#did he just fizzle out or was he turned into another god? who knows!

[xxswagcorexx]

gosh i cant stop thinking about red being an old god because. there are SO many things u can work into that concept when it comes to worldbuilding (esp if you work in stuff with ash). like, the idea of red being an old god and ash being a newer god who shares a few practices with red's religion (and also lets be real since this ramble is gonna follow a lot of stuff with greek mythology)/cult is soooo fascinating to me bc it leads to fun things like the same rituals being done but for different reasons is sooooo interesting to me

like for example in my made up symbolism about them, i think that they'd both use blood in their rituals, but have different concepts/ideas for them. like with red's religion, i can imagine that rituals are often done with your own blood and mostly done for blood pacts, as red has a ton of themes of loyalty and that being reflected in his religion is sooo interesting. but on the other hand, ash's religion would use your enemy's blood as a sacrifice/sign of triumph, as well as a sign of loyalty to ash as a god. i think it would fit in so well with his constant hunt on having the upper hand/power and its sooooo. its so interesting to me this concept scratches my brain soooo bad

and going along with the old god thing, i think it would be fun if both of their cults met up enough that they started sharing their cultures with the other, and eventually adopting some of the same rituals into their respective beliefs. red would be the older religion that's not as worshiped compared to ash's (probs bc im thinking of red's religion as more of an ideology than a religion that offers stuff like grace or material goods LOL), but the fact they'd slowly be involved with the other to the point where you can feel the other's religion effect the other even if one has more followers than the other is soooooo. imagine the mythology with them it would go SO HARD

[neysaadept]

heyyyy,

I LOVE your Emily fics and only just saw you’re taking requests!! Congrats on the followers.💗 I was wondering if you could do an Emily/Reader fic maybe with the prompts “they didn’t deserve you” and “why are you doing this”, (early days in the relationship) where it’s Christmas time and Emily mentions in passing how she always spends Christmas alone cause it’s too much to go to her parents and reader decides to surprise her by making dinner and bringing it to her on Christmas Day! Emily is confused because she’s never had this kind of care or treatment and reader says she deserves it ( maybe first time saying ily?)

anyways just an idea and NO pressure if it’s stupid lmao! Ily

thanks

Please let me know what you think of this. It got really carried away and I really hope you liked what I did with this. *hides*

Take a Chance

Emily Prentiss x Female Nurse!Reader

Tags - No use of Y/N, swearing, angst, fluff, meet cute, first Christmas. Minors DNI

Summary - Please refer to the ask for summary!

AO3

Word Count: 4.4k

As a nurse, you had few rules for who were out of bounds in dating. Doctors are a big hell no. Yes, it seems romantic and dreamy to fall for some sexy, brilliant, doctor but there is too much overlapping and fucked up hours to connect that things can fizzle out so quickly once you realize there is no compatibility. And god forbid you end up having to work with one another? So, so awkward after a breakup.

And yes, you’ve been there and done that. Never, ever, again. You moved out of ICU to have less contact with the intensivist, Dr. Vanessa Hyland, and the ER has been headhunting you for a while now. You took the opportunity and ran. It is a change of pace, but it had the same adrenaline vice that you crave working and triaging the unknown that walk through MedStar Washington Memorial that was close to the VA*.

Your exclusion list also includes paramedics, firefighters, police officers, and anyone in your department. You didn’t want someone that had similar bizarre hours as you and that you might end up seeing at work if shit hit the fan. Healthcare was a small world, and you didn’t need your exes in your immediate orbit.  You had enough drama at work and for the last year, the ER has become your work home and it has pushed you to pursue your license as a nurse practitioner. You had one year to go and were currently a resident.

You are career focused, intelligent and driven which currently made dating a low priority for you. Since the fling with Dr. Hyland fell through, you focus on yourself and enjoy being single since no one of genuine interest caught your fancy. And you stopped looking.

You didn’t realize your world was about to flip upside down when you knock on the window to Bay 3 in the ER and a deep voice said to come in.

That definitely didn’t sound like an Emily Prentiss to you. That must’ve been her partner speaking per the report given to you that he came along for the ambulance ride.

“Morgan, I can speak for myself …” came the snippy reply confirming your suspicions.

You pull the curtain back and take in the two feds in the room. The tall, dark, and muscular handsome fellow was hunched over the side rail before he saw you. “Hey, Doc. Mind telling princess here that she needs to behave?”

Your eyes dart to the woman on the cart who was squinting her best death glare at him. “I am behaving. I came here, didn’t I?”

With the concussion the female fed has, the bright lights of the room weren’t helping which made her glare pathetically cute. You turn the lights down, which the staff should have done in the first place.

“Better?” you say with an understanding smile.

She nods thankfully.

“Also, not a doctor. NP in training.” You walk in and introduce yourself. “So, shall I call you Emily or Agent Prentiss?”

She looks at you funny.

“Some feds have a stick up their ass about titles.”

“I definitely do not have a stick up my ass. Unless you count him?” She points a thumb at Morgan in all seriousness.

His face falls playfully with feign hurt, clutching at his chest. “Ouch, girl.”

“Hm,” you look thoughtfully between them and could feel the deeply rooted respect and love for these two partners. You decide to play along and return your attention to Emily. “Well, I’m sorry to say we don’t have a surgical consultant that specializes in that.” Then you wink. “I can always call security and throw him out if ya like.”

“Hey! Wait a second.” He lowers his hand accusingly. “You’re all not playing nice now.”

Emily chuckles. “I guess he can stay. He’s kinda my ride anyway.”

“Duly noted. Now, to business. May I?” You gesture to Emily’s head as you put on gloves. She nods and you start examining her scalp by gently running your fingers along her hair to smooth back to getting a better look. “The officer that was driving with you is doing OK. Same issue with head trauma after the T-bone. Do you remember hitting your head on anything before the airbags deployed?”

“Well, I was driving. Then we got the call on our suspect. Then we … we got the call on our suspect …” she shakes her head, wincing, trying to recall the memory before impact.

“Hey, if you don’t remember, it’s fine. I’m sure you know that. Doubt this is your first concussion?” You stop for a moment to make eye contact with Emily who rolls her eyes in affirmation. “Alright, well… you do have the start of a nice bruise here.”

You gently brush over the injury mid-scalp about halfway up from her left ear. “How’s the headache?”

“Pounding”, as she winces from your touch.

“Any nausea or vomiting?”

“No.”

“Dizziness or lightheadedness?”

“Nope.”

“Double or blurry vision?”

“A little. Tho it’s an improvement for Morgan’s looks.”

He whistles, shaking his head. “I’m letting that one slide since you’re suffering.”

You chuckle. “Alright, let me take a quick look at the rest of you. Anything else hurting that isn’t Morgan’s heart?”

That made her laugh as you pull the stethoscope over your head. “No. Nothing else hurts.

“Ladies, I’m starting to take offense now.” But he was all smiles.

You knew she suffered minor injuries from the ambulance report – contusions and small lacerations from shattered glass that didn’t require stitching. The officer on the passenger seat got cut worse being on the side of impact. You then listen to her heart, lungs and abdomen and palpate her stomach after making sure nothing was tender. Then did the same with her limbs testing neurological strength and any sore spots that may have been missed.

“Okay, Emily. Let’s get that CT done of your head.” You put the stethoscope back around your neck before placing your hands in your lab coat pockets. “If that comes back clean, I’ll release you home …” You see she’s about to ask a question you’re already anticipating. “… and no work until you’re medically cleared.”

She pouts rather prettily. You wish you didn’t notice. “And that also means no pretending to be cleared and going to work either.”

Morgan shakes his head and half smiles down at his partner. “Busted.”

“Had a feeling.” Morgan smirks between the two of you. “I’ll get those orders in.” You check your watch. “Should be done within the hour and we’ll go from there. If you need me, just call.”

Morgan steps around the bed to shake your hand. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” And you turn to look at Emily with a firm tone and playful eyes. “You behave.”

She huffs and settles back against the pillow, but Emily was fighting with a smile. To you it appears she was grumbling under her breath which was oh so common with law officials. When you leave the room, Morgan looks at Prentiss with a knowing look. In her state, she was genuinely confused. “What?”

“You’re making heart eyes with the nurse.”

“What? I … wasn’t. No way I was doing … whatever that thing you said I’m doing. It didn’t happen,” she says with a scowl.

“Heart eyes,” he reminds her.

 “Whatever,” she snips. “Has to be the head injury.”

“Uh huh.” He looks back at the curtains then at his partner. “She’s your type too …”

“I’m not having this conversation right now,” she says, stopping Morgan from talking further about the nurse that was definitely her physical type. Plus, you were clearly smart and had a fun side at the bedside that made her smile.

Morgan smirks, seeing the dopey look. He knows she’s thinking about you. “When you’re better, then.”

“I’ll probably won’t remember this stupid conversation then either.” She ends the topic by crossing her arms and looking away from Derek. A perfect model of a petulant Prentiss.

Emily does hates that he was right. The question that remains is if she was going to do anything about it after Morgan’s teasing that would inevitably come at a later date.

Two weeks went by since you discharged Agent Emily Prentiss and life went on. You were working a double today in the ER.

“Let’s get a bag of O neg going on Bay 2 and prep endo for a scope.” You put the orders in and use the inter-hospital chat through the EMR* with Dr. Aorsen who is the GI specialist on call. Poor patient had a bleeding ulcer.

One of the techs calls your name and you answer without looking up, continuing to type up the H&P* on the patient so there will be no delays in the procedure. You answer with a pen dangling between your teeth. “Yeah?”

“An Agent Prentiss is here to see you.”

The pen drops from your lips as you swivel your chair around to look at the disheveled tech in surprise. “Uh, what?”

You couldn’t have heard that right.

He throws a thumb over his shoulder and nods in confirmation. “Fed named Prentiss is here to see you.”

Your eyes dart around the room trying to figure out why she is here and come up empty. “Is she here by herself?”

“Yep.”

“O … kay. Yeah. I’ll see what she needs. Tell her I need ten minutes to finish something before I can see her. Thanks, Marc.”

“Kay.” He wanders off and you finish your necessary charting. You weren’t going to drop everything to speak with her just yet when a patient needs your attention. Though your mind couldn’t grasp why she was here. You sent over the medical report on Agent Prentiss to the FBI the same week you discharged her. Nothing was out of the ordinary in your report. She suffered a typical concussion and filled out all the workers’ compensation documentation for the feds. It was way worse than filling out the damn metro police claims, and it took over an hour to finish.

Once you have all the necessary orders and documentation for your patient to go to endo, you meander through the nurses’ station and down the hall to where Emily is waiting. She currently has her hands behind her back which shows off the gun holstered to her hip. The white button down was under a black blazer that made her professionally beautiful and it was nice to see her be more casual from the waist down with jeans and black work boots.

And then there you are in your navy-blue scrubs, lab coat, hair up in a messy bun, and a stethoscope hanging around your neck. She definitely looks put together and was easy on your tired eyes.

Emily is distracting herself as she waits for you by taking in all the scenery around her from laundry bins to rolling medical equipment. But when she sees you, she visibly perks up and shifts on her feet.

You wonder if Emily is nervous but that is ridiculous. You push that thought out of your mind as you smile to greet her. “This is a surprise, Agent Prentiss.”

“Ah, Emily’s just fine. This isn’t anything official.” She says it a bit too quickly that makes your brows raise up in question.

“Well, that’s good. I was wondering.” You look her up and down and see that’s she’s recovered nicely, even if she isn’t relaxed speaking with you. Her hands are still behind her back. “You look well.”

“So, do you,” she says a bit too quickly when your eyes narrow in thought to her response. “I mean … for working long hours are the ER. It’s not easy.”

Your head moves to the left in curiosity as to where this was going. “Definitely not, but I love it. Wouldn’t be anywhere else. Though …” you bring your arm up and slowly gesture towards back down the hall “ … I’m sorry to be abrupt but with patients waiting … can you let me know how I can help you, Emily?”

You see her look mortified at keeping you waiting and that is when her arms swing around to her front, one crossing her abdomen. She was definitely nervous, but it is unclear why.

“Yes, I did want to thank you and see …” She nervously licks her lower lip, and your eyes are inevitably drawn to the motion.

You were hanging on her next words. The moment between you is filled with the sounds of electronic beeps, a patient moaning in confusion, and then the old Batman TV show theme goes off alerting your hospital that an ambulance was calling in a patient on the emergency line affectionately dubbed ‘The Bat Phone’ by the hospital. That seemingly jolts her back from looking at anything but you.

“ … well, see … you,” she says bashfully.

Your eyes widen. “See me?” You sound as confused as you appear.

“Yes,” Emily confirms with a hesitant nod.

Your eyes dart upwards in continued bewilderment before settling on her hopeful-looking brown orbs. “Look, I’m a complete idiot right now. Why did you need to see me?” You smile brightly with encouragement.

That seemingly provides the necessary motivation to be direct. “Yes. Socially. As in … dinner …?” Though Emily did end the last part awkwardly and began to flick at her thumbnail that was lying against her thigh.

Now with Emily’s intentions clear, you take a step back in wonder. “You’re asking me … out?”

Seeing that you took a step back makes Emily frown, thinking you weren’t interested. “Well, I was …”

“And you came here. To ask me out.” Your continuation of confusion is making her slowly back up towards the exit.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I …” she loosens the hold she has on her stomach and gracelessly swings her arms as she is about to turn, and hits the linen cart, causing a pile of towels and washcloths to tumble onto the floor. “Oh my god! I am so sorry!”

She crouches down to pick them up as you do the same but sliding to your knees. This wasn’t your first laundry pile up in the ER. “Hey, it’s okay!”

“No, it’s not.” Emily’s pale face was flushing prettily, and it makes you smile. “I made a mess.”

“Sweetie, this isn’t even close to a mess in my ER. Ever drop a commode?” That makes her laugh and diffuses the tension between you a little, but she was avoiding eye contact with you.

You both work at cleaning up when the two of you end up grabbing a towel at the same time. There was a quick game of tug of war and that finally brought her eyes up to see you. She was nervous and expectant, ready to run off in a heartbeat.

You give her your answer. “Yes.”

Her head leans in with disbelief. “Yes … what?” She asks hesitantly, needing confirmation.

“Yes, I’ll go out with you.” And just like that, you broke your rule about dating officers. There was something enigmatically irresistible about her and Emily mustered the courage to come down to your place of work to ask you out. How sweet is that?

Emily is too fucking adorable as her face works through the shock of what you said. “Oh … kay.” She nods. “Good. I mean …” She grins wide and bright. “Great.”

You both remain on the floor for a couple of beats before you lower your head, eyes studying Emily with a coy look. “Does this mean I can have the towel back?”

She busts out laughing and finally lets go.

That was a little over a month ago and you found out on your first date that it was her partner, Morgan, that helped talk Emily through her concerns. She explained how he was not just a good friend but was also like a brother to her. You were happy that Emily took this chance, and it was the happiest time of your life. You never thought that you’d find a partner that was able to understand the demands of your job and education by someone not in healthcare. Emily’s job is mentally, physically and emotionally draining like yours and despite the differences in careers, you understand the depts of humanity. Emily saw the worst of it and tried to bring the criminals to justice or at least provide closure for the victims and families. You do the same in your own way trying to save as many lives as you can as well as being the one to break bad news to people who loved your patients fiercely. You also saw the worst in a different way – shootings, stabbings, rapes, protests gone ugly. You and DC metro had a lot to talk about a lot of time. But the times you make a child smile when feeling terrible, or provide information that eases the mind of a patient that was so scared of why they were sick, or even the simple bedside talk to show you were a human being that truly cared, it was worth all the shit you dealt with.

But in between the long hours and when Emily was out of town, you make time for one another. Simple dinners, going out to the movies, long walks discussing nothing and everything, but the best was when Emily took you to the Smithsonian to see the staff carefully place a Santa hat on the life size brontosaurus display since Christmas was just around the corner. You didn’t even know they did that, and Emily was so pleased with herself at seeing your face light up in wonder. You of course took a selfie together after it was placed, but it ended up being at an awkward angle where you both were laughing as you were pointing to the dinosaur.

When you weren’t together, you had long talks over the phone and constant texts when Emily was on a case to make sure she was doing alright, which she did for you too! You both cared about your workaholic selves and kept reminding each other to take a break, eat and drink more than just beer when off the clock. Emily was able to keep work at work when in the moment with you but you could hear the weight of Emily’s job straining her voice. A hint of raw insight to her true feelings. You never push. Your relationship was still new, and you both were still learning one another.

When Christmas came, you were coming off a sixteen-hour shift that started right before 7am Christmas Eve. You were exhausted, the status quo for any resident, but you were also determined. This was your first Christmas with Emily, and you wanted to make it special. She admitted that the relationship she has with her mother is complicated and didn’t need, nor want, to show her face at one of her mother’s extravagant Christmas parties. Emily would just be shown off for propriety’s sake. It was easier being home alone with leftovers that Rossi made on Christmas Eve of pasta, seafood, and amazing Italian beef and sausages right after midnight. Between that, the homemade cookies gifted to her by Garcia, and a six pack of Stella bottled beer, Emily settled in for the day watching Die Hard because it is, and always we be, a Christmas movie. If you wanted to disagree with her, Emily was ready to fight.

By mid-afternoon, John McClane is crawling through the air vents and iconically complaining about ‘Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs…’ line when there’s a knock at Emily’s door. This confuses her because she wasn’t expecting anyone and you were at the hospital working. You told her that this morning over the phone during a break that, unsurprisingly, the hospital was short staffed, and they needed you. She put down Garcia’s festively colored frosted chocolate cookies and went to see who it was.

Which is why when she looks out through the peephole of the door, she gasps and quickly starts unlocking the door. She holds out her arms in surprise at the sight of you and speaks an octave higher in greeting. “What are you doing here?! You said you had to work tonight!”

She was all smiles seeing you … and you weren’t wearing your work clothes. You have on jeans, an ugly Christmas sweater that said ‘Fabulously Grinchy’ and arms full of bags. Emily was distinctively not festive on purpose with grey shorts and a baggy Yale sweatshirt. Even the black slippers were humdrum. It empowers you to see this and that you made the right decision to surprise her this way.

“Well, I lied,” you explain as she takes some of the bags from you. “Surprise!”

She steps aside to let you in and smells the familiar scents of pasta, sauce and bread. “What did you do?” she asks cautiously.

“I made Christmas dinner for us.” You beam, spinning around carefully in the living room with your arms out to display the bags. “Just need to warm it all up.

As you really did have to work long hours at the hospital, you enjoyed Skyping with your parents who lived of town while making homemade manicotti. It was your tradition to cook together, and it was nice to do it together this way. Thankfully you still had some frozen homemade pasta sauce that you could use and not be considered a heathen to your family because no daughter of theirs was going to serve their girlfriend pasta sauce from a jar.

