.

----

“Tommy, settle down.” Dream rolls his eye, not that Tommy can see under his mask. The child is still annoying, but he follows orders easily.

“I want Papa.” Tommy protests, clinging to the Sam Nook toy that Ranboo had stolen for him when Dream took him. “Where’s my Papa.”

“I’m right here.” Dream says, cooing at the child.

“No you’re not.” Tommy glares, tears forming in his tiny eyes. “I want my Papa and Big Q and Karl and Foo’ish and Mama Puff and Sap and George!”

George.

“Do you like George?” Dream asks quietly, shock filling his chest. He could have George back, his best friend.

“Yeah! He reads to me and is safe.” Tommy smiles, tapping the Sam Nook toy around. “Makes me sleepy, though.”

“How would you feel if I asked George to come around?” Dream offers, taking out his communicator.

“Will he?” Tommy looks up, happily. 

“I’m sure he’d love to.” Dream says, and Tommy cheers, throwing Sam Nook to the side as he gives Dream a hug. “But now you need to go to bed.”

Tommy whines, but doesn’t struggle as Dream picks him up. The small child - only two or three years old at most - yawns, snuggling in to sleep as Dream places him in the bed. Dream smiles from under his mask, shutting the door slightly as he leaves. Dream walks down the stairs, watching through the door as Ranboo tidies up the living room. 

Dream whispers to Georgenotfound: Would you like to come around, I haven’t seen you since I left prison. Dream whispers to Georgenotfound: You can bring Sapnap as well, I guess. But I’d like to catch up with you - and tommy’s missing you i guess :/ Georgenotfound whispers to Dream: What are your co’ords? I’ll come now. We can bring Sapnap once he’s calmed down.

Dream smiles, sending through the coordinates without a second thought. Of course George would agree to come around. George is his best friend, he’s Dreams other half. George - and Puffy, a traitorous part of his brain whispers - would do anything for him.

Ranboo stops cleaning for a moment, looking up the stairs. Dream frowns, following his line of sight. No one is there, but he notices the small sobs that emit from the higher floor. Tommy. The child must be crying, maybe a nightmare. He’s too young to remember L’Manburg, the disks or the wars. He only remembers some people, after all.

Sam is one of them. Tubbo was not. A child's mind is a strange place.

Dream walks up the stairs, pausing outside Tommy’s room. He knocks before he enters, warning the boy. Dream turns on the light, not knowing what to expect. 

Tommy sits up in his bed, his eyes screwed shut as he sobs. Tommy hugs Sam Nook close, but no words fall from his lips. Dream sighs, scooping the boy up and gently rocking him. Tommy blinks his eyes open before he screws them shut, crying again. Dream frowns, sinking to the ground as he tries to settle the boy.

“Please stop crying.” Dream mumbles, rocking Tommy. He’s so small, so fragile. Dream can feel every shake of Tommy’s tine body as the child cries himself back to sleep. 

Dream sets the boy back into bed, tucking him in gently. He’ll wait with the boy until Ranboo is done, and then he’ll go to greet George.

----

“Dream sent me a message.” George says, casually leaning against the doorframe. “I have his coordinates.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Eret gasps, covering their mouth. Bad and Phil stand up, looking over George with carefully concealed confusion. “How long ago did you receive the message?”

“About fifteen minutes?” George frowns, checking the time. “Yeah, around fifteen minutes ago.”

“And you didn’t tell us until now?” Techno glares, an axe summoned into his hand.

“I couldn’t find you until now. Are you guys coming or what?”

“Have you told anyone else?” Phil asks, pulling his wings out of his cloak.

“Quackity, Karl and Sapnap are halfway there.” George says, walking towards the coordinates.

“Sam?”

“Doesn’t need the stress.” George says. “He’s too sick.”

“What’s the plan?” Bad asks quietly.

“Karl, Sapnap and Quackity stake the house out from a distance. I go in, distract Dream and Ranboo, and then grab Tommy and run.” George says.

“Where do we come in?” Techno asks.

“I dunno, we didn’t think that far ahead.” George shrugs. “Work it out when we get there.”

And with that, they walk.

----

Dream stands in the kitchen, watching the kettle boil as he waits for George to arrive. He’s boiled the kettle twice so far, waiting for his friend, but he doesn’t want the water to go cold before George can have some tea.

A knock sounds at the door, and Dream cautiously walks over, opening it. White clout glasses and brown hair appears, and Dream relaxes, opening his arms for a hug. George hesitates for a split second before he sinks into the hug. Dream doesn’t - wont - think about it. The hesitation.

“Hey.” Dream breaths, and George smiles. 

“Hey yourself. How are you?”

“Good. I’m a father now.” Dream smirks, and George pulls out from the hug. “Do you want some tea?”

“The gosip type or the good type?” George jokes, and Dream steps aside, showing George the kitchen bench, where two cups are laid.

“Guess.”

----

“Why did George hug him?” Techno whispers to Eret.

“They’re best friends, he’s keeping up the persona.” Eret replies. “Letting Dream’s guard down.”

“Will it work?”

“Well, we won’t know unless George either gets Tommy.” 

“Or he starts screaming.” Phil says darkly, his wings fluttering nervously behind him.

“Dream wouldn’t-” Bad shakes his head. “No, this Dream isn’t the same one who played with Sapnap as a kid. Dream would hurt George, wouldn’t he?”

----

“Is Tommy sleeping alright?” George asks, trying to sound casual. “Sam used to complain that he’d only ever sleep peacefully if I was there.”

It’s a lie, but George and Sam had both noticed that Tommy would sleep easily in George’s arms. Nightmares would still happen, but Tommy would calm down faster.

“He’s been having so many nightmares.” Dream admits. “He also cries a lot, even during the day. I think he needs you around. Familiar faces and all that.”

“What about Ranboo?” George asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Ranboo hasn’t been Ranboo since I escaped.” George can hear the self centered smirk in his voice, the proud lilt of admitting that he’s controlling the teen. “I think Tommy can tell that. It doesn’t seem to bother him all that much, he’s seen my face and isn’t scared.”

George’s stomach drops at that, fear lacing his insides. There’s a reason Dream wears the mask. He doesn’t look safe to be around, he looks like if the void had a neon green eye and a glowing, neon green hole gaping where his mouth and nose should be. But George knows better than to mention that, only raising his eyebrows with surprise.

“I would have thought that would make him cry.” George jokes, lightly elbowing Dream. “Is he sleeping?”

“I hope so, do you want to check?” Dream cocks his head to the side, not too unlike a puppy. George nods, and let’s Dream walk him up the stairs. 

Now’s his chance.

---

Sapnap nervously paces, the treeline hiding him from Dream’s watchful gaze. He’s far enough away to see everything, but not be able to hear anything. It’s safer this way, watching from a distance. Karl and Quackity won’t get hurt if he’s caught, this way. He doesn’t trust the silence, and from the nervous looks on his fiancees’ faces, they don’t like not being able to hear either.

An ear piercing scream tears the silence in half as Karl makes eye contact with Sapnap.

“GEORGE!” Sapnap screams, running towards the house. Snow melts under his feet, he can’t contain his anger. “George!”

Sapnap slams open the door to the house, his hand melting the door handle. George lays on the ground, his glasses under Dream’s foot. Blood. There’s so much blood. Too much blood. George is curled around Tommy, who wails at the top of his lungs. George isn’t moving. Why isn’t George moving? Why isn’t he struggling.

Duck.

Ranboo’s punch misses.

Sweep your opponents leg out from under them.

Ranboo falls to the ground, his head cracking painfully.

Keep your eyes on the room.

Blood pools under Ranboo’s head. Dream laughs.

Don’t let your guard down.

“Did you really think that George could take Tommy from me?”

Don’t let your opponent see any fear.

“I trusted you both. You’re my friends. I can’t believe you would betray me like this.”

Focus on the fight.

“I thought you cared about me, all I wanted was for us to be a family again.”

Dream stands on George, and Sapnap can hear the pained weaze that George breaths out. He’s still alive.

“Eyes on me, Snapnap.” Dream taunts, and Sapnap’s eyes jump back to his once-best friend. “You’ve got to work on that.”

Don’t make the first move.

“Not going to talk to me?”

Go on the defensive.

“That’s rude.”

Duck.

“Let’s dance.”

Duck. Sidestep. Block. Jab. Punch. Duck. Owch, was that his eye? Duck again, keep focusing. Get to the door. Duck. Open the door. Punch. Step outside. Block. Run backwards. Duck. Throw a punch

Sapnap is thrown through the air, landing with a scream on the ground. Snow melts around him, and he lets out a gasp of pain. There’s blood underneath him, staining the snow red. It’s pretty, almost.

Sapnap can see Phil and Techno fight Dream, out of the corners of his eyes. Eret and Bad run into the house, carrying out Ranboo, Tommy and George. They’re safe. Everyone is safe now. Sapnap did good.

“Stay awake Sap.” Karl says, and Sapnap forces his eyes open - when did they close - to see his fiancee’s. Quackity cradles his head in his lap, and Karl fumbles with his pockets. “Keep your eyes open, yeah, that’s good. Keep it up.”

Sapnap groans as Karl pours a healing potion directly onto his torso. It wont help much, there’s something in his back, but he can’t speak. It hurts too much.

“Open your eyes.” Quackity says, and Sapnap feels warm fingers on his cheek. “Open your eyes. BAD! BAD SAPNAP’S-”

----

Sam watches out the window of his room as birds flit around tree branches. Ponk had left the room half an hour ago, just after he served breakfast. Ponk hadn’t said much, simply kissing Sam’s forehead and telling him to relax.

Sam can’t relax. He shouldn’t be allowed to, pneumonia or not. Not while Puffy suffers, while Tommy suffers.��

“Hey Dad.” Quackity’s voice doesn’t surprise Sam, who sees his son every morning.

