#i need to figure out more cuddle poses i feel like i draw the same ones over and over again lmao

[cakesfunhouse]

mews

[gabessquishytum]

god i really need to step up my game and start thinking about hob/destruction kink nonsense to send you..... i love them and i desperately need more of them.

to start with: i think dream should lend his pretty little pet to his brother sometime. maybe dream has to go take care of something in another realm, he can't bring hob with him, and he wants to make sure hob gets enough attention while he's gone. destruction is more than happy to help out, of course. he genuinely likes hob a lot, but also he's very fun to play with. also great for figure drawing practise, because he's happy to be tied up in all kinds of poses.

(dream gets to spend plenty of time teasing hob when he gets back, too. because really, he'd thought he had hob's hole all broken in by now. but he's just destroyed now, isn't he?)

-🐈‍⬛

And then the extra delicious second part!

I love the idea that Hob and this random immortal dude "Olly" have been fwbs since the early 1900s, when Hob was mid depression after the 1889 incident. Olly took care of him in both an emotional and a sexy way and Hob has gone to him when he needed to be cared for ever since. So when Dream has this long-term thing coming up, Hob plucks up the courage to talk about Olly (only because Dream insists on having someone to look after Hob while he's gone).

And yeah. The meeting at the New Inn is awkward as fuck, Hob nearly has a breakdown because of the tension. He finally gets to find out that his fwb is Dream’s brother and that is.... weird. But it also kind of makes sense. He ends up tapping out and leaving Dream and Destruction to talk for a few hours. He's actually quite surprised when Dream says that he wants Olly to fill in for him, as long as Hob is happy with that.

So Dream reluctantly goes to do his Important Business, and leaves his brother in charge of his lover. All the same rules apply for Hob while Dream is gone - Olly is willing to give the benefit of the doubt on any rule-breaking at first, but he's not prepared to let Hob willfully misbehave. The first day goes surprisingly well. Hob and Olly are old friends, they know each other well enough by now to get on. Their chemistry is really good in bed, and Hob kind of enjoys just hanging out... and OK, maybe he slips into some bad habits. On the second day, he accidentally skips lunch, which is a broken rule that would possibly earn him a gentle spanking from Dream. Hob doesn't want to be spanked by Olly so he... lies about it.

And then he feels guilty for lying, because Olly is being so nice to him! In the evening Hob gets a little snippy and moody, and that's when he's pulled into Olly's huge, comfy lap. His eyes immediately fill up with tears. He admits that he lied and says that he's so sorry, and god. Olly is so gentle with him, cuddling him and holding him until he stops crying. Once he's calmed down, Hob knows that he's due for a punishment.

First he has to tell Dream what he did, which is humiliating. They're keeping in contact through daydreams, and Hob nearly cries again when he has to admit what happened. Dream sanctions a punishment (for the lie, not for the accidental skipped meal), and Olly gets to work. Hob has been spanked by him before, but only in a fun way - this is definitely not fun. His bare hand on Hob’s arse hurts more than any paddle in the world. He only strikes 10 times, but it’s more than enough for Hob to be whimpering for mercy.

Then he takes Hob to bed, and opens him up (which makes his bruised arse sting). Olly has Hob riding his cock, crying softly because of his sore bottom and the deep pleasure of being stretched open on such a thick cock. Hob has to admit that Olly knows what he's doing, just like Dream does. He kind of hopes they never tag team him (by which he means - he really hopes they tag team him. Soon).

...I really need to write a proper fic, don't I.

[simpotat]

Very much unable to draw rn bc head is pounding (and I know there is no in-universe way to justify the occurrence of the following) but I just know Malaise would be the most frustrating sickie. Joy might go up to her like:

"Hey May-May! How're ya feeling?"

"Terrible. *proceeds to list off all her symptoms and grievances in fine detail*"

"🙂"

She couldn't make up her mind on whether the hot or the cold is better, whether she wants a drink of water or soup, whether she wants to eat at all, where to be, how to sit, if she's grievously uncomfortable with the proximity of people or will die this instant if she doesn't have someone to cuddle to sleep- and she doesn't want to be pushy and annoying, she just needs to figure it out. But at the same time, everything hurts or feels icky in some way, making her not really want to move, and if you dare to ask her she will vent it to you.

Very unfocused and slow and kind of has to be nudged around and taken care of, which some other emotions will do because they feel bad leaving her to it. (Good thing Anxiety's specialty is multitasking... burning herself out in the process and eventually following suit, probably.) Disgust and Fear are in various levels of COVID protocol levels of protective gear (Fear might put on a Hazmat suit) because no they will not leave an opening for those dangerous germs they weren't even aware of existing as a threat until yesterday thank you very much. Thought of Anxiety possibly wearing a mask too but... look at her. How would she do it. She'd look muzzled

En.nui could not give any less shits about Malaise getting close, at most warning her verbally in a monotone. She will probably not kiss her on the mouth but let herself be cuddled by the poor girl if Malaise so desires.

(Her also catching it eventually is a funny idea to me solely because of what she's already like. Someone just chiming in "uhh guys En.nui hasn't moved in twenty hours" and she's just behind the couch in the Family Guy death pose suffering. She couldn't even get to the couch that morning. Alternatively, illness can make me feel a little fidgety since I literally want to crawl out of my skin and flesh and rather frolic in the woods as a skeleton, so what if she attempts to do her usual cool and mysterious couch reclining routine for the day but she just can't. Get. Comfortable. Squirming and turning incessantly, which becomes extremely frustrating as well as even more tiring. She can suffer a little bit if I have to as well)

Joy is incredibly irritating support I'm sorry but she would be. "Chin up, buddy! You'll be better in no time!" Wow, that is incredibly helpful, Joy. I totally wouldn't be strangling the excessive vitality out of you if I could make it to the console without wobbling.