“Oh my god,” she says your name and follows you quickly into the kitchen, trying to catch up. “You … you really didn’t have to go through all this trouble. And, really, why are you doing this? You’ve gotta be so tired after working a long shift. You should be relaxing.” Emily knew you did work today since she heard the intercom and all the various beeps, whirls and whistles of a hospital.

You left the bags on the island counter and start fiddling with the oven controls. “Eh, I’ve had worse.” You smirk over your shoulder. “So have you. Therefore, we deserve a nice Christmas not alone. Now. … ” you start looking for oven mitts and utensils by pulling out drawers and opening cabinets. You’ve been here once before and don’t have the lay of the land yet where Emily keeps everything.

What you didn’t know is that Emily is standing by the island counter with a firm grip on the edge because she is feeling a powerful rush of affection for you and a profound sense of guilt. She swallows hard and almost jerks with her movements in trying to find words to address you.

“Hey, Emily? Where’s the spatula? I don’t need to whisk anything, and you got like, three of them here.” With no answer, you turn around with the whisks in hand and a goofy smile which soon falls into a look of concern. Emily was staring at you with watery eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, quickly setting aside the whisks that roll around the counter. One drops and bounces off the floor, but you don’t care. You place your hands around Emily’s shoulders and rub soothing circles. “Talk to me, please.”

Her face scrunches to the side, still struggling with guilt. “You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re tired. You should be sleeping. Or resting. Or just –“

You cut her off by gently cupping her face. Your thumbs continue their gentle stroking along Emily’s cheeks. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.” You smile with sincerity. “Only place I wanna be.”

“Fucking sap,” she says, curling her hands around your forearms. You both naturally bring your foreheads together in that moment and feel Emily’s shaky inhalation of breath. “I don’t deserve this.” She feels the need to clarify. “You.”

You close your eyes and ask nonjudgmentally. “Why?”

“Because I’m gonna mess it up. I always find a way to do it. Even if it’s not exactly me.” She sighs. “Like work, or my mother…”

“Hey, don’t do that.” You bring your hands down while lifting your head to gaze into Emily’s eyes. “Anticipating. We just gotta take it day by day and right now, I feel, that this is a good one.”

“Yeah?” she says quietly, licking her dry lips.

“Yeah,” you confirm, bringing one of her hands up to gently kiss. What you’re about to say you feel in your heart and it has been growing for the last week. Perhaps it was too soon to say it, but Emily deserves to know how you feel and that despite this being new, this was a relationship you were determined to see where it takes the both of you. “Maybe if I give you one of your presents, it’ll help you feel better?”

Her eyes look along the ceiling while she chucks. “Maybe.”

You lean forward and cup her cheek, gently caressing it until you lock eyes. “I love you, Emily Prentiss.”

Her audible gasp at the admission is swallowed by your lips gently kissing hers. The kiss was soft, a silent signature of proof to the words already spoken. It is affirmation that you want to be here with Emily, and you feel her free hand slide around your waist as she steps closer. The press of her body forces a sigh from your lips which makes Emily smile against yours.

“I love you, too.” She confesses quietly, pulling your joined hands against her chest. “And it scares me.”

“Well, here’s the good news.” Emily pulls back to look at you, brown eyes equally fearful and exhilarated, as she waits for what you must share. Your smile helps to ground her. “We get to be scared together.”

She laughs as a couple of tears fall free and you reach up to wipe them away. As she leans into your touch, Emily asks you a question since she has doubts about this gift of yours, no matter how much she treasures it. “Was that really one of my gifts?”

“No,” you admit and kiss her forehead. “But it’s all true. Consider it a bonus.”

Emily looks up to you with a smile that lights up the entire room. “Mm, I do like the sound of that,” she says before capturing your lips once again.

*Vetarans Affairs

*EMR - Electronic Medical Record

*H&P - History and Physical

[girls-alias]

Tease - Robert Chase

Title: Tease - Robert Chase

Words: 1,567

Relations: Robert chase X Reader

TW: Sexual hinting. Sexualising hands. Sub reader.

Masterlist

I pushed the office door open with my butt, careful not to spill the coffees I had just collected. I spun around as I stepped into the office, My eyes instantly landing on Chase as he approached the door. I looked up at him startled by his presence. From his body language, it was clear he was going to open the door for me, I blushed slightly, knowing he had a clear view of my ass pushing the glass door open. I gulped, admiring his freshly trimmed hair, subtle green eyes and furrowed brows. I could read from his expression he was confused and had a hint of another emotion. In others, I would say it was an attraction but the sexy, blonde, handsome, angelic, Australian, smart, did I mention sexy, doctor... wouldn't think that of me. I'm me. Just average me.

I smiled innocently at Chase as he continued to stare at me. His expression showed less of his confusion and more of the other emotion I couldn't place but (somewhere deep inside, I knew it was attraction) (Or maybe wishful thinking) he displayed this emotion more until the confusion had fizzled from his expression.

"Are you going to stand there all day or give me my coffee," House barked grumpily. I shook myself out of it and walked around Chase to reach the table. I placed the drinks down, serving them out to each of the team to make sure everyone had the right drink. I walked around the table, placing Chase's drink in front of him before occupying the seat beside him. He smiled at me, I swooned a little but smiled back. An attempt to play it cool when he makes my spine jelly without trying.

House began the differential by writing on the board the patient's symptoms. I placed my drink on the table as I picked up the file, sitting back to read it. I added comments briefly to dismiss someone's idea if the current test results didn't align with their diagnosis. Finally, I looked up to gather who House's snarky comment was aimed at. Not me, good. As Chase was leaning forward, his elbows on the table, his hands in front of his face, playing with them slightly. I, of course, was now only able to focus on them.

I gulped, my mouth seeming wrong. My breath quickening. The butterflies in my stomach twirling. I crossed my legs, my wetness growing as I watched my crush's hands, the way they moved, the things I had dreams about them doing. I couldn't peel my eyes away even when he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and then smirked when he looked away. His hands didn't stop moving and if anything, they seemed to do more, slow and precise movements. There could be an earthquake in the room and I still wouldn't be able to look away. He has hypnotised me. I watched almost breathlessly as he sat back in the seat and his hand slowly travelled to his thigh. Oh, God his thighs! I took a deep breath, gulping as I watched his hands.

His hands gripped his thigh tightly, and a soft whimper left my lips subconsciously. I tighten my lips into a thin line, the rest of the world coming into focus as I looked around, recognising that everyone had heard me and was confused. I almost lost all of my ability to function as Chase turned to smirk at me. He did it on purpose, he was messing with me. I was annoyed for half a second it took till I realised that he caught me checking him out, sexualising him and he not only knew but teased me. My eyes widened, avoiding Chase's gaze. My brain instantly went into hyperdrive to dismiss this realisation with the most likely factor being that he didn't know and was simply smirking to not laugh at your whimper.

"You must really want to run the labs," Foreman commented sarcastically. I almost applauded Foreman and shook his hand for giving me an easy excuse.

"Yeah, I just don't want to deal with parents right now," I chuckled, realising quickly I was unsure of the files I had read only minutes ago. They all looked a little more confused.

"Our patient is a 32-year-old, male," Cameron clarified but confusion clear in her tone.

"His parents brought him in, it's in his file," I lied. I don't know who brought him in, they could tell me he flew in on a UFO I would agree, I don't know what happened during the differential when Chase's hands were more appealing than the conversation. Foreman looked confused but understood as Cameron flicked through the file. I smiled, my poker face clearing me of questions.

"Foreman and Cameron, you're with the patient," House instructed and everyone stood. Oh, okay we're done. I stood from my seat, and collected my things, realising quickly I would be alone in the lab with Chase. My eyes widened as I grabbed my drink and headed out of the office, Chase held the door open for me, his smirk still gracing his lips. I nodded softly to be polite and began approaching the lab. I gulped as Chase walked beside me.

"I didn't know you whimpered," He teased, his smirk still present. I blushed but rolled my eyes forcing a convincing chuckle.

"I just really want lab work today," I shrugged trying to play it off. A part of me believes the delusion of him possibly not noticing me sexualising his hands. He smirked rushing to stop in front of me looking a little confused but smug.

"I can think of five reasons that's a lie," He smirked, raising his left hand for effect and flaunting the knowledge that he knew what he was doing. My expression faltered at the shocking revelation and realisation he truly was teasing me with his hands, and did for a fact know I was affected. He grinned, turning back to continue his way to the lab. I took a second to compose myself before following. I stopped just before the lab entrance to prepare myself before I was in a room alone with Chase for presumably hours.

I walked in to see Chase already using the computer to get started. He smiled as I walked in, not looking up from the screen. I cleared my throat before taking a seat at the opposite station. I got to work on running labs, reading the file closely to figure out what labs we needed, and Chase offering tests I should take while he did others, basically letting me know what to do. I'm glad one of us was paying attention.

We were working somewhat quietly as we focused on the tests. I was just looking through the microscope when he spoke abruptly.

"Have you always been attracted to hands or just mine?" He asked, I was so startled by his question. I felt called out, seen. I staggered over my thoughts slightly.

"What?" I asked finally, the only thing I could manage to say. Though my tone should have been confused it was more panicked. I looked up at him, watching as he smirked. I gulped, watching as he slowly walked around the station, edging closer to me, my crossed legs subconsciously squeezing tighter.

"What is it about my hands that flusters you?" He asked rhetorically. His tone was mischievous and menacing. His smirk returned. I watched with shallow breaths as his hand trailed along the marble tops. I gulp again to try and maintain some control of my body. My breath quickened the closer he got to me. My breath fluttered as he stood right in front of me. "Is it that they're attached to me or that you can imagine what I'd like to do with them?" He asked, his hand coming under my chin to raise it so I was looking up at him. I breathed in as he raised my chin but suddenly my breathing stopped as I made eye contact with him. My mind cleared. My only thought was that he was going to kiss me. Please, kiss me.

I watched as his eyes trailed to my lips before he smiled. His eyes were deep and dark, full of want. I gulped. "I'm taking you to dinner," He instructed, not a question but an explanation. I watched intently as he searched my expression, it was clear, he could read nothing. He seemed to wait for my response. I nodded softly, his fingers still present under my chin. He smiled with half his mouth. "Good," He added, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. I waited, his eyes once again travelling to his lips as he held my gaze on him. "Your results are in," He commented. My eyebrows furrowed before the timer went off. I jumped at the sudden beeping. Chase chuckled as he walked away to his station. I sighed slightly, hitting the timer off and composing myself. "We'll go straight from work, that shirt needs to be shown off," He added, watching me between the stations. I smiled nervously as I slowly processed the fact I wasn't imagining it like usual.

I looked at the results to distract myself. I groaned as I showed Chase the results. Positive. We quickly headed to the others to inform them.

Masterlist

[novashelby]

It Feels Like Home When You're Here~Tommy Shelby x Reader One-shot

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Mention of war, mention of sex, but overall sfw.

Word Count: 1,246

Summary: Tommy Shelby feels disconnected with everyone after the war. Everyone except you. This was a request using the prompt: "Why do I feel like I’m home whenever you’re near me?" Just know the prompt is not mine, but I can no longer find the list. I will credit it once I find it.

Please enjoy! Please consider commenting and a reblog!

War did something to boys. Took good boys…good natured, impressionable boys and turned them into hardened, difficult to do men. Tommy wasn’t any different. No matter how he wanted to think or what he knew of himself, he was no different than the others who went to France and died. Everyone died in France in one way or another. Everyone died and everyone killed. And after scurrying through the dark, rat infested tunnels with no light other than a hand held torch, nowhere felt normal. Nowhere felt like home. People he once could connect with weared thin and fizzled off, and before he knew it, the only thing that soothed him was the brown liquor filled bottle. But they weared thin, too, and he’d have to go buy a new friend. 

After a busy Wednesday, Tommy headed to the pub. It was an unusual case. In fact, it’d be unusual if he didn’t go to the pub for a drink or two. Pushing through the creaky wooden door, he skimmed over the sea of people. Every time he’d walk anywhere, there’d be a chorus of greetings. A popular man he was. But lonely, God, fucking lonely, but he’d feel pathetic to admit it. In the farthest right corner of the Garrison, John and Arthur were sharing a rum.

“Thought I’d find ya’ two here,” Tommy said, taking a crack at a poor excuse of a sarcastic joke. He sat down and whistled for a glass. Of course, it came promptly. No one dared to make a Shelby wait for anything. 

John, already two sheets to the wind, looked over at his older brother. In a slew of slurred jumbles, he asked, “and what has ya’?” Meaning, in some sort of way; how are you? Tommy couldn’t answer before the direction of conversation changed to what it always was; women, money, horse racing. John was going on about some whore he came across the previous night. “The back end on her.” He elbowed Arthur in the side who joked that he had kids to go home to.

Sometimes Tommy would join in on the banter, enjoying the occasional lightheartedness, but usually he’d half-listen and half-observe the space around while his head just slowly drifted. That particular night, he watched the barman slide down pints and poured glasses of brown liquor. 

The door swung open, the tiny bell on the frame ringing. Tommy glanced over for a second and went back to his drink when it hit him. Only men and the occasional whore walked through those doors. But her long hair and petite features stuck out like a sore thumb. Unlike the men who dressed in browns, blues, and beiges, she fashioned something lighter. A pretty lilac under a white winter coat made of mink, or so she said. He looked back over again, eyes following her. He knew why she was there and it didn’t take long for their eyes to connect.

John stopped talking and Arthur, under his breath, mumbled, “my fookin’ God.” But she was neither of theirs, Tommy thought as she approached the table. The pub followed her as she walked. John and Arthur looked up at her, but Tommy silently slid from the table and extended his hand.

“I was looking for you,” she said, but he didn’t respond. He simply took her arm with one hand, and with the other, he downed his whiskey and took out a smoke from his pocket. Together, they walked out of the pub in silence, down the dusty Birmingham street. It was a little bit before either of them spoke. Just when they hit her small dingy flat, she said, “I was going to cook you dinner, but last time you hardly touched a thing-”

“I don’t see you for dinner,” he said, taking over the key that she fumbled with in her hands. She sighed, putting her palms in the air, moving off to the side. He just wanted to feel her bedsheets against his skin. He fiddled with the door and it came undone easily. “You need a better lock-”

“When will you admit you see me for more than sex?”

“I don’t admit things very often,” he said, and they paused together in the entryway of the flat, bodies pressed. He smiled, touching her rosy rouge tinted cheek, thumb making circles. He nodded for her to continue onward, and she untangled herself from his overbearing stance. 

Her apartment was always cold, but it was the only place where life didn’t suck. That and the pub. But even the pub became lonely and dark. He took his usual spot on the sofa and when she walked by, he reached up and snaked his arms around her waist to pull her down with him. “I don’t need another drink,” he said, nose tangled in her hair, sniffing the lavender scented shampoo in her thick curls. 

“Perhaps I wanted one,” she said, twisting herself to look at him. Hearing him whisper c’mere was like music to her ears. Instantly, she rotated, putting one leg on each side of him. She straddled him as his hands rested on her hips, keeping her steady. Intimately, she placed her hands on his cheeks, thumbs rubbing circles. She chuckled, “you need a shave.”

Tommy smiled, leaning in to peck at her lips. “I’ve only shaved this past Saturday.”

“It’s Wednesday-”

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Then I’ll just get up now and-”

She pressed harder against him, snaking her arms around his neck to pull him in close. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Her lips ghosted over his ear moving to his temple, leaving a lingering kiss while his hands tickled up her back under her blouse. When his fingers worked at her bra, she let out a soft sigh. “When will it ever be about something other than sex, Thomas?” she asked, pushing away. His hands dropped, finding a new home on her thighs. They stared at one another for a few moments before continuing, “hmm? Will you ever let me in deeper?”

Tommy looked off to the side, swallowing. “It’s just hard for me right now-”

“You always say that,” she accused, grabbing his face, cupping his cheeks in her hands. “You always say that. Thomas! When is it ever not hard? It’s always going to be hard, but don’t you understand…you’re here. Other men weren’t as lucky!”

Before he could process his thoughts, he replied, “no, they were luckier.”

She straightened her back, dropping her hands to her side. Scoffing, she said, “so my brother-”

“No, no, no,” he said, stopping her before she could speak anymore. He held her close again, working around her stiffness. He rubbed his face into the crook of her neck before resting his forehead on his shoulder. “We don’t have to have sex…it’s just the way I know how to express my emotions.” 

She eased a bit, running her fingers through his hair. “It’s hard, is all. learning how to navigate you-”

“Out of everywhere, this is the only place that feels right,” he said, looking up at her. “Why do I feel like I’m home whenever you’re near me?” There was no answer for that. She didn’t know what to say because she herself couldn’t explain it. They agreed it’d never happen. That they’d stay neutral and it’d just be as it was and nothing more. But somewhere along the way, they bonded to one another. 

And neither minded.

[hederasgarden]

Today I’m thinking about a somehow equally nerdy navy medic with a crush on sweet Bob and Phoenix and hangman obsessed with trying to get these 2 to realise they like each other that’s all…

Hangman would be so amused, I think, and view it as his personal reality TV show. Maybe Rooster catches on because Hangman is staring awfully hard at Bob one day.

“Working on a crush there, buddy?" Rooster asks, tilting his head in Bob's direction. "It's okay, you can tell me. This is a safe space."

“Huh?" Jake asks before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "No. But someone else is," he says, drawing the other man's attention to the way you're leaning against the wall, openly staring at their WSO. You're watching him so intently that it takes you a few tries to find your straw with your tongue. It's almost endearing how inept you are.

Then the two of them end up working together to help you get the attention of a clueless Bob and oblivious Phoenix. After a few mishaps, Hangman decides a direct approach is necessary because as oblivious as his two teammates are, you’re even worse.

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace

Word count: 700

Rating: Gen. Humor and flirting.

Hangman first comes to you after you've finished the annual mandatory CPR training course for the pilots.

“Look,” he starts, leaning in close enough for you to get a whiff of his overpowering aftershave. Your nose wrinkles in disgust. “I get it, you’re a little inept at this whole thing but I’m here to help.”

“Okay, buddy...I think I know way more about anatomy than you do,” you tell him, packing away the CPR dummies. His friend with the mustache coughs and Hangman arches one golden eyebrow looking bemused. It takes you a few seconds to realize what you said. Before you have the chance to feel embarrassed or over explain yourself, he speaks.

"I get it," he assures you. "But I was referring to your little crush on Bob and Phoenix."

“That's not… what… you're crazy," you sputter, shaking your head. "You're way off base," you go on, internally freaking out because you'd been SO careful to play it cool and keep it on the DL. You were a consummate professional every time you interacted with Bob and Phoenix. Calm, cool, and collected. Smooth as butter.

"Uh-huh. There's no need to be shy, sweetheart. We're gonna help you get your man. And girl," he adds.

You're not sure if it's his insufferable smirk or the ridiculousness of the situation but your embarrassment fizzles out and you're left feeling more annoyed than anything else. Who did this guy think he was?