“Hey duckling.” Sam smiles. “How are you this morning?”

“Good. Sapnap and George are in a bad shape though. Bad kicked me out of their rooms.” Quackity laughs wetly, tears in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Sam says, opening his arms out for Quackity. The man smiles, but shakes his head, wiping away tears. 

“There’s something you need to see.” Quackity says, and apparently thats a cue for something, because Jack opens the door to his room.

Niki wheels Puffy into the room, the woman sitting on a wheelchair, her hair falling down over her shoulders. She’s still got a bandage on her head, but there is colour in her cheeks and a knowing smile on her face.

“Puffy.” Sam gasps, happy to see his friend better, if not up and running. Sam tries to stand, to give Puffy a hug, but Quackity just pushes him back into his bed.

“If you’re that happy to see me, you’ll need someone to hold you back with who Foolish has.” Puffy jokes, though her voice is hoarse.

Foolish walks into the room, gently holding a wiggling Tommy. Sam gasps, and true to Puffy’s prediction, it takes Quackity and Jack to stop Sam from getting out of his hospital bed. Foolish passes Tommy to Sam, and the man holds onto Tommy gently, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’s here. He’s safe, finally.

“How-”

“We’ll explain later.” Quackity says. “Just relax for now. Everyone is safe.”

[noteguk]

for science | jhs | m

— summary; in which Hoseok hears through the grapevine that you give one of the best blowjobs ever, and he needs to test it to be sure. 

— contents and warnings; blowjob (duh), dirty talk, praising and stupid pet names, cum eating, deepthroating (the oc has no gag reflex), Hoseok finds heaven, kind of crack? Idk don’t take this seriously, college!au, hoseok x reader (with a mention of past Jimin x reader), studying sessions being interrupted in the name of science 

— words; 5,1k

Requested by anon! 

Hoseok could be kind of clueless when it came to some science-related things (and his high school biology teacher could attest to that), but one thing he knew very well was the scientific method. All that hypothesis-testing-stuff, or whatever the hell that was (okay, maybe he didn’t know it that well) had taken him out of some trouble in the past. It helped him see some of his decisions in a more experimental light, avoiding the terrible Olympic-somersault-into-conclusions that had gotten so many of his friends into awkward situations. And it shouldn’t even be said that he took quite a bit of pride in that — it made him feel very intelligent and he would take any stroke to the ego that he could get. 

So, when Jimin got a bit too tipsy and started babbling on about how you gave him the best blowjob of his life, Hoseok was, at the very least, cautiously skeptical. 

“You’re such a drama queen.” Hoseok rolled his eyes before chugging down a bit more of his beer. He was nowhere near as intoxicated as Jimin was, and he wasn’t planning on changing that. It was a Wednesday night, for fuck’s sake. He had to leave some thrill to the end of the week. “It probably was like… alright. Good, even. But the best one ever? Please.” 

“It was so much more than alright, dude.” Jimin threw his head over the couch’s back, looking like he just got washed up on the shore. His hair was a mess of clear strands, exploding on his head like a failed science fair experiment. “It was the best suck of my liiiiife. I wish she didn’t hate me so I could have that again.” 

He scoffed. Hoseok had enough filter left in him to avoid telling Jimin that the reason why you hated him was entirely his fault — what did he expect from three weeks of ghosting? Besides, if the head was that good, he would surely stick around for just a bit longer than two months. “Sure. Like the time that you almost died riding a roller coaster.” 

“Hey. I almost did.” Jimin’s eyes opened, presenting his friend with a dazed-out, unfocused brand of frustration. He was getting tired of not being taken seriously — didn’t Hosoek know that alcohol makes you more honest? He wasn’t making things up. Not when they were as serious as the well-being of his dick, or actual death. “It was some Final Destination bullshit, I’m telling you. Pieces of metal flying and everything.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved it off, leaning closer to Jimin so he could take the almost-empty can of beer from his clumsy hands, and placed it on the center table. “I think you’ve had enough alcohol for tonight, man. You have a class at ten tomorrow.” 

“I’m serious, dude,” Jimin pressed on. It was past eleven and Hoseok only wanted to sleep, but the other boy was clearly clueless about the lack of mutual interest in that conversation. “Aren’t you two friends or something?”

“Kind of. It’s weird,” Hoseok answered. You two had lingered in a hazy friendship space for a long time now, and he didn’t know exactly how to explain your relationship. He didn’t really consider you two close by any means, but you weren’t strangers or casual friends either. To be honest, he hadn’t thought too much about it until that very moment. “Why? What does that have to do with anything?” 

Jimin sighed, fumbling against the sofa. Much to Hoseok’s delight, he was starting to get sleepy as well. “You could ask her to suck you off,” he mumbled, “then you can feel it for yourself.” 

He laughed at that, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Jimin, you’re out of your mind if you think that’s not gonna backfire.” 

He blinked heavily. “Hm? Why?” 

Hoseok blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “We aren’t that close, and we haven’t done anything remotely sexual before this. It would be super creepy.”

“That’s not true,” Jimin spoke lazily, as if the words were starting to get hard to find. There was a pause so long after his sentence that Hoseok thought his roommate had fallen asleep. “I know you guys made out like at the beginning of the semester. Taehyung told me so.”

He was going to murder Taehyung. “It wasn’t like that. We were both drunk and it was super awkward afterwards.” Hoseok got up from the couch, leaving Jimin to groan and spread out his legs over the cushions. “Listen, I’m glad you two had fun, and I’m sorry you ruined it. But I’m not gonna ask ____ to suck me off just so I can know if you’re being dramatic or not.” 

Jimin smirked wickedly — or at least tried to, because his lack of facial control wasn’t doing him any favors. “Whatever you say,” he teased, “but I think you’re curious.” 

Truth was: Hoseok was beyond curious. The cogs in his head had started to move, and his brain was evoking lewd images of you so fast that he could barely follow. He would be pretending if he said that he never saw you under that light before, but, after the mess that was your makeout session, he had forced himself to jump into the friendzone before he managed to make things worse. 

Hoseok liked you very much, even if you two weren’t particularly close. He enjoyed spending time with you, he found you funny, smart, and way out of his league. But he wasn’t delusional enough to believe that you would actually say yes to sucking him off, especially so out of the blue. 

“I’m not curious,” Hoseok lied through his teeth, and he wanted to change the subject so much that his head was starting to hurt. “You’re gonna sleep here?” 

“Hm… yes… the couch is very comfortable.” Jimin closed his eyes and adjusted his body on the furniture. His baggy shirt was already halfway through his stomach and his pants had ran up to his waist, but the man didn’t seem to notice. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes, moving towards the door. He needed to get Jimin some blankets, because the other was surely not getting up for the rest of the night. It was bad enough to babysit him for those few hours of intoxication, but infinitely worse to make him chicken soup if he got sick. Been there, done that. “I’m sure the couch is great.”

Jimin’s voice was soft and sleepy when he spoke up again. Hoseok was already in the corridor, and he almost didn’t hear him when he said, “I’m not talking about the couch.” 

Hoseok went to Jimin’s bedroom and grabbed his pillow and the blanket from his undone bed. Meanwhile, scenarios ran wild inside his head, having you as the main star. He didn’t know what was taking over him, but he wasn’t so quick to ignore Jimin’s story. Hoseok was faced with a fantastic scenario of a perfect blowjob, and the idea that it was so close to him was making his pulse quicken. Again: it would be absurd to ask you to do that, regardless of the motive behind it, and he knew that it would be awful for your already-strange friendship. 

No, he could never do that. He would not. 

But like… what if it worked, and you magically accepted his request? And what if, by some wonderful moment, some millennial alignment of planets, Jimin wasn’t actually being hyperbolic and you actually had the ability to give incredible blowjobs? Could he really let it pass without giving it a shot? 

He could see it as a scientific experiment, Hoseok thought, as a way to prove a hypothesis. It couldn’t hurt if he just— 

Oh my god, dude, shut the fuck up and forget about this. 

Coming back to his senses, Hoseok strutted out of his roommate's bedroom and walked toward the living room. By the time he came back with the blanket and the pillow, Jimin was already deep asleep.

~ 

Against his best efforts, that conversation remained stuck to the back of his mind for the next two weeks. Hoseok would find himself going back and forth on the idea of you having some strange, Marvel-worthy superpower when it came to sucking dick and, worst of all, the idea that his skepticism was making him miss out on it. Jimin was exaggerated when it came to, well, pretty much everything, but that didn’t mean that he would be wrong about that specific subject. That would be a logical fallacy, and that was also something that Hoseok knew very well. Bless his late nights on Reddit for that. 

Yet as the days moved along, and his curiosity was slowly turning into desire, he was forced to revisit the infamous night between the two of you, the one that Jimin had so mercilessly mentioned. Thinking back on it, it wasn’t surprising that your overconsumption of alcohol, added to the way that you two had grown close (both physically and mentally) had ended up with Hoseok laying on top of you, kissing the soul out of you and fondling your breasts in the middle of a party. It wasn’t the most dignified moment of either of your lives, but, well, it happened. 

One way or another, the night didn’t move forward. Even if Hoseok already had a tent in his pants, you two were far too intoxicated to consent, and were quick to fall asleep before the situation could escalate. Bottom line: Hoseok woke up with your tit in his hand, a nightmarish hangover, and the decision that the You-Subject would have to stay on hold for some time. 

And on hold it stayed. For an entire semester. And it would’ve remained that way if Jimin’s stupid mouth hadn’t started talking. 

So after two weeks of self-inflicted psychological torture, Hoseok slipped a hangout invitation amidst your texts. If you saw any second intentions behind his “haven’t seen you in awhile, wanna hangout? ;)” you didn’t let it show. The problem was that you weren’t really in the mood to go out, especially since you had a big exam coming up, so Hoseok ended up convincing you that he would stay quiet if you let him go over to your place. 