Malaise would be stressed out by causing people inconvenience, as "that's all she ever seems to do", but contrarily be quite willing to help without snapping or complaining if she had to care for her girlfriends afterward. If accused of struggle or exasperation she would admit to it, but add that doing all this for a loved one that's precious to her makes up for the cost. She just wants to see her GFs happy and well. (I imagine she already has to look after Anxiety often even within canon's realm of possibility since she tends to push herself (or Riley) too hard sometimes. And she's very caring and attentive about it. She respects Anxiety a lot and as well as all her hard work, but knows when she should be reeled in and is happy to do that part of the service.)

[pingutats]

could you write a really fluffy bit on harry kissing every single self harm scar on your body? like, stroking them and cuddling with you and reassuring you that your body is beautiful and okay even with scars? 🥺

thank you for requesting this! this was genuinely quite therapeutic to write so i’m glad i did it — it’s longer than i meant it to be at about 2.4k words, but anyway. here’s a difficult conversation with new boyfriend!harry. 

major trigger warning for discussions of self-harm and scars. this is not a story for everyone, and could definitely be triggering if you are not in the right headspace. please be responsible and look after yourselves <3 

this is also pretty unedited so forgive any mistakes. okay!! onwards!

It’s getting late when Harry asks you, ‘Do you want to spend the night?’

The meandering film you found on Netflix is drawing to a close, finally. The characters are on a boat, drifting away into an Italian sunset. You barely have a grasp of how they got there — mostly, you just listened to Harry talk over the dialogue about a pretty little café he knows just around the corner from where this scene was filmed, or how cool the water gets at night there and so the actors must have been shivering. All of it wrapped up, of course, in a quiet suggestion to take you there someday so you can see for yourself. You get a little thrill every time he says something like that. It means he’s thinking of a future with you, which means he wants one, even though it’s only been just over a month since you’ve been seeing each other.

He trails his fingers up and down your arm, bringing up goosebumps beneath your sleeve, and looks at you. ‘Or I can drive you home, if you’d rather sleep in your own bed.’

You hum. ‘No,’ you say. ‘I’ll stay. I’d probably end up falling asleep in the car anyway. I’m so tired.’

His dimple appears. ‘Good, because I’d probably fall asleep at the wheel.’ He grabs the remote and turns the TV off, then pushes himself off the couch with a groan. He holds his hand out for you. ’C’mon, then.’

You grab his hand and he hauls you up, his other arm coming up to your back to pull you into his chest. You fall against him, grabbing his biceps to steady yourself. The two glasses of wine you’ve had tonight have thrown your balance off. He presses a kiss to your hair as you giggle. Then he brings his hand up to your jaw to tilt your head up to look at him properly. You nearly melt at his green eyes.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘I can sleep on the couch.’ His gaze is completely sincere.

You haven’t slept together before, both in the literal and figurative senses. You haven’t had sex with anybody at all, actually, and Harry seems to have picked up on your hesitancy. He’s never asked for anything. He lets everything stay on your terms. 

That’s what makes you trust him.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ you tell him.

He holds your gaze for a moment longer, just to make sure. ’Right,’ he says, breaking into a smile.

He finds a new toothbrush in his cupboard for you, and you brush your teeth together. It feels like a big step to do these nighttime rituals with him. It’s so domestic. He shares his cleanser with you and offers his moisturiser that smells like vanilla. You imagine spending every night like this.

As he leads the way back into his bedroom, he pulls his shirt off. ‘I get hot at night. D’you mind?’

You giggle — you can’t help yourself, at the sight of his muscled torso with all of its tattoos. He’s so handsome. ‘Not at all,’ you tell him.

He throws the shirt into a hamper in the corner, and the birds on his chest seem to fly with the movement of his shoulder, then looks back to catch you ogling him. He chuckles, and the sight of his dimples gives you butterflies.

‘You like?’ he asks.

You narrow your eyes. ’Are you flexing?’

He relaxes. ‘Yeah, a bit. Just wanna impress you.’

You snort at that. ‘Like you need to do anything to impress me.’

He grins. ‘D’you want something more comfortable to sleep in?’ He rummages around in his drawer for a moment, then pulls out a t-shirt and holds it up for you. It has an incredibly faded image of Flinstones characters on the front. ‘How’s this?’ he asks.

You smile at his courtesy. ’Perfect. I love your t-shirt collection, by the way. Where the hell do you find things like this?’

‘Oh, you know… Here and there.’ He tosses it to you.

You catch it with some semblance of grace — you’re proud of yourself for that. ‘Thanks.’ You glance at the bathroom door. ‘Alright. I’ll just… get changed in here,’ you say, slipping through the ajar door.

‘Alright, love.’

You shut the door, and realise you’ve forgotten to turn the light on, leaving you in pitch-black. You grope against the wall for the switch and turn it on, and take a deep breath. Why are you so nervous, so frazzled? It’s just Harry. You shimmy out of your leggings, then pull your sweater over your head.

You look at your reflection. Well. There’s a problem. It’s easy for you to forget when you’re alone, or wrapped up in layers of clothing — it’s just a part of your body now. Artefacts from a different time, years ago. Even the memory of how you got them — how you gave them to yourself — is slipping away, thank God. It’s all a haze. These scars were carved by a girl that you don’t see much anymore. They aren’t really a painful reminder anymore, just a fact of life. You know they're there. The problem is, no one else expects it.

You stare down at your wrists, seeing the lines that never faded. Maybe if they were all like the thin white lines, barely visible until you look closely, you wouldn’t mind. You’re going to sleep, anyway, and it’s not like he’s inspecting your forearms. No, it’s the three darker ones, hard twisting scar tissue that you can feel even through sleeves. Times where you went just a little too deep, were a little too reckless. The ones you regret the most. They’re big, and ugly, and too obvious. He’d notice them right away.