"First, Lieutenant Trace isn't a girl. She is a woman and an accomplished pilot to boot. Also, don't call me sweetheart. It's weird and creepy.” You poke him in the chest to drive home your point. "Also, you can tell Tom Selleck over there I don't need his help either."

“Woah, hey," the other man says, hands raised. "I'm just an innocent bystander here."

"What's your plan?" Hangman questions. "Stare at them some more?"

You scowl but before you can reply another voice interjects. “This guy bothering you?”

Your freeze at the familiar voice, your surprised expression mirroring Hangman’s. Phoenix’s dark brown eyes meet yours when you turn and oh god, she looks so effortlessly beautiful. You should reply with something witty and funny but it’s all you can do to stand there, slack jawed until you see Bob right behind her.

He offers you a bright smile and Phoenix touches your shoulder as she leans in to mock whisper, “Hangman’s not always the best at knowing when he’s not wanted. Like now for example.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Hangman asks.

“As entertaining as it was to watch you obsess over this whole thing, I decided the direct approach was easier for everyone involved,” the mustached man says.

“Okay, Tom. You’re good people,” you finally say.

“It’s Rooster actually and I know. Such a good person,” he says with a wink, nudging Hangman.

“Bye, Bagman,” Bob says, staring at the other man until he finally leaves with Rooster.

“Now,” Phoenix begins, fingertips dancing down your arm to capture your hand in hers. “What’s this about you having a crush on us?”

[jiminiecrickets]

LOVE'S LITTLE DAGGER: PART II. KTH / M!READER

summary. taehyung still hates you. he does. but you make him feel deeper things, and it's not just because you're buried up in his lungs.

wc. 4.8k

tags. smut | sub bottom!tae, dom top!reader, playboy tae, jealousy, mention of fwb!jimin, reader cockblocks tae once lol, alcohol mention, unprotected sex, 69, degradation: whore, slut (tae receiving), brat taming, rimming + ass eating, overstimulation + multiple orgasms, one mention of "daddy" (r. receiving)

[ part one ] [ requested ]

on the evening before the ultimate freeze of the universe, where even doomsday preppers have little power in a crumbled society, kim taehyung would remain a massive fucking dick.

this, like the inevitable heat death of everything everywhere all at once, remains a steadfast fact. his natural charisma – which you can't deny – would make him a leader in this hypothetical end-of-times, and you'd bet real money that he'd manage to swindle someone with a bunker out of it. then, of course, he'd kick them all out to feel existence die on their skin and hold his nintendo switch above his face as he lounges on a mattress.

welcome... to the check-in counter for your deserted island getaway package!

"taehyung! did you finish the milk again?"

"hm," he mumbles noncommittedly. he tucks his feet up against the couch armrest, squinting up at his switch.

you close the fridge with a huff and roll your eyes, disappearing into your bedroom. when you return, you're wearing a jacket, your phone and wallet clutched in one hand as you hop into a pair of shoes. you bee-line towards the couch and snatch his game away, turning it off and setting it on the coffee table next to him. he groans, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"stop complaining. you have class in two hours and you're wearing nothing but your underwear. i'm helping."

he scowls. "i'm not going today. i would be fine if someone didn't fuck me into next sunday!" he hears you walking away, and he raises his voice. "i hate you so much!"

"just put a shirt on," you call, one foot propping open the front door as you pat your pockets for everything you need. "you better be clothed by the time i return. you don't want to be running when you're sore, do you?"

"i hate you!"

"mhm, be back in fifteen."

the door swings shut with a click and he scoffs, glancing at the blinking screen of his game. he folds his arms over his chest and stretches his legs out, smoothing out his black briefs, and pouts to himself.

what a jerk. so callous. fine – if you were going to ignore everything that happened the night before, so would he. and, because he's very good at everything he does, he's going to beat you at it! he's going to ignore you so well and forget all about how you made him feel and find another guy who's willing to take him to bed. given his looks, he doubts he'll have to go far.

game on.

—

there's a boy on your lap. he's pretty – real pretty, with plump glossy lips and long sugar-brown hair styled in soft waves back from his forehead. he's playful, grinding and swaying his hips over your lap while his friends cheer him on. some of the guys from the beer pong table have stopped to watch.

taehyung simmers hotly in the corner of the room, scowling into his red cup. he nurses his drink, which is slowly fizzling flat and warm – he'd snooped around in the mini-fridge of the upstairs games room and found an unopened bottle of solo, which he promptly cracked open and hoped no one would notice. it feels better to carry around than a cold, wet can of cheap beer.

but god, did he wish he drank something alcoholic. maybe it'd take the sting out of the scene in front of him.

taehyung knows the boy in your lap. he's seen him sleeping peacefully in your bed when he passes by your cracked-open door in the mornings, and rumour has it that he's trying for something more than casual with you. the sight of your hands on his hips, reciprocating his touches, makes his stomach curdle like milk.

but who wouldn't want to be with you? you're smart, and handsome, and you remember people's favourite meals and make it for them when they're having a bad day. a bitter taste fills taehyung's mouth and he can't stand the taste of lemonade any longer.

he tips out the rest of his drink and tosses the cup into the bin, schooling his features into simple, shallow flirtatiousness, leaning against the beer pong table with an arch of his back that shortens his already-cropped jacket and accentuates his ass. he glances aside, meeting the eyes of the blandly-attractive guy currently winning the game, and smirks, bringing his lower lip between his teeth as he turns back to the cups of beer, playing coy.

the guy's mates whisper in his ears, glancing at taehyung with glimmering eyes. he elbows one of them in the stomach at something he says and the guy doubles over with laughter.

taehyung remains pleasantly oblivious to what they're saying and watches the ping pong ball bounce, its tap light and clear through the constant chatter and loud music. he smiles as it bounces neatly into a cup and he slips his fingers around the one closest to him, since the other team look to be in no position to be drinking any more than they already have. half of their team are blacked out on the ground.

a body sidles up to him. "hey."

his fingertip glides around the rim of his cup. his gaze flickers up; he tucks his lower lip between his teeth to hide a smile. "hey, yourself."

by the couch, jimin sits in the bowl of your lap, a fan of cards in his hands. he giggles softly as your arms shift around his waist and your chin rests on his shoulder. he tucks the fan of cards into his chest. "you're not allowed to look, hyung."

"can't i?" you hum into his shoulder. "i thought we were on the same team."

"i can't trust anyone but myself. you're probably double-teaming with jungkook." he inclines his head towards the younger man, who's sprawled upside-down on the couch with his feet hanging over the backrest.

you scoff, hands absently smoothing over his thighs before snaking around him again. "he doesn't need my help. if i were to double-team with anyone, i'd probably go with namjoon-hyung. he'd make sure we'd win. i'd just be his cheerleader. minimum effort to emerge victorious."

jimin hums, lowering his cards. he smells sweet, yet smoky. he tucks his lips into your neck and you feel them curve into a sneaky smile. "i think double-teaming would be fun, baby..."

you chuckle. "of course you would. hey, look sharp – you're still playing this game. it's almost your turn."

when taehyung sees him lean in, whispering against your skin and looking far too cosy for his liking, his stomach churns. he scoffs quietly and glides his fingers down his plaything's bare arm, slim and soft in an elven sort of way – the way rich boys tend to be, having never done a hard day's work in their lives.

he's nothing like you – he's entitled, pretentious, grabbing and pushing his body around as if he owns it. still, taehyung leans into his shoulder, glaring daggers into the side of your head until it tingles down your spine and you glance over.

when you do, he doesn't divert his eyes, doesn't curl his upper lip. he just levels his gaze, lifting another red cup of beer with a pinky raised in a mocking toast, and turns away, dragging his plaything along behind him by the wrist.

he refuses to give him any sort of affection, any pretence of gentleness. all he wants is a body above his and a high, no matter how dry and bland it'll be. anything to take his mind off of the unfamiliar and unwanted twist in his gut.

he finds an empty bedroom quickly – it's almost as if he's developed a sixth sense for them. he sets the cup of untouched alcohol on a chest of drawers and easily rolls into routine with the guy he'd stolen from the beer pong table – shirts off, shoes off, thoughts off.

the guy leans down to kiss him – he turns his head, letting his lips fall on the corner of his mouth instead. taehyung's down to his briefs, laying still on his back as the vaguely-familiar young man above him grinds against his ass, mostly dressed except for his shirt.

at least one of them is excited. he didn't even bother taking off his jeans – just unzipped his fly.

with a creak, the door opens, and yellow hallway light floods the room. taehyung doesn't lift his gaze from the dark corner of the room, examining the branches of a crack in the plain wallpaper.

"hey! what the fuck, man? room's taken, can't you see?"

"get off of him."

"what?"

"i said: get off of him, asshole. he's drunk – can't you see?"

stubbornly, taehyung shuts his eyes as he feels the body on top of him stumble, leaving him entirely. his skin prickles with the chill.

"he literally dragged me here, what's your damn problem? don't you hate this guy? look, man, just leave right now and i'll forget this ever happened, alright?"

"put your clothes on. he's going home."

evidently, he doesn't think taehyung's worth any more arguing, and he mutters as he picks his clothes up off of the floor and shuffles away. he doesn't close the door behind him, so you do it instead. the lock clicks. when you turn back around, you nearly jump out of your skin – taehyung stands upright three feet away, staring silently up at you.

"fucking – don't do that," you scold, taking his arm and sitting him down on the edge of the bed. he watches with furrowed brows as you move across the room, folding his clothes over your arm. you even grab his shoes for him, dropping them by his feet.

"arms out," you instruct, holding out his jacket. you're not going to even attempt his shirt – it has more buckles and straps than you can count and he'd be pissed if you managed to ruin it.

he just stares up at you, utterly confused.

"lift your arms, taehyung," you repeat, gently sliding his hands through the sleeves. he lets you, staring at the side of your face.

"okay. time to get your pants on."

his lips part. "i'm not drunk."

"mhm. stand up."

"no, really," he protests, grabbing your wrists before you can tug him to his feet. "i haven't had a sip tonight."

you glance at him. "you were holding a beer. you looked like you were drinking from it."

"i was just holding it." he shrugs. "i don't like beer – it tastes disgusting."

"oh." you lean back. "so... why'd you let me kick that guy out?"

he smiles wryly. "i wanted to see what'd happen."

"uh-huh. well, i can call him back, if you want."

his hand shoots out to grab your sleeve. "no," he says quickly. "i don't want him."

"no?"

"no." his grip loosens and he glances away, fisting the bedsheets below him. "sorry for scaring you. you can go back to jaemin, or whatever his name is. i'll get home fine on my own."

"jimin," you correct. your brows furrow. "wait... taehyung, are you jealous?"

"fucking no," he snaps, far too quickly.

a grin grows on your features. a glint returns to your eye as you place your hands on your hips. "holy fucking shit. you are. kim fucking taehyung is jealous over me." you bark out a laugh, turning away to amuse yourself with a bunch of skincare pots and tubes on the dresser nearby. "my dick that good, huh?"

his face burns. "shut the fuck up! it was average, at best. having a big cock doesn't mean you know how to use it."

you toss a pot of moisturiser in the air, catching it before placing it back. you saunter over to taehyung, whose arms are crossed over his chest petulantly. you lean down to his level. "and who was the one screaming for more, hm? you really think i believe it when you say i was just some average lay?"

he shoots to his feet and jabs you in the chest. "you were," he snarls. "i was being gracious. your technique's sloppy and it's like you'd never touched a guy before. you're lucky i was so pent-up – that's the only reason i finished at all."

your smirk widens and your gaze flickers over his body. his hair pricks on end with a shiver. you lean in, not quite touching him – as if there's an invisible layer separating you from him, a glass case for the piece of art. your breath is hot against the shell of his ear.

"really? so if i was to, say, start taking off my clothes... you wouldn't be interested?"

his breath hitches. he says nothing.

"is that a no, sweet thing?"

"no," he breathes. "it's not."

you lean back and your lips turn up. his body yearns for your warmth, goosebumps shivering over his skin. "don't worry, taehyung. i didn't expect an answer – you take an awful long time to do things, and it really shows when you're getting second place on the class leaderboard."

his head snaps towards you. he grabs your shirt and yanks you onto the bed, throwing a leg over your lap. his brows are furrowed, his mouth tight. "bringing our scores into this?" he hisses. "low fucking blow, ln. fine – i'll show you slow."

he pushes your shirt up over your stomach, scraping his nails over your hips as he loosens your belt and unzips your fly. you prop yourself onto your elbows to watch with a smirk as he takes you out of your pants, stroking and squeezing with reverence that he tries to hide.

it doesn't work very well. you can see the way he stares at it as it hardens in his palm, his gaze heavy and wanting with a flush to his cheeks. he kisses the tip, suckling on it as he dips his tongue into the slit, and groans softly as he trails his wet tongue down the underside along the veins, fisting it and swiping his thumb over the tip as he takes your balls into his mouth, one at a time.

you curse and tangle your hand in his hair. his mouth is hot and wet, his breath warm as he pants against the base of your cock, staring up at you with smoky eyes and ruby lips. he sucks softly, dragging his tongue along the velvety skin, and closes his eyes as you groan his name. he hums softly in acknowledgement, moving back to your cockhead. he lavishes his attention upon it, lapping at it and sucking gently on just the first few inches – he teases the rest, pumping it and twisting his wrist expertly.

you chuckle as he moans, his hips swaying in the air. you toss off your shirt. "you're enjoying this a little too much. fuckin' whore, getting off to this..."

he moans again, sharper this time. he doesn't even dispute it. he chokes down a few inches of your cock and your head falls back as his tight throat pulses around you.

it's almost funny how quickly he's abandoned the idea of teasing you. no more slow jerks of his wrist, no more kitten licks – he's fucking gulping you down, moaning quietly as saliva drips down his knuckles.

shit. you suck in a breath through your teeth. he's really fucking good at taking you. it's like magic, watching the inches disappear down his warm throat.

he only begins to slow down when he reaches the base of your cock, his fingers pumping it shallowly. his jaw is stretched wide around you, the vibrations of his moans through your cock sinful – his tight throat strokes you, closing around you, and he doesn't seem to care that he's gagging on it, bobbing his head to a quick, steady beat. he thrusts against air.

you lick your lips, finding your voice. when it comes out, it's raspy – hungrier than you want it to be. "fuck, sweetheart – c'mere. wanna taste you, too."

he pops off with a slick sound, panting against your shaft. his lips shine with saliva. he grins, breathless, and shimmies out of his tight briefs – he groans in relief when he frees his cock, wet and throbbing. he clambers on top of you, the air hot and thick – all attempts at smooth seduction are forgotten. he's messy, hungry, and so, so human.

you grin as he arches his back, his knees beside your head. from the way he's holding his hips, you can tell he expects you to give his cock a little love – but you like to subvert expectations, and instead, you grab his slim hips and drag his ass towards your face.

he startles, arching to glance back at you. you grin, eyes glinting, and lick a long stripe over his asshole.

his hips jerk. he moans, turning back to your cock, and kisses the tip with soft warm lips, precum beading at the slit.

you hum, fingers digging into the supple flesh of his ass. two of your fingers slip easily into him – either he's been playing with himself, or his body is still recuperating from your extensive loving the night before. either way, he moans loudly around your cock, rocking his hips down onto your fingers.

"pretty," you muse, watching the way he clenches around your fingers. "arch your back a little more, slut."

he gasps as your tongue laps at his rim. "f-fuck – eat me out properly, damn it! if you're gonna talk big game, you – mngh—!"

you can't reply because you've got your tongue in his ass. you'd smile at the absurdity of it all if you could – the boy you've been butting heads with all year sounds much better crying out for you.

you don't even know why he's being a little jealous baby. he could've just asked – there is no universe in which you'd turn down fucking kim taehyung.

but he's stubborn and a cocky sonovabitch. you can't say that it's not a little cute: angry pretty boys standing their ground, firm in their beliefs until they get so flustered they forget what their next argument is.

and kim taehyung is flustered. he's whining into your thigh, gripping your hip so tightly you think he's drawing blood. he rocks his hips onto your tongue, his ass clenching around it, and buries his hot face into your hip, panting and swearing his pretty little head off as his cock spurts and pulses hotly, overexcited.

arousal curls in your stomach as he drags your cock against his lips, sinking down on it to muffle his own moans. you buck your hips into his mouth and while he gags, he lowers himself further, one shaky hand cupping your balls, and bobs his head desperately, silky lips dragging against the veins of your cock. he swallows you deeper as your cock pulses and twitches against the tight walls of his throat.

you come without warning. serves him right, the attention whore, but he doesn't seem to mind – in fact, he seems to like it, moaning and whining around your cock as he struggles to keep it all in. he fails eventually, hot cum dripping down the corner of his lips as he glides off your cock with a wet kiss. his cock twitches, already wanting more.

you tease him, dragging out his orgasm as he grinds into your face. the warm weight of his body grows as he slumps onto you and you can't be annoyed at the fact that he's only loosely gripping your cock, too busy basking in his own afterglow. his breath is warm and quick against it.

you draw away, shifting under him as you guide him into your lap. he shivers, still a little dazed, but manages to find your hand in the tangle of limbs. he entwines his fingers with yours, his pounding heart fluttering in his chest.

he presses his lips to your neck, pushing you down against the bed – to your surprise, he tugs off your pants and underwear entirely, leaving you just as naked as he.

"was bothering me," he rasps, kissing your cock. he crawls up your body again, hovering over you face-to-face. "eat me out again."

"mh, would love to. just tell me when you wanna." you stroke his sides.

he tilts his head, those dark eyes clearing of their fog. "no, i'm not talking about a few days in the future or whatever. i'm talking now. i want your tongue in me right fucking now, baby – want you to make me come again with that silver tongue of yours." he grazes your lower lip with the pad of his thumb. "i like it better like this than down his throat."

you snicker, flipping your bodies over and hovering over him instead. you've done it in a way where he's on his stomach. "jealous bitch, aren't you?"

"says the one who calls me 'puppy'," he growls, eyes flashing. he leans into the pillows, his eyes challenging, and he spreads his legs, placing one hand high on his ass as he lifts his hips. "now stop yapping and fuck me, ln."

"sir, yes, sir," you tease. he feels your presence drift lower until your hands spread his ass.

at first, he entertains some degree of control, fucking himself back on your tongue as you groan into his skin, pulling his hips closer. he enjoys a second high, untouched, but you've grown curious. how many times can you make the infamous playboy come?

the answer: a lot. you just can't expect him to keep his wits about him after a few.

he's been on his knees for so long that they're beginning to hurt, even on the mattress. the discomfort, however, is far outweighed by your ravenous hunger – he can't stop crying out for you, your tongue and fingers working in tandem to fuck him stupid. you'd even started to pump his cock for him – he'd almost cried, throwing his head back with a whiny babble.

more, more, more. he'd begged for it – he knew this, somewhere at the back of his mind. he'd heard his own voice, usually so strong and steady, reduced to a crumbling whimper, collapsing in on itself as you pumped three fingers in and out of his wet hole, messy with lube and saliva.

you'd never seen him like this before. you never thought he could get like this – teary-eyed, flushed dark pink from head to toe, gaze faraway and hazy, focussed on nothing in particular even when you muse aloud about his latest academic losses. all he does is whine, trembling, and reach back blindly for your cock, groping and grabbing.

he pants over his shoulder. his red hair is coppery where it sticks to his skin, shining with a thin layer of sweat.