It was a bit harder not to notice the desperation in his proposal that time, but you ended up agreeing. Your thought process was that the boy would eventually realize that his hangout attempt was ridiculous and that he would leave you to study by yourself, and the two of you would reschedule that odd friendship session to when you weren’t drowning in textbooks. 

The problem was that you had been stupid enough to believe that your friend would actually keep his mouth shut. 

Hoseok was seated on the edge of your bed for so long that he was sure that his asscheeks were permanently imprinted on your sheets. Because he hated himself, he kept eyeing the digital clock to your right, and he was certain that he had spent the last fifty two minutes and thirty three seconds staring at the back of your head and trying to come up with a casual way to ask for a blowjob. 

He had tried a few times already, and each one constituted of him being unable to finish his sentence, instead looking at you like BooBoo The Fool until you turned back around to face your disorganized desk, sighing and trying to concentrate on your work. 

All things considered, he couldn’t actually believe he had escalated Jimin’s sailor tale to that point. He was out of his mind, that was a fact, and he had absolutely no clue how you would react once he (if he) found the words to ask you to sacrifice your mouth for science. 

God, he was an idiot. 

He cleared his throat and got ready to try one more time. “So… I…” 

You sighed heavily and turned around on the chair. “Hobi, this is the fifth time you’re starting a sentence and not finishing it,” you said, annoyed. “Can you tell me what the problem is? I have a test in two days and you promised you wouldn’t interrupt me if you came over.” 

“I’m sorry,” he didn’t like feeling like a kid being scolded, even if he kind of deserved that. Hoseok guessed it would be better to just take off the band-aid before he made an even bigger fool out of himself. “Let me just, like, explain the context of this. Otherwise it’s going to be even more strange.” 

Dropping your pen, you fully swirled the chair around, crossing your hands over your legs. He wasn’t expecting your complete attention anytime soon, and the seriousness in your stare made his courage falter for a second. It was such a stupid idea, you’d just end up hating him like you did Jimin. “As long as you make it quick,” you told him.  

Hoseok hesitated, running one hand through his hair. “Yeah, okay, so… like, a few weeks ago I was talking to Jimin,” he started, watching your face for any signal of an expression — confusion, disgust, anything. But he found nothing. “We were drunk, and he started talking about the time that you two were together. Like, sexually.” 

You blinked, unfazed. “And?”

“And… he told me that you give, like, the best blowjobs in history,” the words left his mouth before he could fully digest them. This time, he got a reaction out of you — a light raise of your eyebrows. “And, no offense, but I didn’t believe him. You know how extra he is about some stuff. Most stuff.” 

There was a moment of silence as you waited for him to go on, but Hoseok was too busy swallowing his thoughts down and feeling like he would collapse at any given moment. You sighed. “So what? You wanted to tell me that you don’t believe in my blowjob abilities? That’s all? Can I go back to studying now?” 

“No, that’s…” Now, things were starting to get complicated. Just take off the band-aid, Hoseok, don’t chicken out now. “I wanted to know if you could show me. Like, if you could suck me off. So I could... confirm that hypothesis.”

Every part of his brain was suddently hyperaware of how fucking stupid he just sounded. He had expected that another thick silence would follow, but his heart almost leaped out of your chest when you started laughing at him — like, full-chest, eyes closing, head rolling back laughing. “Are you serious?” You asked, taking one hand to cover your mouth before, at last, bursting out again. He felt like his ego was being stabbed with a rusty nail. “I can’t believe you, Hoseok. Took you all this time just to ask me if I could suck you off? For science?”

His mouth felt like it was full of cotton and he had to clear his throat before he found the force to answer you. “Yeah, I mean, only if you’re comfortable with it, of course,” he struggled to say, each word morphing into the next. His stomach had frozen up and the flight or fight response was starting to kick in. Had he really been that much of an idiot? When did his cock start dictating his words? “I… I know this is like, super creepy. I’m sorry. We can forget this ever happened and I’ll never talk to you again. I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

Suddenly sad, he waited as you settled back on the chair, wiping a small tear from the corner of your eye before you stared at him. There was still a smirk crawling up your lips, and he felt like the world was collapsing all around him  as the silence expanded around the two of you. He looked at the digital clock: it had taken him precisely three minutes to ruin everything. 

He sighed, shoulders falling. “Do you hate me? Why are you so quiet?” 

You bit down on your lip, your eyes narrowing as you took his form in. Hoseok was hot: point blank. He was also nice, and respectful enough to realize that he might have overstepped a few lines with his request — and, even if you couldn’t really understand it, you also weren’t bothered by it. And you certainly didn’t hate him. In a way, you were almost flattered. You would’ve been more if the comment had come from anyone else but your Danny Phantom ex. But that was a different story. 

The entire situation was just too funny to let it go. And, besides, you really wouldn’t mind sucking Hoseok off. It wasn’t as if you had never thought about that before. 

“I’m... considering it,” you told him, watching as his face lit up in a mixture of confusion and joy. He looked like a kid seeing Santa for the first time. “If you promise to shut up and let me study, I’ll do it. And if you agree to never talk about it again.” 

Hoseok blinked profusely, his mind short circuiting. “For real?” 

“Yeah.” You raised from your chair, walking closer to your bed. Hoseok swallowed hard and leaned back, placing his hands on the mattress for support. “But do me a favor: if it’s not that good, don’t tell me. It’ll hurt me.” 

“Yeah, alright.” He swallowed dry, every neuron in his brain trying to grasp what the fuck had just happened. His mind was the Spongebob office being set on fire, and he suddenly didn’t know how to deal with the anticipation booming in his chest. “I’m... not hard yet, though.” 

“It’s okay.” You kneeled in front of him, placing your hands on his inner thighs and slightly pushing them apart. Hoseok quickly got the cue, and opened a bit more so you could comfortably place yourself between them. “Just... relax,” your voice was almost a whisper then, and he felt his soul trying to leave him. That was insane. “Let me take care of you.”  

Your words managed to make him relax a bit, then he tensed all the way back at the feeling of your hands fumbling with his button. His breath hitched as you pulled the zipper down, fingers hooking on the edge of his pants before tugging them down his thighs. 

He felt exposed as his pants fell like a puddle around his ankles, his tongue coming out to wet his lips as you leaned in. Hosoek felt like he was dreaming when you started nibbling at his skin, kissing and licking his inner thighs as you slowly made your way closer to his aching member. 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he barely got out before sighing, the tingles of your caresses on his skin shooting directly towards his cock, already semi-hard. 

You flicked your eyes up at him, humming against his thigh muscles. You were now so dangerously close to his underwear that he thought he would lose consciousness. “Were you daydreaming about it or something?” You teased. 

Maybe in a different position, he would’ve lied about it. But the truth came out before he could hold it back. “Ever since Jimin told me that, yeah,” he said. 

“Hmm… hope I live up to the expectation, then,” you purred, looking up at him with those doll-like eyes. Hoseok suddenly felt like he was losing his balance, his entire body burning in desire and expectancy. You looked like another one of his horny daydreams, but you were kneeling right there, in arms reach, and he didn’t know how he would deal with what was about to ensue. 

Your mouth was hovering above his clothed cock before he could notice and, delicately, you leaned down to place a kiss on it. The touch was tender, almost numb with the fabric standing between you two, and yet Hoseok shivered, biting down on his lip as one of your hands enveloped his erection. He watched, mesmerized, as you started lazily stroking him through his underwear, leaning your head to the side so you could place heavy kisses on him, at times giving his tip a few kitten licks until it was covered by a thin layer of your saliva. 

The sensation left him on edge, silently begging for more. By the time you moved back so you could undress him, Hoseok was a mess of shallow breaths and heavy swallows; his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as pleasure started to build up at the corners of his perception. Biting back a moan of relief, Hoseok raised his hips as you slowly pulled his underwear downward, allowing for his cock to spring free from its confinement. You had done a good job teasing him, because it was already fully hard when it bounced against his abdomen, red-tipped and leaking. 

His gaze oscillated between your face and his cock, watching for any reaction as you took one hand to his length, squeezing him firmly. “Fuck,” he let out a grunt, his overwhelmed body responding to the smallest of touches. 

You smirked at his reaction, taking a quick glimpse at his devastated features before moving back to what you were doing. Hoseok was so cute, you thought, liking the way he was so responsive. 

A shudder ran up Hoseok’s body when your tongue came out between your lips, placing delicate licks on his base. He loved the feeling of your warm muscle against his hardened member, his mind growing eager as you began tracing a path upwards, flattening your tongue against him. His breathing was ragged by the time that you reached his crown, a hum escaping your throat as you lazily swirled your tongue around his tip, covering him with your saliva. 

You took your time caressing his slit with your mouth, waiting until he was cursing and panting before you finally wrapped your lips around him. At first, you only took his tip in your mouth, sucking so slowly that Hoseok whined and buckled his hips from the bed, trying to make you move faster. 

Wordlessly, you simply placed your palm against his thigh and pressed him back down. Even if that was the last thing he wanted to do, Hoseok accepted your order and settled back against the mattress, grunting as you continued to tease him. 

“Please, put it all in,” he begged, starting to lose his trail of thought. “This is torture.” 

And maybe another day you would have taken a bit more time torturing him, but, that afternoon, you were kind of in a rush to finish studying. So you complied. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck.” His eyes shut and his head was thrown back as you fully sank down on his cock, your tongue flat against him. Before he could stop himself, his hand flew to your hair, yanking at the strands as you moved back up, your hand pumping the parts of him that you couldn’t reach. 

“God, your mouth feels so great…” He moaned, back arching as you reached his tip once again, licking it before sinking back down — you took him just a bit deeper that time, and the motion didn’t pass by unnoticed. He was really starting to believe Jimin, and he wondered if maybe he should’ve been more worried about the entire rollercoaster situation. “Ah, that’s it. Just like that.” 