But he gave you his t-shirt.

You look at your reflection in the mirror, furrowing your brows. You adjust your pose, twisting your arms around so the inside of your wrists are hidden, facing behind you. You look ridiculous. You know, as soon as you see Harry, you’ll reach for him, and he’ll see.

Would that be so bad?

You look down at your arms again. It’s been years, and they’re still there. They’ll probably be there forever. They’re as permanent as the tattoos on his skin — except those are beautiful, and what you have is not. You can’t show this to him. The world where these scars exist, and the world where he exists, should never cross over. It wouldn’t be right.

You pull your long-sleeve back on, covering them again. Then you put the t-shirt, which is long enough to be modest on you. This is fine, right? It’s better than any alternative, at least.

You leave the bathroom holding your folded sweats up to your chest, nervous now realising that you are standing in front of Harry in just your underwear, more naked than you ever have been in front of him.

He’s checking something on his phone as he sits on the bed, back against the headboard and long legs stretching down the covers, but he brightens up at the sight of you. His gaze drops to your legs — which makes your cheeks burn, but his boyishly excited expression dissolves your nerves — then rises up again to your shirt. He frowns at the long-sleeve. 

‘Are you cold?’ he asks. ‘I thought it was pretty warm but I can turn the heat up if you need.’

You shake your head, dropping your sweats on the floor beside the dresser. ’No, it’s fine.’

He sits up straighter, swinging his legs over the side so his feet rest on the ground. ’Can’t be comfortable to sleep like that.’ He hesitates. ‘You didn’t have to wear the t-shirt if you don’t want to.’

‘No, I want to. I do.’ You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to figure out how to navigate this situation in a way that won’t end in him being annoyed or disgusted. ‘It’s just…’ You trail off, but one glance at his frown, at the way he leans forward and hangs on every word, makes your resolve crumble. You’ll have to have this conversation at one point or another. ‘Okay. Shit, Harry, can I talk to you about something?’

The way he answers immediately makes you want to cry. ‘Yeah, of course. Anything.’ He sits up straighter, pats the covers next to him, inviting you to sit down.

You sigh and cross the room to sit next to him, not daring to meet his eyes. How the hell do you explain this?

He moves his arm behind you once you’re sitting. Not touching you, but enough so he’s close. ‘What’s wrong?’ he prompts. ‘Do you need me to drive you home instead? Because I didn’t—’

‘No,’ you interrupt. ‘It’s fine. It’s just, I kinda…’ You take a deep breath. ‘Okay, please don’t freak out?’

He frowns. His next words are measured. ‘I’ll try not to. Is everything okay?’

‘Yeah,’ you whisper. It feels like the greatest effort in the world, but you curl your fingers around the end of your sleeve and pull it up, revealing your wrists. ‘So, I have these…’ Your voice shakes.

‘Oh, baby,’ Harry says quietly, and that’s all you need to hear. His arm behind you reaches around and pulls you into his chest, hugging you close to him. His thumb rubs circles into your shoulder as you sniffle, his other hand resting on top of yours.

‘It’s in the past, you know,’ you say, muffled into his shoulder. He smells good, you notice. Not that it’s really important right now, but you appreciate it all the same. ‘Not a big deal. Just didn’t want to scare you or anything. ’S embarrassing.’

‘Listen to me,’ he says, pulling back and holding your face in his hands. He waits until you manage to look him in his eyes. They’re watery, you realise, and that might be the most painful thing about this night. ’It’s not embarrassing, alright? I don’t want you to feel like that. They’re part of you, and I really like you, every part.’ He smiles. ‘I really do, you know.’

You sniff, wiping at your cheek with your fingertips, trying to calm your tears. Suddenly all your fears seem ridiculous. Did you really expect him to turn you away, disgusted? Ask to never see you again? You knuckle at your eyes. ‘Okay. I’m sorry.’

‘Hey.’ He springs from the bed to grab the tissue box from the dresser and brings it to you, pulling out a tissue and dabbing under your eyes himself. He’s so gentle. ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry, that you were worried to show me.’

You chuckle, grabbing a tissue from the box and blowing your nose. What more can you say to him? He’s so wonderful to you. It’s early days still, and you’re wary of moving too fast and coming on too strong. You aren’t experienced with relationships in the same way that you know he is. But you love him. You’re sure of it. You’ll tell him, one day. Soon.

‘You don’t need to wear my shirt if you don’t want to,’ he repeats once you’re calmer.

‘I’ll wear it.’ And to show him, in your sudden burst of confidence, you undress right next to him, taking off both layers and then putting the only t-shirt back on. You turn to him, and giggle. He’s turned his head away. ‘You can look,’ you tell him, nudging his knee with yours.

He looks back with a sheepish smile. ‘Didn’t want to be a creep.’ He scoots backwards onto the bed, settling his back against the headboard. ‘C’mere.’

You crawl over to him, settling with your back against his chest, sitting between his legs. His arms wrap around your middle, anchoring you to him. He presses kisses to your neck, the scruff on his cheeks tickling you. You curl up, twisting your neck away, giggling.

‘Harry!’

‘Sorry, love.’ His hands relax, and find your own. He rests his chin over your shoulder, and gently turns your palms upwards, so your wrists are visible to him.

You shiver, but allow it. You feel this is important. You don’t want to hide with him.

‘Y/N…’ he says quietly. You feel his chest push against your back as it expands with a breath. ‘Am I… am I allowed to touch them?’ he asks.

You’re surprised. You thought he would want to avoid them. You nod, then, realising he can’t really see you, you add, ‘Yeah.’

Your fingers are tense. You can’t help it. His thumb presses into your palm, massaging the tension away. He pulls the back of your hand to his lips and brings it back to your lap.

You close your eyes.

When he finds the first hard lump of scarring with his thumb, he pauses. He takes a shaky breath, then he runs his thumb up and down the length of it.