"please," he begs, grinding messily against your cock. "p-please, please..."

taehyung is gorgeous when he lets go. when your cock glides in with no resistance, his walls soft and hot around you, his eyes roll back into his skull, and he lets out a soft, thankful sob. his chest heaves as you push in deeper, testing how much he can take, and all he does is grab your hip, nails clawing at it as if he'd die otherwise.

his hole is sloppy with lube. you press your nose to his collarbone, groaning softly as he clamps around you.

his fingers dig into the white bedsheets, his eyes screwed shut as he focuses on remembering how to breathe. your cock grinds against his swollen prostate and he keens – his voice cracks as he whines into the pillows. you hush him, your hips moving quickly.

"daddy," he sobs, and by his tightening sides, you know he's close. his cock leaks like a broken faucet, bobbing between his messy thighs. his eyes roll back and he grips handfuls of the bedsheets. "fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—"

he dissolves into a babbling mess. you groan into his shoulder, kissing the freckles smattered across it, and chuckle softly. "what a basic-bitch thing to like, sweetheart. it's almost cute."

he whimpers in response, his body jostling harshly. you grab his hip, forcing him to rock back onto you, and he drawls out a long, broken moan.

"takin' my cock so well, baby," you whisper, feeling his sides tense up at the praise. "like you were made to take it."

"mmh – mhm," he slurs out, spine arching and ass pressing deeper against your hips. he sucks his swollen lower lip between his teeth. he doesn't say anything else for a long time, losing himself in your constant gentle caresses.

despite biting his lower lip in an effort to quieten himself, his mouth soon hangs open, slick lips parted to loose loud, punched moans from deep in his belly. they're cute, quavering. he sounds as if he's about to burst into tears.

"g-gonna..." his fingers twist in the bedsheets, knuckles white. your cock glides in and out of his slick asshole, punching the air out of his lungs on every snap of your hips. he can't fucking breathe; it feels too good. "'m gonna...!"

"not until you make me come," you demand, your voice growing breathier by the second. your thrusts grow heavier, messier, and his voice cracks through a cry. "else i might decide jimin deserves my cock more, slut."

he squeezes his eyes shut, and a tear falls down his cheek from the corner of his eye. he moans as he throws his ass back on your cock, piercing himself again and again and again with the wet smack of skin on skin. when you come with a groan, he loses it – he hiccups past a cry of your name, nails digging painfully into the bedsheets. he comes so hard stars explode behind his eyelids and in his veins.

his body quivers as you fuck him lazily, your breath hot against the shell of his ear as you fill him up. your cock pulses inside him, thick and warm – he trembles, burying his face in the pillows, and lifts himself slightly on weak arms, pushing his back and shoulders against the numbing heat of your body.

with a shaky sigh, he leans back against you and you press your lips against his shoulder, securing his tingling body with one firm, steady hand. his hips jerk, his body still not finished with the aftershocks of his high, and you hush him, caressing his hip. his heart pounds beneath his ribs as if he's sprinted a marathon.

it takes a long time for him to blink awake from his whiteout daze, control returning to his limbs. he hums sleepily into your skin, his head propped up on your chest.

"fucking hell," he whispers wearily. you laugh at the extra rasp in his voice.

"fucking hell indeed," you reply, too tired to move off of the bed. you stroke his shoulder, tracing circles and hearts into his skin. you tuck your other arm under your head with a soft exhale. "can you still 'get home fine on your own'?"

he pauses for a while, trying to scoop enough of his brain into a pile to remember what you're talking about. he sighs, closing his eyes, and buries his face in your chest. "shut the fuck up. i'm not getting up 'til tomorrow. and when i do, you'd better be there to carry me."

"what the fuck – why'm i the one who has to do all the work all the time?"

"i will punch your stupid pretty teeth out if you don't."

you scoff, flicking your wrists up in some half-assed form of surrender. "yeah, yeah..."

he shifts, sliding his leg over yours, and cups your side in one hand. he practically clings to you like a koala. in the warm summer silence, his breaths slow, and his muscles relax. every so often, though, you feel him tense up and shift slightly.

after the first handful of times, you groan, irritated and drowsy. "quit fucking moving, idiot. just go to sleep."

his limbs tighten around you.

"stop worrying, taehyung. i'll be here when you wake up." your voice softens – just a smidge. "promise."

that smidge is all he needs. he rests his cheek against your collarbone and mumbles – something like don't tell me what to do – and squeezes you tighter, adamant on re-establishing his authority in this relationship. he falls dead asleep, though, in just a few minutes, snoring softly as he cuddles into you.

you smile. you'll let him have this win.

[lunarw0rks]

hi!! just wanted to stop in and give an idea ig

141 with a reader who’s like a mother hen after a mission, making sure everyone’s not injured, and god forbid they are, she’s trying to stop the bleeding, and scolding soap for being so reckless!! even after they get back to base after a long day, she’s fussy.

IDK JUST A RANDOM BLURB??

A/N: Such a cute idea, not one I would've thought of on my own! Hope I did the request justice <3

Summary: It's in your nature, the motherly role you feel towards the other members of the Task Force. Patching up their injuries, and scolding the two most reckless ones, it's all become routine.

Warning(s): platonic!141, fem!reader, canon-typical violence, blood/minor injury mention, mild language, suggestive banter, no use of y/n

Word Count: 2.1k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

Troublemakers // Drabble

Though you hadn’t said a word on the ride back, at least outside of ones pertaining to the operation, the look on your face said enough. For every mission, no matter the time and place, something goes wrong—someone gets hurt.

“Anybody broken?” Captain Price comes through the comms, the static crackling through the jeep.

“Everybody’s fine, Captain. For now.” Your voice hissed back into the radio, eyes scanning their faces for any signs of an injury. Right now, there weren’t any signs. But the second this jeep stopped, there was no way in hell they were getting past you without you at least checking. It had become your unofficial job; the mother of the team, the medic without an official title, even the ‘buzzkill’ at some points.

There was no time to fuss over them at first, during evac. Everyone had piled into the vehicles too quickly, and you were eager to get out of there just as much. You were a natural nurturer, but not blinded by your instincts—there was a chain of command, after all. When your Captain says to evac, you evac, no questions.

Once the titles and formalities fizzled out, once the comms went quiet, that side of you always came out.

The jeep was moving at high speeds, and the passing landscape was a blur. A secluded, abandoned field where the operation went wrong; the taperings of town turning into the city; fizzled out until it turned into the secluded dry field again—when you reached the base.

In usual fashion, everyone got out first, and you last.

It was second nature, ushering them out like a clown car, then examining the inside of the empty vehicle to make sure nobody forgot anything. It was comical to them, so comical they still shot amused looks as you cased the car. Any further into this role, and you would start saying “C’mon kids” every time you went somewhere with them.

Another challenge to their chivalry was the way you held the door open for each of them, eyes glued to them as pursed your lips in discontent. But, they knew the drill just as well as you did.

First, you peered at Simon, though he just walked by with his usual scowl, probably finding a dark corner to brood in. He was the only one you didn’t bother to fuss over, unless you wanted to get chewed out, naturally.

It was the other two you were the most concerned about—Gaz and Soap, the troublemakers. If you could call them that in the field, you would have a thousand times already, and most likely more than that, knowing them.

Heavy sighs filled the room, sweaty brows wiped as they relieved their bodies of the extra pounds their gear gave them. Vests and buckles undone, muscles stretched as the adrenaline coursing through each of you steadied itself.

For once, you were also overjoyed to see the bland walls of this base, and them too, as much as they gave you grief. Each mission was like watching a toddler climb up to the top of a playset, waiting for the inevitable injury that comes once they fall—and every time, your hammering heart nearly came through your chest.

Yes, they were grown men, trained soldiers, but that instinct still prevailed. You couldn’t trust them with your life if they didn’t have theirs, could you? The world kept turning, and the clocks kept ticking, all as long as you played your maternal part in this arrangement.

You squinted at the two troublemakers, that gut instinct showing itself. “You sure nothing went wrong, you two? No blood?” It was a series of accusations, not naive questions. You knew something was up, there was that bubbling in your chest.

Gaz’s lip tightened into a line like he was trying not to reveal the truth. “No blood.” What a liar, and a bad one at that. Knowing these two, Soap was probably pinching his skin where you couldn’t see, trying to contort it until you were left with no suspicions.

There was no way you could force the truth out, so if they didn’t want your help, they weren’t getting it from you.

With a slow nod, you began to take off your own gear, gathering your pack and all the extras. Perhaps, for once, it would be a happy ending. You would settle into your dorm, lay back on your cot, and catch up on some paperwork, maybe even some light reading—

Well, that fantasy came about as quickly as it went.

Soap’s palm was hovering over his side, letting out a grunt of pain when he put his backpack over his shoulders. He had turned so abruptly, nearly scampering down to reach his own dorm. But he wasn’t quick enough, and your iron grip on his wrist—it was as unyielding as your grit.

“C’mon, I’m fine, Lass.” Soap grunts, like a child embarrassed when his mother dabs his face with a napkin. “It’s just a—”

“—a scratch?” You scoff, lightly smacking your free hand against his tender side. No matter how tough he was, how well he thought he was going to hide it, he had keeled over and held the spot you barely made contact with.

Gaz was attempting to contain his laughter, which was only met with the kick of one of Soap’s legs to his shin.

You couldn’t believe it, from causing trouble and bickering to working as a team and failing miserably.

The grip on Soap’s wrist loosened, instead now on the strap of his bag, gently sliding it off his tender shoulder. “Let me look at it, please.” You pleaded, trying to keep your tone both firm but concerned all at once. It seems it wasn’t just a scratch; once again you were right.

“I got nothin’ but admiration for you, why do you do this to me?” Soap whines, still not budging and letting you examine the wounds.

You ran your tongue over the inside of your cheek, cocking a brow at him. “Sit down, Johnny. Now.”

Your finger was pointing at one of the spare dining chairs in the kitchenette, and it wasn’t a request either. He knew that by now. Soap could try and swoon you, butter you up until you left it alone, but it wouldn’t work.

“Yes, ma’am.” His tone was defeated, but he still had a smirk on his face, like he was enjoying the attention.

Gaz snickered from behind you, and you could hear him begin his trek out of the room. “Better to just listen to the lady, or she won’t stop.”

Before you could even lay eyes on Soap’s injury, your head snapped in Gaz’s direction. He was on just as thin of ice, he was only lucky you could tolerate his jokes. “You’re part of this too, Gaz. I suggest you don’t wander too far.”

It was ironic; men who had worked so hard, trained to kill, and yet, they were downright gutless when in your sights, especially when caught in a lie.

All apart from Simon, who maintained the same distance with you as everyone else—that you could accept, it was just the way he was. But from these two clowns? Not for a second.

It wasn’t coming from thin air, either, this was a two-sided deal. The first time you were injured in the field, you attempted to diminish it, to write it off and suffer by yourself. It went about as well for you as it was for Soap right now—forced into a chair and stitched up with an icy glare, one that says “don’t ever do that again” without any actual words surfacing.

That’s how you knew this wasn’t in vain, even if your work didn’t always come with a response of gratitude.

You were strong where they were weak—and in return, they would quite literally kill for you, in and out of the field. God knows you’ve had to hold them back more than a few times; order comes out wrong at the restaurant, you get ghosted after a date, or someone insults your abilities as a soldier? It’s a mess.

Your eyes stayed on Soap’s pout through the reflection of the window above the sink, scrubbing away the grime on your hands before you got to work on him. In mere minutes, you’d retrieved the very used first aid kit, laying out any supplies you might need. Knowing him, it could be as small as a papercut, or a gushing wound under the fabric of his shirt.

He had already removed his, cheeks rosy and lips crinkled like you hadn’t seen this a thousand times. Not to mention, you were patching him up, not asking for a striptease. He was the one making things awkward, for the record.

Aside from the dirt, the scars, and small scrapes, it was an injury that needed to be looked at, regardless of how stubborn the patient was. A nasty bruise was forming on his peck area and below it a gash with some tiny glass shards still embedded in it. The shoulder had no visible injury, but based on how tender the skin was, he had sprained it again.

“Christ. How do you manage this? It was a simple sweep mission, MacTavish.” You shook your head in disapproval, putting on a pair of disposable gloves with a loud snap of the blue latex.

He takes the hits like a dog that knows he’s in trouble, only it's a look of acceptance rather than apprehension. It was coming from a place of care, not anger, and by God did Soap’s reckless behavior make your heart drop often.

Your rambles continued, almost as if you were talking to yourself. Your fingers worked carefully, using the tweezers to get any debris out of there.

“Can you do anything about this, Captain?” Soap’s words made your work slow, not stop.

“No, I cannot, Sergeant.” Even Price was aware of this dynamic, and frankly, he was thankful for it, one less person to worry about getting in trouble. You scolded it, didn’t partake in it—and that left less paternal instincts of his own to run dry.

Price’s boots retreated without another word, probably to work tirelessly in his office for the rest of the night. Now, it was clear to Soap that there really was no way out of this, no way to shimmy away from your caring nature.

Might as well take advantage of it the only way he knew how. “You look like you need a drink, Lass. Always so tense.”

You stared up at him through your lashes, wrapping the gauze a little tighter than you usually would. What were you supposed to say to that? He was right, you could use a drink, but he wasn’t going to get the satisfaction of being right—being right was your job.

Before you could utter a witty response, Simon spoke up for the first time since the mission. “She has a scalpel at the ready, Johnny. I would tread lightly if I were you.” For once, his cynical humor had landed on your side, and it nearly made you spit out a laugh, if you weren’t so focused.

If you were as childish as Soap, you might’ve said I told you so, but your stern look said enough. After you finished disinfecting the wounds, you bandaged them up, patting the cotton with your fingers to make it stick.

“All better now, just don’t do it again.” A satisfied beam appeared on your face, that worry in your gut dissipating when he was patched up. “Please?” Now, it was desperate and anxiety-filled.

He probably would do something like this again, but maybe next time he would at least think first, and you could live with that.

Soaps fingers find his shirt, slipping it over his head slowly with a pained groan. “I can’t promise that.” Then, they find the nearest bottle of whiskey, in true fashion for him. “But I’ll find you first next time, ask permission to get hurt.”

You scoffed and let out a sarcastic ha-ha, but stepped back enough to give him space, discarding the gloves into the waste basket. Once he had collected his things, keeping them in his uninjured arm this time, a cheek smirk appeared again.

He waited until you had turned your back to wash your hands again, and to be safe, a few feet further from you. “Thanks, Mom.” Soap turned on his heels and whipped around the corner, down the hall before you could show him your face of shock.

On second thought, maybe next time he wouldn’t have to ask to get hurt, and it would be your own two hands making him pay for that comment.

[fourteendaysinaweek]

Peter Parker Meets The Batfam

As seen on wattpad here and inspired by this post

A little one-shot that might have a p2 coming (ignore any inaccuracies with the batfam I had too many people I wanted to add and may have gotten confused. Oops)

Peter

I land hard on a rooftop, staring up at the gray sky in front of me. A shiver runs down my spine as I sit up, looking around. I don't recognize the skyline, the buildings are wrong, the sky is too gray for New York, not with the August sunshine we had less than two minutes ago.

"Strange?" I call out, careful not to be too loud. I know he was trying to get that cube— where did he send me? "Karen, where am I?" I'm met with silence as my heart speeds up. "Karen?" I do everything to bring her up to no avail. Did Strange figure out a way to disable her? No, he doesn't want me dead or lost— he just wanted me to stop. He knows Karen controls aspects of my suit and everything, he wouldn't disable her on purpose, right?

Okay, Peter. Think.

You're in a strange city, your AI is down, you have no idea where you are. What do you do? Go to a gas station and ask where you are. Wait no— I'm in the suit. I don't have to go to a gas station, I can just walk up to someone, everyone knows who I am. They'll assume that a bad guy got me lost.

I swing down from the rooftop and land in the street. Weird, not a lot of people out and about.

"Now what the shit is this?"

"Oh thank God I'm still in America—" I sigh and turn towards the cop. "Officer!" I walk towards him. "Excuse me, sorry, I was just in Manhattan fighting— and I seem to be lost— where am I?"

"...Gotham City."

"Fantastic— what state am I in? Is New York close to that?" He raises his eyebrow, reaching for his radio.

"Dick, you're gonna wanna see this." I smile awkwardly even though he can't see my mouth. Karen isn't working, and therefore the controls of my suit aren't either. "You don't know where Gotham is?"

"Uh— sir, you're city is very beautiful, but I attended public school, my geography isn't great, and I'm a little preoccupied trying to get back to the fight—"

"You've never even heard of Gotham?"

"Again, sir, I'm very sorry—"

"Okay, whats going on?" A very tall very muscular officer walks over. He then looks at me. "What the hell?"

"I— I'm so—"

"He says he's never heard of Gotham." The taller one raises his eyebrow.

"Never?"

"Look— I'm so sorry, but I need to get back to Manhattan, I was in the middle of a fight—"

"Who are you?" I blink.

"Who— who am I?" Suddenly I remember why exactly I was fighting Strange. "Oh. Um, I'm sorry, I'll figure it out, didn't mean to bother you, so sorry—" crap crap crap why is my first instinct Oh yay cops will help? I should know better by now—

"Just hold it—" I swing away, illiciting very loud noises of surprise from the two cops.

I end up back on a roof, another roof, and am aware of the trail I am leaving behind. I should stop swinging, so they can't track me. I take a deep breath and reach out with my senses.

"—swinging from webs?? I mean that's kinda cool, to be honest—"

"Just bring him in, be careful. We don't know what he's capable of."

"Yea, Tim. Fan boy later. Catch now."

"I don't know, even with the mask he seemed genuinely confused, like he really had never heard of Gotham."

"Oh, yea, Dick. Every single person on earth has heard of Gotham, if not for our fantastically high crime rates or Batman, then they know Mr. Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist Bruce Wayne—"

"Hey, no government names on the comms."

My blood runs cold. Who the hell is Bruce Wayne and why did they call him that— that's Tony. That's Tony. This... this is wrong, nobody else should be called that— not even as a joke.

I take a breath. Calm down, Peter. You've got this. You can do this.

Orange light washes over me and I look up, seeing Dr Strange looking down at me.

"Strange!" I attempt to swing back through the portal but my web fizzles and falls.

"Enjoy your new universe, Peter. I'll be back in a year to check on you."