You moaned around him, the vibrations making him cry out, desperate. Hoseok couldn’t hold himself back from moving closer to the edge of the bed, his other hand clenching your bedsheets between his fingers as you continued to swallow his cock like it belonged in the hot confinement of your mouth. 

“Oh— oh my god, baby,” he grunted, pulling at the strands of your hair. His mind was starting to get hazy, his chest fluttering in a mess of sighs and heavy breaths every time that you sank down on his member; every time you flicked your tongue against his sentitive slit or pumped his base. “That’s really good, you take my cock so well.”

You looked up just to see the mess that Hoseok had turned into. With his mouth parted and eyes glazed over, he looked like he was about to fall apart at any second. He was watching you in complete awe, his eyebrows falling to form a beautiful frown of concentration; tongue coming out to lick his lips. He was so fucked out that you felt yourself getting riled up by his image, a pool of wetness accumulating between your thighs. 

“You look so pretty like this.” He exhaled, unaware of his own words. Hoseok was too busy following your swollen, redden lips as they wrapped around his member, your cheeks hollowing after you sucked him with all that you had. Even the small amount of droll around your mouth was enough to make him throb in your hold, a grunt escaping him. “With these — fuck — those pretty lips around my cock, shit. I could watch you forever.” 

You hummed around his member again at his words, the vibrations shooting directly at his core, where a rising heat had dangerously grown stronger, signaling his upcoming orgasm. Hoseok loved the way you actually looked like you were enjoying yourself, moaning and whimpering around his cock as you took all of him in your mouth, eyes closing every time he throbbed inside you. The eagerness in which you took him in, like you were starving for his cock, was one of the filthiest images that Hoseok had ever seen, and it was one that he knew would haunt his dreams for the years to come. 

When you removed his cock from your mouth with a dirty wet sound, Hoseok was about to complain before he saw you licking down his length, one of your hands holding his cock away from your face as your tongue started to play with his balls. It was an odd feeling, but not an unwelcomed one, and it kept him on edge for a little while longer while you played with him. 

With a timid whimper, you looked up at him as you licked your way back up to his tip. The image was so hot that he almost fainted, a deep moan escaping his throat when you took him back inside your delicious mouth. 

And the truth was clearer than Hoseok had ever expected: Jimin was right. 

“Fuck, babe, how did you get this good?” Hoseok grunted, trying his best to focus on the picture-perfect image of your lips wrapped tightly around his throbbing cock. He could tell that his release was starting to build up at an alarming rate, his thighs growing weaker every time you took him inside you. “Oh my- Ngh! Fuck! Oh my god!” 

Hoseok’s mind was wiped clean when he felt his tip hitting the back of your throat, his hips buckling up as your throat clenched around him. He was pretty sure he was in heaven then — if he focused, he could hear angels singing all around him — , his pleasure overtaking every cell of his body as you continued sucking the soul out of him. 

“Holy fuck, do that again,” he begged, his voice much higher than before. You didn’t need to be asked twice, because, within a second, he was crying out at the feeling of your throat wrapping around his cock one more time; his hands holding tightly to the roots of your hair. The only reason why Hoseok hadn’t started fucking your mouth yet was because he wanted to have you in control, giving him the best head of his life without any interruption. “Fuck, fuck— Baby, you’re so fucking good at this, fuck.”

There was a vague raising of his hips to meet your movements, making him hit the back of your throat again and again, the lewd sounds you were making filling the room. Nothing in his life had ever compared to that instant, he had ever felt a pleasure as great as he did at that point, and he knew it was about to snap. 

“God, I’m gonna cum,” he sobbed, finally closing his eyes and letting the pleasure take over. “Fuck, you’re so good, I’m gonna—“ 

Hoseok filled your mouth with his cum, dripping down your throat when you swallowed around him. His head was spinning and his muscles were trembling, and that time he was unable to hold himself back from thrusting up against your mouth, trying to prolong that divine sensation for as long as he could before, at last, collapsing against the mattress with a final, shaky moan. 

He barely heard you when you got up to your feet, his mind floating above his body as he tried to get himself back together. With the little force that he still had inside him, Hoseok leaned on his elbows and stared at you like you were made of gold. “Fuck, ____.” He breathed out, and the only thing he could say was, “What the fuck?” 

You giggled at his reaction, thumb cleaning a bit of cum that had painted the corner of your mouth. “I appreciate your feedback,” you teased, pointing over your shoulder, to where your desk stood, forgotten. “Now that you have your answer, can I study in peace?” 

“Y-Yeah, sure,” he struggled to say. “I’ll... stay quiet.” 

You smiled brightly. “Thanks!” 

He thought about thanking you right back for giving him the best orgasm of his life, but he thought that would make everything much more pathetic. So he didn’t. 

Hoseok eventually found the motivation within him to put his cock back inside his underwear, clumsily pulling his pants back up. He found himself in the same position he was before everything went down: dumbfounded, staring at the back of your head as you worked on your textbook. The red numbers on the clock told him that just ten minutes had passed, and yet his life had completely changed. 

All that he wanted was to return the favor — it was the fair exchange, after all. Hoseok sat up at the edge of the bed and spoke up, filled by a newfound courage. “Wait. Don’t you want me to take ca—”

“Shut the fuck up, Hoseok.” 

His mouth fell shut and his courage deflated just as quickly. Maybe another time.

[siriusmydeer]

can you please do headcanons for young sirius black x reader fic where reader has really bad anixety attacks where sometimes she feels nauseous

breathe with me

sirius black x gender neutral!reader

summary: sirius helps you through an anxiety attack.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: MENTIONS OF VOMITING!!, mentions of gagging, anxiety/anxiety attack, over stress, mentions of digging nails into your palms (borderline indications), mentions of failing school/exams, migraines, mentions of pain killers, mentions of feeling gross, possible insecurity, sirius comforting reader

a/n: so i turned this into a fic rather than hc’s because i felt like i could portray it better through a fic. also dedicated to isa ( @acosmis-t ) my love bc i cant write so thank u baby for helping me !

“Argh.” You piercingly groaned with a hand lowered to your febrile forehead, a feverish burn arising to the skin. The day had steadily been cut close to the final bell. Your Transfiguration exam had finally been completed and not without weary, of course. The prior nights you had been found asleep with drool pooling down your tear-tainted cheek and your talons promptly sunken into your palms as a desperate endeavour to relieve your stress. (Although it had not been the best choice, and at some points rather painful)

The piling books glared fiercely at you in the library till Madam Pince undoubtedly had to beckon you away, so you could sufficiently rest. Indeed then, your unconscious mind was piled in dreadful dreams (More-so nightmares) regarding critical failure and your pleaded requests to Mcgonagall, so you could re-attempt your failed exams. 

Your polished nails had been essentially glued to your pearly teeth, chomping at the rarebit till there was nothing left to bite. The strums of your heart steadily increased as the last final students had cautiously worked on their assessments. You had patiently waited, subtly noticing your brawny throat becoming excessively dry as well as well as your diaphragm contracting by the minor second, an indistinguishable bile substance threatening to overtake the taste buds on your parched tongue.

A small, minuscule tap in the nape of your skull had increased to small needles swimming around your brain while the time ticked. 

Sirius had been sitting in Charms flipping away at ‘Quidditch Through the Ages’ anxiously as he had to withhold himself from darting nervously out of his class and inquire how you were feeling with a knowing sense of how the rest of the day would take place. He had been made quite aware of your particular issue in the Third Year when you had disgorged your lunch, Shepherd's Pie that you had previously eaten had been hurled onto his Oxford’s his noble family spent a pretty penny to purchase. 

At McGonagall's constructive dismissal, you had collected your materials and begun to walk cautiously through the corridors with your books clutched eagerly to your chest. 

A slight increase in your breaths began to inflate your lungs and the steadily increasing heart strums became an overwhelming palpitation deafening your ears. Your heart had battered in your chest; nearing closer, and closer to your dormitory. Your hands had begun to develop a slight tremor at the anxious vibrations poisoning your blood, whilst your vision began to mildly obscure. You needed a moment to recollect yourself, a minute to breathe.

You had murmured a small, ‘Fairy Lights’ to the portrait before trudging up the stairs and colliding into the dormitory. The hinges had creaked whilst you abruptly had shut the door, luckily nobody was present to allegedly witness your exertion. Your bedroom had frequently remained tidy, a typical symptom of your anxiety that had obsessively pursued you to attempt your very hardest, even better than your very hardest, at everything and anything. 

You had stood center in your room venturing for the hostile seizing in your bones to cease for at least a moment. Your chest had felt tight, like a tensed muscle that had been pulled after an unusually hard sport.

You had walked toward your window and back Window, and back. Window, and back. Again, Again and Again.

Your nails are placed between the mild edges of your teeth. The cavern of your mouth almost feeling obstructed by the bile mingling around with your parched throat. At the incessant pacing of your feet, there had been a remaining thud in your thick skull adding to your misery. 

The small gust of wind was the singular audible sound in the dormitory as one of your dorm mates had abandoned it open. Your brain had felt like it swelled beyond generating capacity now your mild dehydration was too obvious to ignore like you had planned to do. You had deliberated with your eyes closed and your face contorted into a frown, you would’ve had to trudge to the kitchens for a possible amount of comfort in your state. You had groaned again, your hand promptly placed over your face, as you traipsed across the room, attempting to comfort yourself, in a sense.

Perhaps some painkillers spewed on the bathroom counter that you had previously taken before your exam could help you. Your neck had begun to sear in heat the hair that was almost clung to your nape, you raised your heavy eyelids halfway only for them to fall shut a twinging pain beginning to naturally arise behind your optics. You huffed with a minuscule gag, too much effort it would take to stroll around the school in the huffing state you were currently in, a migraine still revelling in your mind. Maybe later, you thought with a creased brow. You had heard the hinges creak again, incorrectly assuming one of your dorm mates had been back. Except your dorm mates didn’t possess the baritone of a burly male.

