#damn this man's a problem solver

[stars-obsession-pit]

Little Baby Man King

Batman had underestimated the cult. He’d been captured—as Bruce Wayne, no less—and been stripped of all the items on his person before being tied up in a strange device, half-technology and half–magic circle.

And they began to chant.

His hands worked at the bindings. They’d been tied well, and only had a tiny amount of give, but he’d escaped similar binds before. But it could take time. Time he didn’t have, if the increasing fervor of their words and thrumming of the circle gave any indication.

Still, he continued his work.

Suddenly, something seemed to crack and the temperature in the room plummeted. A fissure appeared in the ring, leaking Lazarus-green light. No, that was an understatement. Lazarus Water was just a sickly imitation of the glow emanating from the rift.

Bruce felt the ropes around his wrist finally come loose, but he worried it was too late as the crack expanded to fill the circle with swirling green.

A hand reached out from the depths.

A very small hand.

The figure that emerged was not some towering conqueror. It was a child.

A very cranky child.

“What the hell do you people wan— Dad?!”

what the fuck, did the cult forcibly make him adopt some otherworldly child-entity?

Danny could be forgiven for yelling and mistaking some guy for his father, alright?

He was exhausted! He’d been having a shitty day! Cut him some slack!

First he’d been physically de-aged into a toddler, he deserved to be pissed off about that. He was in college, damn it! How was he supposed to work like this? And to make things worse, some idiots had to go and tear a hole into the Ghost Zone. But not just that—nooo, that’d be too easy—they had to tear a hole right into the middle of Pariah’s Keep and nearly free him. Meaning that Danny, as the Zone’s own Designated Problem Solver Ghost King, has to go fix that.

The sooner he could get home and take a nap, the better.

At least now he has some fruitloops to take out his frustration on.

[cherryredstars]

well well well..

walks inside in a cartoonish manner and pushes glasses up

let me say i FLEW to the app when i saw the hobie notif. delicious.

an extreme edging hobie brown fic? 😊 like MANY times?? as many as you think he could take?? him passing out after nutting too hard when he is finally allowed?? i need that man crying and twitching 👍

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Handjobs, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Edging, Passing Out

Summary: This is why he doesn’t believe in it. 

Word Count: 1.8K (Not Edited)

This was supposed to be fun. 

You said it was going to be fun. Different, but fun. And Hobie, he likes different. He likes fun. He likes you. So of course he agreed. He always agreed to things of that sort, besides the times he didn't agree to those types of things because that’s being consistent and Hobie doesn’t believe in consistency (unless it’s you because that’s the only good kind of consistency). You know, Hobie always got himself into all types of trouble. It’s made him a quick thinker, a really good problem solver. There was very little that he couldn’t save himself from. 

He couldn’t save himself from this one. 

You looked like one bloody seducer, on your knees before him with that look on your fucking face. So innocent and pure and mischievous and rebellious. Everything and anything and nothing all at once. Perfect, absolutely perfect and mind boggling. 

And everything felt so good. Too good and too much and too little and in need of more. More and more and more. And you gave it to him. In the right doses, or too little, or too much, or too far inbetween, or too close together. Did he mention it was too much? Because it was, it was a lot. But it was a good a lot, but it was also a bad a lot, but a good bad a lot. If you know you know, but if you don’t you’re definitely doing something wrong. 

But you weren’t doing it wrong. Your hands and mouth and fucking tight ass walls were doing it right. And usually that isn’t a problem, but today it is. It’s a problem because it’s Hobie’s problem and you’re making it his problem. Because when you said it was going to be fun, you meant it as going to be fun for you. Not Hobie, you. Because your idea of fun is making men suffer and reducing them to whimpering messes, which Hobie would usually salute you for on any other occasion. But he can’t because, well he can’t think very clearly anymore and he’s the man you’ve decided to make suffer. So there is very little to salute at the moment. 

You’re moving your hand in a way he can’t stand because it feels so good and gets him close too soon and what’s the fun in something ending prematurely? Your hands are soft, tugging on him roughly as your other hand cups his tip and rubs rapid circles around it. It has his hips bucking, curses spilling from his mouth. His hand is behind your head, his own thrown back as he pleads for you to stop and to keep going. He can’t really decide what he wants from you at the moment. 

You’re fucking laughing at him though, cooing and asking him if he’s alright. If he wasn’t getting the best handjob of his life he would shoot something snarky and flirtatious back at you, but he is currently getting the best handjob of his life so you’ll have to wait. Well, he was getting the best handjob of his life. He isn’t anymore because you’ve decided to be a fucking menace and pull your hands away right before he was going to get his bloody release. It has his whole body, mostly his cock, twitching in denial. His hips are still bucking up, humping the air and trying to prolong the quickly vanishing stimulation from your hands. He’s panting heavily, chest heaving and he groans. 

Do you have to be so damn consistent? This is why he hates consistency. Consistency ain’t no fun for no one. Especially for Hobie, which is why he doesn’t believe in it. But it’s a bloody shame that you believe in consistency. Because you’re using consistency against him and it’s getting in the way of his orgasms. And, you don’t fuck with a man and his orgasms. But he’s not going to say that out loud because he’s sure it sounds egotistical or narcissistic or whatever the fuck. He doesn’t know at the moment, his brain is too busy short circuiting. Come back later. But back to consistency. Did he mention he hates it? Because he does, but you don’t. You just love consistency and edging him for no good reason besides it being ‘fun’.

“Love, you’re being consistent.” Hobie mumbles in between pants. “We don’t like consistency.”

You hum in disagreement, shutting him up with your mouth. On his cock. On his sensitive cock that has not had a release in the past 3 hours. He would have came around seven, wait no its eight, times by now if it weren’t for your desire to torture him. But maybe that’s okay. Can’t think again, your mouth feels too good soothing that ache in his cock. Making up your mind is overrated anyways.

You’re letting out exaggerated sounds around his cock, sending vibrations up his length. It causes him to whine, both of his hands falling to your head. He guides your movements, fucking into your mouth. You quickly pull away, saliva flowing down your chin. You remove his hands away from your head, getting rid of any control he has over your movements. It causes him to whine out again, huffing like a spoiled child. He’ll behave if you want him too. He just needs you to start sucking him off again, and maybe to make him come, but he definitely needs to feel your mouth around him again. He presses his hips up towards your face, offering his cock back to you with whimpers and slurred pleading. 

You smile up at him as you begin jerking him off again, slipping him back into your mouth. You bob your head rapidly, lashes fluttering everytime you bring him to the back of your throat. He hisses when you gag around him, your throat contracting around his tip. He’s so close to exploding again, his hands bunching up his sheets to use as leverage so he can thrust into your mouth. You keep your head still, letting him fuck into you. He whines, moaning and grunting. This is it, this has to be it. You’re gonna let him come this time. You’re going to let him fill up your mouth. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyesyesyes,” he babbles to himself, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. His face scrunches up, eyes watering behind his lids from the pleasure. His mouth drops wide open as he moans, preparing to succumb to the feelings of release. 

He doesn’t get it though. You pull back again and his eyes snap open. He lets himself fall to his back on the bed, tears spilling from his eyes at your betrayal. His body is twitching again, jumping from the sensitivity he feels. This isn’t fun at all.

Your face comes to view, hovering over his. You’ve wiped the spit off your face, but Hobie turns away from you. You coo gently at him, turning his face back towards you and giving him sweet kisses along his cheeks in apology. He can only whine under you, his hands grabbing at your ass desperately. His cock is in need of attention, veins protruding from the skin and glossy from spit and precum. 

You distract him from the pain with a sloppy kiss, both of you moaning into it. He pulls away with a loud groan, heading falling back as you sink onto him. You’re warm and tight, walls molding to the shape of his cock. His dick is a twitching mess, jumping inside of you in excitement. You let out a mix of moans and giggles, feeling precum leaving his tip in preparation. Your hands fall to his chest in support, rotating your hips experimentally. 

Hobie’s grip tightens, his accent growing thick as he babbles. He begs for more, tears still flowing from his eyes as he tries to move your hips faster. You comply, moving one of your hands to his thigh, leaning back as you buck your hips. He’s surprised he hasn’t finished already, eyes rolling back as he curses. Your moans mix with his loud whimpers, beginning to bounce. Hobie writhes on the bed, twisting his body and moving his hips desperately. He moans in displeasure when you slow down, practically motionless besides the slow and small circling of your hips. 

Of course, it was too good to be true. He lolls his head to the side, a pathetic and pleading look in his eyes. It makes you smile condescendingly, your hand falling to his cheek. He leans into the touch, but he has a scrunched up look on his face. 

“What is it, darling? You look sad,” You pout teasingly to him and he whines back a muffled ‘please’. You tilt your head in false confusion, blinking nicely down at him. 

Hobie bucks his hips up, almost throwing you off if it weren’t for your hands planted on his body, “Please, just- fuck- please just move.”

Your smile grows bigger, slowly building back to the rapid pace you set before. Hobie moans out in content, his hands grabbing you everywhere he can reach. He’s a desperate mess, thanking you in slurred words and begging you not to stop. Your thighs are beginning to burn with how forcefully they hit his skin, your own orgasm fast approaching. You decide you’ve tortured him enough, giving the last of your energy to get you off. You finish quickly, staining him in your release. It triggers his own, a loud and guttural yell leaving him as he fills you. It’s hot and warm and never-ending. You fall forward, burying your face into his neck as you cry out. It drips out of you as more and more replaces it, coating his cock in white. It feels like hours when he finally stops spilling into you, leaving you a panting mess. Hobie’s hold on you slackens, and the rapid heaving of his chest begins to die down. 

It takes you a bit longer to catch your breath, kissing Hobie’s neck as it finally calms, “Holy fuck, there was so much.”

You giggle to yourself, waiting for Hobie to join along. Your brows furrow when he remains silent. You slowly pull away from his skin, calling his name questionably. You’re left in shock when you see his calm face, eyes shut as he sleeps. You laugh in disbelief, gently slapping his face to wake him up. His eyes are foggy and scrunched when he opens them, moaning weakly at you. 

‘Hobie, babe, you gotta stay up. We need to clean up.” Hobie shakes his head stubbornly, wrapping his arms around you to pull you back down on him. You can feel his breath slowing down as he falls back into sleep.

“You’re a bloody fucking menace.”

[kairiscorner]

the man, the myth, the legend himself dr ratio veritas ... is now made public !!

fyi . . . i have a bot request form you guys can send requests to !! updates are slow, i apologize (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠) but i'll try my best to get through them, and i will only do requests that fall within my comfort zone !!

DR. VERITAS RATIO

“if one day your brain shows symptoms

of dullness, then please

give the doctor a call.”

ᯓ★ catching a glimpse of him working out.

you couldn't, for the life of you, tolerate such an arrogant and narcissistic smartass like veritas ratio... but oh, you wouldn't mind seeing those muscles and that handsome face of his again, even if he himself pissed you off. luckily (or unluckily) for you, your little trip of seeing him at the gym to hand over some important documents gave you quite a good view of this egotistical man.

ᯓ★ he couldn't understand you.

to dr ratio, nobody in that damned guild really lived up to the vision he hoped; none of them shared the same sentiment or kind of intellect he possessed, and it made him frustrated and somewhat... lonely.

that was, until he met you. he had acknowledged nobody before as a genius, nobody but himself, until there was you. but there was one thing this genius couldn't decipher about you... and it was the fact you did not seek to eradicate the plague of ignorance with him in the intelligentsia guild.

why, oh why, did you reject his offer to expand the universe's knowledge with the greats... only to be a humble servant for others?

ᯓ★ your academic rival.

veritas ratio prided himself on the fact that nobody could come close to his achievements and intellect at his university, he was just that good at everything he did.

however... you ruined his peace of mind and decided to give him a run for his money by taking his spot as the top student last semester by a few points.

though, as much as you both had a mutual distaste and rivalry for each other going on... you two were paired together for an important project. and of course... you had to work together. hooray.

ᯓ★ nobody thought he would be a family man.

not a single soul that knew dr ratio ever had the feeling that he would settle down with someone he would love more than himself, than his books, theses, and knowledge–let alone have a child with them.

however, you and your child with him are living proof that even a man as cold and critical as him are capable of loving and finding their purpose as not only a scholar, a professor, a doctor... but as a parent.

ᯓ★ your ex husband.

after being married to dr veritas ratio for three years and ending your union with him after such a fruitless and one-sided relationship... you had felt so liberated, as if all those years with him were just a bad memory for you.

however, when you went out to dinner at a high-end classy restaurant, the very last thing on your mind that time was the chance of you seeing your ex husband again... only for that one slim chance to come to fruition, with you being face to face with the man who seemed to never love you when you two were together.

his amber eyes gazed back at yours with a hint of longing in them, of endless nights of longing for you, his ex spouse...

ᯓ★ he wants to be your only one.

dr veritas ratio is a universal level problem solver; capable of engineering such helpful devices that saves planets and star systems across the galaxy, delegating on important issues for the good of humanity, and an important doctor that alleviates the malady of ignorance... with 8 PhDs to his very famous and well-known name.

...it shouldn't bother him this much that you're so obsessed and giggly about a bunch of pixels across your screen that utter binary code that translates into words you comprehend... right?

then why is it that as he tries to relax in his bathtub that he can't seem to get that release he's seeking from the pent-up frustration he gets when a character from your favorite game compliments you, gives you gifts, or... says they want you to be theirs. surely, he can find a solution to this finicky problem he has to make you his again, no...?

[gh0stsp1d3r]

ℳ𝒶𝓎𝒷𝒶𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇

Part 3, chapter 3- running with a bullet in my leg

Series masterlist

“Little change of plans, they did it. They sent Kiara to the wilderness camp.”

“Oh, no.”

“So, uh, I’m gonna need about eight hours for liberation.”

“Eight hours? I don’t have eight hours! We’ve got a jet here, we’re all waiting!”

“I know, dog. I know the clock is ticking. Look, my sister was sent to the camp for like a while, she knows it better than anyone. I’m gonna need to talk to her. If you have to go, we’ll meet you there.”

You got put into the wilderness camp when you were 12. JJ was 10. You had gotten into yet another fight, and the cops had busted you with a pre-roll or two in your bag. You were 12, smoking. They forced you to go, basically kidnapping you as you screamed and shouted against the workers hold.

You were there for almost a year, until your dad finally decided he couldn’t live on his own and take care of JJ by himself. Like an actual father should. But you have learned over the years Luke maybank was no actual father.

“No, we can’t… we can’t. No, JJ, listen, we can’t wait for you.”

“I know! I’m working on it, dude. Luckily I’m a problem solver, just stay in the Matrix, okay? I repeat-“ JJ paused, hearing the tire explode out. He looked out the window.

“Jj?”

“Damn-“ he shouted, the line suddenly ending.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Yo, what’s going on?” Pope asked John B.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧🩶.

“God!” JJ stepped out the car, going to the back and grabbing a spare tire and some tools. He grunted, and suddenly heard a car engine behind him.

He turned around, heart racing as he realized who it was. He swallowed the lump in his throat, seeing two men get out.

“Okay, fine.” He turned around, going over to them. The other man pulled out a gun, pointing it to JJ.

“Really?” He realized, looking at the gun and back to the tire. He had shot out the tire.

“After everything you just put me through, you shot my sister, and now you shoot out my… my friends tire! That’s not even my van!”

“You lost the load, JJ. Now instead of me getting paid, I owe them. Which I guess means you owe me, right?”

“I thought my sister getting shot in the leg was perfectly enough tor you.”

“Get in the car!”

JJ paused, thinking for a moment. “As much as I would like to, I kinda got a date, so…”

“You heard him, get in the car.” The other man spoke.