"Dr— STRANGE!" I yell as the portal closes. My hair stands on end as I'm surrounded by seven masked forms.

"Who are you?" One in a blue mask asks. I recognize him as both one of the cops from earlier, and the one who was saying I seemed confused. He's also the one called Dick. Full name must be Richard.

"I could ask you the same, Dick." He clearly falters, and the others tense. I think back to his uniform.

"Name calling is going to get you nowhere."

"You think I'm joking, Grayson?" That gets him to freeze. "Should I go down the line?" Please don't call my bluff please don't call my bluff please for the love of whatever do not call my bluff—

"Nightwing, you know this... thing?"

"... you really don't know who I am?"  Strange said new universe. I don't know what I was expecting. "Spider-Man? I-I'm an Avenger? America's Favorite Avenger—"

"If this is some sort of weird power trip, like you think you're the greatest supervillain ever—"

"Villain?" I turn to the voice I recognize to be the one called Tim. "I'm not a villain!"

"Exactly what a villain would say." I look around, frantic.

"You have to believe me— I— the Avengers? Tony Stark? Nothing?" They all look to each other. I sink to my knees. "You don't have the Avengers. You don't have... anything." I hear static before a female voice begins speaking in their comms.

"I've got nothing on a Spider-Man, Tony Stark, or the Avengers."

"Of course you don't." They all stare at me as I sigh. "My name is Peter Parker. And I'm in the wrong universe."

"Okay, let's get that mask off and get you to a hospital—"

"Good luck getting my mask off, and I'm not going to a hospital. I need a computer. I have—"

"What do you mean, is your mask glued to your face?"

"No, Tim." He freezes. "It's nanotech. My AI controls it but because I'm in a different universe she doesn't work. I need a computer so I can fix her and then she can help me figure out interdimensional travel."

"How do you know our names?" The blonde girl asks.

"You should listen when your boss tells you not to use your government names on your comms."

"You hacked our comms?" I look at the one who looks like redskull but... less.

"No, I'm a superhuman. I heard you, literally."

"You... hacked our comms?" Dick says again.

"No, I— I didn't— I heard you— I have superhuman hearing?" I look around at them all. I sigh and listen closely. What can I hear... "I hear... something... or... no, someone running towards us? About... two hundred and fifty pounds? Something is flapping behind it— he's about a minute away based on his speed."

"How can you—"

"I told you, superhuman. Sort of. I—" I look at them, sizing them up. No, lifting one of them is probably going to get me attacked. I don't need that. They're not really setting off my gut, I don't feel bad about them. What can I do... I look around. "Ah!" I go over to a giant conveniently placed building air conditioning unit and lift it with one hand. "See? Superhuman. And three, two—" I point as a giant cloaked man appears. I was right, about two fifty. Mostly muscle.

"Meta." The smallest one mumbles. What the hell does that mean?

"Batman, he—"

"I heard." He narrows his eyes beneath his mask.

"Batman?" I say. "You really died on that hill?" Suddenly, my body feels heavy. Weak. "Crap—" I lean against the air conditioning unit.

"Are you alright, kid—"

"Don't call me that." I snap. "The only person who was allowed to call me that is dead— except no he isn't. He's in a different universe— god Mr. Stark, I wish you were here." I mumble that last part, it wasn't for anyone here. It was for him. "I'm fine, I'm just exhausted. I've been fighting an interdimensional sorcerer for like six hours and then I got dumped here, forgive me if I'm a bit tired." The man, Batman, nods.

"Alright, let's get you back to the cave. We can take a look and get that mask off so you can breathe better."

"My suit has a built in—" I stop. "No it doesn't, because Karen is down. Nevermind."

"Karen?"

"My AI. Do you have AI in this universe? Do you have computers—"

"Let's just... focus on you, okay?"

They all take me back to a giant tower.

"Bats, are we sure this is a good idea?" I hear Dick ask.

"He's a kid. He's scared and confused, not unlike how I met most of you. He thinks he's from a different universe, we—"

"I don't think I'm from a different universe, I am. And I'm not scared." They all stare at me again.

"When did you... gain the ability—"

"I was bit by a radioactive spider."

"Oh, metahuman." I furrow my brows.

"You call supers metahumans in this universe?"

"... you call them supers?" I nod.

"Well, sometimes. Other times they have a species."

"Like what?" I look at the blonde girl. I wish I knew all of their names.

"Well, my... kind of coworker Bruce got himself exposed to radiation and can shapeshift into a giant rage monster. I think he's got it under control now, but he accidentally exposed his cousin to it and now she can kinda do the same thing. Then there is Thor and Loki, they're just... gods, so, entirely different species there. Then there is Captain America, he is a super soldier, he was genetically modified to fight nazis. Bucky was also modified except he was modified by the soviets. And then we have uhhh Carol Danvers, she was modified by alien tech, and Natasha is just a trained assassin from... also the soviets? But yea, we're superheroes, so we're superhuman. What, are you guys metaheroes?"

"Vigilantes."

"Okay, moment of transparency, I know two of your names. I don't think it's a good idea for me to keep calling you by your government names while you're in the suit, so... what do I call you guys?"

"Nightwing."

"Redhood." Redskull looking guy.

"Red Robin." Tim.

"Spoiler." Blondie.

"Robin." Tiny one.

"Blackbat." The other girl, I can't see any of her skin or hair.

"Cat Girl." Short red hair and honestly comically large ears attached to her mask.

"And the girl on the comms?"

"... Signal." Dick, aka Nightwing, tells me. I look at Batman.

"And you're Batman. Great. I'm Spider-Man." My hair stands on end as two more figures approach from the sky. I tense before realizing that my new found... allies seem unfazed.

"Wonder Woman, Superman. This is Spider-Man. He says he's from a different universe and he can't get his suit off."

"You don't believe me, fine, I wouldn't believe it either. Is there a mind reader in this universe? Truth serum? Anything?" Everyone looks to Wonder Woman.

"I can use the Lasso of Truth."

"Perfect, hit me." She very carefully undoes the holster and a giant golden lasso unfolds. She takes my arms and ties it gently around them. It tingles.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Peter Benjamin Parker. I am a junior at Midtown School Of Science And Technology. I am Spider-Man, the vigilante hero turned Avenger after fighting Thanos in the Battle of Titan where I, along with half of the world's population, blipped. After coming back, I became a full-fledged Avenger." Everyone shares look.

"How did you get here?" She asks.

"A villain named Mysterio leaked my identity to the whole world and got me labeled as a terrorist. In my effort to fix things, I went to Doctor Strange, a sorcerer and fellow Avenger for help. He had a spell that could essentially turn back the clock and erase my identity from people's minds. I didn't want to go back to hiding things from my loved ones, so I asked for them to be excluded, but I accidentally broke the spell box and brought villains from other universes into my own. I discovered that the villains were misunderstood and hurting, and I am determined to save them from dying in their own universe. Doctor Strange did not like that and throw me here as a time-out. He said he'd back in a year." Wonder Woman nods.

"I see. Anybody else have questions?"

"How do you know our names?" I sigh.

"I told you. I have incredibly keen senses I could hear you all talking on your comms when you were chasing me."

"How did you come into your abilities?"

"Radioactive spider. Again. I already said this. Now can you please point me towards a computer?"

[thiswasinevitableid]

Together (Sternclay)

Another whumpcember prompt winner was Panic Attack. This is a continuation of this 1950s fill, but can be read as a stand alone

Authors note: This fill was supposed to be NSFW but took a very different turn than planned and it didn't fit with the tone. So, if you'd like to see part three with some fluff and smut, let me know.

The morning after the best night of his life, Joseph wakes up on the floor. 

That hasn’t happened to him since he bought the new bed, big enough so that he has to thrash a lot before he hits the floor. Lord only knows what buried memory sent him tumbling this time. He always wakes in too much of a panic to remember his dreams. 

“Joseph?”

He closes his eyes, breathes in steadily and slowly. It’s Barclay. Just Barclay. He came home with him last night after a Christmas party, he’s the first man Joseph’s ever slept with, he’s handsome and gentle and he cannot see Joseph on the hardwood, the ghosts of a nightmare making him kick and shout like a kidnapped child. 

“I’m okay, big guy” he stands, reaching for his robe, “I just caught my foot in the sheet and lost my balance.”

Soft footfalls, then Barclay is in the doorway, mug of coffee in either hand, “Here I thought you remembered last night and got all jelly-kneed. Know I did when I woke up.”

Joseph takes the offered mug, “I don’t come out of my dreams that easily. But now that you mention it…” he leans in and kisses Barclay once, sweetly, on the lips. The taller man sighs happily, gaze languid as he watches Joseph sip his coffee. 

“Would this be why you asked me last night how I take my coffee?”

“You caught me.” Barclay loops an arm around his waist, and Joseph is suddenly glad the curtains to the front are closed, “usually use that line before getting someone into the sack. But I do always wanna know. I…it’s important to me. To make it good for the other person. Makes them less likely to toss me out.”

He doesn’t bother to hide his distaste, “Some people don’t have the manners god gave a rock.”

“I mean I get it. Lots of guys aren’t on the level and need me to go before their wife gets home, and a lot of the ones who are lose interest as soon as they find out I did time.”

Joseph wants to turn and cup his face, promise him that he won’t lose interest, that the fruit trees in the yard will up and walk to Fresno before he sends Barclay away. Wants to pretend that there’s a world where it won’t be his own fault that his beautiful, fiery feeling between them fizzles out.

“Well” he sets his mug on the dresser, “you know I’m not married. And you’re the most fascinating man I’ve met in a long time. So, Mr. Cobb, unless you have somewhere urgent to be, I think you should come back to bed.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Joseph may want Barclay for a roommate, but Barclay is still in the “rehabilitation” program. That comes with a lot of rules and a tight leash. 

God, would he like Barclay on a leash? He thinks he would. 

Focus, Stern. There’s a job to do. 

He trusts his teaching assistant to guide the Intermediate Japanese class through their review session while he makes the drive from campus down into east Oakland. The administrative offices are next to the jail, and he’s mistaken twice for someone’s lawyer before Owens is able to see him. 

“Stern!” Owens shakes his hand, “Finally taking me up on the offer of joining the force?”

Not even if hell froze over.

“Not quite. I have a question about the Re-Entry Program; are members ever allowed to live outside of the halfway house?”

“In rare circumstances, like if they have family in the area who won’t lead them right back into crime. You asking because of Cobb? The missus said you two got on like a house on fire last weekend.”

“We did. Between you and me, I’ve been thinking about getting a housemate; the place is too big for me, and my job keeps me busy enough that meeting a nice girl to share it with won’t happen any time soon. The problem is, it’s in such a good location I don’t want to lose it by moving.” He lets his smile brighten, “Barclay and I get along, and it’s the same distance from the cafe you have him working at as the halfway house. You know I can handle myself, and I trust you to vet the program members to not be dangerous.”

Owens fiddles with his pencil, “How about this: I’m trying to convince the county to let us use a sponsor system for the program. You and Cobb could be a test case; he’s a nice guy, and between you and me I thought it was good he got a soft judge. All you’d have to do is give reports once and awhile, help become a productive part of society, all that.”

“I think we can manage.” He sits down so Owens can show him some paperwork, makes a note in his pocket calendar to swing by the cafe and talk to Barclay about it. Tries not to think about how Barclay has less to atone for than he does.

He gets to Bettys right before closing, nurses a paper cup of coffee outside while he waits for Barclay to finish up. 

As he goes to throw his cup away, he hears someone urgently call a name, and then something heavy hits him in the side. A narrow muzzle pushes into his face, covered in brown and  black fur. 

His limbs are going numb, he needs to run, he can’t, he’s not there, he’s in Oakland, he’s safe. 

“Joey! Joey get down!” A harried young woman hauls the German shepherd off him, “Sit. Oh thank goodness you remember that one. I am so, so sorry sir. She used to belong to my brother who she adored and when she saw you she just snapped the leash and ran.”

“It’s okay, just a scuff on my coat.” He looks down at the dog, fights a flinch as it barks once, happily, and wags its tail at his attention, “I’m sorry I’m not who you’re looking for.”

“If you ever figure out how to explain that to her, let me know.”

Joseph notices the ribbon pinned to her jacket. Someone she loved is M.I.A.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs. 

She gives him a sad smile, “I envy her optimism.” Another final apology, then she wishes him Merry Christmas and leaves with Joey in tow. 

Joseph brushes the dirt from his coat, so used to burying his fear he barely feels it. She’s heavier than the last one that hit him, his face slamming the mud, the shouts behind him, knowing that if they get their hands on him he’s done for, no one will come for him, and lord help him he knows what they do to spies, he’s seen it-

“Joseph?” Barclay is behind him, angelic under the street lights, “you okay?

“Just a little lost in thought.” He remembers why he’s here, pushes the past away, and steps as close to Barclay he can without drawing attention, “let me take you to dinner? I have some amazing news.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maybe it’s a good thing two men can’t tie the knot. Right now that’s the only reason Barclay hasn’t gotten down on one knee only  three weeks after meeting Joseph. 

It’s not the house, mercifully quiet and tidy due to their joint cleaning, or Joseph making sure they split dinner duty. It’s not the new room that’s technically his own even though he spends every night under soft sheets with Joseph.

It’s that when they talked about the “sponsorship,” Joseph offered a bulleted list of how they could phrase the agreement so that Barclay could leave if he needed to, could not be just tossed out on his ass if things went south between them. That the night before he moved in, Joseph sat down with him to make a grocery list to cover them both. That when Barclay holds him, he feels safer and more at home than he thought he ever could, and can feel Joseph’s shoulders shaking with some nightmare, and hopes with everything in him that this relationship simmering between them will soothe whatever part of his past keeps chasing him. 

Life isn’t a fairytale. God knows they both understand that. But doesn’t it deserve a chance to be? 

In place of a proposal, he’s keeping Joseph company on the drive down to Salinas to see his family. Christmas is a relatively new practice in the family; it overlaps with Hanukkah this year, but according to Joseph, there’s been pressure to make at least a passing effort at Christmas.

“A neighbor told my mother it seemed un-American to not observe such an important day.”

“What the fuck?”

Joseph jabs his baked potato, “It’s the same one who couldn’t understand why my family wasn’t carted off to internment because they don’t understand Korea isn’t Japan.”

Barclay suspects that if Mrs. Stern is anything like her son, the neighbor was instantly withered by disapproval. The last time he visited him on campus he saw him turn that stare on some older students harassing the janitor and felt vicarious shame the rest of the night. 

They turn from the highway, away from the coast and into the farmland. Fields whiz by, brown without the strawberries, spinach, and artichokes that will cover them in the spring and summer. The radio has been playing the same ten Christmas songs, and so Joseph lowers the volume and asks about the Christmas party that Barclay attended at the halfway house. 

He sighs, “It was okay. Hank liked the records I got him.”

(They’d gone to the store on Shattuck to find them, pressed up against each other in the small space as they looked through the shelves and crates, and Joseph had walked out with five for the house, half his picks and half Barclays, plus one they’d grabbed for at the same time).

Joseph casts a glance his way, “What happened?”

“A bunch of the guys got me a ‘special gift.’ Said it’d make me into a real housewife. Relatedly, if you know any women who need stockings, point them my way.”

Two fingers raise off the wheel, “First of all, the joke is on them for wasting money on something that isn’t funny. Second of all, if they think taking care of a home is embarrassing, I have three generations of women who will happily threaten them in no fewer than three languages for you.”

“Keep that in mind, babe.” He leans over, kissing Joseph on the cheek.

The conversation turns to the movies, and by the time they turn onto the main drag they’re deep in debate about what to see the next time they catch a matinee. 

A plane buzzes overhead. Barclay wonders who the fuck is flying right now; maybe a celebrity zipping up for a Christmas on the coast, or an overworked mailcarrier. 

Joseph tenses in the driver's seat as he pulls toward the parking spaces in front of the darkened Parks Grocery. 

“Joseph? Baby, what’sAH!” He yelps as the bumper bangs into the sidewalk. 

“Shit.” Joseph hisses, then his voice flattens, “I’m sorry, it’s nothing, I just had trouble seeing the curb. Is the car alright?” 

Barclay pokes his head out, peering between the headlights, “Might be a little dent, but that’s it.”

When he looks back, Joseph's face is the same as it was a few minutes ago, friendly and collected, “That’s a relief. Okay, I can take the presents if you take the food; they’ll hold up better to the onslaught.”

Joseph’s right; the instant the door opens, he’s being hugged by a woman with brown hair piled on top of her head, an older man slapping him on the back, and a girl who looks like she could be his daughter clinging to his legs. He hears something ripping and hopes it’s wrapping paper and not Joseph’s shirt. 

The memory of coming back to the Lodge after being gone, of arms around him welcoming him home, sticks under his ribs like a knife. 

“Alright, alright, let the poor man in.” A figure that can only be Mr. Stern appears, looking up at his son before hugging him, “what, you thought I wasn’t going to get in on the action?” 

“Good to see you too, Dad.” He passes off the presents to a tall, blonde man, “Dad, everyone, this is my friend Barclay.”

He waves, pie tray in his free hand, “Thank you for letting me come on such short notice.”

The older man in the glasses waves his hand, “Eh, what’s one more, she’s cooking like the entire Giants are coming for dinner.”

“And who is that because, huh?” The woman who must be Mrs.Stern jabs a wooden spoon his way, “you ate half the table at the Seder last year.”

“Doctor says I gotta keep my strength up. That makes sense, right Joseph?”

“He’s a nice boy, he’s not gonna argue with his mother.” The grey haired woman says dryly from her spot beside him. 

“Bubbe is right on the money.” Joseph takes the pie and carries it to the counter.

“I can help out if you need.” Barclay offers, but Mrs. Stern waves for him to sit down. 

Joseph introduces him to everyone, and Barclay begins to understand why both floors above the grocery are occupied. Of the two sets of grandparents, his great aunt and uncle, parents, and older sister Lily, only Lily lives elsewhere. She and her husband, Craig, brought themselves and his niece Sophie down from San Francisco for the day. 

At one point he looks around, unable to find Joseph, and sees him speaking quietly to his parents in Korean. His stomach twists, wondering if it’s about him, if Joseph feels forced to justify while a man with a rap sheet is sitting in their living room. 

Then Sophie is nearly in his lap, demanding to know what kind of pie he made, and he lets himself be drawn back into the conversation. 

A tap on his shoulder, and he looks up to find Mrs. Stern.

“Barclay, can you help me bring some things up from the store? I forgot to cart them up earlier and a few of the boxes are a little heavy for me on those stairs.”

“Sure thing.” He follows her out the door and down the side stairwell, the grocers cool and dark when they get inside. She shifts boxes around in one of the storage closets while Barclay scans the newspapers on the wall. 

(Joseph’s whole family took her name, he realizes. “Park” belonged to his father, hence the name in friendly red letters out front). 

“Joseph said you two are moving in together?”

“Yeah. I’m really excited.”