‘Y/N,’ he says softly.

You squeeze your eyes shut tighter. ‘Mm?’

‘You’re beautiful, you know.’ He pulls your hand back up to his lips, but instead he kisses the biggest scar on your wrist. ‘No matter what. You are.’

‘Harry,’ you whisper, because you don’t know what to say.

He kisses the scar again, then trails his lips up your wrist, covering them all. ‘I don’t want you to be ashamed of anything. You survived. That’s a wonderful thing.’ He drops your hand and cups your jaw, turning your head towards his. He leans around your shoulder to face you properly. ’I’m so fucking proud of you, you know?’

You never were good at taking compliments, so you just cross the distance between the two of you and kiss him.

When you’re lying together in the dark a little while later, with his arm thrown over you protectively and his soft breaths hitting your neck where his t-shirt doesn’t cover, you feel safe. Your arms are bare, you’re with another person, and you feel safe in this situation for the first time in years. It’s a wonderful feeling. All because of Harry.

You can’t wait to wake up in the morning and see his face again.

[blutopaz15]

How about "You're a softie", or rather "Ye're a softie" ?

Ackk!! This took me SO long to get to, I’m sorry!! It ~did~ turn into practically a whole oneshot though, so woooo! hope you enjoy ;)

also oops I lost the initial prompt post so I forget which number this is lol

#??: “You're a softie.”

Callum wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been expecting when Rayla had banished him from their room, saying that she had a “surprise” for him, but it certainly hadn’t been this.

She’d beaten him back there by a longshot. The “super short” evening audience that one of Ezran’s advisors had requested was not super or short by any means, and by the time Callum had traipsed back to their room, feet dragging and head foggy, she was already ready for bed. When the heavy door creaked open, though, rather than remaining comfortably and impatiently cross-legged on the edge of his matress, ready to curl up with him for a little bit before bedtime as usual, she’d popped up off his bed, shoved his pajamas into his arms, and quickly ushered him towards the washroom.

“Uh, okay,” he’d responded, curiosity over what she was up to clearing the fog from his mind. He deliberately leaned his weight into hers, stalling as she pushed him towards the door so he could ask: “What’s all this about?”  

“I have a surprise for you!” Her voice had his favorite teasing cadence to it, and Callum felt a little flutter of anticipation, warm and pleasant, in his chest. 

Satisfied and eager from the answer, Callum stopped resisting just as she shifted her hands from his shoulders to his waist and pressed her weight more insistently against him. This successfully sent him stumbling through the open washroom door. She gave him one more direction, accompanied first by a smile that was softer than he would’ve expected and then her lips on his cheek, before she sharply shut him away back there. 

“Ten minutes,” she said.

The typical draw of their evenings spent together was amplified by the promise of whatever surprise she was assembling out there, and Callum realized that he might’ve been a little too eager when he called out to her through the door for the first time—his face already washed, his teeth already brushed, his limbs already pajama-clad—and got an exasperated sigh in response. He tried once more, twice more, then thrice more before—at long last—she finally confirmed that he could enter.

The washroom door swung open wide, and there, at the center of the room, was Rayla on the floor, surrounded by what seemed to be every spare pillow and blanket in the castle, beaming at him, eyes shining and bright.

Callum grinned back at her, his head cocked to the side as his shoulder hit the doorframe. “What’s all this?” he asked, nodding at the piles of pillows she was nestled between.

Rayla’s nose wrinkled up as she lobbed the blue cushion laying across her lap at him, and he was pretty sure—as he held up his hands to knock it away from his face—that he’d never seen her smile so wide.

“Sleepover!” Rayla flung her arms open, gesturing towards the multi-color mountains all around her. “Last night you were saying how you wished I didn’t have to go back to my bed, and this isn’t technically sleeping in the same bed so…”

He bent to pick up the blue pillow and tossed it back to her—gently. That was a pillow-fight he would—absolutely, without a doubt, for sure—lose. She caught it—of course—and laid it back over her legs.

“I’m pretty sure this is still against the rules,” he said, shrugging at her, still in the doorway...trying to decide if he cared enough about those rules to deny her. 

Opeli’s ‘no sleeping in the same bed’ rule probably translated to ‘don’t sleep next to each other’ too, Callum thought. Though...he was pretty sure it also translated to ‘don’t lie in the same bed’...a rule which they’d been breaking daily...

But, attendants never came in to check on them in the evenings when they were bending those rules. The mornings were a different story, though: someone was always bustling in first thing, earlier than they could ever have a hope of waking up to separate themselves first, and Callum had to wonder if that was Opeli’s specific bidding.

Still though...like Rayla had said...technically…

“...and we care why, exactly?” Rayla asked, an eyebrow raised, arms crossed, outwardly annoyed. Callum could see, though, that his hesitation—which wasn’t really his anyway—had hurt her.

Pre-bedtime pillow fort cuddles—no beds or sleeping involved—probably wouldn’t break any rules, Callum figured, even if their luck changed and they got caught.

Though, maybe, he considered, the strictest translation of Opeli’s rule might be that they just weren’t supposed to lie down with each other at all…

Rayla was frowning now.

He took a few steps closer before turning his back, spreading his arms, and collapsing back onto the stacks of pillows next to her. When he peeked an eye open, Rayla chuckled softly, reaching for the hand that’d fallen across her knees.

“Dummy.”

She looked over her shoulder and down at him, appearing not quite as deflated. Callum leaned on his elbow to offer up an explanation. 

“I’m just saying, Rayla, I really don’t want to have to explain it to Ezran if Opeli separates us.” He’d meant that to be lighthearted...but it was also very true. He winced theatrically, and Rayla smiled back, rolling her eyes and squeezing at his fingers. When she stopped shaking her head at him, what she wanted was still lingering in the way she looked at him. She eased herself down by his side, matching his pose.