“Okay. If that’s how it’s gonna be. Look, I know you’ve heard the stories. About me, my friends. A little something called the royal merchant. A pile of gold. Is that ringing any bells?”

“I heard some bullshit.”

“Well, that bullshits real.”

“Yeah?”

“And yeah, we found it.”

“Yeah, I saw. That why you got a bunch of dudes throwing your furniture in a dumpster out back your house? Thats why your sisters homeless?You’re living high off the hog, bro-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re talking about the house that’s being foreclosed? The cover? The one to throw off the scent? Rule number one, don’t do flashy shit like pay off a mortgage when you’re cashing in.”

“Stop. Let me guess. You, uh… got the gold. It’s buried somewhere in a barn, right? And if I just let you go right now, you’ll run right there, you’ll get it, we’ll split it, right?”

“Not exactly. Actually, it’s a little sweeter than that.” JJ looked over to the other man. “May I?” He asked, going over to Mike now.

“Look, let’s just forget about the Merchant gold. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. We’re going after the main course right now. All right? We’re going after the mother lode.”

—————

“Oh, God.” Sarah mumbled when she heard a car pull up, noticing it as Toppers.

You sat down with Pope and Cleo, feeling like it was better to maybe get out the plane for a little. You’ve been sitting for hours, but it felt better when you sat outside.

“Oh God.”

Topper got out the car, walking towards Sarah.

“Hey, Sarah. What are you doing? You just seeing John B off or what?” He asked, glancing at John B who stood behind her.

Sarah paused, looking at him.

“I’m sorry I, uh… I didn’t call. I meant to call you last night.”

“Oh you meant to call me last night? Okay.” He scoffed. “No, it’s all good. I was actually asking around myself and heard your dad’s plane was here. And I was like, oh, that’s.. that’s interesting.”

Sarah looked down.

“So, are you leaving with him?”

Sarah looked back up at Topper now.

“Are you leaving with him? Yes or no, Sarah.” He spat.

She nodded slowly, he scoffed again and his face fell into a crooked smile.

“You’re just… you’re just a f… a damn liar, Sarah Cameron. You’ve always been a liar. After everything we’ve been through? This… this is what you’re gonna do to me?” He laughed. “I’m done. Okay? You literally just promise John B would go away, you’d stay here with me. I can’t keep doin this..” he rambled on.

“Hey, Top. You got a little something right here, man.” You guffawed at the man, motioning to his black eye.

“Why don’t you shut up? How about that?” He looked at you, going over to John B now. “And oh, buddy, john B. You better be glad I didn’t swing back at you at the wreck cause I think you know what would’ve happened.”

“And your lucky I didn’t shoot your ugly ass on sight!” You shouted from afar, Pope hiding his face while he laughed.

“No one was talking to you, Maybank.”

“I’m not taking the bait, Top.” John B shook his head, looking at Topper. “You’re right. You would’ve kicked my ass.”

“I, um, heard they’re remodeling the Chateau. That’s tough man, how’d that happen?”

John B stared at him in disbelief.

“Oh shit.” You mumbled.

“What did you just say?” John B asked him, Topper backing up. “No, topper what did you just say?” Sarah held John B back.

“Hey, you guys have a nice life, all right?”

“That’s what you call a kook?” Cleo asked.

“Oh yeah.”

“Big time.” You nodded.

Everyone watched as topper drove away.

————

“Okay, so the office should be straight ahead. There’s a little wooden dude with a welcome sign at the door. And then, I think the lady there loved cats. Make up some bullshit story, like her cat passed away. Then, I would just wait and see where they go if they fall for it. That’s where Kiara would be.” You explained, sighing.

“Okay, thank- thank you. I’ll call you back when I’m on my way.” He hung up the phone, you sighing and putting it down.

It was getting late, hours passed and JJ was nowhere to be found.

“Has he called?” Sarah asked, they were running out of time.

You shook your head.

“Nothing.”

“We have to to go. We don’t have eight hours. And topper might’ve already called the police.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll try again.” John B said, you nodding.

“Wait. That might be JJ right there.” Cleo spoke, you guys suddenly hearing a motorcycle pull up.

“That is not JJ.” You recognized that helmet as soon as he pulled up.

“Rafe?” You asked him, furrowing your eyebrows as the tires screeched. Ward groaned behind him.

“Hey. It’s okay. You’re okay, dad. C’mon.” He mumbled to his dad, helping him off the bike, he had fallen off with a loud groan.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Rafe went to his side.

“Come on, help! Help!”

You were faster than the others to help him, it had been in your blood at this point. Muscle memory.

Ever since you were young, you couldn’t stand seeing people be hurt. It hurt you, you hated it. For as long as your dad could remember, you were always helping someone or something. Whether it was a hurt animal or a dying man like the one before you right now.

If it wasn’t someone you loathed or had beat in a fight before, you cared for them, tending to wounds. And as much as you didn’t like Ward, Rafe did.

He called it your mother’s trait, although you never really knew her, he saw her in you. Because luke knew that you were nothing like him.

And if you didn’t drop out, you would have loved to become a nurse or something. Something to help someone.

Despite the shooting pain in your leg from the bullet nudged in it, you pulled the helmet off of Ward and helping him up with Rafe.

“Fuck.” You muttered, helping him onto the plane.

“We gotta get him off the island right now.”

You let Rafe take over as he pulled him into the plane, through the doors and inside.

Sarah exhaled as she paced. “Shit, this cannot be happening.”

You sighed, hesitating before following Rafe and Ward inside the plane, helping sit him down onto the seats that already had your blood on it.

It was then that he took a glance at your bloody leg, wrapped in an also bloodied shirt. His focus was back on his dad when he let out a low groan.

“It’s alright dad.” He mumbled, more so to himself that anyone else. He took a glance down at his shaking hands, the blood of his father stained on them.

He looked back at you now, hands slowly finding their way to your face.

They trembled against your skin, you put your hand over his.

“Watch after him for me. Please.” He told you quietly. You nodded, and he pulled you into an embrace.

“He’s safe with me.” You nodded against his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” He asked you, looking down at your leg again.

“Got shot by some dude I owed money to. No biggie.” You shrugged it off nonchalantly, he laughed quietly and you both got off each other, just staring at each other again.

He leaned in, and your heart picked up as his lips ghosted over yours. He spoke against your lips.

“When you’re back, promise me we’ll talk?” He mumbled quietly.

“Promise.” You held out your pinky, like you would when you were together. He smiled and interlocked your pinky with his, before putting his lips on yours. When he pulled apart, he turned to his dad again.

“I gotta go. But you’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine with them.” He told him again.

“He’s gonna be alright.” You told him as he began to step down the steps of the plane again.

The corners of Rafe’s mouth twisted up, nodding he walked over down to the pogues.

“We’re not done.” Pope said, putting his hand on Rafe’s shoulder. Rafe ignored it, and walked over to Sarah.

“Please take care of him.” He said, Sarah walking up the stairs to the jet. You were already tending to his wounds, wincing while you did so. They were bad.

John B turned around, going up to Rafe and putting his phone down.

“You do anything to him, anything, I swear to God I’ll find you.” Rafe spoke menacingly, quietly. It was a warning. “If anything happens to her…” he let the words linger in the air, as he heard sirens get closer.

“Wait, where’s JJ?” You asked John B, looking up from Ward, who seemed to be doing better somewhat now.

“We have to leave without them…” John B said, you furrowing your eyebrows.

“Are you serious-“ you began.

“He’ll find a way. He always does.” Pope told you.

Ward suddenly stood up, you just watching as he went over to the steps again.

“Wait, Rafe! Rafe!” Ward said, stepping out.

“Dad, hey! Get back on the plane!” Ward shouted. “They’re coming right now!”

“I gotta talk to you. Come here real quick.” He began to step down.

“Dad, you gotta- you gotta go!”

“Rafe, now!”

Rafe walked over to his dad, who held his thigh.

“Thank you.” Ward spoke, putting his hands on Rafe’s shoulder, looking into his eyes.

“Yeah, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” He mumbled as Ward pulled him into a hug

“Yep, yep, you’re a good boy.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Look.” He grabbed his son’s face.

“Doesn’t matter what happens in the middle, it’s how you come out in the end. Look at me! Look at me!”

Rafe looked up at him finally.

“I know what you did, okay? I don’t care, cause you came back for me, right? You’re in control now. You’re the man. All of it is yours, everything here. It’s yours, son. You’re the man now. You proved yourself, okay? You’re the man. And I take back what I said about her.” He laughed quietly.

Rafe nodded slowly, tears in his eyes.

Ward pulled him into another hug.

“I love you, buddy.” Those words he waited all his life for.

“Oh god. All right. Come on. I got it.” He turned around, going back into the plane.

“You good?”

“Goodbye, son.” He said, giving him one last look as the door shut.

The plane began to move and the sirens got closer. Rafe stood, accepting defeat as the cops got out the car.

Rafe turned to Shoupe, hands running down his face.

“Well, shit Rafe. Looks like you got a story to tell.”

Ward sat back down across from you, you looking back at him.

“That looks bad.” You nodded to his thigh that he held, still bleeding.

“It is.”

“Uh… fuck.” You mumbled, rummaging through your bag. You pulled out a bandana, one that you had stolen a while ago as a kid.

“Can you… put your leg up?”

He did so, you kneeled down in front of him.

“This is gonna hurt like hell, so… you can do what I did and bite on a stick or something.”

You grabbed a bottle of alcohol, pouring it over the wound and putting the towel back over it.

He groaned, wincing and breathing heavily.

“Thank you.” He told you, you ignoring and it continuing to wrap it with the bandana. “Thank you.” He repeated, you nodding and standing up, going over to sit by yourself, propping your legs up and sighing.

You had fallen asleep against the window, and stirring when your new phone rung out with a notification.

“We made it out.” It read, it was JJ.

———

Tag list.

@cassie0sstuff @rafesgiirl @fals3-g0d @tiaamberxx @callsignwidow @saintnourah @calmoistorm

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 2 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: depiction of a depressive episode, recreational drinking and bar scenes, allusion to oral (f. receiving), kissing, rough sex/man-handling, explicit penetrative sex, dirty talk, aftercare, didn't venture fully into writing dom!vernon but i have been informed i wrote something that might be in the realm of a dom drop, language obviously, reader is called a gendered slur by a stranger, law-breaking :), actual fluff for a second, allusions to drug use, car sex

wc: 6900

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

1 yr, 5 months ago

The onset of spring brought a lack of color. Grey clouds hung full and heavy, low over the city skyline. Grey crept into the corners of your apartment, darkening rooms during daytime so that you needed to keep lamps on even in midafternoon. Grey crept over your body, into your limbs. Days stretched and nights inched; you only got out of bed because you had to feed the damn cat.

That's part of why you'd gotten the cat in the first place, after a particularly long episode a few years ago, when Chan had presented you with a list of things he thought you should do to combat the blues, as he'd put it.

He meant well. But he always came at your depression like a problem solver, like just doing the right things could make it go away.

And sure, his suggestions were things that would help - get outside, call someone, don't isolate, shower even if you aren't leaving the house, drink some damn water - they weren't a cure. They were better reminders for when you were okay - good at keeping you okay for longer stretches. But when it was already too late, when the grey came, they all sounded fucking pointless. 

Anyway. The cat had been a good idea. 

is it bad?? 

Chan did his best. He was a good best friend. He just didn't understand it.

The answer to his question, you thought, as you flipped your phone over so you wouldn't see the notification if he followed up, was yes. Yes, this time was particularly bad. But you didn't have the energy to type those three words. 

Terrible friend, your brain accused, and it was right. 

You managed to drag yourself to work, to at least show up so you could continue to pay for your apartment and your damn cat, but not much else. You existed on cans of diet coke and microwave meals. You doom-scrolled until sunrise, then slept an hour or two at most before getting dressed for work. You left texts unanswered, the mail piled up. So did the dishes. 

Chan came by, once, did your dishes for you. It made you feel worse - useless and pitiable. You'd rather he just go away, but you held it in; you knew that would only hurt his feelings.

You learned from your mistakes, one thing that could be said in your favor. 

“Have you called your doctor?” he wanted to know.

What was the point? There wasn't a stop hating your life pill. 

“What if you tried painting?” he asked.

“What if you just let me be?” you countered, finally tripping over the line from embarrassed apathy to defensiveness. 

That pout again. “It might help,” he said. “Don't most famous artists do their best shit when they're down?”

“Get out,” you deadpanned. He dropped it, knowing this was a bigger issue, a bigger argument, than this current episode, a complex situation that went beyond the boundaries of your brain chemistry.

He put the last of your now-clean plates away. “Let's go somewhere,” he suggested.

“Chan,” you groaned. “I’m tired. I can't go gallivanting -”

“You're not tired, you're depressed,” he argued. “And going outside will help you.”

“I might have to kill you,” you said seriously, and he rolled his eyes. 

In the end, he let you win. He'd been around long enough to know that eventually you'd venture outside again, hit the bars with him again, text first again, laugh at his stupid memes again. It was just a waiting game. 

Still, when he left, you sat on the edge of your couch with your chin in your hands. On the living room rug, the cat rolled and showed you its belly. 

“Not you, too,” you groused. 

The cat did a few alligator rolls and then scampered into your bedroom and under the bed, as if chased. 

You sighed. You made your way to the spare room, which had been shut - to keep the cat out. To keep your ghosts in. 

Your easel was still set up in the corner. You were kind of surprised it wasn't covered in cobwebs. You'd been sketching just on paper last time you'd worked, trying to make decisions that way so you wouldn't waste a canvas, and it still sat there. 

You inched closer, ran your hands over your brushes. Took a step back, eyed the paper and your sketches. 

It was bad. Thank god you hadn't put it to canvas. 

You pulled the paper down, crumpled it in your hands. You chased the cat out with a gentle nudge of your foot, and closed the door again, keeping both cats and ghosts on their respective sides of the door.

There was no rhyme or reason to your brain, no map or calendar to follow for the starts or stops. But eventually, the clouds broke. The grey gave way to baby buds of green, yellows pushed through soil, determined to meet the sun.

You texted Chan - drinks??

He responded - about time!!!

You texted Vernon - hello, its me

When he didn't answer, you tried again - sorry for the radio silence. 

Still nothing. 

You checked his socials, saw that he'd been doing his thing - a smattering of selfies, some group shots with the guys he played music with sometimes, a few nature shots: the moon, once, and what looked like the river at night. 

The silence stretched. You gave up, considered it over. Grieved a little, because it had been good. 

You went out on a night that teased summer even though it was months away, sank into the familiar blur of too many shots - not enough to be a problem, but maybe enough to make problems. 

Under the club's ever-moving lights, you took a selfie, your drink and cleavage both showcased in the shot. 

Send it to Vernon, the urge to make trouble suggested, and you listened without hesitation.

And - finally - an answer.

come here after?? 

You smiled a tiny, victorious smile and knocked back the rest of your drink. 

omw.

Later, he gave you a rare and devastating pout as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smoothed fingers down the still-shaking inside of your thigh.

“What'd you make me wait so long for?” he complained, those sharp eyes sparkling with mirth. When you shrugged, still a little mindless from your high, he gave the same spot on your thigh a playful slap. “Don't do it again.”

1 yr, 4 months ago

busy tonight?

not busy but.

???

not in the best mood.

bet i could fix that.

yeah. idk.

why don't you let me try? 

“What's wrong?” you cooed, teasing, when Vernon let you into the apartment. 

He didn't smile, didn't play along, and it sobered you quickly. 

“Don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, crowding into your space. “Wasn't that big of a deal anyway.”

Just want the fix you promised, he thought. 