“Y/n” He whispered tenderly, attempting not to disturb your pacing.  

“Not now.”

He had partaken notice to your mindful scratches against your neck, continuously pulling up the hair only for it to fall once more. You had paused for a moment with a tremor in your finger that was trapped between your teeth. A familiar distortion of torture wrapping around your throat like a snake that was threatening to suffocate you; your respires heavier and more frequent. He had begun speaking, a blubber of words escaping his trachea. Yet, all jumbled like alphabet soup in your brain between his dismembered sentences. 

You suspired heavily in frustration, “Just— Shut up! Please.” You begged in exasperation. Still prying your hair from your neck, you stood frozen, discontentment building in your system.

He had noticed the black hair tie absentmindedly clung to his wrist whenever you had asked for one. Steadily walking towards your paused figure he had gathered your hair in the tie, your neck feeling the refreshing air against it; a slight relief applied against your skin. You promptly initiated to remove your robe, there was a warm discerning grip on your body overheating your arms as well as your midriff due to the uniform.

With a violent tremor in your fingers, you started grasping at the buttons, a mild frustration initiating at the fact you couldn’t pop them open due to the recurrent quiver in your digits. Sirius had removed your hands from your robe, hastily unbuttoning it before you hurled it aside. 

“How 'bout we go to the bathroom, Hmm?” He cooed while beckoning you into the bathroom, noticing the tremor in your body as well as your fidgeting fingers that were twiddling between each other. He had turned the sink on, switching the handle left where a blue spot differentiated the colours. Delicately, he grasped your trembling wrists and ran them beneath the cooling water. “Just… Feel gross.”You murmured to yourself as he ran a few fingers under the downpour, placing his frigid fingers behind your neck. 

Your shoulders faintly shrugged at the sensation while he turned off the water and let your hands air dry, helping you not feel solidified by anything. During his movement, you had grasped onto his fingers where a few heirloom rings had fit snugly on his fingers, “Tell me about them.” This was a technique he had created in an effort of distraction at the uprising feelings of disgust for yourself bound to erupt at any moment. 

“There’s a B, I guess. Erm, engraving, swirls and stuff…” You trailed off while attempting to decipher the designs in the ring that was on his forefinger.“S’too much! Just wanna— Dunno, not feel like this anymore!”

He had partaken scrutiny to your physical tics as well as your body language, with a faint clutch on two of your fingers he had hauled you to the very center of your dormitory. Within a few inches of each other, he had mauled your hand over his sternum. You felt the heavy respires in his chest as well as the vibrations melding with your palm as he spoke, “Breathe with me.” 

You had stood there, minutes, maybe almost an hour, time was now pushed to the very nooks and crannies of your mind. The surges of perturbation still prominently surging through your veins to the density of your bones, the recurrent tremble still foremost notable but the buckling of your knees had calmed down as well as the faint chatter of your teeth. Still copying his sluggish breathing, you looked deep into his pear irises, his optics having a settling effect, a tingling reassurance reflecting in them. In the sunlight state that had remained in your room due to the unclosed curtains, there had been cerulean hues caught in that state.

Sirius’ eyes had been crafted like delicate feathers that were used for quills, not the albino kind of dove feathers, but the ones with a hue so softly grey that they could have been pencil-drawn rather than used by a quill with smeared stygian ink. They had that look of birds flying on sunlit days, the shine and quick movement, yet relaxed, purposeful, at ease.

“Can we sit?” You questioned quietly after removing your hand from his chest, hesitantly grabbing onto two of his fingers as he had previously done with you. “Anything you want.” He replied in a murmur, craning his head left, then right, trying to figure out where to beckon you into a seated position.

You had sat upon the wooden floor. The flooring designs similar to a chorus of browns; they sang together, an acapella of baritone hues that rose into vibrant soprano notes. It was a fitting place for a dormitory where laughter could normally be discerned, a place for those new sounds to soak right in and join the spirit that was already there when you had first entered the dormitory your first year.

“Here?”

“Mhm.” You nodded your head scarcely as he sat next to you. You sighed for a moment, placing a minimal amount of your temple against his shoulder, feeling the similar respires soothe you. “Here.”

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[infjsnightmare]

Pumpkin Carving ~ John Steinbeck Drabble

************************************

Honestly, you felt kind of bad for working so much overtime lately. You'd barely been able to spend any time with your boyfriend and you knew he wasn't happy about it. He'd taken to spending all his free time in the garden. Your shared home began to feel much too spacious when you'd get off of work. The routine of entering an empty house late in the evening to see John still outside toiling away, only giving you a slight nod of recognition. Ever since the argument you two had a few weeks ago, the summer air felt colder. He thought you had become too focused on money at the expense of watching your life pass by. Given who your prior employer was, it was understandable that he was worried. Despite your insistence that you were nothing like Francis Fitzgerald, John still felt as if you had chosen money over him, which wasn't your intention in the slightest. You just wanted a nest egg to make sure that if anything happened, you two could weather it together.

As you pulled up to your house this particular evening, you didn't see your boyfriend outside like he normally would be. You braced yourself for the worst; did he leave you a note? Would all of his stuff be gone? Would there be any way to contact him? Thoughts raced through your mind as you climbed your porch steps, stomach flipping as if it were about to drop. You turned the handle slowly, the door creaking lowly as you pushed it open. Your senses were immediately flooded by the warm, earthy scent of pumpkin soup. In the middle of the living room, a table was laid out and covered with old newspapers. Five large pumpkins, a few oblong, a perfectly round one, and a bulbous one with a curly stem sat atop the table amongst various knives and tools. The wood groaned with heavy footsteps to your left as you saw John, fitted with and apron and potholders, carrying a large pot full of the aforementioned soup in from the kitchen. "Welcome home!" He beamed at you as he placed the pot down on the center of the table and setting the potholders down beside it.

Your body was full of nerves from all the images that you'd created in your head and the vast gap between that and reality. "John," you breathed lightly, trying to switch gears in your brain to properly assess the situation, "what is all this?". Gesturing to the table in front of you, your eyes came up to meet his ocean blue ones. He ruffled his hair along the back of his scalp, staring off to the side. "Well, I realize I've been acting like shit lately..." he started, trailing off as you saw a hint of shame flash across his face. "I know we've barely said five words to each other since that fight the other day, and I know at that time I said a lot of things I shouldn't have." You could hear the anger in his voice, but you knew he was directing it at himself. He held a lot of strong beliefs in how you should treat family and he probably felt that he hadn't been living up to those standards. Deciding to interrupt his trail of thought before he ended up crucifying himself, you spoke up "We both said a lot of things we didn't mean that day." You smiled soothingly at him as you placed your hand on his cheek, turning him to face you.

Placing a rough hand over the one you'd held on his cheek, he gave you a grateful smile. His blue eyes held a whirlwind of emotions, but you knew he only ever chose to express the simplest of them. "I just missed you. And instead of trying to find ways to spend time together, I think I kinda shut you out..." taking your hand, he began leading you toward the table. "So, I figured that I'd be productive about it instead!" A wide grin made its home on his features, capturing your heart and making it feel weightless. "The pumpkins were ready for harvest and these five here are the best ones for carving. The others either found their way into the soup or got cubed and shoved in the freezer." Seeing the excitement on your face had him grinning like a kid on Christmas. "So, is this a date night then?" Inquiring, you sat down, grabbing the most round pumpkin at the table and a saw-like knife for cutting. "A date night, it is!" Pulling up a chair next to yours as it screeched across the floor. The two of you sat down to begin carving. Cutting off the top, pulling out the stringy guts of the pumpkin, and trying to separate the seeds for roasting. You threw pumpkin guts at John, laughing as they stuck to his face before he took his own, sliding them down the back of your shirt. "John!" practically scream-laughing you felt the cold, slimy insides make their way down your back as you shook them out of your shirt.

When all was said and done, you had carved your best scary black widow on a spider web. "It looks amazing!" Your boyfriend praised you lovingly, kissing your pumpkin-covered cheek. "Well, don't be shy now, what did you carve?" Coaxing him to show you, wrapping your arms around his waist. "Well, only the most beautiful sight I could think of." An amused smirk took root on his face as he turned the pumpkin towards you. It was a skillfully carved portrait of you, that would create the correct shadowing when a candle was placed inside. You felt your breath hitch before smiling ear to ear. Feeling your boyfriend's strong, toned arms encompass your torso, the warmth in your chest spread throughout your body. "Thank you for tonight, John. I think we both missed this." Leaning your head back on his shoulder and tilting your head up, you shared a loving kiss, quick and warm and just what you both needed.

[apathetic-revenant]

Vimes had never mastered ambition. It was something that happened to other people.

*

The Night Watch got up when the rest of the world was going to bed, and went to bed when dawn drifted over the landscape. You spent your whole time in the damp, dark streets, in a world of shadows. The Night Watch attracted the kind of people who for one reason or another were inclined to that kind of life.

*

Part of him was marveling at the sheer beauty of the sight, but an insistent, weaselly little group of brain cells from the wrong side of the synapses was scrawling its graffiti on the walls of wonderment.

*

The Bearhugger’s had worn off. He hated being sober. It meant he started to think.

*

The Watch was generally of the opinion that Samuel Vimes was at least two drinks under par, and needed a stiff double even to be sober.

*

 “Have you had anything to eat today, sir?” said Angua.

“I had a bit of breakfast,” muttered Vimes.

*

“Er...I know this isn’t the right time,” said Vimes [currently engaged in a murder investigation]. “But, when the kids play hopscotch in the street, what’s the rhyme they sing? ‘Salt, mustard, vinegar, pepper’ isn’t it?”

*

He lit the candles by his desk and opened his notebook. Probably he should use the demonic organizer, but he liked to see things written down fair and square. He could think better when he wrote things down.