“Callum...please? Just for tonight?” The sincerity in the way her brow furrowed tugged at him...and she knew it. That teasing rhythm was back in her voice when she went on, her stare so very sweet. “Come on, you know you want to! It’ll be fun! The ‘it’s not a bed’ excuse will definitely work at least once.”

That was probably true, Callum admitted to himself. It was possible—likely, actually—that Opeli wouldn’t be happy about their rule-bending, but...feigning innocence was a possibility…

Plus...it’d be so nice to wake up at Rayla’s side. Her arms heavy with sleep and draped over him...her warm breath on his cheek...her lips parted and perfectly within kissing range…

Like she could see his resolve weakening, a mischievous smile crawled across Rayla’s lips. 

“How can I convince you? We can snuggle all night! I’ll let you be little spoon?” She rocked closer, still up on her elbow like he was, and pressed a kiss, brief and enthusiastic, to his lips. When she pulled away and her eyes opened...she didn’t even need to tag on the last incentive. “Mmm, I don’t know, what else do you want? Anything!” 

It wasn’t quite heat in her eyes...more like...a spark. An offer of heat. 

A similar heat very quickly filled in underneath his collar, across his cheeks.

“Yeah, the answer to that question is definitely against the rules,” he laughed, eyes wandering to the ceiling before he smiled at her. “But...fine. Sleepover. If we get caught, though, you’re going to be the one who explains to Ez what Opeli is so worried about.” 

Rayla’s hand wrapped around his almost as soon as Callum started poking a finger at her to go with the dramatized sternness of his stare, and, before he knew it, she’d used that leverage to knock him flat on his back. Rayla’s arms looped around his neck, her chest pressing him into the floor, and she was still for a moment, just holding him near. Her lips landed in his hair.

She stayed close to whisper, giggling in his ear. “You’re such a softie, Callum.”

“Maybe so,” Callum conceded, turning to press a clumsy kiss to her jaw before nuzzling closer, his lips drifting down to place tonight’s first of what he intended to be many kisses against her neck. “I was promised anything I want, though.”

The sigh she made wasn’t all that loud when he kissed her again—this time just under her ear, the skin there exceptionally warm and smooth—but Callum could feel it vibrate in her chest, and he was sure that she could feel the way he shuddered, too, as her fingertips ran along his spine.

“I thought you didn’t want to break any rules?”

[lovingrosewho]

Purgatory

Hello again! Long story short, previously I had watched Supernatural until the very beginning of season 12, because I found out what happened at the end and at that time, I just knew I wouldn’t be able to take it. Now that I’m rewatching the whole series I figured I’d might as well just keep watching what I didn’t anddd it hasn’t been much easier haha, I cried a lot and immediately started writing this, even before reaching the end of S12, so yeah that’s how bad I wanted my heart not to ache as much. Anyways, for those same reasons, I didn’t know about “the Empty” and perhaps a few things don’t make a lot of sense but I tried them to, sooo, hope you enjoy :-) Plus, some usual disclaimers: English is not my first language, any feedback is welcome, etc. <3 Ly all <3 

ONE SHOT

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Rating: T.- Angst, fluff

Word count: 3.7k+ words (yes, I got a little carried away)

Summary: you somehow get trapped in Purgatory and find Crowley

Warnings: SPOILERS AHEAD, SET AFTER SEASON 12, veeery slight smut, nudity(?), cursing

You don’t know how you got here. Everything’s dark. Like, pitch dark. The sounds are terrifying; growls and screams all along, sounds of beasts. The smell of blood and death ahead. 

Come on, think. What’s the last thing you remember? You were under a witch spell. Scratching and killing any single thing that got on your way. You had claws. 

You begin to walk, but the creak of the dry leafs beneath you is noisy around here, red eyes surround you and you’re forced to run in the only direction that seems viable. 

Legs trembling, you reach a clear spot between the woods. Where are you? 

“Hello darling” a voice with a british accent behind you startles you. You turn around ready to fight. A man in a ragged suit, covered in dirt and blood raises his hands in surrender “Relax, I’m not here to fight”. 

“Who are you? Where am I?” you demand taking a few steps backwards. He gazes at you curiously.

“You’re... well, we are in Purgatory, love” he reveals and you freeze. 

“No... no that can’t be right” you mumble, more to yourself than to him “Humans don’t go to Purgatory”. 

“That’s exactly what I was wondering. Fancy explaining?” he says in a smug tone. You eye him untrustfully. 

“Who are you?” you ask a second time. He looks impassive.

“Name’s Crowley. Who I am doesn’t matter” he answers cuttingly “What matters is... how and why did you get here? 

You shift uncomfortably, laying your weight first in one foot and then the other. 

“A witch casted a spell on me. I don’t remember much after that... just that I... had claws, and fierce, sharp teeth” you explain careful not to reveal too much information.

“Ah, yes” he nods and chuckles slightly “Nasty spell, that one. Never figured it sent you to Purgatory being a human, though”. 

“Me neither, must be the type of spell” you murmure, when you hear sounds coming from the woods again. Crowley takes your hand.

“Come with me” he says, and with little to no other option, you accept nervously and start walking right behind him. 

You’ve been a hunter your whole life, that is, until you stopped a year ago. You were tired, of the running, of death following you around, of the loneliness. But of course you never knew when, nor how, to fully stop. 

Crowley and you walk in silence, but the foggy ambiance and the sad landscape begin to make you uneasy. 

“How long have you been here?” you ask him, voice almost echoing amongst the trees. A few crows on the distance take flight and their croaks reach your ears, making you shiver. 

“Time doesn’t exist here” he explains after a few seconds “I don’t know how long it’s been”. 

You nod quietly. 

“Why are you helping me?” you sincerely wonder. He stops dry and turns to you.