You moaned like liquid gold when his first kiss was a bite. Encouraged, Vernon gripped you by the shoulders, pushing you back against the wall hard enough that he heard your breath escape in a single huff. He hesitated, eyes searching your face; a question.

You lifted your chin, eyes shining with something hard. When he kissed you again, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, hard enough to make him hiss; an answer.

His pace was frenzied from the start, your legs around his waist and the wall holding you up. His hand curled around your throat, not squeezing, but sliding up to grip at your jaw instead, keeping you from tilting your head back, closing your eyes, losing yourself in how he felt slamming his hips flush against yours with dizzying smacks.

When you whined that you were close, he pulled you away from the wall and lowered you both to the ground, the wooden floor of his entryway cold and hard beneath your spine. It didn’t matter, didn’t do anything to stop the vortex tightening below your stomach. You slapped a hand over your face as it distorted in pleasure, Vernon kneeling between the legs you still had gripping his waist, one of his hands braced on the floor next to your head, holding his body over you.

“That’s right,” he breathed, gritted teeth flashing over you, forehead wrinkling as his own release closed in on the chase. “Just fucking take it when I fuck you into the floor.”

Then he was pulling out, breaths hissing through his teeth as he straightened up, one hand pumping himself furiously until strings of white decorated your stomach, cooling immediately in the apartment’s chilly air.

His breathing was ragged as he sagged back onto his heels, and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him warily.

Then he stood and slipped into the hallway bathroom, the light clicking on and illuminating the unlit entryway where you’d just fucked. You heard the sink run, then shut back off, and Vernon returned. He knelt gingerly - you could see his knees were red from kneeling on the wooden floor - and cleaned your stomach first, then gently between your legs.

You sat the rest of the way up then, watching him carefully as he sat back on his heels again, avoiding your gaze. Something about the moment felt like a thing alive, unfurling between you like a casablanca lily under the refracted light of the moon.

You spoke at the same time.

“Vernon?”

“You okay?”

You swallowed, rubbed absently at your elbow where you’d smacked it on the floor during the position change.

“I’m fine,” you said tentatively. “Are you?”

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and then peering through his fingers at you for a second before dropping them again. “Thought I hurt you.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I would have said something.”

He nodded, relief starting to bring feeling back to his hands again. He stood and reached a hand down for you. When you took it, he closed his fingers around yours and pulled you to your feet.

“I know we don’t usually do this,” you said, rubbing at the parts of you that had been on the floor - the backs of your legs, your ass, “but could I take a super fast shower before I go?”

“Yeah,” he said, so quickly that the word almost trips on itself. “Of course.”

He led you into the bathroom, rummaged in the disorganized linen closet for a clean towel, pressed it into your hands.

“If you need one, too,” you said easily, as he reached around you to turn the water on so it could heat up, “I don’t mind if you join me.”

He paused. “You sure?”

You shrugged, then leaned over to put your hand under the spray, testing to see if it was still cold. “It’s your shower.”

Under the stream of warm water, you turned to face him, front to front, looking up at him with clear eyes. Something in your expression was so open, Vernon couldn’t help but feel both the desire to step into the space you seemed to be offering him as well as the desire to get far, far away from it.

He’d been so angry before you’d texted, furious enough that he’d bruised his knuckles punching the doorframe; now, as the chemicals in his body settled down, he felt those knuckles throbbing. He was disgusted that he’d lost his temper, guilty that he’d taken any of that anger out on you, who had nothing to do with it.

He was scared of the desire he felt to be closer to you, just for tonight. Scared that fucking you hadn’t been enough to soothe whatever it was that roiled inside him, like it usually was. Scared that he felt like he needed more than sex to heal this particular burn.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and part of him thought he was apologizing in advance, like he knew already he’d run scared at some point. “For being so...”

He didn’t know what word fit best. 

“I told you,” you said, pressing a little closer, “I would have said if I had a problem.”

“Okay,” he said, frowning a little. “If you’re sure.”

Then he reached over and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone, chasing away a rivulet of shower-water. You closed your eyes for a second, and he swore he could feel you lean into the touch, just slightly.

He didn’t know how to explain how he felt. Kind of like he’d done a hot-coal-walk; the exhaustion that came with an adrenaline crash, the vulnerability that came after facing down something big, that need - the burn inside him needing cool water before it could quiet down.

With the shower off, the silence in the bathroom was loud.

“Do you…” Vernon started, then stopped. His heart hammered, the adrenaline returning. He covered the moment by toweling his hair roughly and pulling his hands through the strands so they’d lay right. “Do you want to stay for a little bit? I was gonna order delivery, maybe watch something before I finish my assignment.”

He’d expected you to think about it, to turn it over in your mind the way you turn his things over in your careful hands, the way you turn him ass over head with just a smirk. Instead, you nodded right away.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was no big deal. Like you did this all the time. Maybe you did, just not with him. “I was starving, actually. I could stay for an hour or two.”

On his couch, the leftovers of the food scattered on his coffee table, you reached for his hand, ran a thumb imperceptibly along his purpled knuckles. You didn’t ask what happened, just brought them to your lips and pressed the lightest kiss before putting them down again and reaching for your noodles, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

That was when Vernon saw the potential of it, an entire picture, framed and labeled: you could hurt him so badly if he let you, if he let it get that far. For whatever it was that burned inside him, you were the cool water… but you could absolutely be gasoline, instead.

1 yr, 3 months ago

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the light that passed over your closed lids in a repetitive pattern was the sweep of a lighthouse beam. You could pretend that the rumbling bass of the music was the roar of the ocean. You could pretend that you weren’t here, in a shitty bar, but at the seaside. You could pretend that you weren’t alone. You could pretend that you weren’t you.

You drained your drink and caught the bartender’s eye, gesturing for another, sliding the sweating glass away from you once you knew a new one was coming.

“What are you drinking?”

The voice came from your right, and you lifted tired, disinterested eyes to find the source of it.

“G and T,” you answered, because it was one fewer syllable than saying gin and tonic and maybe that one syllable would do the dirty work for you and tell this guy that you didn’t want to talk to him.

“Nice,” he said, like you’d said something interesting, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You didn’t return the question, just slid your phone screen on and opened your messages.

wyd

drinks at my hyungs place. wbu

damn. guess i have to settle for one of these very mid prospects at the willow

damn thats a sad story. if only you had a better option

if only my better option werent busy at his hyung’s

no one said i had to stay here. ur at the willow?

yep

The guy to your right tried again. “The DJ tonight kind of sucks, huh?”

You looked back at your phone.

don’t leave

You smiled into your drink, a thrill dancing through your bloodstream. The lights and music didn’t seem as garish as they had ten minutes ago.

“My boyfriend’s on his way to pick me up,” you said flatly to the guy who kept trying to talk to you, “so you might want to find someone else to complain about the DJ to.”

The word tasted like lemonade on your tongue - acidic and sour, sweet and refreshing, taste buds blooming and shriveling in tandem. Even the knowledge that it was a flat-out lie didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.

You expected the guy to get up and leave, maybe throw you a dirty look on his way. Instead, he seemed to call your bluff, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to read you.

“I don’t think I’d let my girlfriend go out alone looking like this,” he said evenly, and you let out a derisive laugh.

“The fact that you just said the words let my girlfriend probably has a lot to do with why you’re here alone,” you countered, a flash of victory slicing up your spine when you saw his face flush.

Before he could retort, you hopped down from your barstool, pushing your way into the crowded dance floor. You didn’t even want to dance, you just wanted to get away. If Vernon wanted to find you, he could come find you. He’d told you not to leave, he hadn’t said make it easy for me.

He found you anyway; he made it look easy. He stepped around a group of guys talking in a circle and into your space, like he was following a path, like he knew there’d be room for him.

You were happy to see him. You were happy he came. You were happy to breathe him in, to feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne and hear your name tumble from his mouth like a statement. You were too drunk to tuck these truths away into pockets and folds where they would be harder to find.

You stepped to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. If he was surprised, his body hid it well. His hands came to rest on your lower back, pressing you closer to him as you leaned up to find his mouth.

You kissed him slowly, at odds with the frantic bassline vibrating under your feet. You let him tip your head back, changing the angle, sweeping your mouth with his tongue until you both tasted lemonade.

“Happy to see me?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his face, one eyebrow arched in question and one half of his mouth twitching into a smile.

You didn’t have it in you to lie, so instead you said, “Your place?”

He led you outside.

As luck would have it, the idiot from the bar stood beside the front door, a cigarette between two fingers. His expression darkened when he recognized you, then further when he saw your fingers linked with Vernon’s as you stepped into the quiet night.

“Your girlfriend’s a fucking bitch,” the guy bit out, dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it.

Vernon’s eyebrows shot up.

Evenly, he said, “She’s not -”

She’s not my girlfriend. You felt your stomach swoop, and you felt yourself flinch.

“- a bitch. She’s just smarter than you.”

Vernon tugged on your hand, leading you across the street to his parked, waiting car.

You tried to bite back a smile, and he looked sideways at you, his own lips twitching.

“What?” he demanded.

“What?” you parroted.

He scowled at you, but his lips were just smiling. “What?” he asked again.

You laughed. “Let’s go,” you said. “The bitch wants to kiss you more.”

You expected his smile to sharpen. Instead, something in it seems to soften, changing from teasing to actual affection.

“Alright,” he said, turning to start the engine. “Can’t really say no to that, can I?”

“You could,” you mused, as he pulled away from the curb and the bar slid into nothingness behind you, “but I just don’t think you should.”

1 yr, 2 months ago

wyd

melting

srsly

no, seriously. i am laying on my living room floor like a starfish trying not to turn into liquid

come to hyungs

its too hot to move

i have an idea, come meet me at hyungs

You frowned at your phone. Of course your aircon died during the only heatwave you could remember in your entire adult life. Your whole body felt sticky; you were pretty sure you were stuck to your floor.

It was too hot to move.

what’s the idea??

you’ll see. i’ll order u a car. can you bring a couple towels?

“Vernon, no,” you laughed, your voice echoing.

He shushed you through laughter, both of you leaning on each other as you stood at the edge of the yard, the grass tickling the bottoms of your bare feet. Upstairs, at his friend’s place, you’d thrown back a few shots for courage before following Vernon out here, and you were feeling them, your head swimming like your body might soon be.

“It’s a circuit, see?” he tried to explain, pointing through the night, as if you could see through all the fences and over all the hedges. “Five yards, five pools, and then we end up right back here and we get in the car and go. Just follow me, don’t stop for anything.”

“Someone’s gonna call the cops,” you complained. “And these neighborhoods all have cameras.”

“That’s why we keep moving,” he said, his grin so excited and so un-Vernon that you almost couldn’t bear to say no to him. “No one’s gonna call the cops if we’re already gone - it’s not worth it. You ready?”

You hesitated. “You’re good to drive us out of here?” you checked.

He held up his hands as if to show innocence. “Only had a beer,” he promised. “But I’ve got something fun in the car for after, if you want.”

You felt your grin turn wolfish. “Okay. I’m right behind you.”

“Try and be quiet,” he warned, then took off running across the yard, cannonballing into the pool with a splash.

You tore off after him, leaping into the water and suppressing a shriek when the cold water hit you. You felt instantly sober, jittery with adrenaline, alive with laughter. You spluttered your way to the surface and pushed water away from your eyes, trying to find him through the shadows.

He was already climbing out the other side, water running down his back, the muscle shifting in the half-light as he hoisted himself back onto the pool’s deck. You hurried across the pool, climbing up beside him, giggling wildly.

“Shhh,” he warned, but he was giggling too as he led you carefully over the fence to the next yard.

As soon as you crept close enough to the pool to jump, a motion-activated light came on, flooding the yard white and causing you to cover your eyes.

“Quick!” Vernon told you, grabbing your arm and pulling you in with him as he jumped.

You let out a stream of bubbles and water rushed into your mouth. You felt your feet hit the bottom and you pushed off hard, surfacing quickly.

Again, you followed him across the pool, both of you laughing and whispering, “Hurry! Quick!” as you climbed out and headed around the house to the front yard.

“Okay, this is the hard part,” he told you, both of you shivering as the night air caught up to you. “We have to cross the street, hop the fence, and then the pool is around back.”

“I’m ready,” you promised, with a particularly hard shiver.

You sprinted across the street, both leaving wet footprints on the pavement. His hand felt warm in yours when he helped you over the fence, warm on your body when he held your waist as you climbed down.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, but giggles still spilled out of you.

“More fun than melting, right?” he asked, and you thought that you’d seen him smile more tonight than in whole months of coming together at night.

You thought you might move mountains to see him smile like this again, gums showing, open and honest, happy.

Then you were underwater again, swimming hard to keep up, following Vernon through the night as he pushed his way through some hedges and held them apart for you.

You made it to the last house before someone caught you, slamming the back door open and shouting, “Hey!”

“Go, go, go!” Vernon cried, laughing with such abandon that it sounded like goose honks, pulling on your hand as you both stumbled, dripping, towards the car.

You’d set towels on the seats before starting, so you tumbled into the car and he peeled away, both of you laughing wildly as you left the neighborhood behind.

It was miles before you calmed down, gasping in breaths and trying to hold them before exploding into laughter again.

“I’d better not end up on the news,” you scolded. “I’m in my underwear.

He gave you a searing sideways look. “I noticed.”

You felt yourself warm again, despite being in soaking wet clothes.

“Where next?” you asked. “Home?”

He let out a breath that was almost a sigh. “I don’t really want to go home,” he admitted. Then, “I was having fun with you.”

You considered this. “Not to be a cliche, but… I know a place.”

The quarry was quiet, surrounded by only trees; without posted lights, everything seemed to be just varying shades of black - the black of the water just darker than the black of the stone ledges just darker than the walls of trees just darker than the sky sprinkled with stars above you.

“We have to be careful,” you warned him seriously. “If you slip and get hurt, it could be bad.”

He turned the flashlight on his phone on and set it next to the metal rungs that jutted out of the stone, a makeshift ladder for the swimmers who came here during the day, when swimming was allowed.

“It’s going to be way colder than the pools,” you added.

“You’re not selling this very well,” he pointed out.

“Don’t be a chicken,” you teased.

He eyed the water. “I’m having second thoughts.”

You nudged him in the ribs, which caused him to squirm away, hands batting at yours, a noise emitting from him that made you laugh out loud.

“Are you ticklish?” you demanded. “How did I not know?”

“Come on, are we jumping or what?” he asked, laughing, still trying to keep your sneaky hands away from his ribs.

“Yeah, that’s probably the only way to actually get in,” you admitted, still laughing a little. Your abs felt a little sore from how much you’d laughed tonight.

You stood on the edge of the stone, toes curling over the ledge, Vernon’s hand tight in yours. You stood on the edge, the ink-like water beneath you rippling slightly, marring the reflection of the constellations high above you. You stood on the edge of something, knowing full well you were afraid to swim.

He counted you down, and together, you jumped.

The water was freezing - it hurt, it stung, and you shrieked and laughed as you surfaced. A foot from you, Vernon was shouting.

“The towels!” you told him, already swimming towards the little dot of light that marked the ladder.

Shaking and shivering, you reached your towel, wrapping it around yourself. Behind you, Vernon jogged up, making noises like a disgruntled horse as he found his own towel.

“Oh my god,” he groused, grabbing for you. “I’m freezing, come here.”

He opened his arms, the towel behind him like a wingspan, and you stepped into the space, letting him wrap his arms and his towel around you. You stood shivering together, trying to let your body heat chase the cold away.

You wrapped your own arms around his middle, pressing yourself closer as your legs shook, shivers rolling up your spine in waves as your body fought the chill. 

“C’mere,” he murmured above you, holding you a little more tightly, his own teeth chattering. 