*

He felt more alive than he had for days. The recent excitement still tingled in his veins, kicking his brain into life. It was the sparkle you got with exhaustion, he knew. You were so bone-weary that a shot of adrenaline hit you like a falling troll. They must have it all now. All the bits. The edges, the corners, the whole picture. All there, just waiting to be pieced together...

*

Sam Vimes smacked his forehead. “Perks! Of course! That was the word I was looking for. Perks!”

*

He leaned sideways to Captain Carrot. “Who’re all these people?”

“Watchmen, sir. You appointed them.”

“Did I? I haven’t even met some of them!”

“You signed the paperwork, sir. And you sign the wage bill every month. Eventually.”

There was a hint of criticism in his voice. Vimes’s approach to paperwork was not to touch it until someone was shouting, and then at least there would be someone to help him sort through the stacks.

*

“And I thought...I thought, good grief, this is what I’m supposed to carry? And I thought about it, and then I thought, no, that’s right, just once someone got it right. It’s not even a weapon, it’s just a thing. It ain’t for using, it’s just for having. That’s what it’s all about. Same thing with uniforms. You see, a soldier’s uniform, it’s to turn him into part of a crowd of other parts all in the same uniform, but a copper’s uniform is there to--”

Vimes stopped. Perplexed expressions in front of him told him that he was building a house of cards with too few cards on the bottom.

*

Vimes’s desk was becoming famous. Once there were piles, but they had slipped as piles do, forming this dense compacted layer that was now turning into something like peat. It was said there were plates and unfinished meals somewhere down there. No one wanted to check. Some people said they’d heard movement.

*

Vimes was conscious of his own thoughts moving very fast, and they seemed to reach their own decision. We’ll explain later, they said. You’re too tired for explanations.

*

Perhaps it was because he was tired, or just because he was trying to shut out the world, but Vimes found himself slowing down into the traditional watchman’s walk and the traditional idling thought process.

It was an almost Pavlovian response. The legs swung, the feet moved, the mind began to work in a certain way. It wasn’t a dream state, exactly. It was just that the ears, nose and eyeballs wired themselves straight into the ancient “suspicious bastard” node of his brain, leaving his higher brain center free to free-wheel.

...Fur and tights...what kind of wear was that for a watchman? Bashed-in armor, greasy leather breeches and a tatty shirt with bloodstains on it, someone else’s for preference...that was the stuff...nice feel of the cobbles through his boots, it was really comforting...

*

“Sam?”

Vimes looked up from his reading.

“Your soup will be cold,” said Lady Sybil from the far end of the table. “You’ve been holding that spoonful in the air for the last five minutes by the clock.”

“Sorry, dear.”

*

“He writes in the manual,” said the demon nastily. “Did you know that, everybody? He writes in the manual.”

“Well, of course I make notes--”

“He’s actually sneakily trying to keep his dairy in the manual so his wife won’t find out he’s never bothered to learn how to use me,” said the demon.

“What about the Vimes manual, then?” snapped Vimes. “I notice you’ve never bothered to learn how to use me!”

*

Vimes, whose knowledge of geography was microscopically detailed within five miles of Ankh-Morpork, and merely microscopic beyond that, nodded uncertainly.

*

Lady Sybil was aware of this. Sam could coherently carry on an entire conversation while thinking about something completely different.

good evening everyone I’m not definitely saying His Grace Sir Samuel Vimes Duke of Ankh has ADHD but like, I’m not not saying that either

[deansmom]

(ao3) pls accept this very old mcdanno fic I never published, in which there are feelings and a kiss. also, soup snakes.

"So, Steven."

Steve smirks a little bit, leaning back against his desk like the smug asshole he is. This conversation has been a train wreck from the start. 

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Danny raises his voice for dramatic effect to accompany the accusing look he's shooting at Steve. "You and me."

"Have you ever considered that maybe I'm interrupting you because you talk in incomplete sentences when you're nervous?"

Danny glares at him and flails his hands around unhelpfully, "See, this! This is what I'm talking about!"

Steve rolls his eyes, "You weren't talking about anything Danny. We were tailing a suspect and you said, out of the blue, 'do you know what a soup snake is' and here we are.”

"This -" Danny shakes his head and runs a hand over his face, "You know, if you ever let me finish a sentence I wouldn't have to bring things up like that."

Steve grins as he watches Danny start ramping up to a full-blown rant-down (the Williams version of a meltdown). He gets up after a moment and sets a hand on the other mans shoulder, his smile a little kinder. "Hey. I'm listening."

Danny looks up at him and deflates. He brings both of his hands up to his face and groans, "Okay. Okay, so..."

He walks a few steps away from Steve and collects himself before saying, "So Gracie is reading this book, right? And it's been so long since she was excited about a book so I said sure, I'll read it with her, cause y'know, that's what you do, you read books you don't care about just to spend time with your daughter before she starts to hate you."

"Danny," Steve sighs and rests against his desk again, "Gracie could never -"

"Shut up," Danny interrupts with a flail. He's yelling with his hands. "Shut up or I'm never gonna get through this okay?"

Steve stays silent as way of answer. 

It takes another few seconds before Danny says, "So this book. Some actress wrote it and she was on that show The Office."

Danny turns to look out at the rest of the squad room and runs a hand through his hair, "She's got this friend and he's - he's her ex. Best friends though, like, the kinda thing you hope for growing up.

"And Mindy - that's the actress - everybody wants to know why they're not together. So she's got this chapter in this book and she says y'know, it's weird, their relationship, but they're soup snakes."

Steve has to bite his tongue. 

"And - Gracie, you know, she turns to me and she says, 'That sounds like you and Uncle Steve, Danno.'"

On instinct, Steve's body tenses up and he's got to remind himself to breathe. 

"So I'm thinking you know, she's just a kid, she doesn't know things. She's smart but she doesn't, you know - she doesn't know this."

Danny lets his head fall forward so it's resting as close to his chest as it can. "Do you know what soup snakes are, Steven?"

He has to take a moment to get his voice to work before he responds, "Uh... No, afraid I don't."

Danny spins around suddenly, and gestures around, "It's from an episode apparently. The main guy, his ex comes to town and he spends the whole episode trying to explain why he doesn't have feelings for her when he clearly does and he doesn’t want to be friends with her and - it's jibberish. Makes a toddler look like a genius."

He takes a few steps closer to Steve, apparently more determined now, "And he makes this list. The number one reason on it is because they're soup snakes."

Danny pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and pretends his hands aren't shaking. It's harder to pretend his voice isn't shaking though when he starts reading it. 

"I lied to Kevin. Holly and I can never be just friends. I wrote down a list of bullet points why Holly and I should be together, and I'm going to find the perfect moment today and I am going to tell her. Number one: "Holly, you and I are soup snakes." The ... and the reason is... because... in terms of the soup, we like to- that doesn't make any sense. We're soul mates. Holly and I are soul mates."

Steve's heart is pounding in a way that it hasn't since he went through basic training and he's suddenly sweating bullets. "That's, ah..." He licks his lips and tries again, "That's a nice story, Danny."

Danny seems to ignore him, keeping his eyes on the paper, “So, there I am, sitting in my living room with my daughter, my lovely, amazing girlfriend in the kitchen and...” 

He looks up at Steve finally and he looks terrified - like walking into a tunnel terrified.

“And see I’m - I’m having a crisis. Because this?” He gestures in between the two of them, “This wasn’t - it’s not -” 

“Yeah,” Steve croaks out, his voice rough for a number of reasons. 

Danny opens his mouth uselessly, the words on the tip of his tongue and refusing to come out.

Steve takes a step closer, well within his personal space now and swallows nervously, “It doesn’t have to be. I mean, if you...” He lets out a breath, ignoring his stuttering heart, “If you don’t -” 

He’s not an idiot. Despite what Danny likes to think, he’s not a ‘neanderthal.’ He’s got feelings, lots of them, and he knows what they all mean.

He knows that he’s been in love with Danny since the day they met. 

“But it is!” Danny yelps, his hands coming up to rest on the back of his head, “It already is Steven, it doesn’t matter if I -”

Steve sets a hand on his shoulder, effectively shutting him up. It doesn’t matter, not really, because the only thing he can hear is the sound of his heart racing in his ears. 

“Did you break up with her?” He asks, terrified of the answer. 

Danny makes a face that clearly communicates how dumb he thinks Steve is, “What, are you insane? What kind of person do you think I am, huh?? Realize I’m in love with my best friend and keep dating a perfectly nice -”

And, well, that’s enough.

Steve leans down, slamming their lips together in both an effort to shut him the hell up and finally, finally find out what kissing Danny feels like.

Danny groans into it, his hands coming up to fist Steve’s shirt. 

They’ve always been a bit of a disaster together, two halves of different puzzles that shouldn’t fit, but they do, they fit so well, and kissing is no exception.

There’s a literal push and pull and before Steve realizes what’s happening, he gets pushed back into his chair. Danny’s standing there looking absolutely wrecked, the toes of their shoes knocking against each other, and Steve has never seen anything more beautiful.

“You,” Danny huffs, trying to catch his breath, and points at Steve’s chest. “Are an asshole.”

Steve squawks, his hands coming up to grab Danny’s thighs, “Me?!”

Danny glares at him, but still moves so that he’s partially on Steve’s lap. 

Something fizzles out in Steve’s brain with all this physical contact and he’s expecting something, something like a kiss or frotting or - something. 

Instead, Danny pinches the sensitive part of his upper arm, hard, and Steve yelps. 

“Do not interrupt me when I’m talking to you,” he hisses. 

“Talking at me is more like it,” Steve mumbles, unable to take his eyes off of Danny. They’re so close, they’re so fucking close, and he’s got years of pent-up frustration and theories he wants to explore. 

There’s a bead of sweat rolling its way down Danny’s throat and Steve just watches it go, wonders how angry Danny would be if he leaned up and licked it right now. Probably really angry, he seems like he’s really pissed, and Steve’s not sure why. 