“Am I?” he asks back, eyes in a little bit of annoyance. You shrug and he sighs, suddenly a dull aura washes over him “I’ll explain when we are somewhere safe. We’re almost there, just, hang on for a little longer, Pet”. 

You accept and start walking again, when you hear a strange hiss. Sideways, you get to see a vampire aiming for your neck. You hit it with a branch near you, but in response it throws you across the woods, hitting your back with a tree. Pain strikes you out, you’re barely able to get up, the adrenaline of hunting coming right back to you, ready to keep fighting, when Crowley beheads it from behind with a machete. 

“My, my. What do we have here?” he says in amusement, eyeing you “I know that look. That pose. You’re a hunter. I knew no common human could take that lightly being killed by a witch and going to Purgatory”. 

Before you can even answer he grabs your arm, prompting you to keep walking.

“Easy there love. If that one found us, that means there’s more to come. We’ll chat when we’re safe” he states and you nod, following him. 

You don’t know how much time passes. It feels like ages walking. Everything starts to look the same. You and Crowley reach a darker area.

“Does this mean it’s sundown?” you ask innocently. Crowley chuckles. 

“No. Nothing like that. There’s no such thing as sundown here. Everything stays the same. There’s no day nor night” he explains “No, this place is just where I come to get some rest when I can. It’s usually lonesome, but I try to keep moving anyways”. 

“It’s weird but...” you begin “I don’t really feel sleepy... I’m tired yeah but-“ 

“We don’t sleep here. We keep moving, fighting, killing. That’s the punishment” he says while climbing up a tree, not bothering to look at you “Come with me”. 

You sigh, and follow him once again. 

When you’re both far up enough, there’s no other option than to lay as close as you can to him, so neither of you fall down. You cuddle up in his chest. He doesn’t say a word as you do so, just slips an arm behind your waist so you don’t lose balance. 

“So” Crowley finally speaks “A hunter”. 

You sigh once again.

“Retired. Sort of” you try to tell and he chuckles. 

“I have it on good source there’s no such thing as a ‘retired’ hunter”. He’s not wrong. 

“Yeah well, that was exactly my problem” you say, closing your eyes for a second, but damn you, you can’t feel sleepy not even trying “Name’s (Y/N), by the way. You never asked”. 

“I figured you wouldn’t tell me if I asked” he guesses and you half smirk “I’m planning on keeping the nicknames either way”. 

You roll your eyes.

“Never told you not to” you tease and now he’s the one to half smirk “Who’s your ‘good source’?” you ask changing the subject.

“The Winchesters. You must have heard of them”. You’re not quite sure but it seems to you there’s a hint of nostalgia in his voice. 

“Doesn’t ring a bell” you confess muttering, the darkness suddenly weighing on you. You cuddle up to him even more. 

“It doesn’t?” he interrogates incredulously “That’s... weird. To say the least”. 

“Very” you agree. You thought you knew every hunter in the country. 

“They’ve stopped one or two little Apocalypses” he tells you. You laugh lowly. 

“I’m guessing you were good friends” you assume, and you don’t know it but Crowley’s heart breaks a little.

“More like archenemies” he reflects after a few moments, but you don’t believe him for a second.

“You’re not serious”.

“Deadly”. 

You stay quiet with this last statement and opt to stay silent in his arms, as the minutes pass. 

“I think I can help you go back” he murmurs. You frown.

“How?” 

“I don’t know much, but the same good source... told me there’s a way out. A portal back, if you will”. 

“That’s just a myth” you say, a sparkle of hope shinning through nonetheless.

“It got them out” he says, referring to his friends. 

You huff and shrug shortly afterwards.

“Well if you’re gonna help me go back” you talk distracted drawing circles in his chest “You can get back too right?” 

“I don’t know if it works for demons”. You gasp, you thought he was just a common... well, human.

“Demons don’t go to Purgatory” you mumble, which makes him exhale absently.

“Apparently I did”. 

His confession puts you in alert, you still don’t understand, but you know now’s not the time to discuss it, now you need to survive, and that’s not going to happen without Crowley. You’re tired, confused, and besides, at this point, being dead, in freaking Purgatory, you couldn’t care less about what he is.

Your body begins to feel drowsy, you haven’t closed your eyes at all and the lack of movement feels paralyzing. 

“Ready to get moving love?” Crowley asks you when he feels you shifting. You nod and disentangle yourself from him, slowly getting down the tree. 

What seems like days, or maybe even weeks, you spend it together. It’s getting tiring. You’ve found better weapons but it feels as if you’re just walking in circles. Maybe you are. You enjoy Crowley’s company, but there had been hunts, or more like survivals, you’ve been about to give up. He has noticed and has saved your ass more times than you could count. 

“I can’t do this anymore” you tell him one day while you’re next to a river, getting freshed up. He sighs. 

“We’re almost there (Y/N). Humans don’t belong here. The portal will spit you out the moment we get to it” he explains carefully.

“And I suppose you want a ticket out” you mock but he looks you in the eye, dead serious. 

“I don’t expect you to take me with you” he admits and takes you by surprise, his expression makes you gulp so you nod silently. He sighs again “I’ve done horrible things, love. Things you can’t even imagine. I’ve killed, I’ve kidnapped, I’ve tortured”. 

“But you’ve changed” you dare say, a slight smile appearing on his lips “I love it when you smile”. 

This time he grins naturally. You’re about to say something else when two asteroids of black mud drop to the dirt right next to you. 

“Bollocks” Crowley mutters “(Y/N) run!” 

You start seeing how the strange goo takes human form, whilst you step backwards to stand behind Crowley. 

“Go for the head” he indicates quickly, before whatever the things that you’re facing come right at you. 

You fight until they are beheaded on the floor. Crowley takes your hand, moving you away from the scene so no more of those find you. 