It was the first time, you realized as you turned your head to rest your cheek on his chest, that you’d held each other. It was the first time you’d been between his arms when you weren’t fucking, the first time he’d tightened his grip around you for a reason other than gratification. 

You didn’t want it - didn’t want to know that it felt nice in his embrace, didn’t want to know that it fit right and felt safe. You didn’t want to know that you liked it, didn’t want to have to fight against the humiliation of wanting more.

As soon as the full-body tremors died away in the warm, sticky night, you stepped away, eager to put distance between you again. 

Later, he looked over at you from the driver’s seat of the car, red-eyed, his smile stretching slow and thick like putty. When you straddled his lap, his hands searching out the bare skin of your back, you rocked against him and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his pretty throat until you were pulling groans from him with each pass of your hips. 

Forget, you thought, as you pulled your underwear to the side for him. Forget every single thing but this.

When you slipped an arm behind his neck and pressed your foreheads together as you lifted and dropped, you weren’t sure whose memory you were hoping to erase with this most recent pleasure-chase: yours, or his.

1 yr, 1 month ago

There was no map or calendar to this thing your brain did. It was summer, the sun shone, and yet the days bled together again, sunsets swirling down the shower drain.

The last time you’d gone radio silent, the last time your world had gone grey without warning, Vernon had answered in kind. His own silence had shouted for him until you’d tempted him back.

This time, he didn’t resort to silence in retaliation to yours. Instead, he kept trying, relentless. If you’d had more presence of mind, you might have wondered why.

wyd

[ ]

yo. whats the deal

[ ]

i will have you know that this is very insulting

[ ]

don’t get mad but im coming over

“What the fuck, Vernon.”

“I said don’t get mad.”

“It doesn’t work like that. What are you doing here?”

He leveled you with a look. “You gonna let me in?”

“Literally, no.”

You hadn’t showered in days; your apartment was probably grosser than you were. The cat milled around your ankles, trying to weasel its way outside, and you hopped from foot to foot trying to nudge it back inside.

“Why not?” he asked.

You huffed, annoyed. But the annoyance was the first thing you’d felt all day, and something inside you clung to it, desperate for more of anything but the crawling nothing that’s kept you company for days.

“Because,” you grumbled. Because there’s nothing for you here. Because I have nothing I can give you. “I’m… just not in the mood.”

He stepped back from the door so you could see more of him. “I’m not asking you to be.”

“Then why are you here?” The words fell between you, heavy. If you hadn’t been so low, if you hadn’t gone all day without eating, if you hadn’t been on your thirtieth hour without sleeping, you would have known better. You would have realized that you were asking, if you aren’t here for sex, then what are you here for? 

You wouldn’t have asked a question that you didn’t want the answer to.

He met your eyes. He seemed to teeter on the edge of telling you the truth, giving you the real answer. Then, he muttered, “Got bored.”

You knew it wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew you knew it, and yet neither of you were willing to look at it directly.

“I fail to see how that’s my problem,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He watched you for what felt like a long time, face serious, eyes glittering and attentive. Then, instead of answering, he repeated, “Are you gonna let me in?”

You frowned at him, but there was a little more pout to it than anger. “I’m all gross,” you said, instead of answering.

Something in him softened - it was visible on his face, in his shoulders, like he knew this was your way of saying yes. “So let’s shower,” he suggested quietly.

You felt trepidation, like part of you expected him to stay soft, to try to take care of you. To your relief, Vernon acted like everything was normal, scrunching his face at you when the water was too cold as he stepped in, washing his own body in silence and letting you do your thing.

He didn’t try to hold you, didn’t ask you when you’d eaten last, didn’t try to talk about it - didn’t try to fix it. He was just… there, and this - along with your first shower in days - was somehow revitalizing in itself.

You pulled on clean sweats, which was better than the day-four sweats he’d found you in. “The apartment’s kind of… sorry,” you mumbled, looking around the living room, feeling a bit of that familiar shame crawl up your neck as you noticed the evidence that you hadn’t been picking up, or running a vacuum.

Vernon flopped backwards on your sofa, unphased, one arm bent behind his head. “We’ve been doing this for almost a year,” he pointed out. “I know how it usually is.”

It isn’t usually like this. And neither are you.

You wondered when it happened - your ability to finish his half-thoughts, your ability to know what he meant when he only said a fraction of it.

You stood awkwardly beside the couch where he was lounging, and he looked up at you with a tiny, amused smile.

“What do you wanna do?”

What you really wanted to do was cocoon yourself in blankets again and put on repeats of a show you’d already seen. But now you had to look functional. You might be mad at him for showing up like this, now that you thought about it.

“I dunno,” you said, which was close to the truth.

“You wanna eat?”

“Honestly?” you asked, pursing your lips a little. “No.”

“Okay,” he said easily, and it struck you again how different this was than how Chan treated you when you were low. Chan would have already had the food delivered, and would be chasing you around the table with loaded chopsticks, demanding you take a bite.

“Can we just… watch something?” you asked, unsure.

Vernon wordlessly reached for your remote and held it up to you, nonplussed.

You wondered if it was an act, how easy this was, how unbothered he was, how he seemed to just understand what wouldn’t help.

You knew it wasn’t; you’d been around long enough to know that Vernon’s demons weren’t all that different from yours.

You settled somewhere between his body and the back of the couch, one leg bent over his legs, one of your arms over his stomach and his arm curled around your shoulders.

“This is weird,” you muttered into his chest, and his laugh rumbled under you.

“Why?” he asked, his smile big, like he thought you were particularly funny. “Not used to being big spoon?”

Not used to cuddling - with you.

“Yeah,” you said, because that was easier.

On your TV, a show ran through several episodes, the changing scenes splashing you and Vernon with changing colors, casting his face blue and then white and then black and then red and then blue again. Sometimes he’d watch, sometimes he’d scroll on his phone. You mostly felt his heart beating under your hand and let your mind whir.

At some point he started mindlessly (or not mindlessly, who could know) stroking your back, gentle touches brushing up and down, slow, slow, the way he always was. At some point you shivered, goosebumps rising along your arms, and snuggled closer to him. At some point he shifted you from slightly beside him to on top of him, a second hand slipping under your loose tshirt and joining the first in tracing stripes up and down your upper back.

You shifted against him, something coming to life with a shudder like the furnace in your parent’s basement on cold autumn nights. Heat worked its way slowly from your core to your stomach, down your legs.

He kept his eyes on the tv, innocent, but you could hear his heartbeat. It couldn’t lie and pretend.

You shifted again, squirming until you’d worked his t-shirt up just enough that you could touch skin, too. You trailed your own fingers over the inch of exposed stomach you’d found, and delighted in the way you could feel him start to harden beneath you.

Then, you delighted in your delight. It was the first good thing you’d been able to feel in almost a week.

You said his name, and he finally looked down at you, eyes nearly black in the unlit room.

“What is it?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly so low it sent shivers tumbling down each vertebrae and tripping over to your limbs. “Want me to make you feel good?”

No, you wanted to say as you answered his question by pulling the hem of his t-shirt higher, encouraging him to lift up so you could pull it off. No, just want you to make me feel.

1 year ago

Everywhere Vernon looked, all he saw was circles. Circle of red in his bowl when he inhaled. Circle of condensation on the table when he lifted his beer. Circle of light reflecting from his phone case, laying in the setting sunlight, to the ceiling. Above him, the ceiling fan circled lazily, nowhere to be.

And you - you and him. That was a circle, too. A cycle, at least, which was close enough in his opinion. Text, hook up, skitter back to your respective places, wait out the next weekend. It was as rhythmic and routine as waves breaking and then getting pulled back out only to come shatter on sand again. It was out of his control, up to forces far greater than he was.

Vernon’s friends had texted to hang out and he’d declined. He told them he was seeing his parents, but really, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to watch the ceiling fan circle, he wanted to let his brain go staticky quiet, he wanted to burrow deep into things that made him feel less.

But he still, somehow, wanted to see you. He wanted to be alone, and being with you didn’t feel like not getting that.

It was a little scary, he thought, that you were the exception. That he could be with you without feeling the uncomfortable pressure of being with others, of having to be on, of having to fake cheerfulness and keep up with chatter that only exhausted him.

Vernon wasn’t a kid. He knew what it meant.

whats up

honestly not a lot. want me to come over?

Yeah, he did. He did, even if you weren’t going to hook up. He did, even if you were just going to lay on opposite sides of the couch and scroll on your phones. He did, and he hoped he’d end up with his arms around you, and he hoped he’d make you laugh at least once, and he hoped you’d stay and just be there with him after.

When you came over, he asked you how you felt about it - about him, about you and him. He asked by laying you on your back in his bed, by brushing fingertips along your face. He asked you by sliding your leggings away gently, pressing his mouth to each inch of your inseam as it became exposed to his dimly lit room. He asked you by kissing you through the lace you wore for him, then kissing the same spot once that lace was on his floor.

He asked you when he crawled up your body until his tip teased at your entrance and you whined, shifting to try to take him. And - when he took it slow this time, teeth scraping at your neck and then tongue hurrying to soothe the sting, his arms bracketing your body like he was sheltering you from an incoming storm.

(Maybe, he considered, he was.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was worthless in the face of this storm’s wrath.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was the fucking storm in the first place.)

And you heard his question loud and clear. You pulled on your leggings as soon as you were cleaned up, popping your hood up over your head as you searched for your phone. You kept your eyes on your screen as you waited for a car to come, murmured, “Later,” on your way out the door.

Vernon’s apartment rang with quiet. He was alone, he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

He’d also, it seemed, gotten his answer.

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thank you so much for reading!!! i'm always happy to hear what you think!

[ll7esxs]

Relationship Alphabet series with Cod ghosts!

Kick

✧ Pairing: Romantic.

✧ Genre: Fluff.

X GN READER

Hesh is a natural leader—strong, confident, and brave. But beneath that, he has a good heart and a gentle soul. He loves deeply, respects his partner, and would go to the ends of the earth to protect them. He’s the kind of man who makes you feel safe, loved, and cherished.

✧ Warnings: Light NSFW, and mention of NSFW content MDNI.

A – Affection

SFW: Kick isn’t overly affectionate in public, He got the courage to show his love for you in front of people and has no care, but in private? He’s got this effortless way of showing love without making a big deal out of it. A casual arm over your shoulders, a hand on the small around your waist walking through a crowd, or passing you a drink before you even ask. He’s the kind of guy who’ll sit next to you after a long day and just chatting, his presence alone making things feel lighter.

Light NSFW: He has a habit of pulling you close by the belt loops or wrapping an arm around your waist, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your skin. And when no one’s around? His lips find that spot right below your jaw, his voice low and teasing.

“Damn, you really just stand there looking this good all day, huh?”

B – Boundaries

SFW: Kick respects space and expects the same in return. He doesn’t pry, doesn’t push—he trusts you’ll come to him when you’re ready. That being said, he’s got an unspoken boundary about his past. He’ll tell you things on his own time, but he won’t be forced into it, since kick is an information technology specialist and wanted, he trained himself most importantly to be cautious.

Light NSFW: He’s down for a little teasing, but there’s a time and place. You try anything in the middle of his tech working? He’s shutting that down real quick. “Focusing, sweetheart. Save it for later.”

C – Communication

SFW: Kick is direct but reserved. If something’s wrong, he’ll tell you—but in few words, He’s a listener first, always taking in more than he says. If he’s upset, he needs time to process before talking, but when he does, it’s straight to the point. he expects the same. He’s a problem-solver, so if there’s an issue, he wants to fix it, not dance around it, Never talks about his work with you, work stays in work section, cause he don't want to mess with your head with the fucked up things he saw.

Light NSFW: He has this low, slow drawl when he talks in that tone. He doesn’t just say things; he makes sure you feel them, He is a talker, a mid one. Likes to ask you, or praising. and these words came a lot from his lips.

“Goddamit yes, You keep look at me like that!”

D – Devotion

SFW: Ride or die. If Kick is with you, he’s with you. He won’t say things like “I’d do anything for you”—he just does it. You’re his priority, simple as that. The way he looks out for you—making sure you eat, remembering little things like how you take your coffee/tea—it’s all quiet but unmistakable devotion.

I always thought because kick is a technology specialist, he is wanted especially when his pic was on the kill list, he never thought about having a partner but here he is with you, and he would kill a fed soldier if it means staying with you.

Light NSFW: He’s a patient man, but there are moments he just wants. When that switch flips, his devotion turns into something intense, lips against your ear, hands gripping just tight enough.

“You are my love. You know that, right?”

E – Empathy

SFW: Kick isn’t the kind of guy to sugarcoat things, but he’s good at reading you. He picks up on the small things—the shift in your voice, the way your shoulders tense. He won’t ask if you’re okay in front of others, but later? When it’s just the two of you? He’ll casually sit beside you, suddenly kneeling in front of you while you are sitting on the couch holding one of your knee. “Talk to me.” And not in a pleading or softy way.

Light NSFW: He knows what you like, and he will gladly listen to what you want, knows when to take his time and when to push. He listens—to words, to the way you react. It’s all about you, and he makes sure you know it.

F – Forgiveness

SFW: He doesn’t hold grudges, but he doesn’t forget either. If you mess up, own it. Apologize, and he’ll move forward, no problem. But betray his trust? That’s not something easily fixed, especially if it's after a long time of dating he didn't expect it from you so he will have two choices, leave everything behind and move on with you, or leave you with everything behind him.

Light NSFW: He doesn’t do “angry” intimacy. If he’s pissed, he walks it off before even thinking about touching you. But the reconciliation after a fight? Slow, deliberate, leaving no room for doubt that everything’s okay again.

G – Growth

SFW: Kick isn’t someone who rushes things. He understands that relationships evolve, that people change, and he’s good with that. He sees growth as something you do together, not just individually. If you’re trying to be better, he supports it. If he needs to work on something, he will—without needing to be told twice.

Light NSFW: Growth in intimacy means learning what works and what doesn’t, figuring out the unspoken rhythms between you. He’s patient, always watching for what you respond to, never making it feel rushed or forced.

H – Honesty

SFW: Kick doesn’t sugarcoat anything. If you ask for his opinion, expect the truth. Not in a harsh way, but in a direct way. If you’re upset about something and he doesn’t understand why? He’ll ask. If he screws up? He owns it.

Light NSFW: There’s no faking with Kick. He’s attuned to you, knows when you’re holding back or if something’s off. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like you’ don't know what you want.” He wants the truth, even when it’s just the two of you tangled up in sheets, breathing against each other’s skin.

I – Intimacy

SFW: Kick isn’t big on grand gestures, but his intimacy shows in small, constant ways—his hand resting on your back absentmindedly, leaning against you when he’s tired he likes it even more when he rests his head on your lap, he feels peaceful, especially that feeling when he knows he is comfortable finally with someone, pulling you into his side on the couch. It’s comfort. Security. He’s not loud about it, but you feel it.

Light NSFW: When it’s just the two of you, his usual calm takes on an edge of intensity. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t get sloppy. He watches you, listens, and takes his time learning.

“Relax. Let me take care of you.” His voice is low, all confidence, all promise.

J – Joy

SFW: His humor is dry, always the one who makes you laugh but when he laughs? Really laughs? It’s rare and warm, and it lingers. His joy isn’t big or loud—it’s in the quiet moments, in teasing you under his breath, in the way his eyes soften when you’re happy. He likes making you laugh. That’s his favorite sound.

Light NSFW: There’s a playful side to him in private, smirking against your skin, teasing just enough to make you squirm and this his joy, especually if you are a tough partner and thinks he got this power to lead you like this state.

“That’s cute. Keep making that.”