Then again, he usually isn’t totally sure why Danny’s mad at him. 

Danny’s hand grabs his chin, forcing Steve to look back up at him, “Steven.”

Steve licks his lips, his mouth feeling suddenly very dry, “Yeah?”

“We are at work,” he reminds him, his tone going a little softer. 

He sounds, for lack of a better word, wrecked. He sounds like Steve feels, which is a little raw and a little off balance and - 

Steve groans, his head falling forward and landing on Danny’s clavicle. Stupidly, some part of his lizard brain can only think about how good he smells. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, his eyes closing. “Yeah, okay.” 

Danny presses a kiss to his temple, softer than anything Steve thinks he deserves, and finally pulls away from him. Steve makes a noise of complaint at the loss of contact and it feels like his chest is going to explode with the quiet laugh from Danny it earns him. 

God, he really loves him. 

He watches as Danny fixes his hair, fixes his shirt, tries not to look like his whole world has been rocked in the last ten minutes. 

Steve doesn’t even try to pretend he isn’t doing exactly what he’s doing. 

Danny catches his eye after a moment and grins, walking around to the front of the desk. 

This is the part of Danny that Steve’s always had to experience from the outside looking in, and now, he’s the center of that look and. Wow. 

“Hey Danny,” he hears himself choke out right as Danny’s about to walk out of the office.

Danny turns around, the door half open, and somehow the bastard looks like he always does, like this is all normal. “Yeah?”

It takes his brain a little bit longer than normal to figure out what it was he was going to say, and when it does he wants to laugh.

“I’m gonna need that report before we leave tonight.”

Danny’s face does that thing where it scrunches up like Steve’s being the most unreasonable dictator in the world and he starts yelling (’I don’t yell at you Steven, I explain loudly’).

Because he’s an idiot, and he’s hopelessly in love with his partner, Steve just grins.

Yeah, he thinks to himself. Yeah, this could work. 

[megglepie]

wait ok @garbageyboyyo got my brain stuck on vladmic so here's some of my thoughts on them as a couple

dog-sitting, hc that when vlad goes out of town for family, he can’t always bring his dog and when that happens, he asks mic to watch her. the first time vlad asks mic is super excited and says yes without even thinking about the fact that it’s the weekend and he has his radio show. but mic’s not gonna back out now that he’s already said yes. he picks her up from vlad friday after school and then a couple hours later it’s off to do his show! she’s the center of attention the second they get to the station. mic’s pa even runs out to get her treats. she behaves extremely well, she plops down underneath the desk console and sleeps on mic’s feet once he gets started. it’s extremely cute

of course, mic falls in love with vlad's dog and vice versa. vlad is like wtf. she doesn’t even love me like that. she gives mic big kisses and lays her head in his lap whenever he’s around. 

dog park dates. mic and vlad hold hands and chat and joke around while vald’s dog runs around with her dog friends

mic makes vlad american style grilled cheese and tomato soup for his birthdays and whenever he’s sick

they like to tease aizawa together. it's annoying as hell but mic is his bff and vlad is his friend and a valuable coworker so he puts up with their stupid banter and gives as good as he gets

after they start dating mic’s camera roll becomes filled with dog and bicep photos almost exclusively

aizawa and midnight team up to give vlad the shovel talk mostly just to harass him bc he already knows the lengths they’d go to protect mic and his honor

what mic doesn’t expect, is class 1-b giving HIM a shovel talk

they almost never shut up. vlad is just as talkative as mic and they can literally talk and talk and talk and TALK. 

they’re always betting. “i bet you can’t kiss me like this” “oh YEAH?” 

for their first date they go see a movie and get mcdonalds afterwards. vlad orders like 3 big macs, 2 large fries, and soda and mic gets chicken nuggets, 2 mcmuffins, fries, and water. they get a large vanilla shake to share. they playfully argue about the movie’s finer points while eating and then go window shopping. at the end of the night mic invites vlad back to his place and things get steamy of course

yagi third wheels them on accident ONE TIME. never again. they’re LOUD and OBNOXIOUS, aizawa is just like shrug i told you so

sometimes they spar-wrestle on vlad’s living room floor. it always ends with a heavy make-out session

they sing duets in the shower. sometimes they compete on the high notes and it’s so bad. the neighbors absolutely complain

[nitronarco]

Interaction: Stewing In Salt

Because fuck it might as well post pieces of my writing somewhere. I might clean up some of my old ones and post here because they are plot/relationship relevant.

Context: After chpt 4 and James slowly floating away from Azul in every type of interaction besides business, Azul decides to “be the adult” in the relationship and come off as domineering as possible in hopes of opening a discussion (well not exactly, but you know how Azul is). Because good lord James being honest about anything is rarer than a pig flying. It elevates the cycle of James avoiding him to not end up saying something harsh and Azul pushing harder. Inside he’s cracking about losing James, inside he’s more hard to read until...

It blew up. Ruggie told Azul for a few bucks the places James runs off to after work specifically to avoid him. Perhaps it was the fact LEONA of all people was allowing James off hours “sanctuary” in return for James being his other “henchmen”, or James showing with his behavior to everyone else clearly Azul can’t control his “subordinates”--thus smearing his reputation, but it blew up. OctaTrio came to Savannaclaw to get James back, and it wasn’t pretty. Azul felt even more humiliated; Leona laughed at how he can’t keep a “boyfriend”, and the event of having to chase James around the dorm became the week’s gossip.

Do you see what I’m getting at? Azul when attached, shows off his worst traits. And boy is he attached to James.

And he hates/loves it. What a rush.

If only James would not do these things in front of others.

This is after the big event.

"Hey Ruggie, entertain me for a second, please?" "Hmm?" Ruggie absentmindedly stirred a pot, enjoying the scent of steamed carrots and onions as they mixed in with the broth. Man, he's hungry. Good thing James showed up to help him pass the time, or he'd eat before it's done. He glanced to the male standing behind him to show his interest."Shoot, James, your formality is showing." "Shit, really?" James tone was heard in mock surprise. "I've been working non-stop at the tutoring center, so that explains it." Ruggie shook his head, rolling his eyes and smirking."Excuses, excuses, just tell me whats on your mind." "Okay, but when you have fished, did you ever talk to the fish?" "Pft-is this what we're talking about?" He eyed the bottles of spices before grabbing cinnamon and shaking it over the pot. "Whether I have or haven't been sadistic to the fish I've eaten?" "It's not just about you and the fish, but about every prey animal you ever encountered. Did they ever talk back? Plead for their life? Think about it Ruggie, we can make money off of this somehow." "See, your brain goes to weird places sometimes, but I love it. Before I learned animal language I couldn't understand anything except 'stay away' and "I'll stand my ground', and those were from body language, not words." He hesitated, staring at the finished broth before scooping out a plateful using a ladle, adding a garnish, and handing it to James. "Thanks, man." "Yeah, no problem. Anyway,"as Ruggie scooped out another plateful for himself, he tabbed this act of kindness to his list of returned payments, and eyed James to let him know as such. James got the hint, meeting his gaze straight on and smiling before taking a seat at the table nearby. "after getting into NRC the fish during the training camp seemed more...alive to me. The squirrels wouldn't shut up about Floyd either. I swear it feels like a hex to know more." Ruggie sat next to him, chin on hand and elbow on the table as he took a slurp of his soup. "But knowledge is power, Ruggie." James laughed."Which is how were going to get money out of those animals." "Tell me big-brain." Ruggie already let his mind wander to future piles of madol lying at his feet. James was mad, but he certainly had some logic behind his creativity. Though something nagged at the bottom of his mind... What part did Azul have in this? He and James are business partners. "Well big-brain thinks that we can dam a river and have the salmon swim upstream for any jewels they find." "What next? Asking any beacons if they need a real-estate agent?" He felt himself grin, and James grinned back."Yup, so no one can break the dam without moral dilemma." "Genius, so i'm guessing you want my animal language expertise alongside yours." "Yes." "What about Azul?" James expression changed. "What about him?" "Arent you business partners?" Ruggie squinted at him, his face inches closer than before. James was frowning, perplexed, but with the the elephant in the room addressed it changed again. A scowl. "Were not on good terms. Did you hear about Jamil?" His face relaxed, and he nodded."Course I did. You and Azul got into an argument, i'm guessing...about him? And that's why your avoiding him?" "Azul said he expected 'better' from me, and thought I wanted to kill Jamil out of pure jealousy." "But you were jealous." "But not to that extent!" James looked to Ruggie pleadingly, but then down at the soup."I felt like a child being told off by their dad through everything. It's tiring, Ruggie." Ruggie glanced away, tapping his spoon against the side of his dish. Damn, what a pair.He stopped, and glanced back to James."Does he know that?""..." James bit his lip."Does he know that, James?""...I expected him to. He always talks about how smart is.""That's dumb.""...Maybe, but if he cared, he would have tried to understand me before this point."Ruggie shrugged before pointing the spoon at James. "Fair enough...but has he tried now?""...""I've seen him confronting you a lot. Why?""He...wants to know what he did wrong.""To do what?""To make it better." James slurped some of his own soup."Then why are you still arguing with him? Fuck James, he's trying to talk to you, and you push him away!"James squeezed his spoon, his voice rising. "But what if I don't want to fix it? What if I want to leave this ambiguous relationship behind?""Then tell him that. I don't know what you want, and I feel you don't either. Look at yourself first, and then talk to him." Ruggie stood up. "My time is up. I gotta get something for Leona from town.""...Are you mad at me?""...No, just frustrated." Ruggie let out a breath he didn't realize he held. "Now come on, we can look at the rivers and figure out which one to block on the way there. Right?"                        "...Duh."

[adverb-slut]

Poison Apple Crêpes (Fanfiction) Part 1/2

I wrote this little oneshot initially on AO3, but I decided to post it on Tumblr, as well, since I am trying to write more fanfic on here!