“You mentioned you were up on the coast for a while. Is your family up there?”

He nods and she continues, “well, I’m flattered you chose our ‘christmas’ dinner to come to instead.”

“It’s, it’s not like that, my, I-” He looks over at her leaning on the counter and realizes he’s stepped right where she wanted him to. 

“I…I got into some trouble. And when I got out, they only let me up to see my family and friends once. They told me they were afraid that if I was paroled there, I’d just take up old habits.”

“And would you?”

He thinks about the names on immigration documents, the pleas for safety,  Indrid forging signatures perfectly while Barclay and Dani worked out which routes were the safest to send them.

“In a heartbeat.”

The steel in her posture softens, “You’re honest. That’s a good thing in a man.” She places a box onto the counter, “Joseph told Lawrence and I the truth. Don’t be angry with him for that, he comes by his inquisitive streak honestly from both of us and knew to head off our questions so we wouldn’t embarrass you by mistake asking them at the table.”

“I kinda had a hunch he had.”

She steps closer, “Can you promise me something? Keep an eye on him these next few weeks. This time of year is hard for him. He’s never said why, I assume it has to do with what happened over there. He hides it well, I’m not sure even Lawrence notices. But a mother always knows.”

Barclay feels strange relief, knowing someone else has spotted the brittle edge to Joseph's smile that's been worrying him the last few days,

“I’ll do my best.”

She reaches up and pats his cheek, “Thank you. Now, let's get these boxes upstairs. Careful not to drop that one, it’s mostly applesauce.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’d been doing so well. He made it through the drive down when the plane buzzed overhead and he was back in Dresden. Through the moment at the table when Sophie had if Barclay had been in the war and his mother simply said, “he was a hero, like your uncle.” Joseph had wanted to shout that unlike him, Barclay really was one. 

Then someone had to go and set off a firework right after they got home. 

Now he’s standing in the bedroom, fighting himself with rapidly dwindling success. He held it together then, why can’t he hold it together now? What if these attacks never stop, what if they get worse. If they get worse, someone will notice, oh god help him what if they happen in class, he’ll be fired for sure, what good is a professor who can’t do anything but shake? And if Barclay finds out, he’ll be gone in an instant, because Joseph will confess on top of everything else and then Barclay will know him not only as a coward who can’t keep the past at bay but as a failure. The one person he wants more than anything in the world will leave him and there will be no one to find him when one of these episodes finally stops his heart-

Warm, large hands cup his face, “Joseph, hey, stay with me.”

“I’m here.”

Barclay shakes his head, brown eyes overflowing with tender concern, “No, you’re not. You’re somewhere else. Come back to me. Please?”

“I don’t know how, I’ve tried and tried and I can never make it stop, I just have to ride it out, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“What are you apologizing for?” Barclay, voice genuinely confused, is trying to guide him to sit on the bed, but his limbs are lead even as his heart tries to break his bones from the inside out, “you aren’t hurting me, things went well with your family, I thought everything was okay…”

Oh god that’s what the tone he couldn’t place at first is; Barclay is scared. He thinks he’s done something wrong. 

He’s already failing him. 

He has to push through, he can salvage this.

“Can you please close the curtain. And maybe roll up a towel at the bottom of the window? It’s those fucking fireworks, the noise and the light is getting to me.”

Barclay nods, squeezes his hand, and stands. Joseph inhales as deeply as he dares. 

It gets stuck, turning to a sob halfway through.

“Woah, woah baby hey” Barclay drops to his knees, “whatever you’re thinking of is in the past, it can’t get you here, you’re safe-”

He shakes his head without meaning to, “I don’t deserve to be. Someone else should have come back in my place.”

“Bullshit.” The murmur is surprisingly forceful. 

“No” he snaps, “it’s not. I was a spy, Barclay, and that means doing terrible things for the sake of keeping your cover. It means turning a blind eye to some of what you’re seeing because if you look too long you’ll decide to hell with the mission and try to stop it.”

Barclay stays quiet, keeps hold of his hands. There’s a burn scar on his wrist from an oven and Joseph raises it to his face, keeps it against his cheek. It’s easier to talk with it there, like whatever he says is a secret Barclay will hold in his palm for safekeeping. 

“I had a few near-misses but the worst one is the one I can’t shake. It was understood that if another agent was caught, unless we could be certain we could escape with them without blowing cover, we were not to intervene, even if it meant their death. I was in Dresden, technically as an axis member, but really on a mission where if I failed, there’d be more men dead than just me. It was already stressful because I knew there could be a bombing any moment.” 

He presses a kiss to Barclays skin to steady himself, “the other agent on the mission was found out. He ran, but where we were….there was no chance of escape, there were too many of them. I heard the shouts, knew what was happening, then he rounded the corner and I realized he was about to call out for me to help him. So I” he closes his eyes, lets him see it again as penance, “I shot him. Before he could reveal me, too.”

He’s still crying, but the sobs have stopped, and his heart is no longer ten seconds away from an attack. Now if only he could bring himself to look Barclay in the eye. 

“I don’t know what to say.” 

“It’s okay. If, I understand if this changes things-”

“No! I mean yeah, it does, but not how you’re thinking.” Barclay takes Joseph’s chin and gently guides his head up, “I literally don’t know what to say. Because what I want more than anything in the fucking world is to know the magic words that would make it better. But I don’t, and I’m not sure there are any, but I’ll be absolutely fucking damned if I make you feel worse. Yeah, I could sit here and judge, but I wasn’t fucking there, and what matters to me, in this moment, is that you’re still stuck.” He rests their foreheads together, “I know you’re trying to reconcile every awful thing you went through with the story everyone wants to tell about you. But I’m not someone you have to impress, or someone you have to confess to. I’m just the nobody cook who lucked out enough for you to like him.”

Joseph doesn’t throw himself into Barclay’s arms; that implies an energy he does not have. Instead he sinks into them, only for the cook to maneuver them both onto the bed and cradle him close. 

“How many times do I have to tell you you’re not a nobody, big guy?” The teasing comes out in a shaky whisper. 

“Dunno, it might not ever stick and you’ll just have to remind me every day how great I am.” 

He snickers, “I already plan on that.” A yawn overtakes him, “christ, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just drop this into a nice evening. I’m so fucking tired.”

“Then we should get some shut eye.” Barclay carefully undoes the buttons of Joseph’s dress shirt.

“But-” 

Barclay looks at him, eyes hopeful and serious, “You want this thing between us to go on for a while, right?”

“More than anything.”

“Then we don’t have to talk through every tough thing in one night. We’ve got time. We can make a life that’s worth all the pain it took to get here. Together.”

Joseph nods, presses a kiss to those full lips as a thumb brushes the last of the tears from his cheek, “together.”

[enkas-illusion]

About My Man - Part 2/5

Fandom / Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen / Choso x f!reader, Suguru x f!reader

Rating: SFW - but the next parts won’t be so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Content Warning: Fluff, language

Chapter Summary: A tale of three lovers and a series of unfortunate incidents. Your heart’s a mess in this tug of war where kindling romance is fizzled before it has a chance to bloom.

Author’s Note: I love writing this shit so much dksbgsbgzgndgbjabgr!!! Hope you enjoyed reading it just as much.

~ Eren’s Birdie

Part 1 | Part 3

Song Dedication: Almost Is Never Enough by Ariana Grande & Nathan Sykes

“Hi stranger… Do you remember me?” he smiles at you.

It takes a few seconds for your words to actually escape your throat, “Of course I do, Suguru.”

The slight caution in his eyes dissipates upon hearing your words. He takes a step closer, a little too close for someone who's supposed to be an ‘estranged friend’.

Invading your space and looking down at you, he delivers a joke that reeks of arrogance, “Right, it's hard to forget someone like me.”

You see a glimpse of the guy you once knew, still feeling a weird churning sensation in your stomach as you turn on your heels to face the door again without returning his smile. 

The key unlocks your door without much trouble this time. You open the door wide, step to the side and look at him once again. He calmly walks in and you close the door behind him.

“So, what brings you here? How did you even find my address?” You ask as you lead him to the sofa, dropping your gym bag to its side.

“Damn, not even gonna ask me for a coffee or something?” he snickers.

You almost roll your eyes before playing along to get this over with quickly, “Sure… would you like some coffee?”

“Sure,” he smiles as he plops down in the centre of the sofa.

“Black? Or with milk?” You keep your questions short.

He smiles as he looks at you, who's trying the hardest to maintain a stoic face and avoid eye contact, “Don't you remember what I like?”

“Nope,” you give him a smile that can be better described as forcibly stretching one’s face muscles.

“Ouch,” his playful tone doesn't waver, “Plain milk, without sugar… just like your mom used to make for me.”

“Okay, be right back,” you speed walk into the kitchen. You make two cups of coffee and put them in the microwave as you slouch over the counter, almost collapsing completely.

My god… get a grip!

You rub your hands over your face, lightly slapping your cheeks a few times to snap out of it. With the beep of the microwave, you decide to be civil to the man sitting outside, no matter how annoyed you may feel.

You grab the two cups and walk out into the living room, placing his cup on the table in front of the sofa. He scoots to one side to make space for you but you settle down on the chair that's further away from his end.

He grabs the cup and scoots to the end near you nonetheless. You don't react. You simply blow on the steam emitting from your mug before taking a sip.

There's awkward silence as he looks at you. You don't look at him but you can feel him looking at you. 

You simply concentrate on your coffee and take one sip. Then another. Then another. Then ano–

“Can you stop it?” He interrupts finally. When you look at him, the crease on his forehead disappears as soon as it arrives, no hint of irritation visible.

“Stop what? Drinking coffee?” You ask plainly as you take another sip.

“Why are you acting like this? As if I’m a total stranger?” He asks, sincerity in his voice. 

“Because we are strangers. I don't know you… anymore,” you answer, holding his gaze.

“No, we’re old friends who just drifted apart,” he states matter-of-factly. 

“Easy for you to say,” you snort.

“What does that mean?” He pokes, his calm voice irritating you beyond measure.

Don't do it. Don't say it. Just don't. Contro–

“Well of course it's no big deal for you! You crushed me when we left for college. I cried over you for like six damn months and then moved on like normal people do. And now you're here like nothing’s wrong and talking to me as if we're old buddies for whatever reason! Suguru, I couldn’t care less about you but it's your fake serenity that's annoying the shit out of me,” you speak in one breath.

Suguru is caught off guard for the first time during your entire conversation. And for the first time today, a rancid feeling seeps in his heart – maybe you two really have turned into strangers in the last 5 years.

“Right, I'm sorry,” he says without knowing what exactly he's sorry for. You wait for him to continue so he does, “I guess I just wanted to start again on good terms since we're gonna be neighbours.”

Your eyes almost pop out of their socket as you almost yell, “I'm sorry, what?”

“Oh,” he smiles awkwardly as he puts two and two together in his head, “I guess you haven't spoken to your mom recently. Since I got a job in the city, I was looking for a place to live. My mom told your mom about it and she gave me the contact number of your landlord… he owns the apartment next to this one as well.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to say, stunned at the massive dump of new information.

“Umm… I was hoping we could start off on the right note? Be friends again perhaps?” he hesitates. 

“Right… welcome neighbour,” you smile and reduce the hostility in your voice. Figuring out your confused state of emotions can wait until after he's out of your house.

You hear a door unlock as your roommate walks out of her room in her pyjamas. 

“Good morning, babygurlll,” she says to you in her baby voice, rubbing her eyes, unaware of Suguru’s presence.

Yet when he turns around to look at her, she's stupefied by his beauty (understandably so). Unwillingly tearing her eyes off of him, she looks at you for answers.

“This is Suguru, my old friend and apparently our new neighbour,” you speak, still in disbelief, “and that's Luna, my roommate and best friend.”

“Ah, so you’re the one to replace me?” He jokes, flashing his pearly whites to her.

You clear your throat at this and he turns to look at you. The calm serenity restored in his eyes.

“I'll get going now. See you around neighbour,” he drinks his now cold coffee in one chug before getting up. You lead him to the door.

“Yup. Bye,” you say as you close the door without returning his smile.

You walk back in and Luna almost sprints to get closer to you.

“Can you believe this guy?” You whisper. 

“THAT'S Suguru?!” Luna's voice is too loud for a whisper, “Holy shit, he's hot!”

“Right,” you stare into nothingness as you contemplate life all over again… but before that, you had to call your mother and scold her for playing cupid with the wrong person.

~~~

You don’t dare step out of the house for the rest of the day, avoiding Suguru as if he were the plague. At least till you rationalised the whole situation in your brain, it was the right thing to do – or so you told yourself.

Choso and Satoru arrive on time for a change, but only because the latter got hungry and wanted to devour the pizzas as soon as possible. You ban him from touching the food, wanting everyone to eat together since Maki was only 15 minutes away.

“Then can I at least have those biscuits you baked last week?” Satoru pouts.

“Fineeee, wait here,” you roll your eyes at him as you leave to fetch the cookies for blondie.

Choso calmly follows you into the kitchen.

“Been busy?” he asks as you grab the cookie container from one of the overhead shelves.

“Hmm?” you turn to look at him.

“In the morning you hung up so abruptly, I figured you’d be busy, but then you didn't text me all day.”

“Sorry, it slipped my mind,” you sigh.

“All good? I was kinda worried for a sec… not much though,” he teases.

Your brain freezes for a second when you remember the events of the morning. You hesitate before speaking, “No, just… exhausted.”

He nods.

“Why? Missed me?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him.

“And what if I say yes?” he retorts, folding his hands over his chest.

“Then I’d say, I'm right in front of you. You’ve got no reason to miss me,” you tease back.

“Hmmm, what about the…” he mumbles, concentrating on his maths, “ten whole hours since the morning?”

All you can do is blush. How do you even respond when your legs feel like jelly, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his arms?

“Well, no worries, you can just make it up to me now,” he answers his own question, moving closer to you with a smile.

“Sure, this should do it,” you open the box and bring a cookie up to his mouth, which he bites into oh-so-delicately. You try not to stare at his lips shamelessly as you look down to close the lid.

“I doubt it. The more you feed me, the more I keep craving,” he sighs with a delighted smile, “Is this your plan to get me addicted?”

“I can bake as many cookies as you want,” you smile back at him sincerely.

“Mmhm?” Choso moves closer, caging you against the counter, “So you do plan to get me addicted…”

Choso leans impossibly closer to you – so close that you feel his soft breath against your cheek. You break eye contact to look down at his lips, bringing a hand up to rub off the tiny bit of cookie crumble from the corner of his mouth. He brings his hand up against yours to tightly intertwine your fingers, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“Are cookies really the worst thing to be addicted to?” you almost whisper, feeling the butterflies wreaking havoc in your stomach.

You close your eyes when he nudges his nose against yours. You feel his soft breath fanning your lips as he whispers back, “Nope, just another excuse to be near yo–”

“I’M STARVING!” you hear an encroaching shriek, abruptly pushing Choso away just in time for Satoru to find you both standing in the middle of the kitchen like two deers stuck in headlights.

“I-I couldn’t remember where I’d kept it,” you stutter your way through the unnecessary lie as you extend the container out to Satoru.

He grins as he grabs it from you, “I’m calling dibs on whatever’s left in here.”

He takes a step to the exit and then looks back at you both again, “What are you guys waiting for? Maki’s here, let’s have dinner.”

You nod as Satoru walks out, about to follow behind when Choso grabs you by the arm and you feel embarrassment shoot through your every nerve. You turn around to look at him and he takes you by surprise when his soft lips gently land on your cheek. You place your hands over his chest to steady your racing heart.

“Choso,” you whisper as he leans down to rest his forehead against yours. He whispers your name back, his hands cupping your cheeks. You stare at the way he licks his lips on instinct and you crane your neck up as your hands scrunch the fabric of his t-shirt.

He teases you – so close, yet not closing the half-inch gap. His intoxicated eyes look into yours as one of his thumbs rubs over your bottom lip before tugging it open slightly. You hear him cuss a light ‘fuck’ as his patience wears thin. Your lips almost touch and you feel goosebumps prick all over your skin.

“GUYSSSS BEER!” you hear the same annoying voice howling from the living room, startling you.

You feel your skin grow hot like lava under Choso’s touch but he’s moving away before you get a chance to melt completely. The silence is so loud that you don’t miss the sigh of disappointment Choso lets out, one he had been holding in since the moment Satoru had first interrupted.

“I’ll take these outside,” he sighs, running his fingers through his hair in frustration, grabbing the bag of beer cans from the counter.

“I’ll get a– water,” you point towards the fridge and he nods before leaving you alone in the kitchen. You quickly turn on the sink to splash some cold water on your face. With a few deep breaths, you fix your appearance, grab the chilled bottles and walk out to join the group in the living room.

The minute you settle down, everyone basically inhales the slices. Once again, you and Choso are one clueless-blonde-friend distance away, who sits comfortably on the sofa, separating the two of you. Throughout the dinner, you catch Choso stealing glances at you because you’re busy doing the same thing, your eyes trying to find him subconsciously. 

When Satoru extends a hand out for the last slice, Choso slaps his hand away to grab it instead.

“Mine,” Choso mumbles, taking a bite of the piece he already has in one hand. It makes you giggle.

“Hey! How can you be so ungrateful? I’m your best friend!” Satoru complains.

“Have my beer… I don’t care for it,” Choso tilts his head to the unopened can on the coffee table.

“You’re forgiven,” Gojo is quick to grab it, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa.

“Wow, I’m full. What about everyone else?” Luna wonders out loud.

“I’d love some ice cream!” Maki squeals.

“Nah, I’m done too,” you sigh as you rest your head back, “Check in the fridge, maybe there’s some chocochip left.”

Maki’s faster than lightning as she quickly returns from the kitchen with the ice cream container, “There’s not much left here, maybe for two people.”

The doorbell rings. Luna gets up to answer it.

“You can have it if you want! No worries…” your voice trails off when you see Suguru enter behind Luna. 

Why the fuck can I not catch a break today?

“Hi,” Suguru smiles at you, almost ignoring everyone else.

“What are you doing here?” you didn’t mean for it to sound so rude but when Luna shoots you a look as if to say behave, you soften the frown on your face.

“I just finished unpacking and I was getting bored so I wondered if we could hang out,” Suguru explains himself, “but since you’ve got company, I better leave–”

“Are you the new neighbour? I noticed the lights were on when we arrived,” Maki asks.

“Yes,” he smiles at her, “that’s me.”

“Cool, what’s your name, neighbour?” Satoru’s next.

“I’m Suguru Geto,” the minute the words escape Suguru’s mouth, it feels as if the air changes and gets heavier… Okay, even if that might be an exaggeration, what Satoru says next might’ve just given you an embarrassing memory that’ll haunt you forever for the rest of your life.

“Suguru?” Satoru squeals, connecting the dots served to him on a silver platter, “Aww, that’s so cute! Did you really move here cause you missed your girl so much?” 

You see a faint crease form on Suguru’s forehead in confusion that further deepens when his eyes meet your petrified ones. 

“Suguru, would you like some beer?” you get up abruptly, making your way to the kitchen without waiting for an answer. He nods anyway, taking the hint as he follows behind you till you reach the kitchen.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you turn to face him as you mumble, “So, this is kinda embarrassing…”

“Does your friend know me?” Suguru questions calmly.

“Right, this is going to sound crazy but I have a valid reason,” you explain.

Suguru leans against the counter, an amused smile starting to form in the corner of his lips, he knows he’s going to enjoy this.

“Right… you saw the black haired guy outside?” you ask and he nods. You continue, “I kinda like him… well, a lot.”

“Like you used to like me,” he smiles smugly.

“Like I don’t anymore…” you glare at him but realise you might need his help so your eyes soften again, “Anyway, I was too scared to confess to him and when he asked me if I was seeing anyone, I sort of ended up lying that I had a long-distance boyfriend back home.”

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, pointing his index finger to his own chest, “Me?”

You simply nod.

“So I’m your pretend boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyfriend.” you clarify.

“Right…” he contemplates, “But I’m here now.”

“Yup, that’s the problem. We’re supposed to be broken up cause you couldn’t handle long distance… hence blondie made that comment earlier,” you add.

“Hey, I can handle long distance shit! I’m not one to give up so easily,” he sounds offended.

“Right, when it’s someone you really like,” you snide.

In your desperation, you’d forgotten to realise how pathetic this seems. As much as you want to save yourself from this embarrassment, Suguru doesn’t owe you shit. He broke your heart once upon a time and you got over it long ago. It’s over, there’s no point in acting like a stubborn child and then feeling entitled to his help when you’ve been nothing but hostile towards him since the morning.

You take a deep breath to speak in a calmer manner this time, “Obviously you’re not obligated to play along. I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

“This is so odd. I can’t figure you out,” he folds his hands to his chest, tilting his head slightly, “I felt like shit in the morning – it’s like you’re an entirely different person now, yet I keep seeing glimpses of the old you I knew so well.”

“People change. I’m sure you have too... look, no hard feelings, you’re allowed to walk out and say whatever you want, I won’t hold it against you,” you speak with a formal smile. He notices there’s no venom in your words and smiles at you.

“Okay… I’ll be your long lost, long-distance boyfriend… and it’s only cause you’re someone I really like,” he repeats your previous accusation.

“Ex-boyfriend,” you remind him again.

“Well, then we better get out before they start wondering if we’ve rekindled our romance,” he grins as he ruffles your hair before walking out, leaving you alone in the kitchen. 

Your shoulders slump as you sigh. You grab a can of beer from the fridge before regaining your composure to follow him out quickly. You hand the can to Suguru and he enjoys it throughout the whole ordeal.

Suguru is surprisingly civil throughout the entire conversation with your friends. He had a smooth lie for every invasive question Satoru bombarded him with.

“So, will you guys get back together now that distance is no longer an issue?” Satoru asks with heart-eyes and eager for gossip. Choso, who had gone quiet since Suguru arrived, looks at you.

“Who knows–” 

“No!” you interrupt Suguru’s answer, which somehow seems directed at Choso as you hold his gaze. You look at Suguru, who’s sitting on the chair you had dragged out from your room, and make another excuse, “We’ve decided to be just friends now.”

“But exes can’t be friends,” Choso speaks up for the first time since Suguru's arrival.

“Sure they can… we’ve been best friends before we started dating. We’ll be fine,” Suguru defends.

There’s an awkward silence in the air. Luna again comes to the rescue, “Guys, let’s start the movie? Or we won’t be able to sleep till late.”

“It’s Sunday tomorrow anyway,” Satoru groans.

“No, let’s begin. I’ll get the popcorn,” you answer as you make your way to the kitchen for the umpteenth time. This time you manage to get out without another breakdown-inducing incident.

When you come out with the popcorn, Suguru’s already leaving, excusing himself as he was too tired to stay for the movie. You lead him out the door and exchange no more than polite ‘good night’s. 

As Luna presses play on the TV remote and Maki turns off the lights in the room, you successfully manage to sit next to Choso on the sofa with Satoru on his other side.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” Choso turns his head to look at you. With uncertainty in your eyes, you smile at him. In the dim light emitted through the TV screen, you see him smile back at you, but for the first time, you can’t tell if it’s sincere. You slowly rest your head on his shoulder – if this was the night you’d lose the guy you really liked cause you were too chicken to do anything about it then you might as well savour every minute of it. Choso relaxes his shoulders, allowing you to rest more comfortably. 

You don’t remember when you fell asleep during the movie but you wake up when you feel movement around you. 

You get up off the sofa, squinting your eyes at the lights being too bright, “Where’s everyone?”

“They left a few minutes ago,” Luna says as she finishes cleaning up the cans and boxes.

“Did Choso say anything?” you ask. 

Luna shakes her head, “Nope.”

You touch your forehead, feeling as if your head will burst anytime. Luna calls out your name and you look at her. 

“Go to sleep. Don’t think too much,” she smiles at you. You nod and make your way to your room. Overthinking could wait till the morning.

~to be continued~

[indigosabyss]

Tentative Champions Roster For Champions x Umbrella Academy S3

Reality changed with a fizzle, and seven pairs of feet digging into ground they were never meant to touch.

"Well, that... wasn't how I was expecting this to go," Kamala noted, hands resting on her hips as she looked at a giant billboard ad of some superhero group.

"Oh, god, are we trapped here forever?" Qureshi asked nervously.

"Data from previous incidents say we shall be back home in a week, maximum," Viv consoled.

"Standard protocol: we link up with the local team here," Kamala said, looking around, "But which of us were caught in the jump?"