K – Kindness

SFW: Kick’s kindness isn’t in words—it’s in actions. It’s carrying your stuff when he knows you’re exhausted. It’s passing you a water bottle before you realize you need it. It’s making sure you get the last bite of something good. He doesn’t announce his kindness; he just does it.

Light NSFW: He’s attentive, making sure you’re comfortable, that you’re getting as much as you’re giving. It’s never just about him—it’s you, always both of you.

L – Love

SFW: Kick’s love isn’t flashy. It’s consistent. It’s steady hands and a quiet “I got you.” It’s trust, built over time. He might not say I love you every second, but when he does? He means it.

Light NSFW: When he really loves you, it shows in how he touches you—every movement slow, intentional, lingering. It’s in the way he whispers against your neck, the way his breath hitches slightly when you say his name. “You’re everything to me, you know that?”

M – Memories

SFW: He holds onto things—small details, fleeting moments. The first time he made you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe, the exact way you look when you’re happy. He remembers. And sometimes, late at time, when it’s quiet, he’ll tell you.

Light NSFW: His memories are the time when he remembers the most new intimate experiences you guys had, he just likes the way he made you felt, the way when you have the full guts to tell him what you like and what you wanna do.

N – Nurturing

SFW: Kick doesn’t come across as the nurturing type, but he is—just in his own way. If you’re exhausted, he won’t say, “You need to rest.” Instead, he’ll shut down whatever’s keeping you up and quietly make sure you have what you need. He’s not a fan of coddling, but he’ll take care of you in the most practical, effective way possible.

If you’re sick? He’s grumbling while making sure you drink enough water, tossing a blanket over you without a word.

If you’re injured or hurt? He’s shaking his head but cleaning the wound himself, precise and careful.

If you’re having a bad day? He won’t push. Just silently hands you your favorite whatever thing and sits with you until you feel better.

Light NSFW: He’s all about taking care of you. He’s observant, knows when you need something without you having to say it. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it, but you can tell by the way his hands are so careful with you. “Relax. Let me handle it.”

O – Openness

SFW: Kick’s not one to easily open up. He keeps things locked up tight, prefers actions over words. But when he trusts you? When he really lets you in? It’s rare, but it’s everything.

He’s not a fan of long talks about feelings, but he’ll give you small truths in quiet moments.

Maybe it’s “I don’t talk about this shit with anyone else.” said in a rare moment of honesty.

Maybe it’s the way he leans into you when he’s had a long day, his body language saying everything he won’t.

Light NSFW: His openness in intimacy comes slowly, in layers. At first, he keeps things more physical, but as his walls come down, you start to see how much he really feels. The way his breath stutters when you touch him a certain way. The way he lingers afterward, tracing patterns into your skin, the only openness he got when he let you do whatever he wants.

P – Patience

SFW: Kick is absurdly patient. He’s a sniper—waiting is what he does. He won’t rush you, won’t push you into anything before you’re ready. His patience shows in how he listens, how he lets you come to him rather than demanding answers.

If you’re struggling to say something? He won’t press, just sits there quietly, waiting.

If you’re upset? He won’t tell you to calm down—he’ll just be there, solid and steady.

If you’re learning something new? He’ll go over it as many times as you need without making you feel stupid.

Light NSFW: He takes his time. He enjoys drawing things out, watching your reactions, figuring out exactly what gets to you. He doesn’t rush—he savors. “No need to rush, love.”

Q – Quality Time

SFW: Kick is so big on flashy dates or extravagant plans. His idea of quality time is just being with you and sparkle these times with sweet places. He’s always talkative, he likes having you there. Whether it’s sitting in comfortable any place, working out together, or just driving somewhere with the windows down and the radio low—it counts.

He’ll remember what you like, will adjust to your preferences without thinking.

If you need excitement? He’ll take you somewhere fun, something active.

If you need peace? He’s all for long walks at night, quiet conversations under night sky.

His favorite? Lying in bed late at night, just existing together, no pressure to talk or do anything.

R – Respect

SFW: Kick doesn’t throw respect around lightly—you earn it. That’s why, when he’s with you, it means something. He won’t undermine you, won’t treat you like you can’t handle yourself.

He values competence, effort, and genuine strength—and he respects you because of who you are, not just because you’re his partner.

If someone talks down to you or disrespected? He doesn’t have to say much—already tracking their location and threaten them to shut down all of them devices, and not even try to think about it again.

He listens when you talk, actually takes in what you’re saying. If you have different opinions? He won’t dismiss them—he’ll challenge them, push you to think, but he won’t ever invalidate you.

He respects your independence but won’t hesitate to step in if you need him.

S – Support

SFW: Kick isn’t the type to coddle or sugarcoat things, but he will have your back no matter what. His way of supporting you isn’t about words—it’s actions.

If you’re struggling? He won’t say “It’ll be okay.” He’ll say, “What do you want to do next?” that question means don't you dare hold back

If you fail? He won’t pity you. He’ll help you figure out what went wrong and how to fix it.

If you’re exhausted? He won’t tell you to rest—he’ll make sure you do, taking care of whatever’s weighing on you.

He’s always in your corner, even if he doesn’t always say it outright.

Light NSFW: His support extends to everything, including this. If you’re feeling insecure? He won’t brush it off—he’ll show you exactly how much he wants you, no hesitation. “You’re a goddam perfect. That’s all that matters.”

T – Trust

SFW: Trust is everything to Kick. He doesn’t trust easily, and he doesn’t give it freely. But once he does? It’s unshakable. If he’s with you, it means he trusts you—fully, completely.

He doesn’t need constant reassurances. If he trusts you, he trusts you.

He won’t lie to you, won’t sugarcoat things. If you ask for the truth, you get the truth.

If you ever break that trust? It won’t be an explosion—it’ll be quiet. Cold. And final.

He expects the same in return—if you don’t trust him, it won’t work.

Light NSFW: Trust plays a huge role in intimacy for him. If he trusts you, he lets his guard down, becomes softer in ways no one else gets to see. It’s in the way he lets you touch him, in how he lets go when he’s with you.

U – Understanding

SFW: Kick isn’t the type to push for explanations when you’re not ready to talk. If you need space, he gives it. If you need time, he waits. He’s observant—he can tell when something’s off, but he won’t force you to spill your feelings. Instead, he’ll let you come to him when you’re ready.

If you have a bad day and don’t want to talk? He just exists beside you—silent company, steady presence.

If you mess up? He won’t hold it over you. He understands that everyone screws up sometimes.

He’s not overly emotional, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get emotions. He just processes things differently, and he gives you room to do the same.

Light NSFW: He’s perceptive in every way, which means he learns you—what you like, what makes you tick. He doesn’t need you to say everything out loud; he figures some of me out and uses that understanding to drive you absolutely wild.

V – Vulnerability

SFW: If Kick is vulnerable with you, it’s serious. It's literally another story, He’s not a man who wears his heart on his sleeve. It takes time for him to open up, but when he does? It’s rare—and it’s real.

You’re the only one who gets to see him tired, frustrated, or uncertain.

If he lets you comfort him? That’s a huge deal. He trusts you enough to lean on you, and that means everything, because since his job was so pressure on him he never had a one to reassure him everything is okay, so now you opened a new kick.

Sometimes, his vulnerability isn’t in words—it’s in letting you be close when he’s feeling worn down, seeing him in this statement, when he is at the loss of words how to tell he is not feeling good he will show his weaknesses with no shame at all.

Light NSFW: This applies to intimacy, too. It’s not just physical for him—it’s personal. If he lets you see him like that, it’s because he wants you to see all of him, not just the hardened soldier.

W – Warmth

SFW: He might not be the softest person in the world, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t warm in his own way. His warmth isn’t loud—it’s quiet, steady, constant.

The way he hands you a cup of coffee/tea without a word, already made exactly how you like it.

The way he would try to cook for you, both of you knowing damn well he sucks and ends up you helping him.

The way he knows when you need comfort, even when you don’t ask for it.

Light NSFW: His warmth is physical, too. His body heat is insane—if you’re cold, he’ll just pull you against him with zero hesitation. And in more intimate moments? Let’s just say, that warmth turns into heat.

X – XO (Hugs & Kisses)

SFW: Kick’s not that super affectionate in public, but when it’s just the two of you? Different story.

His hugs are solid—not soft, but firm, secure, grounding.

Kisses? He’s purposeful about them. He gives them whenever you want to or he want to and adore you—when he kisses you, it means everything to him.

Light NSFW: Slow. Intense. He’s not one for rushed, frantic affection—he takes his time, makes sure you feel it. And once he’s in the mood? Yeah, good luck walking straight afterward (what an odd (cringy) thing to say😍)

Y – Yearning

SFW: Kick doesn’t pine—he wants, and he waits. He’s disciplined enough to keep his feelings in check, but when he’s away on missions, you’re always on his mind.

He always flood you with texts, and the ones he does send? They matter.

He’ll quietly hold onto something small that reminds him of you—a photo, a note, something personal.

He don't do it so much but sometimes he Finds himself talking unconsciously talking about you or anything remind him of you he just goes with "Oh yeah Y/n----" says with a smile on his face a warm one.

The first thing he does when he’s back? Find you. Always.

Light NSFW: When he wants you, he wants you. No hesitation, no uncertainty. He doesn’t just miss you—he craves you. And when he gets back? You’re his for the night. Period.

Z – Zeal

SFW: Kick doesn’t do things halfway. If he’s with you, he’s all in.

He’ll push you to be your best, not because he thinks you need to change, but because he believes in you.

If someone disrespects you? They’re done. No debate, no second chances.

He’s not the loudest person in the room, but when it comes to you, he’s unshakable.

Light NSFW: His intensity applies everywhere—especially when it comes to showing you exactly how much he wants you. He doesn’t just go through the motions—he devours you, like he’s making up for lost time.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

[fornshinoyaz]

HOW TO: LOSE FEELINGS FOR AN IDIOT

01. HOW TO: FORGET ABOUT A WITCH

series masterlist | previous | next chapter

wc: 4.2k

how to lose feelings for a CERTIFIED, government approved idiot. it should be easy right? wrong. you are absolutely, positively, done for. you have no idea why you’re writing the guide book when you can’t even get past the first step! first step, the only important step really: don’t have your best friend be kei tsukishima. then maybe, just maybe, you’d have a chance.

You were the go-to problem solver. The one with the all the answers. Someone’s cat died? You could help. Did you lose your job because of a stinky corporation? You could fix it. Your friend group of annoying volleyball boys were convinced, there wasn’t a problem you didn’t know how to solve.

But they were wrong. So so wrong. Because when it came to Kei Tsukishima?

Yeah, maybe you didn’t have all the answers.

Your best friend's ringtone yanks you from your sleep. You let out an exasperated sigh and begrudgingly answer the call, "Tsukki. I swear. This better be important or I’m going to kill you." You glance around your studio apartment, the world still hazy and unfocused around you.

"Did I wake you?" He asks.

"No shit sherlock," you grumble as you toss around in your covers, the warmth making you want to close your eyes again.

"Good. I'm not sorry."

"I know you're not, asshat. You know it’s my day off right? I want to sleep in for once," you say, trying to force back a yawn.

"I know."

The silence on the other side of the line really starts to piss you off. Did this man want anything or was he just being an asshole? While you enjoyed hearing his voice, you'd much rather hear it at a reasonable hour.

"Tsukki. say something or I'm-"

"She broke up with me,” he says, cutting you off.

You pause.

"What?" You ask again. Just to make sure you heard him correctly.

"I got dumped, Y/N. Over text."

You wince. Really? She couldn't even give him a call?

"Okay,” you sigh and lift out of bed, "I'll be there in 30."

And that's not a lie. You're dressed, ready to go, and in a taxi towards his apartment in 20 minutes and there in 10. You couldn’t say you were the biiiggeest fan of his ex-girlfriend. For obvious reasons. A small part of your heart cracked when he told you about her. It was a painful reminder that it would never be you.

The first time you met her, it was game night.

You came with Kageyama and Yamaguchi per usual. You carried the dip, they carried the chips. But when you three walked into his living room and found a woman - oh, you were sick to your stomach.

Kageyama gave you a look, that 'oh, damn, i know this shit sucks' look, while Yamaguchi tried his best to be friendly to her while checking up on you throughout the night.

It hurt. But you accepted her. Tsukki was your best friend. If he was happy, you were happy.

You thank the taxi driver and pay, before running up the steps of his apartment complex to the fourth floor. You had been there for several of your others friends during their breakups. Kageyama had been in the dumps. Asahi was even worse. But like always, you had all the solutions.

But when Tsukki opens the door, you're not sure what to say.

"Sorry...I got here... as fast...as I could," you say in-between breaths, struggling to catch your breath. Why did you run?

His eyes quickly scan you from top bottom. "I can tell. Your socks are mismatched. And is that my shirt?"

You insecurely cover yourself from his eyes. For someone whose suppose to be heartbroken, he had a lot to say.

"I hate to ask, but she really only sent you a text message? Like one?"

Tsukki nods. You shake your head, bewildered. Seven months and he only got a text?

"Did she say why?"

Tsukki's lips press together, and he shifts uncomfortably, "I never made time for her. Or something like that. I don't know."

"Oh."

You couldn't say you didn't see it coming. You knew from the moment you met her, it wasn't going to work. That wasn't your jealousy speaking. It was just the truth. But you didn’t have the heart to tell Tsukki that.

After all, he liked her. Was it your place to interfere? Maybe, but you wouldn't. It wasn’t that she was needy, and that Tsukki was cold, they both just needed and wanted different things that they couldn't give each other. His ex-girlfriend needed him around, but his schedule was demanding. It was no one's fault.

"Yeah. Can you come in? I don't want anyone else to see the abomination on your feet." He holds his apartment door open for you.

"Shut up. You look like an abomination," you mumble back.

He chuckles a little as you walk inside.

Tsukki's trying to act like he’s fine and for a moment you believe it. Everything seems normal with him. It was one breakup. But when you walk into his home and see clutter, you know it’s bad.

"What in the world..." you whisper, and you're sure he hears you. As you step further into his apartment, you catch the faint scent of his favorite jasmine tea. Something he only brewed when he was stressed. And then there's a lingering aroma of a convenience store meal. You walk by the familiar bookshelf you guys had bought. It was a pain in the ass to build. You both took five hundred breaks before completing one half of it.

"I haven't seen you in a while, Tsukki. You've started reading again?" You ask.

His eyes follow yours to the bookshelf, "A little. When I have the time."

A collection of books occupy the corner, some haphazardly placed with bookmarks peeking out, while others were still carefully arranged just the way he liked them. You raise an eyebrow as your eyes roam across the cluttered table next to it.

There are stacks of papers scattered about, a mishmash of calculations from his stats class, and crumpled attempts at writing essays. This was a mess. 

Kei Tsukishima was a lot of things—reader, asshole, the smartest man in the room (debatably), but he was not messy.

"Tsukki.." you half-attempt to take a seat on the couch, but it’s strewn with clothes and a half-unpacked bag.

"Hm?"

"Why is there-" you wince at the sight. How could you forget? Weren't they supposed to be heading to a nearby city for the weekend? She had terrible timing.

"Nevermind," you finish, but you've said enough to reopen the scar. He nods his head in understanding.

A lonely volleyball sat on the edge of the couch, staring at you, silently begging you for help.

‘work your magic,’ it seems to scream. ‘do something, anything, just fix him.’

“Are you okay? How many cups of tea have you drank?" You ask slowly, your eyes thoughtfully studying him as he moves across his apartment. You assume he’s getting another cup of tea. His hair is a mess, much like his apartment, and his face lacks any color, like a white canvas thrown away and discarded.

“I'm fine. Maybe three cups, or four, I haven't been counting," he says, but he walks past the clutter in his living room like it’s nothing. You make a face. You definitely need to help him.