“What were those?” you say as Crowley pushes you to keep moving, your eyes in shock looking at the scene.

“Leviathan. I’ll explain later, now we’ve gotta run”.

You reach a safe spot in the woods and cover yourself in leafs as camouflage. 

“Crowley” you mutter almost inaudible “What the hell?” 

You are laying next to each other, his body almost melting in yours because of the need of heat and compact. 

He begins sighing, and tells you all about his life. His time as a human, as a demon, the Winchesters, Apocalypse, the angels, leviathans, him as a blood junkie, the need of love, of comfort and feelings.

You listen expectantly, you had never thought you’d see that side of Crowley. 

He finishes the story telling you about Lucifer and the Cage, how his ego, and his need for revenge, wanted to win, to see Lucifer suffer. 

“So... King of Hell huh?” you mock, speaking when he’s done, he just huffs playfully “But neither of those things were all that made you sacrifice yourself, were they?” 

He chuckles and shakes his head lightly. 

“I’d like to think after that the Winchesters finally saw that I was on their side” he admits “There was a time you wouldn’t see me fighting, I would be the one to witness the fights and do nothing... maybe God is punishing me for that”. 

“Maybe...” you say “Damn it. I should’ve quit hunting when I could”. 

Crowley chuckles. 

“Why are you telling me this anyways?” you continue timidly.

“I’m getting you out of here, (Y/N). I figured, we’re just a few more hours until we get to the portal... what is a little more softness from my part?”

“Why?” you still demand “Why would you help me if there isn’t anything in it for you?” 

“Because it’s the right thing to do” he says with a serious face. 

You keep talking for a while. You tell him a bit about your life, hunting, family, friends... and he listens attentive, stroking your hair as the words come out of your mouth. 

Afterwards, you stay silent, leaving the conversation at that. It’s been a few rough days (if you can call that days), and you two have shared more than enough to each other. 

“(Y/N)...” he calls your name quietly “Before we leave, there’s something I need to do”. 

“What is it?” you say lifting yourself up a bit to look him in the eyes. His scruffed beard almost grazing your chin, his eyes looking at your mouth. 

“Care to guess?” he says as he catches your lips in a gasp, you part them and begin exploring his mouth, letting his tongue dive into yours, deepening the kiss.

The heat is consuming the both of you, desperation and need for contact, for love, catches you two off guard, wandering for more. Your hand roams across his chest, grabbing him and closing any single distance existing in between, and then travels to his crotch. His on the other side, moves to your hair and pulls you to him, his other hand tightening on your waist, an eager grasp, but he stops you right there.

“(Y/N)” he says softly “I... we can’t”.

“Why not?” you say confused, still kissing his neck and jaw. 

“We could get killed” he explains holding you gently, making you look at him “We need to keep moving, we’re almost there”. 

“What if I never see you again?” you ask, voice cracking. He gives you a light, sad smile. 

“Hopefully, you won’t” he jokes, embracing you tightly. Sideways, you get a peek of what you think it’s a tear leaving his eye. 

You get up feeling heavy. This place has weighed on you but so has the fact that Crowley seems decided to stay behind, and you’ve come... to love him, actually. 

A few hours walking pass. The forest is in absolute silence, monsters just in the distance.

Suddenly, an electromagnetic force starts calling your senses, you feel drawn to it. 

“We’re almost there” you tell him, knees beginning to feel weak after all the walking, the fighting. You feel like you’ve been swimming non-stop all this time and just now you are about to touch mainland. Crowley smiles and nods, sensing you’re probably right. 

Finally, the portal appears in front of your eyes. Blue, electric lights, the end of the tunnel. 

Crowley stands close behind you, waiting for you to go, suppressing the need to cry and scream and curse at watching you leave. 

Unexpectedly, you turn to him and grab his hand, pulling him with you.

“You’re coming with me” you tell him with one foot on the other side of the almost closed portal.

“Are you out of your bloody mind?!” he yells “You don’t know if it’ll work!”

“I have to try!” you yell back almost in a sob, and with one last pull, Crowley’s inside the portal with you, it closes instantly and spins you around for what seems like eternity. 

You wake up in a field in the middle of nowhere. There’s no road, no signs, no nothing. And Crowley is nowhere to be seen.

“Damn it!” you scream at the sky in tears, realizing the portal must’ve bounced him right back at Purgatory. Or maybe even some place worse. 

“Quite the temper, haven’t we?” a voice coming from behind some bushes startles you. 

It’s him.

You can’t believe it.

It’s really him.

“Crowley!” you say running to him. He picks you up in his arms and hugs you as if he hadn’t seen you in decades. 

“Hello, darling” he greets softly leaving you on the ground, wiping the tears off your cheeks with his thumb. 

“I thought I’d lost you”.

“Well, no. Apparently you’re not so lucky” he mocks and you laugh, smacking him lightly on the chest. 

“So” you start “What now? Can’t you use your demon powers to zap us out of here?” 

He makes a thoughtful face for a second and then shakes his head.

“I think they’re gone” he confesses.

“What do you mean gone? As in gone-gone?” you interrogate in surprise.

“Yes as in gone-gone” he admits rolling his eyes playfully “I don’t understand why I...”

“Maybe you’re getting a second chance” you tell him with a grin, which he returns but it’s not quite sure about “Whatever, we’ll... we’ll figure something out”. 

Now’s the time to keep walking, this time hand in hand, no weapons needed, until you find the main road and manage to sneak into the back of a truck. 

When you get to the civilization, you politely ask some woman on the street if you can use their phone to call some pals. They send you some cash so you can go back home. 

You get to your apartment after what appears to be a lifetime, though your friends tell you it’s just been four months since they last heard from you. 

Both you and Crowley strip out of your dirty, ragged clothes and get into the shower together, washing down the dirt and blood, but it’s more than that, it’s a new start.