~~~

Kamala Khan aka "Ms Marvel"

They watched the fans gathered at the base of the building, clamoring to grab the towel thrown from the roof.

Kamala wrinkled her nose, "Ew."

"I know," Amka rested a hand on her shoulder.

"I wanna bite something, those costumes are so disgusting. How dare they be the only superheroes and do this."

"Shhh, it'll be alright. Don't fight this guy, you know we need them on our side," Amka said carefully, tugging Viv over to grip Kamala's other arm, in case she tried to lunge at him.

~~~~~

2. Vivian Vision aka "Viv"

They were in a standoff in the mansion, the Champs and two other teams that seemed to have a lot more history with each other.

Finally, the silence was broken by a man with a beard, looking desperately at a corridor, "Mom?"

"'Mom'? She's a robot, you pervert," a woman from the Sparrow Academy said.

"Something wrong with that?" Viv asked, irked.

~~~~~

3. Amka Aliyak aka "Snowguard"

Fei called her crows back to absorb them into her back.

One of them, however, didn't meld into her.

Instead, it transformed into a girl in white and blue clothes.

"Surprise!" she grinned, and then turned into a bear.

~~~~~

4. Nadia van Dyne aka "The Wasp"

The crows drove Allison and Klaus into a closet, and were now chipping away on the outside.

"Hey, you wanna get out of here?" a cheery voice asked from behind Allison while she braced the door.

Both of the Umbrellas yelped, before processing that it was one of the teenagers that had made this whole thing so much more confusing.

This one was the white girl with a bobcut and a poofy skirt.

"We're trying to leave," she pointed out, "But there's murder birds on the other side."

"Also, how'd you get in there?" Klaus asked.

"Snuck in through the gap in the bottom. Pinpoint, get us out of here!" she clapped. A disk of light opened under their feet.

~~~~~~

5. Qureshi Gupta aka "Pinpoint"

They fell through the disk, and landed in blinding sunlight. On a roof.

Allison looked around in surprise, seeing the mansion across the street from them.

"What the hell?" she turned to the girl, "Did you do that?"

"No, I shrink and grow," Bobcut Girl said, "Pinpoint teleports."

A boy standing to the side waved shyly.

"Wow, you're so tiny. Allison, were we this tiny when Dad made us...?" Klaus asked.

~~~~~

7. Fernanda Rodriguez aka "The Locust"

"Coming through!" the girl with the bulky red getup and blue scarf yelled, bringing one massive foot down on Alphonso.

He didn't move, though out of surprise this time than any tactical reason.

The superpowered kick landed, and both him and the girl suffered the full brunt of it, landing side by side on the ground, wheezing.

"You're strong," she said.

"So're you. Super strength?" he guessed, unsure why he was asking. Never fought another super before, after all.

"Nah, don't have powers," she replied, "That's just hydraulics."

Huh.

He thinks he broke a rib.

~~~~~

6. Tommy Shepherd aka "Speed"

They were all catching their breath at the park. Everyone except Tommy, who was nursing a different wound.

"I'm totally going to lose my job," he languished on an entire bench by himself, "And for what? An adventure with the Baby Avengers?"

Viv hummed, "I thought you would be more excited for a mission with me."

He perked up immensely, "Oh, fuck yeah! It's gonna be a brother sister bonding mission! We're gonna make Billy so jealous."

"He's Emperor Consort of two different alien empires. There's nothing you can do to make him jealous," Nadia told him.

Luther looked between them all, "Why're you guys still here?"

[dr-docktor]

Local Docktor wakes up at 4:30 am, feverishly writes about his own OCs like he’s a young Victorian man dying from mysterious illness and he needs to write his will.

Ugh this group makes me so insane. I love when the team of misfits and outcasts and found family falls apart <3 I miss them every day

warning for a high school school exploding? Nobody dies but one of ‘em gets hurt pretty bad

Revon has always been an odd kid.

Deadly silent, even in his movements, the only thing that ever alerted people to his presence was the click of his cane against the stone tiles.

Yet here he lay on the floor, screaming at the top of his lungs. Almost louder than the ringing in his ears. Almost.

He was going to kill Chuzu personally. Doesn’t matter if his cane snapped in two in the ensuing events of the explosion. He was going to claw tooth and nail to watch the life drain out of those wide blue eyes.

Speaking of which… there’s the bastard! Standing just a few feet away, facing the massive fire that raged through the halls. The guy gently sways back and forth on his feet almost as if he were in a daze. He pays no mind to his friend’s screams, the motherfucker.

Gathering the courage to let his hands unclamp from around his ears, Revon could only stare in horror as the palms come away stained with blood.

He wonders if he stopped screaming. he can’t exactly hear it, but his mouth definitely feels closed. Whatever. That’s the least of his worries. He first needs to deal with the bastard who started this.

There’s some sick satisfaction to being right. Chuzu had been acting off for months and yet nobody listened to his concerns. Half a years worth investigation work incinerated in seconds. Revon no longer cares about the motive like he normally would. He no longer cares about the how or even about who could be the true mastermind pulling the strings. Instead his vision tunnels and all he can see is the betrayal of what he thought was one of his only friends.

“ABONHANDS!” He screeches, hauling himself to his feet using the wall for support. At least he thinks he yells. He still can’t really tell.

“CHUZU ABONHANDS, YOU COWARD! COME AND FACE ME!” No answer. The guy doesn’t even turn around.

Pure rage burns brightly in Revon’s chest, threatening to consume him entirely. He’s never been impulsive. But hey, his parents did always say Chuzu was a bad influence.

Revon weakly pushes his long hair out of his face, preparing to lunge at the man who ruined everything. The man who fueled his paranoia for months on end. The man who took their friendship, something so rare and so sacred for Revon, and quite literally blew it all up.

He shifts forward, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain flaring up in his hip. ‘This is for Salem, you dirty-‘

His thoughts are cut short by a hand grabbing the back of his shirt, yanking him back with a surprising amount of force.

Kiki.

God, Revon wishes he knew what she was saying. Knowing her, it would be something inappropriately funny. But her face is deadly serious, eyebrows knitted in worry as she realizes he can’t understand her. She pulls his arm across her shoulder, insisting he leans on her for support.

Reluctantly, he does. The seething rage in his chest finally starts to fizzle out, leaving room for exhaustion. There’s very few things more humiliating than being dragged around like a useless little rag doll by your friend. But for once in his goddamned life, Revon is willing to put his pride aside. After all, there’s much more pressing matters.

It’s not until Revon’s knees hit soft grass does the crushing weight of everything start to press down on his shoulders.

One tear. Then another. And then a third.

Sobbing and wheezing violently, he can’t help but wonder if this makes him weak.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Burned Out

hiya! guess who’s craving more angst?? me!! So, since bruised ego, creative block, and shackled creativity has already been done plenty times, what if Roman had literal burnout. like maybe he’s got a high fever or he feels like he’s literally being burnt and he doesn’t realize it. Maybe another side smells the smoke and follow it to Roman who is just working away and he looks exhausted and sick and stuff. And then the sides take care of him and give him comfort. - lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie

 Read on Ao3

Warnings: burn out, emotional and physical

Pairings: DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 3382

The first time Roman noticed it, he thought it was a new power.

 The first time Roman noticed it, he thought it was a new power.

In his defense, he was still young! Creativity still reigned supreme in the Imagination, how was he supposed to know what it meant? The Imagination was wild and free and he was the only one who could tame it! He and his brother would craft wondrous things the other Sides couldn't hope to imagine, and they did it every day, all day, until Thomas had to go to sleep and they could slip into his dreams and play all night long.

So when he saw a spark curling up from the tips of his fingers, he thought he'd created something new.

It was so cool to have fires burning in his fingers, wasn't it? Fire at this point was still dangerous and scary and all the adults told you never to go near it because it was so scary. So if Roman could have fires burning in his fingers that made smoke and sparks, that was cool.

"Maybe you're gonna be like a dragon," Remus had suggested, his tentacles flopping around. It was at this point that the—well, the Sides that would become the Dark Sides had started to show their more animalistic features. Janus's scales had begun to show, his extra arms making him a menace when it came to movie nights. Virgil's voice was doing this weird thing now that made his ghost stories extra scary. And Remus, well, Remus smacks Roman's arm. "That's cool! I'm a Kraken, you're a dragon!"

"I thought Logan said you were an octopus."

"A Kraken is just a really big octopus."

"No, it's not!"

"Yes, it is!"

Roman reaches out to push Remus over but another set of sparks comes from his fingers and Remus shrieks. "Ow!"

"Oh, god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't—I forgot—are you okay?"

"Yeah, 'm fine." Remus gives himself a good shake and grins maniacally. "See?"

Roman lets out a breath of relief and looks at his fingers again. The sparks are still curling from them, drifting down on the grass. Everywhere they land, the grass fizzles and snaps and turns black.

"Maybe I shouldn't be here right now. I don't wanna burn everything."

"But you don't wanna burn the Mindscape either."

Roman sighs. That is true. "Maybe—maybe we can just—sit? So I don't burn anything?"

"Fine by me. You can tell me what ending you came up with for the story if you want."

He goes to do that but instead yelps at the sudden pain in his fingers. "Uh, maybe not."

"Do you wanna go…tell someone about this?"

"What? No, no, it's fine. Besides," he declares, puffing his chest up, "I'm gonna be a proper dragon when they all see me!"

"Bet I'll finish transforming first."

"Bet you won't!"

"Bet I will!"

 2.

The first time Roman figures out what it is, he almost destroys every single project he's been working on for the last month.

It hadn't been the…easiest of months, that's for sure, but it wasn't like it was the worst one he'd ever had. Sure, he had a lot of projects to do for Thomas but that was his job, he couldn't complain about being able to do his job. It was hard enough convincing everyone that it was worth taking the time to do these projects, he couldn't exactly start complaining about them now. And sure, it wasn't like it was gonna be a one-and-done thing, he had to submit them for everyone to talk about before he could officially pronounce them done, but still.

He's fine.

This is fine.

He's just come from a meeting where Logan was…not too enthusiastic about the amount of time he'd been spending holed up in his room working on things. Well, 'working' on things as Logan put it, was a core element of his, ahem, 'evaluation' of Roman wherein he described exactly how unproductive Roman's time-spent-to-product-shown ratio is.

Two weeks for just one chapter, Roman? In the past, you have managed to complete multiple chapters in the same day. Why have you decided to decrease productivity?

"It's not like I can just push a button and this stuff comes out," Roman grumbles as he goes back to sorting through his desk, "I'm not a machine. Do you know how much braining it takes to make the words go? No, all you care about is whether you can tick the little box that says 'Roman's Dumb Project' off your to-do list."

The other part of it, one that Roman argued for during the meeting, is that he's better now. When he was younger—when Thomas was younger, it was just a matter of getting things down on a page. He wasn't worried about language or narrative or characters, didn't have to hold himself to higher standards because he hadn't made those yet. He's worked to get better at what he does and so now it takes more time.

The problem is that Logan's type of work is the kind that becomes easier when you're better at it, so Logan argued that because he was better, it should be taking less time.

"We're not the same," Roman mutters to himself as he had said downstairs, "you can't hold me to the same degree you hold yourself."

I can, Logan had said as everyone else looked away in silent agreement, and I should. If you don't increase productivity, perhaps we need to reevaluate how we approach projects like this in the future.

"I'll reevaluate your face, how about that?"

He goes to pick up the sheaf of paper that represents all the work he's put into the past month with Logan's comments on it and his fingers twitch.

A single spark touches the paper.

"What? No, no, no!"

It races along the edge, curling into a blackened, ruined husk in a matter of moments. Roman rushes to put it out, get that piece of paper away from the rest, but more sparks keep catching and soon the flames begin to lick at the entire stack. In a blind panic, he flails for his water bottle and empties the contents over the burning pages. The fire dies with a wet sizzle.

Panting, he looks down at his hands. His fingertips are smudged with ash.

And the entire project with Logan's careful annotations sits in a wet, soggy mush.

"Thank god," he mutters to himself, "I took notes."

He waits a few more minutes to ensure he's not about to set fire to anything else and carefully disposes of the now-ruined stack of paper. It slides into the trash with a desolate squishing sound. He decides it's probably a good idea to wait before touching his notebook too.

 3.

The first time he sets fire to a canvas, he knows this isn't a superpower.

Granted, he hasn't really thought that since the Split. The only Sides that had animal-like features and such were the Dark Sides and Roman was Not a Dark Side. He was a Light Side and that meant that he shouldn't tell anyone else about it. But still, privately, just for himself (and maybe a few times in a corner of the Imagination no one but Remus knows about) he pretends that he can summon flame as a superpower.

Not in a 'back now, ye villain!' way or a 'let's see you defeat me when I can do this!' way, but in a quieter way. Maybe that's why he doesn't tell anyone about it, because it doesn't fit with his big arrogant Princely persona.

He pretends he's an old man in a quiet little cave, far away from his kingdom. His cave is filled with soft moss and warm rocks and in the center is a little firepit. When weary travelers come from far and wide, looking for a place to spend the nights, he takes them in and lights his fire, offering simple meals that taste more filling than anything you could ever dream of, and stories to help you fall asleep.

It's a selfish dream, but it's his favorite.