Standing up from the couch, you reach for the volleyball and pass it around by your fingertips, "Tsukki, you’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“I'm not,” he shoots back, stopping in front of you and taking a sip of his tea, “I told you, I'm fine. So I'm fine. Drop it.”

"You know I can't just drop it-"

"Yea, I know," he rolls his eyes, "But today? You can and you will," he cuts off.

You point to the area around you, and he sighs. You weren't gonna drop it.

"I can't! This place looks like crap!" You say, louder than you intended.

He narrows his eyes at you and places his mug on the coffee table, barely making enough space for it. “You look like crap on the regular. I don’t say anything about it.”

You gawk at him. Low blow. You hit him in the chest, making him hiss. “Stop being an asshole. I'm trying to help you."

"I don't need your help," he blows off.

You sigh. This was going to be difficult, "Reminder! You called me here! What did you call me for if you're not going to take my help!"

Tsukki averts his eyes and folds his arms against his chest, "Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you."

You give him a look.

He laughs, "Yeah, I know. I don't believe myself either."

"I hate you," you mumble, before refocusing on what matters, "if you don't wanna talk to me, you could try writing out your feelings?” You suggest.

Tsukki scoffs, leans forward, and steals the volleyball from your grasp, "Be honest with yourself, y/n. Do I look like I would ‘write’ out my feelings?”

You frown. How dare he steal from you. “Maybe if you did, you’d be less of an asshat. Strong maybe."

"Shut up," he rolls his eyes, "next option. Aren’t you suppose to be the notorious ‘problem-solver’? You say I have a problem, then fix it,” he says, heading back into his kitchen. You know he's being sarcastic, but you follow him anyways.

You pick up an old convenience store wrapper on the counter, "When was the last time you had a real, quality meal?"

He grabs it and tosses it into the trash, "A week, I don't know. Been busy. Studying. Volleyball. No time to cook. Is this how you problem-solve? By going through my trash?"

“No. It's not. Okay, Tsukki. Lets talk the next options,” you say. Tsukishima turns, leaning against his fridge, interested in what you’re going to say.

“You're gonna be officially enrolled you in my high-rated, greatly endorsed ‘how to’ class.”

Tsukki groans as if on cue. “Huh? I didn't sign up for this."

“First session! How to: Forget About A Witch!” You come up with the name on the fly. You’re sure it needs some work, but Tsukki doesn’t immediately throw you out of his apartment. That means he’s humoring you. For now.

“You can just say ‘bitch’, y’know.” He says through a smirk. 

“I don’t call woman bitches," you wave him off and start again, “How to: Forget About A Witch. Step one, Operation Clean!”

“No.”

Those were words you never expected to hear from him. Shocked for a moment, you quickly sputter, “Hey, you’re enrolled in this class now. You don’t get to say no!”

“I could throw you out right now,” Tsukki scoffs, but you firmly grab onto his elbow and lead him into his living room.

“But you won’t. C'mon. I know you. You hate all of this. I'll help you," you offer gently.

Tsukki looks like he was considering it for a moment, then he sighs and nods his head, "I want to, I just don’t have the energy.”

“Well,” you smile as you lift a book and put it back on the shelf, “I can be your energy.”

You love the way his corners lift into a smile. Then, the operation is on! You're pretty sure it’s working. You can’t help but notice how cute Tsukki looks as he folds his clothes, ensuring everything is perfectly neat. The way he arranges the decorative pillows on the couch makes you want to stay and watch him forever. Then, that smile. Oh my god. No. Focus! This is really not the time for distractions.

But your eyes keep wandering back to him. He seems so calm, so at peace in this moment. Like nothing else matters. You quickly avert your gaze when he turns his head.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks.

“Nope!” You say, turning around so he can't see the stupid blush that rises to your cheeks.

Damn it.

You snap back to reality, taking a moment to admire your hard work. With a sense of accomplishment, you survey the now-tidy living room. And it only took an hour.

“Now,” you flash him a million dollar grin, “onto step 2!”

"There are multiple steps?” He groans. Though he had asked for this, he wonders for a moment if he could rewind time. 

“Yes. It's a course. Step 2: Distraction," you announce, making him raise an eyebrow. 

“Will I like this distraction?” Tsukki asks as you gently guide him out of the kitchen and into the hallways. He only narrowly manages to grab his keys by the front door as you nudge him along.

“Of course. Don't you worry your pretty head about about a thing, princess. I'm gonna take good care of you.”

“Princess?” he repeats in disbelief. Tsukki reluctantly steps out of his apartment, and the cool afternoon breeze hits you both.

“Lets goooo!"

"As long as you promise to never call me that again."

Yamaguchi called you magic once. That every single time you came, he felt like all his worries were gone. You get a text from him while in the taxi. It's simple and sweet. 'Is he going to be okay?'. It makes you smile. A few minutes later he follows up, 'If anyone can help Tsukki, it's you.'

But he never makes it easy.

“Ice cream…” Tsukki says slowly, eyes blinking from sign to sign of the different posted flavors. The tinkle of the door's bell went off behind them, alerting the workers to their presence. The cool air was refreshing to you both, a nice break from Japan's radiating heat.

Your eyes dart around the displays, your stomach wrestling with happiness, "Nothing says ‘screw you, heartbreak’ like a pint of soft vanilla!”

Tsukki focuses his eyes down on you, "Why do I have to pay to solve my heart break? Can I get a refund on this class?”

"Oh, please. Shut up,' the workers are amused by your banter, chuckling as you two approach the glass, "I’m paying, dummy."

“Oh," he smirks, "then great idea, Y/N. I love ice cream.”

“Uh huh. Now order, before my next How-To class is about hiding a body.”

You both thank the worker before finding a small table near the entrance of the shop. Light pools in from the large windows, making your ice cream look even more delicious.

"Thif ice cweam ish sho delishush," you say with a mouthful of the tasty treat.

Tsukki looks at you with a small chuckle, "Are you four? Eat with your mouth closed."

"I love vanilla,” you repeat once the last spoonful has made its way to your stomach. It was a never-ending classic. You never expected too much from it. It was sweet, simple, just the way you like it. It reminds you of your relationship with Tsukishima.

You both never expected too much from the other. You could go days, sometimes even weeks without contact. You both knew it wasn’t purposeful. You both got caught up in your own lives. It's just the way it went sometimes.

Every bite of vanilla is perfect. Tsukki hates the noises you make when you eat. He's side-eyeing you for the fifteenth when he finally says something.

“Do you have to be so vocal?”

“Yes!" You nod excitedly. If you were going to be shoved out of bed early in the morning, you might as well get some enjoyment out of the day.

You continue talking to him, honestly about something stupid, but as always, he listens. You hope it's helping, even just a little to take his mind off everything.

But then you both notice a couple passing by, their laughter echoing in the air. He looks at her like she's his everything. She looks at him like he's her world.

Tsukki’s eyes lower. Shit. Operation Distraction is going south. From beside him, it's almost like you can feel his stomach drop. It was like he was wearing his heartache on his sleeve to you. He puts down his cup of vanilla ice cream.

“I'm not hungry anymore. Here. I know you probably want more.” Tsukki says, trying stupidly hard to make it seem like he didn’t care.

You try to ignore what he's implying (that you're just a vaccum who will eat up anything, aka the truth) and frown. You place your hand on his shoulder.

His eyebrows furrow, "What?"

“This might have to be a two-day class,” you say softly. 

He pauses, and his eyes narrow, “I didn’t agree to spending this much time with you.”

You shrug your shoulders. "Should’ve read the contract of being my friend when you first met me,” you tease lightly, placing down your spoon and immediately reaching for his cup of ice cream. you both stand up, and you make sure you have all your things, before leading him back out into the small town center.

“I was seven. I didn't even know what a contract was." The bell behind you rings again as you exit. The Japan heat tickles your skin.

"Take it up with someone who gives a damn." You say as you look across the busy street for a taxi.

He sighs, surrendering to you and whatever plan you make for him, "Fine. Y/N. What are we doing tomorrow?”

You smile and he knows he’s in trouble. “It's a surprise~”

He frowns. “I don't like surprises."

"You're gonna like this one."

The next day, you've got it all planned out. And of course you do. There was no room for post-breakup boredom. You stayed up all night, crafting the perfect Tsukki hits that would stay playing on his signature white headphones. Then, at 9 a.m. exactly, you’re at his front door step. You ring his stupid smart bell and look straight into his camera.

It clicks, showing it’s recording you. You give it an annoying wave as usual. The door opens after what feels like an eternity, with Tsukki squinting at you, wondering if he should slam this door in your face.

“Are you kidding me? Do you know what time it is? And can you stop making weird faces at my ring?” he complains.

You shrug playfully, not taking his complaints too seriously. “No, and no. You can sleep in the car. Get dressed, and let’s go!”

He does his little grumble, grumble thing but takes a nice shower that takes way too long. He gives you the middle finger as he walks around you to get ready. When he’s finally done, and dressed, you make it to the taxi you ordered. He asks you one too many times where the hell you're going. You ignore him every time.

“Here,” you say as you pull his headphones up from his shoulders and place them over his messy hair. “I made a playlist for you.”

He blinks, looking utterly confused. “You did what…?”

“Just listen,” you murmur, averting your eyes. He always manages to make things awkward as hell.

As you go through the ride, he stops talking. He slightly bobs his head to the music. You smile. All that hard work actually paid off. As you reach your destination and get off the taxi, you thank the driver, and Tsukki tips him generously. He always did, wherever you went. A restaurant, a cafe, if someone was working - they were getting tipped.

“Good playlist,” he comments, glancing around at the area you’ve brought him to. You find yourselves in front of a beautiful temple. “Have you taken me all the way out here to kill me? Why the fuck are we in the next city?”

You don't want to give him the real answer, so you bend the truth a little bit, "Chill, Tsukki. This isn't Criminal Minds. I thought we'd be tourists for a day. Thought you'd like it."

"Since when have you been this thoughtful?" he asks with a scoff. "Did the real Y/N die?"

"Eat shit. Come on," you say, walking down the hill toward a street buzzing with activity. It was the weekend, so the crowds were to be expected. But you knew Tsukki wasn't fond of crowds, which is why you planned to take him somewhere calmer.

"I'm serious," Tsukki continues as he catches up to you and walks beside you. "Did the real Y/N get replaced by an alien or what?"

"Real Y/N is standing right here and will throw you into a bus."

"Ouch. Real Y/N is a bitch."

"Looks like we have a lot in common," you reply with a humble smile.

Tsukki hums. "That and now we're both gonna die single."

So much for distraction. You both wait by a crosswalk to go across the street. You don't respond, and he continues.

"At least we'll be single together?"

You look at him, your best friend, and it hurts. He doesn't know, and how could you tell him, especially right now? So you swallow the burning feeling in your chest and snap back with your usual sass.

"I'm not dying single," you assert as the light turns red, and you both walk across the street.

"All the years I've known you, and you've dated one guy. And he was gay."

You sulk at the reminder. He was so cute too. "And I support him in all his future endeavors. Still, that doesn't mean I'm willing to die a virgin."

Tsukishima laughs in the most cruel way. "Imagine dying a virgin? Haha, that's gonna suck."

You push him, maybe a little too hard, and he almost goes flying into a car. Oops. "Fuck off."

"It's okay, Y/N," he says, patting your back. "One day."

"Fuck all the way off."

He wasn't entirely wrong, though. It had been too many years, and maybe you would die single. If he wasn’t such a government-approved idiot, perhaps things would be different. But here you were.

You both walk a little more before ending up at Japan's most famous geology museum. Tsukki’s eyes twinkle with excitement, and you can’t help but smile, knowing him well.

“I dislike you a little less right now,” Tsukki says.

You chuckle. "I love you too, Kei."

The entire morning and afternoon are spent exploring the museum. You enthusiastically run from one exhibit to another, discovering towering fossils, mesmerizing mineral specimens encased in glass, and interactive displays. Tsukki makes sure to touch each rock formation. His interest is child-like but so genuine. You even manage to catch the attention of one of the workers, who kindly offers you both a specialized tour. Tsukki asks a plethora of questions, using terms you couldn’t be paid enough to understand.

"Nerd," you murmur after he asks a particularly difficult question.

“You failed geology,” he reminds with a smirk, causing the worker to stifle his laughter.

“Your dumbass failed anatomy," you shoot back, making the worker double over in laughter.

“It's only because YOUR dumbass was impossible to cheat from."

The worker at the museum seemed to have a blast with you, and he ended up letting you two keep a small dinosaur toy meant for the kids. You couldn’t resist teasing Tsukki, saying that the little figurine has to be his long-lost cousin. He pretended not to care, but you knew he secretly loved it. You bet he’d sneakily put it on his shelf later, trying to act all cool about it.

The ride back is quiet. You must’ve dozed off without realizing it. Your head was resting comfortably on Tsukki’s shoulder until he gently wakes you up, once you reached his apartment. He insists on you staying over, not wanting you out late like this.

Now, you're wrapped in the softest blanket you've ever felt in your life, watching Jurassic Park. You’ve both been incredibly quiet since you got back. Tsukki had said maybe three words in total.

You worry for a moment. That maybe, even after all that, he's not okay.

“I’m sorry if I’m being boring right now. I’m just lost in my thoughts,” His voice almost startles you. It’s not how it usually is, heavy and strong. He seems tired. You both sit on opposite ends of the couch, a bowl of popcorn between you.

"You’re always like this,” you reply with a casual shrug.

Tsukki rolls his eyes, but then you lean closer, lightly bumping his shoulder. “I don’t mind being bored with you.”

A rare smile sneaks onto Tsukki’s face, and that’s enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“You’re so irritating.” He says.

“But you love me,” you counter.

He sighs but then unexpectedly reaches out to pull you closer. Your eyes widen as he moves you towards him. Fuck.

“I don’t love you,” he claims, his voice oddly cool. However, to your surprise, he leans down and rests his head on your shoulder, and in that moment, you melt.

Damn it.

“Okay,” you respond softly. What else is there to say?

He pauses, as if carefully choosing his words. “Thank you for today. Seriously. I know I can be an ass, but this meant a lot.”

Why does he have to say things like this?

“Don’t mention it,” you say with a smile, trying to hide the butterflies swirling inside your stomach. Tsukki shakes his head and shifts his focus back to the movie.

While you managed to solve one issue, your own only grew more and more. Kei Tsukishima. He would be the death of you.

How To: Lose Feelings For an Idiot?

You don’t. They only grow.

a/n: when i said slow burn i rly did mean slow burn lol. i like this opening to the fic! the others boys will show soon i promise hehe, mostly yamaguchi honestly.

taglist !!! @kei-tsuki21 @marga-j @xxizuchanxx @horr0rvacu1 @lavenderhotcoco @sami-stable @awkwardaardvarkforever @rorygilmoreclown

[heyiappreciateyourshoelaces]

My personal Glamrock headcanons:

Glamrock Freddy

•Is a very nurturing guy all around

•like, father figure to all-

•Can be prone to anxious moments, but is freakishly good in situations most people would call stressful

•my guy is an AMAZING problem solver around the plex, completely by accident.

‘Damn, that pipe is broken.’

‘ I could cut that hanging sheet of metal and use my thumb lighter to weld it on until a professional gets here?’

‘… damn, Freddy.’

•Is everyone’s personal therapist until he has a mental breakdown and ends up just having to cry in Bonnie bowl with some icecream.

Glamrock Chica

•Is bubbly as SHIT

•this girl has no chill and all the ADHD

•can be a little bit much sometimes

•literally BOLTS around the plex and stresses everyone out because they’re worried she’ll step on someone

•likes to sit and do arty things with Roxanne.