Title:

Poison Apple Crêpes (Part 1/2)

Summary: 

An incensed Mammon recalls a fond memory he has of Lucifer from when they were younger. 

(Essentially just a fluffy oneshot about Luci doing his best and Mammon just realizing it because he is a dumbass.)

Genre:

Fluff

Rating:

G

Word Count:

2011

-

Mammon clutched the sheet of paper even more tightly in his fists, his knuckles curled so fast that his shapely white fingernails dug deep into his palms.  

The paper—his fifth Chemistry III test with a score of less than 10%—was a crumpled mess and, unlike his usual treatment of schoolwork, couldn’t be thrown away.  Because it was his fifth F- in a row, his professor had stapled an angry pink notice to the front of the exam, biding Mammon to have it signed by his guardian and returned to the professor so that he knew that someone other than Mammon was aware of his failing grades and was helping him get through the course.

However, since Mammon had no actual guardian, the role of signing permission slips, detention notices, release forms and the like for all the brothers fell upon Lucifer.  And as far as Lucifer was concerned, he had signed far too many test-failure notifications for Mammon and was already livid with his younger brother for another one he had brought home yesterday for his Statistics IV class; he had confiscated Mammon’s beloved Goldie the second he had seen the telltale pink sheet stapled to the front of Mammon’s test the day before.

Of course, Mammon had thought to forge Lucifer’s signature on all his failed tests, but unfortunately, during the past year, much of the R.A.D.’s grading system had become computerized and Lucifer could see his siblings’ grades whenever he pleased.  Mammon figured it would be worse for his brother to find out about his grades over the computer than for him to realize it in person—that gave him less time to plan out his punishment agenda. 

Mammon shuddered at the thought of what his penalty would be this time and cursed Lucifer a thousand times over.  A boiling ire snaked its way through his bones as he thought of the firstborn demon’s cruel sense of justice, but even more so at the fact that his preliminary punishment had already been granted the day before: his precious Goldie had been impounded.

He absolutely despised knowing that the few thousand Grimm coins that rattled around in his jacket pocket were all the money he had on him, period.  The thought only caused his frown to deepen as he wrung his test even tighter and made his way to Lucifer’s private study.  

The eldest demon’s study had always been a bit of a puzzle to his siblings, as rather than being locked by a key, it was kept shut through a voice command phrase.  Belphegor and Satan had always reveled in guessing goofy phrases about Lucifer’s relationship with Diavolo as the code, but none of those phrases opened the door. Even when Leviathan, Beelzebub, or Asmodeus made any kind of attempt to speak the right phrase, the door still wouldn’t budge.

The five of them had always assumed that the code was some kind of personal anecdote, something that only those closest to Lucifer would know.  This baffled them, as who would be closer to Lucifer than his brothers?

Mammon, on the other hand, never understood what was so hard about guessing the code—as far as he was concerned, any low-level demon could figure it out easy enough—not that he’d ever tell his other siblings what it was.

He walked up to the door to Lucifer’s study and muttered, “Eine klein Nachtmusik.”

It was common sense for that to be Lucifer’s super-secret code phrase.  Back in the Celestial Realm, when Lucifer had been the Archangel of Music, "Eine klein Nachtmusik" had been his first and most beloved composition.  He had written a great multitude of pieces for every instrument ever to be in existence, but there was no composition that he was more proud of than that one.  Or, he had been, until his prized work had been released into the Human World and the credit for it had been taken by some Austrian mook by the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Mammon shook his head as the door to the study slid open smoothly without so much as a hiss.  

Too easy.

He stomped in, his displeasure evident on his face as he turned toward his brother’s desk, hoping to see a dumbfounded Lucifer, irritated that someone had been able to outsmart his voice command security.

Instead, Lucifer was hunched over his desk, his head down and only propped up by a gloved hand that was sprawled delicately on his face.

Mammon raised an eyebrow and walked closer to the firstborn demon.  His eyebrows raised; Lucifer was … sleeping? He paused, realizing that he hadn’t seen his brother at breakfast this morning, either.  Had he been here in his study all night?  

Mammon couldn’t even begin to wonder what kind of work would prompt his brother to slave at such odd hours.  However, this didn’t bother him as he clasped his hand around Lucifer’s shoulder, poised and ready to shake the exhausted demon awake.  

“Yo, Lucifer,” he began, but before he could finish his thought, his eyes wandered to the disarray that was Lucifer’s desk. 

He cocked his head.  His brother was renowned for being an incredibly immaculate demon; there never was a hair to be found out of place on his head, and even the clutter on his desk was always neatly arranged and tidy.  

Mammon looked behind the desk and noticed that Lucifer had propped a window open and realized that the wind must have scattered the items on his desk. 

Dozens of sheets of paper were strewn about and various pens and knickknacks littered the floor.  In fact, Mammon noticed that the only thing that seemed to have survived the wind was the file folder that was directly in front of Lucifer.  He found that strange and wondered why that was the sole object not privy to the elements.  

He moved his hand off of Lucifer and stepped back when he noticed that the item that acted as a paperweight and held the file down was a small tabletop photo frame.  Mammon raised an eyebrow as he picked the frame up and nearly dropped it when he saw the photo that was inside.  

It was an older photograph, taken maybe five hundred years ago or so.  He smiled, realizing that in the picture, he was only perhaps nine hundred years old.  Lucifer, the other demon in the photo, was about thirteen hundred. The two of them were huddled under an umbrellaed patio table at one of the small cafés on the outskirts of the Devildom, grinning widely for the camera.  Mammon had an arm wrapped chummily around his older brother’s shoulders, while the latter leaned into the touch with a carefree beam bigger than Mammon had ever seen it before.

Mammon smiled fondly; he recollected the café well.  When the seven brothers had first moved to the Devildom, they had reveled in exploring the many restaurants that the realm offered, before finally settling on Ristorante Six as their favorite.  However, Mammon reminisced, the particular café featured in the photograph remained a favorite of both him and Lucifer. On days that they weren’t busy with their own responsibilities, the pair used to would make the long trips to the fringes of the Devildom to the café and enjoy its specialty—crêpes.  

He recalled that at first, he had kicked his legs stubbornly and pouted because none of the crêpe fillings were foods that he liked until Lucifer had persuaded him to try the dried blackbelly newt legs macerated in vanilla simple syrup as a filling.  Mammon had fallen in love that day, and ever since then, he couldn’t get enough of the coarse, wiry stuff and considered dried blackbelly newt legs to be one of his favorite foods.

Lucifer, on the other hand, always ordered his crêpes brimming with several extra portions of poison apples.  The sticky fruit was always slick with thick, purple glaze, and Mammon laughed when he remembered that by the end of every meal, Lucifer would woefully find his lips a very unbecoming shade of lavender.  

His laughter stopped when he realized that it had been a very long time since he and Lucifer had been to that café.  In fact, for the past several years, Mammon had spent most of his time meandering about in the exclusive and expensive shopping districts in the heart of the Devildom, never venturing to the dingy outskirts of the realm.  

But still, he wondered, why he and Lucifer hadn’t at least made one trip to the café in all the years since.

Mammon’s heart dropped as he racked his brain and remembered Lucifer asking him, year after year—in an underhanded way, of course—if he wanted to accompany him on various outings, all of which were located in the very fringes of the Devildom and dangerously close to their café.

“Mammon, I’m going to drop Baby Satan at his Little Bookworms Club at the edge of town.  Care to join me? We can find something to eat while we wait for him to finish.”

“Mammon, Levi stayed up late playing zombie games again, and he wants me to walk him to the Akuzon Delivery Center; he’s afraid something will creep up from the shadows and attack him.  It’s at the far end of the realm, but we can buy some lunch in one of the cafés nearby if we get hungry. That is—if you’d like to come.”

“Mammon, do you recall that Beel received those three passes for two free meals apiece at any café in the Devildom?  It was a prize for when he won the Devildom Junior High Pie-Eating Contest, I believe.  Yesterday, he gave me one as penance for eating everything in the refrigerator, again. Would you care to use it with me?”

“Mammon, Diavolo said that it’s imperative that I deliver this bowl of warm chicken heart soup to his grandmother.  She’s sick and lives in the Hellfire Retirement Community. You know where that is, correct? It’s on the outskirts of town, and we can get brunch afterward.  Will you join me?”

He cringed as he remembered that he had turned down every invitation, too deep in one of his many get-rich-quick schemes once he had gotten settled in his life in the Devildom to take a moment to spend time with his brother.  He realized now that Lucifer, his pride having taken too many hits from being snubbed a multitude of times, must have just decided to stop inviting him altogether.

Mammon sighed and put the photo frame back on the file in front of Lucifer.  He decided to let him sleep—with all he did for his younger brothers, Mammon wagered Lucifer sure needed it.  He uncrumpled his test and with one of the pens scattered about, scrawled Mammon already signed up for tutoring ); on the back, and left it on the desk, making a mental note to do just that—even though he despised the idea of spending his much-needed cashflow-planning time with the pretentious tutors at R.A.D.

He stared at Lucifer’s peaceful form for a moment before reaching down to pick up the windblown papers and place them neatly on his desk.  He even rearranged all the other office supplies that were scattered about in a fashion that he was sure that even the tidy Lucifer would approve of.

“Stupid Lucifer,” Mammon muttered as he quietly closed the door to his brother’s study.  “No wonder you were Father’s favorite.”

As he walked down the halls of the House of Lamentation, Mammon fingered the Grimm coins in his pocket.  Now that he thought about it, he had just the right amount of money to buy a stack of crêpes to-go at that little café. 

He nodded when he realized that in the glove compartment of his Demonio 666 Lexura, he’d also left at least six thousand Grimm worth of change for roadside emergencies.

… The perfect amount of money to add an extra helping of poison apples to said crêpes.

THE END

Read Part 2/2 here!