It's been a long week. He's had projects piling up on top of each other and everything seems to need an emergency last draft because apparently people don't understand that when he says I'm finished, that's not an invitation for them to come in and say oh, can you fix this, this, and this? 'Finished' means 'no more edits.' It means 'you've missed your window to tell me there are things you want changed.' It means 'you're the asshole who set this fucking deadline so you don't get to give me more work and then complain that I'm missing deadlines.'

He's a bit upset over it.

The point is he's been working overtime recently trying to get his work in and done and out of the way so he can focus on other things. Namely, all of the other goddamn projects they keep giving him. And finally, finally, he's at the end of the week and everything is done and now, now it's the weekend. Which means it's time for him to do the things he wants to do.

Remus has claimed the Imagination for the day—they each have to go through every month or so and do a spring cleaning of sorts—and so he's in his room, toying with all the things he could work on. He could keep working on that short story he's been putzing around for a while, he could do that crafting thing he's been meaning to do forever…

He looks down at his fingers. They've gone black again. They've started to do that more often now. He absentmindedly rubs them together and they smear across his hand with a slight sting of tender flesh. It reminds him of the ashes in his little firepit and he smiles.

That's what he can do. He can paint his little safe haven.

He summons a large blank canvas and paints, carefully mixing up the colors he wants to use and reaching for a brush. The moment his fingers touch it, he yelps in pain.

The metal rim around the base of the bristles cracks and warps from the heat of the fire. He frowns, trying again, only for the wood to start to smolder and he quickly drops it.

"Alright," he mutters, "maybe different brushes?"

The plastic ones just start to melt and smell horrible. The better wood ones just get way too hot to hold and he has to let them go with stinging palms. Even the littlest ones that he can pinch between two fingers aren't working.

He tries switching mediums. The colored pencils just snap. The markers start to smell so toxic he has to stop for a good ten minutes to fan the fumes away. The oil pastels melt all over his hands and it would be cool if it weren't so frustrating.

In a last-ditch attempt to just do something, he drags his fingers through the paint and grins victoriously when it stays on there. He reaches out to smear it across the canvas and—

He watches in horror as the flames eat through the canvas in a matter of seconds.

The empty wooden frame clatters hollowly to the floor.

 4.

The first time he gets a fever, he knows this is how he experiences burnout.

He's put it together by then. It's oddly poetic—at least it would be if it weren't so infuriating.

But when he wakes up one day with his head pounding and his entire body sweating and feverish, it goes from infuriating to downright torturous.

The fever is relentless, burning him alive one moment—not literally, thank all the gods that have ever been invented and a few that haven't yet—and freezing him the next. He sweats through all of his clothes in what feels like two seconds and half his blankets to boot, and then he's forced to curl back in up in the gross sticky sheets because he feels like he's going to freeze to death. His head has sledgehammers beating against it from all sides and he must start crying from it at one point because he's got tears on his cheeks and a stuffy nose on top of everything else.

He wants someone here. He wants someone to take care of him. He wants someone to kiss his forehead and tell him it's all gonna be okay so bad.

Immediately, his mind goes to the Imagination. Of all the selfish things he indulges in there, the people he's conjured just to take care of them are right near the top of the list.

He thinks of the castle steward, the slightly too-flirty young man with curly hair and a wicked smirk who softens at the first sign of genuine discomfort. He wants him to come and find him like this with some off-hand pickup line about getting even hotter before he calls for a bath to help get his fever down.

He whines as the fever suddenly flares hot again and he shoves the blankets down around his knees.

He thinks of the sweet no-nonsense woman who makes chainmail in the town square and how he just wants her to come say oh, it's alright, love, you'll be alright. He wants her to come make sure he's got enough fluids in him and sit with him, stroking his brow and keeping him focused on resting, not how awful he feels.

The pounding in his head gets worse.

He thinks of the kindly old knight who is one of the few people that actually remembers and how he looks at Roman like he's so proud of him. He wants him to come and just be here, maybe if he's feeling particularly pathetic, he'll cup his face with one gloved hand, kiss his sweaty temple and murmur this too shall pass, my dear boy.

He doesn't realize the ash has spread to his arms until he tries to wipe his face and sees the burning sparks.

It's cruel, he decides in one of his last lucid moments before he succumbs to the fever, that the very things that bring him comfort in his worst moments are the same ones he is to be punished for by the flames.

 5.

The first time the ashes spread to his face, he thinks he might die.

It's not been good. He feels chained to his desk, fingers bound to the keys of the keyboard churning out word after word after word. He's not even sure of their quality anymore, only sure that the number in the corner keeps getting higher and they won't be happy unless it reaches four digits. The work isn't even fun anymore. It's just a chore. The ideas that once ran around his brain with boundless energy have vanished.

Burned to a crisp.

He's stopped wearing his prince costume. The ash just gets on the white immediately and it's so hard to clean. He wears ratty old T-shirts now because no one will notice if they're a little more threadbare than they were when he started. The ash trails all over his pants, his desk, his computer, up his arms and across his torso.

He thinks hysterically that he can see his fingers getting shorter with the amount of ash he keeps losing.

The fever never really goes away. He keeps a hot water bottle and a bowl full of ice next to him as he works, either to put on his lap when his fingers tremble from the cold or to stick in his mouth when he can't breathe from the heat. His typing will grow clumsy and he has to force himself to go back and fix his typos, lest he forget and accidentally submit them to the others.

It hurts. There's nothing poetic or glamorous about it. It just really fucking hurts.

When he drags himself to the bathroom too many times for how few words he's written, he stops.

There, in the mirror. His face…

He's run out of words to describe it. He just looks at his face covered in ashes and cries.

That hurts too.

 +1.

The first time the others come to take care of him, he thinks he's dreaming.

He thinks he's dreaming when he hears Patton quietly go oh, sweetheart, and gentle hands reach for him and adjust the covers around his head. They tuck back the blankets just enough so he can breathe easier and the softest kiss presses to the tip of his nose. It's okay, sweetheart, we're here now.

He thinks he's dreaming when he feels Virgil's arms hook under his and lift him up so he can carry him to the bathroom. Easy, Princey, it's okay. We're gonna get you in the bath, okay? You're a mess right now. The strong chest next to his cheek feels soft and he can't help trying to nuzzle into it. Shh, it's okay, bud, I gotcha.

He thinks he's dreaming when he hears Logan's voice instructing quietly how to make him better. The water will feel cold to you but it isn't. You've got to let it do its work and help break that fever, alright? Strong and sure hands wipe the tears from his cheeks and he just keeps crying. Hush now, little one, it's alright. We're right here.

He thinks he's dreaming when he feels a soft washcloth brushing against his face, his neck, down his arms and legs. The smell of Janus's favorite body wash fills his nose as an almost hypnotic whisper fills his ears. Shh, shh, my prince, don't you fret. We'll take care of you.

He thinks he's dreaming when it apparently comes time to get him out of the bath and Remus is there, tentacles and all, drying him off with a soft fluffy towel and getting him into a clean shirt and boxers. You're such a mess, Roro. I love you so much.

He thinks he's dreaming, but then he remembers that it hurts to dream right now.

He thinks—he thinks—

"…Re?"

"Roro? Ro-bro, can you hear me?"

"'S that you?"

"Yeah, Roro, it's me. I'm right here. Oh, fuck, I'm right here, you're doing so good, okay? It's gonna be okay, we're right here."

"Easy, Remus, you're gonna freak him out more. Calm down, bud."

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down, Roman's—"

"Still not out of the woods, so shush."

He blinks, trying to figure out what's going on. Someone with glasses leans over him.

"Roman? Can you hear me, little one?"

"L'gan?"

"Yes, that's me." He can't be imagining the relief in Logan's voice. "Your fever's broken but we need to get you to drink something. Have you been able to keep things down?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Janus—"

"Right here." A cool hand supports his head and another guides something to his lips. "Your favorite flavor, sweetie, we need to get your electrolytes back up."

He drinks. A hand strokes his throat to help him swallow. By the time it's pulled away from him, he feels a little bit more human.

"Good," Janus whispers, his hands still cradling Roman's body, "good job, sweetie."

"Kiddo? Can you look at me?"

It takes a moment, but Roman manages to open his eyes, turning his head to try and find Patton. Patton smiles when he does it, reaching out to stroke his cheek.

"You're gonna be okay," he says in that firm voice that brokers no argument, "you will. I know it might not seem like it right now, but you're gonna be okay."

"…yeah?"

"Yeah, sweetheart," he promises, "you're gonna be okay."

For the first time, in perhaps a very, very long time, a different spark flares to life inside Roman's chest.

Hope.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @ultrageekygirl  

[leoandraphssoulmate]

Dead End

A FLUX Alternate AU Short (Or is it?)

The hard edge of the bricks, that lined the outer edge of the roof, cut into the fur on the backs of my thighs as I stared down at the busy New York street below. It had been more than six months and I hadn’t heard a word from him.

Not one single breath.

And I'd give ANYTHING to hear Leo and Raph fight! Crazy as that may seem.

I'd give anything to hear them scream. To hear them cuss one another out.

At least they'd be here.

My mind seems to be chasing more than a few ghosts these days. Because just a moment ago I could have sworn I heard him and his brothers shouting somewhere behind me. 

I laid my ears back, closing my eyes as a tear escaped, rolling down to disappear in the fur on my cheek. Where did we go wrong? Where did I go wrong? This reality? It’s not the same without him. This world has lost its magic. 

I.

Have.

Lost.

My.

Magic.

I don’t know how to get home. Not without my powers. Not without Donnie. Not. Without. Them. 

I’m trapped. Stuck in my fox form. Forced to hide from this world as he and his brothers do.

But I’m on the other side of the glass.

I don’t know who to turn to.

I don’t know where to go for help. 

There’s no Shredder here.

No April.

No Casey.

I’ve looked.

It’s all different.

This reality is entirely void of anything related to them. Everything is much more bitter here. No one seems to be kind. 

A cold breeze blows through my hair making me shiver. I pull Leo’s jacket tight around me, pressing my lips together. I remembered when he put it around my shoulders, his warmth making me smile. OH god! I miss him so much! And Raph…. 

I stretch out my legs, looking down at my fur clad feet. Winter was fast approaching. I had yet to secure a proper hideout and I worried that I might not be able to in time.

Sure, I was hiding out in the sewers where….

Ugh! 

Exactly where their lair was supposed to be! But it was completely bare when I got there! Utterly void of their existence! 

“I don’t know what to do.” I whispered to myself. Cause who else would I be talking to? 

“How about ya stand up and give me a hug for starters?” 

My stomach tightened, my eyes widening.  No way. I slowly turned my head, my eyes landing on the mountain of muscle that was literally one of my soulmates. His arms were outstretched, his green eyes sparkling.

“Did ya really think that we’d stop lookin for ya?” He smirked. 

“Raph?” I said, disbelief fizzling away as I stood. “I can’t believe it!” I shouted, bolting for him. The second I made contact with him, every fiber of my being came to life, sparking up my power deep inside me. 

Faintly, in the distance I heard Donnie shouting that Raph had found me. I immediately recognized the tone of the voice that followed.

Leo.

In all the fabric of space and time, I'd never forget that voice.

I peeked up over Raph’s shoulder as he lifted me up in his arms, holding me tight against him.

There he was. His blue eyes locked on mine. “Leo.” I whispered. 

After a few quick pecks on the lips, Raph set me back down, chuckling, and I sprinted around him, practically leaping into Leo’s arms as he kneeled down, arms wide. “I thought I’d lost all of you!” I cried, nuzzling my nose into his neck. 

“Never.” He slowly stood, pulling me up with him, then picking me up bridal style. “You’ll never lose us.” He smirked. “I’d slice through every universe. Implode a million suns. Before I ever stopped looking for you.” 

My heart raced as I turned my head to see Mikey and Donnie standing near what appeared to be some sort of capsule. Before I could ask what it was, Donnie cleared his throat, then smiled. “Heya, Star. We had a hell of a time finding you, but I was finally able to use the bond you have with Raph and Leo to find you.” 

I looked back at Raph, holding my hand out to him. He smirked, then gently took my hand. “And now I’m just ready to go home.” I laid my head on Leo’s shoulder, a sigh escaping my lips as my power returned to full strength. “The usual way.”

“Hell yeah! Cause that capsule is wayyy too small!” Mikey laughed as I raised my hands, creating a portal directly behind him. 

Author's Note:

I always have alternate versions of FLUX floating around in my head. This is just one of them. The love between Leo, Raph and Star gives me sheer joy. They would never stop trying to find her and she would always go to any length to find them. There's just no seperating them. EVER. I know it may seem cheesy and a over used trope, but thinking about them gives me a place to just quietly be.

@thelaundrybitch @wynndigogh

[vint-knight]

Trojan Records Chapter 1:

A tape recorder begins but then fizzles out

Click Click Click

“Is this working?” A gruff, tired voice answers.

“Seems to be!” Another voice, younger, answers.

“Shut it Paris!” “The voice slowly hissed, the sound of a smack is heard. “Any louder you get, one of the Achaens will find us here!”

“Enough Hector, he’s just being hopeful for you…” Aeneas muttered out, letting out a heavy sigh. “Gods know you need it…”

Hector huffs “I would have been more hopeful if he had brought Helen back, he had caus-”

A sharp sound is heard and the sound of a struggle is heard, Paris had a dagger pressed to his eldest brother's throat. “You really want to start this again?” Paris hissed, drawing the blade immediately back. “How many times shall you plant the blame on me? I did not have any choice but to choose one of the goddesses!” Paris backed off, sheathing the dagger. “I was not part of this family yet after I had made the choice, how could I have known it was a risk to our people?” Paris said with a pained expression, which Hector could only scoff again. “Perhaps when you reached Sparta and saw that Helen was faithfully married to the very king…” He bitterly called out.

“ENOUGH!”

Aeneas slammed his smooth, loving hands compared to his mother’s, turned to war hardened hands on a makeshift desk. “It doesn't matter who’s fault it is anymore, what matters is our survival, we’ve been in this drafty fucking holes for nearly 6 days!, using scraps of whatever rations we have taken from the city gates when going to battle…” Aeneas said with frustration, running his hand to his blonde locks. “We have to plant this, it’s at least some hope for the Achaens to retreat further” He weakly gestured to 4 plastic explosives. “If we just place it close to a section of their camps, a flow of water will come from the center, risking a flood to the nearby camps” Aeneas then collapsed onto the floor with exhaustion. “Them shut it both of you, we need some risk if we are hoping to succeed in the task” After that Aeneas went out like a light, remaining beautiful despite the dirt, blood and grime on his figure.

The two brothers stood in silence, reluctantly pushing away their beef, while the recorder still played.

“..... So are we just gonna keep that thing runn-”

Click, recording ends.

[howyouloveyourdragon]

wips

– Lady By The Sea – bran stark x mermaid!reader It's late at night that bran Stark sees something new in the depths of his minds but he can't comprehend it until his adolescence when he almost drowns at sea – Prince of Rouge – moulin rouge au, satine!aegon targaryen x reader The year is 1899 when you enter your new city's most hailed night club and meet the mysterious Aegon. After a night of passion and lingering glances, you come to find that he has already been promised to another and a choice paints your mind. Fizzle your desires or dance in secret hallways. – Of Lances and Thorns– male!hightower x rhaenyra targaryen Rhaenyra's world stopped spinning the day her father married her best friend but when her wallowing is interrupted by the chastised older Hightower, she finds that there may be some silver amidst her grey. – The Memories – aegon targaryen x reader Aegon hadn't touched his drinks in years but when he sees your face in his nightmares, he will do anything to forget that fateful night. – A Sunset Seal – male!martell x rhaenyra targaryen Rhaenyra had never liked the thought of being used like a pawn and especially not after she meets a mysterious Dornish man who also hates the chains that marriage embraces. When they both find themselves betrothed they plan to run away together...they don't know how close they are to their very own curse – The Set-Up – male!velaryon x alicent hightower Alicent is determined to find Rhaenyra a compelling match and Y/n is determined to gift his uncle a throne. When they mutually agree to convince the Velaryon's cousin to propose to the heir of Westeros, a young Queen and Lord find their intentions swaying in the worst way. They are falling in love. – Perfect – rhaenyra targaryen x fem!tully reader smut Rhaenyra has never been more bored than when on her tour for marital prospects...but then she met that sweet red haired girl with the most sweet doe eyes. What doesn't bore her are all the stirring images her mind curates at the sight of the innocent riña in her bed. – All's Fair In Love and Enchantments – rhaenyra targaryen x witch!reader x jacaerys velaryon, it's messy When Jacaerys is sent crashing from his Dragon into a dark forest and slowly feels himself drift from this realm...until he awakens to a charming woman ensuring his health. A witch. Inviting her home is easy but it turns when he discovers this witch is not unknown to his mother and neither is her heart.

– I Think He Did It – modern helaena targaryen x reader Helaena has been your friend for a long time. She tells you everything, what she ate that morning, whether her spider Dreamfyre snuck out again or how the children are but most importantly where she suspects her husband to be spending his nights because it is most certainly not in her bed. So it is no surprise who you are suspicious of when she suddenly goes missing. – The Flower and Her Sword – rhaegar targaryen x tyrell!reader 'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet' but this rose comes in danger when a certain prince suddenly grows affection for her. It is curious just how quickly a tale of beautiful maidens and entrancing tourneys can turn to one of nightmares. – Glue modern jacaerys velaryon & cregan stark x fem!reader Y/n has always been besotted with two men. She has never fallen so quickly for anyone quicker than she has for her boyfriends but they grow worried when she suddenly appears very distant...worry festers just as quickly. – My Breeze of Decay – eurydice!alicent hightower x orpheus!reader Falling in love comes easy to you, a love match unites you with a beauty of the Lands and once you are wed, you could not be more elated...until a horrible incident occurs and her fate is left with the gods. Can you travel the journey to her? – Crystals – dark!alys rivers x reader x dark!aemond targaryen smut You have been a travelling bard ever since you were young but after accidentally being left in Harrenhal, you are left at the mercy of a witch and her prince... – My One And Only, My Lifeline – band au, alicent x rhaenyra Rhaenyra has been in love with her best friend for as long as she can remember which is why she doesn't notice when the lines between platonic and romantic start to blur...maybe she isn't as infatuated with Cole as she thought she was afterall. It only takes one explosive gig to prove that. – The Study of Affection – cregan stark x reader Cregan Stark cannot say that he is used to romance which is why it is so nerve-wracking when he realises the princes expects him to court her rather than negotiate an arrangement. The lord finds himself in need of help and your nephew is more than eager to provide. – Lack of Lessons– jacaerys velaryon x reader (ft aegon targaryen) "Love comes later,, Your mother had told you - promised you - and yet you feel no love as the King's son rolls his eyes at your presence and begrudgingly takes your hand...Until a second prince catches your eye. You find yourself in lessons with his nephew as you both learn to navigate the new world you have been thrust into. – Some Seam of Regret – some thread of time part 2 – Some Ghost of Time – some thread of time prequel