Glamrock Monty

•classic scary bad boy, but is fiercely protective to the point of physical violence-

•loyal to a concerning degree. This man would help you get away with murder of you asked him too.

•gives great advice (sometimes)

•gives AWFUL advice a lot of the time.

‘Amy’s giving me trouble again…’

‘Frame her for something.’

‘… like stealing the boss’s stuff?’

‘Like murder.’

Glamrock Roxy

•She comes off as pretty cold at first

•she struggles to be comfortable with people

•but once she is, goddamn, this woman is the sweetest

•Roxy likes to mess around in her salon with friends

•she likes to get creative. She’s very artistic.

•she’s actually the kindest soul-

•like it gives people whiplash, with she 180 she pulls.

•also, fiercely loyal

•my girl is insecure-

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

oh my starsssss i loved the new chapter so so much!!!!! You literally made my day!!

I absolutely adore the Damn Crew in both the canon and in your FFAU. The way they all are genuinely just a little family is something i hold so dear in my heart. i’m such a sucker for the found family trope, so seeing all the Damn boys taking care of not just Freelancer, but Caelum as well brings me so much joy.

i do feel for Gavin. worrying about people is genuinely such a painful thing, and him begging Fl to quit, to not worry him like this again, was such a heartbreaking thing to read. Gavin is one of my all time favorite characters in the redacted universe, so it was such a treat to see him in this.

Does Freelancer know about Quinn?? were they ever told about how Quinn was definitely stalking them as well? (if you can’t answer this due to spoilers for future chapters feel free to ignore, im jut rambling as usual haha)

oh man, i feel so bad for Sweetheart. i can’t even imagine how frustrating it must be for them to feel like they’re just sitting there, even though they need to recover. they’re a problem solver, so to be stuck there must be absolutely agonizing.

Milo and Colm sharing certain traits makes me smile. the complex relationship between Milo and Colm and Sh and Colm is something i absolutely love how you explore. your representation of this relationship, of the layers and nuance to it, is just everything to me. So many people just see things in black and white but you peel back that curtain, that haze, and show all the grays and complexity to those situations.

Darlin’ seeing the scars, oh my stars, the way my heart broke for them. The way i have always interpreted Darlin’s character, in both the canon and in your fic, is someone who will take all the hits so no one else has to. I saw this one quote once that was like “i want revenge from my hand, so no one else’s had to get hurt.” and that to truly represents their character, so them seeing their name carved into someone, into the friend, into their friends partner, by someone who, in their head, they brought into these people’s lives? stars, i can only imagine how devastating this must’ve been for them. it feels like they’re reaching a breaking point, and i can only wait on the edge of seat to see what happens. (which, props to your phenomenal storytelling for that, stars above)

aaaa I love getting more backstory on Lovely and Vincent in your AU!!! the loooooore makes me so happy. Vincent was the second redacted character i even listened to, so he holds such a place in my heart. I really hope that he’s okay! your writing is so immersive that i genuinely feel like i’m in Lovely’s shoes, having to just wait to see what happens, if Vin is okay, if he’s lost any function, and what their future will look like when he wakes up.

all in all, such an amazing chapter! i love your writing so much, thank you for feeding my hypetfixation that is your FFAU!

have a great day, night, or evening!

-🌃

(ps: i did not proof read this, it’s so late, i apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar errors TvT)

I'm so glad you enjoyed it my friend!!

I love the DAMN crew so much and I love writing them!! Their found family is so important to me. It was so vital to me when I decided that Caelum was going to be Freelancer and Gavin's kid that all of the DAMN crew were his parents.

Gavin is GOING THROUGH IT!! I don't know if anybody reading has had to try and calm down a melting down kid but it's a STRUGGLE and it's even worse when in a fucking hospital while the person who usually helps you is unconscious?? It's fucked up. Poor thing is struggling. I love writing Gavin so much and I'm so excited to get to include him a bit more in this!!

Freelancer does not know about Quinn. It was decided by Sweetheart and David that, the fewer people who knew about this the better. Quinn was going to stalk the firehouse anyway, and any indication that somebody knows he's there could influence him to attack. It's a helpless decision, made in the knowledge that Quinn could choose to hurt any of them and they could only react, that they're all playing with a different rule book than Quinn is. There really isn't another decision for them to make at the moment.

Oh Sweetheart, one of the biggest doers in the RedactedVerse, stuck in a bed for weeks?? They're going insane. They'd be going insane no matter what, but throw in the fact that their family is in danger and they're just on this side of ballistic.

I LOVE MILO AND COLM'S COMPLEX RELATIONSHIP!!!!! God, dude, the idea that Colm is Just a bad guy or Just a victim to his disease is robbing his story of it's humanness! I have a complex relationship with my own dad. He made a lot of bad decisions when I was a kid and didn't do right by me and my siblings. But!! He's a human being. He's grown. He's changed. And that has improved our relationship. I believe in such a future for Milo and Colm! Colm isn't quite there yet, he's not sober, and he has a lot of work to do on himself, but he wants to. He wants to be there for his kid. That means something. From someone in Milo's shoes, that means something.

This was, in Quinn's mind, meant to be somewhat of a final warning. He's showing them very explicitly that every mark he leaves on their family is their fault. We as an audience know that's not true, every other character in this story knows this isn't true, even QUINN knows it's not true, but Darlin' thinks so! He's feeding on their insecurities, that they're dangerous, deadly, that all they do is hurt the people they love. Darlin' probably heard the phrase "you break everything you touch" as a kid and really took it to heart. This... this is a devastating blow.

Lovely and Vincent!! I love them so much. I will say that nobody is dying. Every action Quinn takes in this piece will have tangible effects (ie Sweetheart's scars). I will tell you 100% that Vincent survives this.

Thank you so much for shooting me this ask buddy!! More to come soon!!!

[blehblehbleh735]

Sash Sabotage (Miss Universe!Reader x Chris Sturniolo)

Word count: 1.5k Content: Suggestive (a little), fluff Status: "just friends" IDEA IS MY OWN

The air backstage was a mix of expensive perfume, hairspray, and high-stakes nerves. You were seconds away from stepping onto the stage for the next segment of the Miss Universe competition, wearing a breathtaking, crystal-studded gown that had been perfectly fitted. Every detail had been perfected—except for one very, very annoying problem. Your sash had decided to betray you.

"Chris!" You hissed, gripping the oversized white and gold sash that read Italy in elegant lettering. It was supposed to lay flawlessly across your body, but instead, one of the ends had come loose from the discreet pin securing it to your dress, leaving it to dangle awkwardly against your hip.

"It’s falling off! I can’t go out there like this!"

Chris, who had absolutely no business being in the backstage area but had somehow charmed his way in (or more likely, snuck past security) was standing there looking like the only guy in a sea of hairspray and sequins.

"Alright, lemme see," he said, stepping in way too close, fingers already reaching for the delicate fabric.

"Fix it," you whispered, panic rising in your throat. "Like, now."

Chrisnever the problem solver (and by problem solver, you meant troublemaker), nodded with all the confidence of a man who had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

"Easy. I got this."

And that’s when everything went to hell.

Instead of properly adjusting the pin, Chris accidentally tugged on the sash too hard, sending the entire thing slipping further down your body. You gasped, feeling the fabric pull at the delicate fastenings of your dress.

"Oh shit—hold on," Chris muttered, catching the sash before it could fall completely. His fingers scrambled against the fabric, and in his attempt to fix it, his knuckles brushed right against the side of your thigh, then a little higher, and then...

"Chris!" you yelped, gripping his wrist. "What are you even?!"

"I'm trying to pin this damn thing! Stay still!"

But before you could get him to stop, you both heard the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.

Your biggest competition in the pageant, Celeste, stood a few feet away, arms crossed, a slow smirk stretching across her face.

"Well, well, well," she said, her voice dripping with fake politeness. "What exactly are you two doing back here?"

Your eyes widened in horror.Chris was still standing way too close, one hand gripping your sash and the other suspiciously low on your hip. From an outside perspective—and definitely from Celeste's point of view, it looked like he was either getting handsy or trying to undress you backstage.

"This isn’t..." You started, but Celeste cut you off with a knowing laugh.

"Oh, don’t mind me. You two can continue... whatever this is," she said, waving a manicured hand at you. "Just know that the cameras are everywhere."

Chris, instead of stepping back like a normal person, only made it worse.

"Ayo that sounds kinda accusatory. We got a problem, Miss Runner-Up?"Celeste's eyes flared at the dig, and you smacked Chris on the chest.

"Shut up," you hissed. "You’re making it worse."

Celeste hummed, tapping her chin in mock thought. "I don’t know… maybe the judges would find it interesting that one of the contestants is getting a little too friendly with an audience member before walking on stage."

Chris straightened up finally backing away, but the damage was done. The smirk on Celeste's face told you everything...she wanted this rumor to spread.

You groaned, yanking Chris by the wrist and dragging him toward a less crowded corner of the backstage area.

"Fix it. Now. Before I lose my mind."Chris let out a low whistle, giving you his signature lopsided grin. "Damn, didn’t know getting caught in a scandal was part of the pageant experience. Kinda fun, though."

You smacked his arm. "Shut up and fix my sash before I strangle you with it."

Finally, after a few more disastrous attempts (which included stabbing himself with the pin, almost ripping the sash completely, and more accidental hand placements that would definitely be misinterpreted), Chris managed to get it secured.

You let out a breath of relief, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Alright, not bad," you admitted. "Now, let’s just pray nobody makes this a thing."

Chris leaned against the wall, watching as you got ready to step onto the stage. "Oh nah this is definitely gonna be a thing."

He gestured toward the nearby crew members, who were very obviously whispering and sneaking glances at you two.

You closed your eyes, mentally preparing yourself for the onslaught of online speculation that would undoubtedly follow. "I hate you."Chris just smirked. "Uh huh. Now go win that crown, princess."

You shot him a glare before stepping onto the stage, already bracing yourself for the chaos that awaited once the internet got a hold of this.As soon as you stepped onto the stage, the flashing lights and roaring applause should have drowned out every thought in your head.

You were trained for this—poised, graceful, every step deliberate. But all you could think about was Chris’s voice in your ear minutes ago, that stupid smirk on his face, and the way Celeste had looked at you like she had just won the competition without even stepping on stage.

You kept your smile intact, but your mind raced. Is this really going to be a thing?

The answer came quicker than you expected.

The second the segment ended, and you returned backstage, one of the other contestants, Sofi, practically pounced on you.

"Oh my God," she whisper-yelled, grabbing your arm. "What is going on with you and that guy?"

Your stomach dropped. "What?"

"You and Chris Sturniolo," she clarified, eyes wide with amusement. "People are talking. Someone caught a video of you two backstage, and it looks really—" She waved her hands, searching for the word. "Intimate."

Your jaw clenched. "It wasn't intimate."

Sofia wiggled her brows. "Tell that to the internet."

Your phone buzzed in your dressing room like it had personally committed a crime. Every notification—Twitter, Instagram, TikTok—was already blowing up with mentions, tagged posts, and blurry backstage footage.

ohhhh THIS is why Chris Sturniolo is at Miss Universe?? 👀

lmao they thought they were being sneaky??? babe the cameras are literally everywhere.

nah but the way he’s all up in her space like be honest…they been a thing???

You groaned, dropping your phone onto the vanity with a loud thud. Chris had officially turned your Miss Universe experience into a full-blown tabloid scandal.

And the worst part? You had a live press conference in less than an hour.

The press room was packed—journalists from every major entertainment outlet ready to dissect every moment of the competition so far. But you could already tell they weren’t just here for the usual pageant talk. The first question, from some gossip columnist in a bright pink blazer, confirmed your worst fear.

"So, Miss Italy," she started, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "Can you tell us a little bit about the… moment you shared backstage with Chris Sturniolo earlier tonight?"

The mic in your hand suddenly felt twenty pounds heavier. You forced a polite smile. "Oh, that? It was nothing. Just a wardrobe mishap, and he happened to be helping me fix it."

Another reporter cut in before you could breathe. "A very hands-on fix, no?"

The whole room chuckled, and you wanted to disintegrate.

"It was all taken out of context," you said carefully, keeping your tone light, casual. "Chris is a friend. That’s all."

As if summoned by your very words, your phone buzzed in your lap with a text from the menace himself.

Chris: damn, ‘a friend’? just a friend?

Chris: ur breakin my heart ma

You clenched your jaw, resisting the urge to scream.

The press conference finally moved on, and you made it through without further disaster, but the damage had been done. By the time you left the venue, the internet was already on fire.

And of course Chris was waiting for you outside.

Leaning against the car like he had zero responsibility for the media frenzy he just caused.

"You have no idea how much I wanna kill you right now," you greeted, shoving past him toward the passenger seat.

Chris chuckled, following you in. "C’mon, it’s kinda funny."

"You mean career-ruining?"

"Nah," he shrugged. "This is just free promo. People are obsessed with you now. I did you a favor.

"You turned to glare at him, but the smug, self-satisfied grin on his face made it impossible to take him seriously. "I hate you," you muttered for the second time that night.

Chris just leaned back, throwing an arm over the seat, his voice dripping with amusement.

"Love...hate...same thing."

And unfortunately, judging by the way your heart betrayed you in that moment—you weren’t entirely sure he was wrong.

[quitealotofsodapop]

So I finally read the little post about all the Joke Meme for Chapter 3 Teaser and it made me wonder… Does Erlang ever get a win? Or will he ever get one?

Like to start off our man is going on a mission—ope, no he’s not he out cold with the frying pan to the back of the head. Oh but he’ll remember what happened and be mad—no he won’t, he thinks he’s the one person in Heaven’s history that partied harder than Sun “Casually Drank 50 bottles of Heavenly Wine and got his 12th of 27 immortalities while hammered” Wukong cuz of how he woke up.

But wait, the Harbinger of Chaos is gone, problem solver and hey, Wukong got back together with some theatre bitch he used to wax poetic about—Erlang takes one moment, one singular moment, and remembers that he thought said theatre bitch died??? Cannot fact check. Moves on with life.

Oh but suddenly the Harbringer is back???? They never defeated him????—Its in some Monkey Kid with Wukong’s powers and he just makes the (smart) decision to not personally go down there unless directly ordered by The Jade Emperor. And hey, there’s the Jade Emperor now and wait why is he locking himself in his throne room?

What’s that? Azure Lion and The Brotherhood are back and on a rampage to kill the Emperor? We’ll buckle up boys! Time to stop this overglorified pussycat and hey, uh, has Azure always looked that good? Like, Erlang thought he looked gold back in the day but, damn, he ages like a fine wine—but in a total bro way! Like, it’s not that he fantasized about Azure or anything in the past or present and wow did he always look good in the sunlight and battle? Wow…

All my rambling to say that from what I gather of Erlang Shen’s story trajectory is that he just unknowingly keeps taking L’s and I find it absolutely hilarious.

Erlang's whole vibe for the first couple of chapters is:

Wakes up covered in wine and dog slobber with the peach attendants yelling at him cus they think he partied Too Hard after a successful mission. Later the Jade Emperor congradulates him on a job well done, with SWK standing there smiling nervously with a broken egg shell thing? And in the corner Nezha's getting yelled at by General Li Jing for some reason??

Erlang's third eye is like "I dunno man. We must've been toasted last night." And Erlang just decides to play along with a stoic look on his face.

I love the idea of his Third Eye acting as a fact checker, but it doesnt give him the context or changelogs.

Erlang, thinking real hard: "Wait... isn't Wukong's mate dead?" *old 90s computer noises* "Nah he aint. Good for them."

And ofc Azure has been doing probation with Manjusri, since Wukong and the Celestial army had to crack down on Camel Ridge. So he and Erlang occassionally interact and spar and whoops, giant lion man hot ( •///•)

I think part of the hilarity comes from the fact that Erlang is destined to win his historical encounter with Sun Wukong no matter what. So in the au, he just keeps getting non-fatal Ls by just minding his own business.

He might just get a win however... if a certain nephew plays nice with that axe of his.

[xamaxenta]

Sabo feeling honest to god grateful to WB for taking Ace in and giving him a sense of family and purpose but also being kinda resentful and jealous of the fact that Ace got a whole back tattoo dedicated to him ??? If he thinks about it too much he gets super territorial. He does love his spot on Ace’s arm he truly does but also ends up scratching Ace’s back every time they fuck because he can’t help but feel disgruntled at the thought of another man’s mark taking so much space on Ace’s body

This is so cute and catty, classic Sabo vibes right here like he tries not to think about it tooooo much but Sabos a thinker, a problem solver he’s mathematical in his thought process and he keeps circling around the problem of that damn tattoo

[mass-convergence]

Let me just say that ever since I’ve gotten my diagnosis I’ve had my eyes open to the ways ADHD has utterly impacted my life. Between the emotional regulation, rejection sensitivity, failure to “reach my potential” (which is slight bullshit because any calculation of potential has to factor in the fact that I have ADHD), my chronic messiness, etc.

But never have I felt like my brain is fundamentally broken until this morning. Not going into too much detail but let’s just say I got a very critical review of some of my performance at some of the more tedious aspects of my job.

And like yeah I know my brain isn’t broken. It’s different, it’s weird, it’s fucking annoying, but it’s not broken. Like 20 years of my life have been steeped in so much deep shame about not being able to function like “everybody else”. That I do actually need someone to keep after me to do shit, not because I’m lazy or don’t know how to take care of myself or need someone to manage my life, but because my brain just grabs onto something for a hot minute and then lets go the moment the novelty wears off. But sometimes you’ve got to keep with the thing. And while I don’t like to just say “yeah it’s my ADHD” because I feel like that’s not really the greatest way to explain it versus stating the actual symptom and some ways people have coped with it, like … it IS my ADHD.

As much as I sometimes wish so hard that my brain just wasn’t like this, that with the right combination of diet and exercise and drugs and a therapist telling me the right things … that suddenly I’ll become neurotypical or some shit … that’s not how this works. I can’t change my brain chemistry or how my brain processes shit. That’s literally just how my brain developed. You can’t change it that’s not how that works. You can cope and you can medicate but you can’t like idk, pray or medicate or talk the ADHD away.

But god damn if it isn’t fucking hard. And like there are articles that say that people with ADHD are a benefit to a workplace and they’re creative, they’re problem solvers, they can be super productive if given the right project… but like … as much as I appreciate that? ADHD can be a fucking shitshow in a workplace as well (granted its workplaces that are not really friendly to ADHD with a neurotypical management staff that doesn’t understand or doesn’t care to make accommodations). And the idea of ADHD in the mainstream is still someone who’s on Ritalin or Adderall who gets distracted by squirrels.

Idk man. It’s just hard and I’m just so fucking tired.

[skylarstark4826]

There is a hole in her side, a burning in her lungs, an ache in her heart, and a man at her feet. He’s looking up at her with half-lidded eyes, breathing fast and shallow, pain etched clearly into his face. She painted it there, dipped her claws into his skin like they were brushes and he was a palette, the finished piece a truce rather than the vengeance she thought she had been seeking.

She got as good as she gave, if the blood sliding down her leg on the inside of her suit and pooling in her boot is any indication. She doesn’t have her beads with her; there’s nothing she can do, for now, other than hope she doesn’t bleed out.

The beach they’re on is quiet, the sound of the waves lapping on the shore a soft susurrus mingling with the roar of the aircraft on fire behind her.

“What now?” Namor asks, voice mingling with the crackling of the fire. He hasn’t moved since she threw her weapon down into the sand; that moment seems like hours ago, but Shuri knows it could have only been a minute at most.

Her brain spins into action, but she’s never been a politician. She’s a scientist. Her world is mathematics and schematics and equations, not glad-handing and negotiating and whatever else it was the rest of her now-deceased family was so good at.

Grief rises up in her throat like the tide; she presses down on it with all of the strength she has left. The man at her feet is responsible for taking the last of her family from her, but all the need for vengeance has fled from her bones. She feels, for the first time in years, at peace. But there’s an itch under her skin still when she looks at him, something that she can’t name that won’t abate.

Pushing it aside to a different place then where she puts her grief, she says, “We need to stop the fighting on the Sea Leopard. Our people will kill each other and this will mean nothing.”

Namor smiles up at her, somewhat. It doesn’t stretch all the way across his face. She doesn’t think he has the strength for it.

“How do you suggest that?” he asks, one of his hands raising a few millimeters from the ground before uselessly flopping back down. “I can not hardly move, Princess.”

Shuri purses her lips.

Show him who you are, her mother had said. Her mother, whom he had killed, in a way. Her mother, who was still with her, even though she was gone and buried.

She knows, down in the depths of her heart, that if she’s anything, she is more than the Black Panther. More than the Princess of Wakanda. More than a scientist. At her core, she’s a helper. A problem solver.

“We need to get you into the water. Then I can hail a ride.” She has her earrings in still, a one-way link to Griot. She takes a step back from where she stands over him, moving so her feet are on either side of his knees rather than his hips. “Sit up.”

He looks at her as though he hadn’t just made it clear he didn’t think he could move. Exhales loudly through his nose with his whole chest; Shuri sees him grit his teeth before he begins to move, one agonizing motion at a time.

She retracts her claws and holds her hands out to him, patient. Another act of kindness when she had wanted nothing but to kill him over the last few days. She stoops as well, decreasing the distance he has to reach out to grab her by the hands.

Shuri knows if she stoops any lower, she’ll never get back up.

It takes a moment, but he reaches out.

He screams when she hauls him to his feet in one ungentle movement, backpedaling to give him the space to stand without letting him go.

“Was that necessary?” Namor huffs, breath coming fast and heavy, unsteady on his feet. She moves to steady him, letting go of his hands and moving to loop one of his arms over her shoulders instead, wrapping a hand around his wrist and placing the other around around his wrist.

She ends up taking most of his weight as he leans on her, his shoulder pressing up against her cheek. His skin is dry and rough, covered in sand, and he smells of charred flesh.

She’s sure she doesn’t smell much better.

“Would you have rather I pulled you up slowly and caused you pain over a longer period of time? It was like ripping off a bandaid this way.” She can feel him side eyeing her, but he says nothing. Just leans on her a little harder than necessary, when she knows he can take at least some of the weight he’s putting on her. She might have the strength of the Black Panther, but he’s heavy. “Are you ready?”

He takes the first tentative step forward as an answer, and she has no choice but to follow.

Together they limp towards the surf, one agonizing step at a time. Namor’s face is locked in a grimace, and Shuri thinks hers might be as well. The hole in her side makes her skull pulse, and she wishes now more than ever she had thought to wear her bracelet.

She knows, better than anyone, that the Black Panther is not invincible.

It feels as though it takes a lifetime and a half to reach the edge of the surf. They have to readjust their grip on each other several times on their short trip, Shuri eventually ending up with her hand fisted in the waistband of Namor’s shorts.

They don’t stop walking when the waves begin to lap at their feet. They keep going, past their ankles, past their knees, all the way up to Shuri’s waist. She loosens her grip on him then, removes her hand from his clothing and loosens her grip on his wrist.

He slips under the water ungracefully, like a drunk elephant seeing an oasis for the first time in months. His wrist slips out of her hand; blond panic seizes her for a moment, icy around her heart, until he bobs back up to the surface, eyes closed, entire body boneless on the water.

He looks a little better already, a little less faded around the edges, skin a little less flaky. She reaches out and places a hand on each of his shoulders, grounding him so he doesn’t float away.

“Griot, alert one of the pilots that we need a ride.” Her voice is quiet under the noise of the ocean, barely audible to her own ears. She just hopes Griot—or any of the pilots—will come through. That she and Namor still have countries to return to.

She pushes the thought away, buries it for later like she’s been burying everything else. It isn’t healthy, she knows, but now isn’t the time to unpack and examine every little thing that skitters across the forefront of her mind. She has stacks and stacks of problems building up around her, towers of dominoes threatening to collapse at any given moment. But here’s a trick she taught herself: they can’t collapse if she doesn’t think about them.

“I apologize for stabbing you,” Namor says, pulling her out of her thoughts, floating in the surf with his eyes closed and face toward the sun. His arms bob with the tide, stretched out on either side of him as she holds him in place by the shoulders. Her wound burns with every breath she takes, the edge of her vision spotty, salt water licking at the bottom of it as the tide ebbs and flows around her.

She tilts her head back toward the sky. The sun is warm on her skin, reminding her that she is alive. But she’s not about to apologize for what it took for her to still be standing there. “Will your wing grow back, do you think?”

He huffs out the smallest of laughs. The noise washes over her, warm and comforting, and there’s a surprising part of her that finds that she wants to make him do it again.

“No. No, I think you clipped it for good. Grounded me. I will never reach the heights I have been to, never touch the sun again. I have fallen, and I will never be able to rise again.”

“Do we need to get a life alert for your dramatic ass?” This feels like familiar territory, with an unfamiliar man.

Namor opens his mouth, likely to ask a question and just as likely to fire back, as the hum of engines fills the air. Shuri looks to the sky, and there hovers their rescue.

She looks back down to the man in her hands, and they both know this reprieve has reached it’s end.

But Shuri tells herself it won’t be the last. Not by a long shot.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

hi! I wanted to request a Harry Potter Marauders matchup.

Firstly I am FTM and use he him pronouns and would prefer to be matched with a man but realistically I'm fine with any I just have a preference for men.

I have blue eyes and wear glasses because I have trouble seeing far away I dye my hair a lot my hair is currently half black half purple but it should be a different color if I like the same time next week I am also a bit chubby. I've given myself lots of sticking pokes I have some on my hands my legs I have a crescent moon on my hand a star on my hand a triangle on my middle finger I left and right on each hand respectively as well as quite a few more.

Some of my interests/hobbies include psychology, the Marauders (obviously lol) Reading, writing, crocheting, listening to music, exploring, swimming, decorating, organizing, and drawing.

I'm currently listening to a lot of Chase Atlantic, suicide boys, David bowie, Ozzy osbourne, Rob zombie, and my personality is very quiet until you get to know me and then I'm loud and chaotic I have been called shameless quite a lot and when I'm with the people I care about I'm outgoing and loyal to a fault I'm also stubborn and struggle to talk about how I feel and how much people matter to me so I often jokingly bully the people I care about as a love speaking of love languages my giving love language is acts of service and physical touch and my receiving is words of affirmation and physical touch. my Meyer briggs personality is intj-t. I'm a Virgo sun, Libra rising Sagittarius moon. I'm a huge problem solver. I also have severe C-PTSD and am auDHD.

I'm a bit all over the place, and can be hypocritical when the people I care about won't take care of themselves (even though I'm probably worse at self care than they are) I'm the type of person who'll give you the clothes off my back, and will drop everything for those I love.

With that in often swamped in responsibility and never take a damn break

Hello! I hope you enjoy your matchup!

---

(Romantic);

---

Harry Potter (Marauders);

Sirius Black:

💕 You met Sirius during Hogwarts, but didn't actually get to know the guy until a year after graduating, you met at a record shop - Sirius seemed lost, his eyebrows furrowed and seemingly confused as he slowly walked around, looking at records; you were in the market for a new David Bowie record, and you really wanted to help him, but you didn't want to bother him - it didn't seem to matter though, since he walked right up to you and asked for your recommendation (he admitted that he didn't know any Muggle bands, and that he recognized you from his years at Hogwarts, and thought that you could help)

💕 You helped, thought a bit awkward and quiet, showing him such artists like Rob Zombie, David Bowie, and Ozzy Osbourne; and before the both of you knew it, you and Sirius ended up getting a drink together at the cafe attached to the record shop - which then - long story short - you ended up spending more time together

💕 Once official, you notice that Sirius is very interested and practically hypnotized by your stick-poke tattoos; he'd often find himself tracing them, complimenting them, wanting you to give him a tattoo - at some point down the line, you do

💕 Sometimes when the two of you have a tough day or just want to relax, you and Sirius will just sit in a quiet room together, either crocheting, reading, or drawing - and when the two of you want to go outside and have fun, you and Sirius often just go out exploring, checking out downtown, forests, and local parks; maybe even go out swimming at a local pool or lake

💕 Sirius often likes complimenting your hair, he's fascinated by how talented you are (dying your hair all by yourself), and is always anticipating the next set of colors your hair would become in a matter of weeks - he especially likes whenever you do blue and black, like your Ravenclaw house, and whenever you dye your hair red, for his house

[swampgh0stt]

I really couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so I had to write it out. slight (one-sided) mention of Henry/William but I am an advocate for (aftonbuilt)Mechanic/William sorry

this goes along with the canon established in my fic (Never Alone) where William convinced T’aaku that he is actually the victim of the Fazbear Murders but we all know that isn’t true

William would have to be blind to not notice. 

That withdrawn, shadowy nature of the mechanic rang familiar in the most bittersweet sense. He was creative, a problem-solver, and it was quite obvious that a part of him just stayed locked away-- withdrawn in his own mind. Often, William noted how his favored mechanic relied heavily upon his canine companion for emotional support, which is why he was hardly ever separated from Shane. And even now, as he mulled over a project with such intense dedication that he had foregone eating again, William could not ignore the striking similarities. 

Henry was the same way. 

The rest of the world be damned, in William’s eyes; Henry was a genius. Back then, he had convinced himself of his own feelings for his business partner-- the quiet man with no sense of business practice, who just wanted to create and pursue his dreams. Hardly an entertainer, he had no sense of style or showmanship. The world had been so cruel to him prior to their fated meeting, leaving Henry reserved in response to his own traumatized state. 

His only outlet had been his creations. 

“You remind me of him…” William couldn’t stop himself. The words fell without much thought (or, perhaps, too much thought as he found himself stuck in his own head when it happened). 

T’aaku paused, wrench in hand. He finally pulled his gaze away from the animatronic he had been repairing, his brow furrowed together. William wasn’t able to read the mechanic’s expression behind the mask and goggles, but he seemed unsure. When no further context followed, T’aaku pressed for it: “Who?” There was trepidation in his voice. He already knew the answer. 

William hesitated a moment longer. 

“The murderer?” There was some hint of disdain in his words, as T’aaku asked for clarification. “The… monster that-- did this to you?” Resentment followed soon after.

Finally, William spoke again: “Not-- as he is now. The man I knew back then. Before all this…” His gaze shifted away, realizing his mistake. He shouldn’t have said anything at all. “The one I worked closely with.” 

The one who he shared many a late night with, in the diner. The one who lived in every romantic fantasy that plagued him: shotgunning smoke and cigarette kisses, whispered desires in the back room; all the wants that never reached fruition and were locked away in William’s heart. He could live them now, at least partly, through T’aaku. And he would be lying to himself if he said his feelings for T’aaku were nothing more than just a replacement for Henry… but they had started as such. 

“I… don’t know what to say,” the mechanic also looked away. He felt uncertain of himself, suddenly. “I don’t think anyone wants to be compared to a monster, but…” His shoulders slumped with some resignation. “Well…” A confession of sorts started to form on his tongue, only to immediately die on his lips. He would not breathe light of that (horrible) seal hunt today. “No, it doesn’t matter.” T’aaku shook his head and returned to the task at hand, as if nothing happened. 

And for once? William decided to leave it at that.