You get Crowley a towel to dry himself, which he does with you sitting on his lap, drying yourself as well. 

“What’s next, Kitten?” he asks when he’s finished, wrapping his arms around your waist, seeing as you drop the towel to the floor. 

“Well no more hunting, for starters” you declare and he chuckles “Apart from that, I have no idea”. 

You stop to think for an instant. 

“Does this mean you’re entirely human?” you ask shyly. He looks at you, a mix of fear and hope in his eyes. 

“Shall we find out?” he interrogates and you nod, placing your hand to his chest, relaxing the moment you sense his heartbeat “Go get the holy water, Pet. We should be sure anyways”. 

So you test him with holy water, salt, a demon trap, and even a demon knife you had laying around. He’s human. 

The two of you grin lightly and stay embraced for a while in the couch, taking in the scent of the other, still naked. 

He stays quiet for a bit, but then clears his throat and speaks again.

“Do you mind if I use your phone to call my... Moose and Squirrel?” he asks, tone a bit shy. 

“Be my guest” you say smiling, lifting up from him so he can put an oversized old robe you had on and call his friends. 

You hear some rings through the phone.

“Funny” he says lowly “Says none of this numbers exist”. 

“What?” you say frowning “Try again”. 

He does but the machine keeps telling him the same.

“Well, maybe they ditched their phones?” you presume “They’re hunters, wouldn’t be uncommon”. 

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t” he reflects.

“Have you got an address?” you ask “If the Impala hasn’t been stolen, we could pay them a visit”. 

He nods still a bit confused. 

“The Impala?” he questions carefully. 

“Yeah, my car”.

He goes silent again, but sighs and shrugs shortly afterwards.

���Do you have any clothes that’ll fit me?” he says doubtful.

“Yeah, I must’ve somewhere”.

You look through the drawers and find some men clothes. Must be from a friend, or an ex-boyfriend or something.

“Hopefully this’ll fit” you say handing him over a pair of black jeans, plain black t-shirt and black shoes. He sighs.

“We’re going shopping after this” he declares starting to change, you laugh and roll your eyes. 

When you hit the road, the address he gives you seems oddly familiar, but you decide not to ask questions just yet, and instead wait to see what happens. 

You feel safe with him on the road. His hand on your knee while you drive and his absent stare on the highway. 

You get to the place and... you weren’t wrong, this is your old grandparents house. 

“Crowley...” you begin as he gets out of the car and towards the door “What are we doing here?” 

“We...” he says as he tries to open the door, and can’t but notice this place doesn’t look quite similar to what he remembered, and it hasn’t even been that long. You frown and take out the old keys to open the door. He stares at you in shock. 

“My grandparents used to live here. Men of Letters and all” you chuckle opening the door, Crowley has gone silent. You turn on the bunker’s lights and inhale the book and dust scent. 

“This whole time, it was you” he acknowledges but you don’t understand.

“What do you mean me? What are you talking about?” 

“I think... I think the portal bounced me to another dimension, to your dimension, just like I was telling you” Crowley tells you after putting two and two together.

“Oh” you finally understand “Oh”.

Inevitably, your heart fills with worry. You don’t want him to leave. 

You get back to the car and just sit there, trying to process what just happened. 

“We should go back to you place” he mutters after a while “It’ll be easier to decide what to do”. 

You nod and start the engine on. 

When you’re back at your apartment, everything feels kind of different, there’s a heavy tension coating the room. 

“I’m gonna change into something more comfortable” you state heading for your room. When you’re stripping out of your jeans, Crowley enters your bedroom as you put some pajama shorts on and losing the bra without taking your t-shirt off. When he sees you, he walks slowly over you and with a playful look pulls you to the bed with him. You begin to stroke his hair while he’s laying on your chest.

“Crowley” you mumble, unsure about what you’re about to say “Maybe we can find a way back. To your friends I mean”.

“Who says I wanna go back?” he says frowning “I was tired of having a bunch of demons on my tail the whole bloody time anyways”. 

“But aren’t you going to miss them? Sam and Dean? And Castiel? And your mother?” you say worried, it’s not like you are pushing him to leave, it really isn’t, but you don’t want him to stay if that means he won’t be happy. He already knows that. 

“Mother is dead as far as I know, as for the other three Hardy boys... they’ll do just fine without me” he says a bit nostalgic but giving you a genuine smile “Besides, I have you now, haven’t I?” 

You smile back and nod.

“Then I have everything I could possibly want or need right here” he declares, turning to kiss you

MASTERLIST

[kieraelieson]

Centaur AU 6

Thomas was woken by the sound of a barn door opening, and an exasperated “there you are.”

He blinked, trying to sit up and figure out where he was and what was going on. He was practically cuddled up to Emile, who was also just waking up, and Remy went to stand between them and the man at the door.

“Who are you, and what do you want here?” Remy snapped, hands on his hips.

The man rolled his eyes, reaching into his suit pocket to pull out a thick envelope. “I’m one of the Authier’s lawyers. I was supposed to draw up and finalize an agreement with Thomas this morning, but I have to be somewhere by 10 and it’s a bit of a drive.”

Thomas stood up, looking for the clock and wincing when he saw the time. 8:43. He was supposed to be at the stable by nine. Ugh, that was the danger of sleeping away from an alarm clock.

“Um, thank you for coming, I’m sorry I wasn’t available earlier.”

The man just looked him up and down, probably noticing every wrinkle and bit of dirt and hay. “No, I expected it. Mrs. Authier does like to hire people that ‘play the party’ so to speak. I’ve drawn up the agreement already, I just need your signature.”

“What, um, what does it all say?” Thomas asked, trying to rub his eyes with it being obvious.

“To summarize, you may either stay in the stable or in the bunk room with the other employees, free of charge. Your centaurs will be able to stay there and eat and receive medical care free of charge as well. You will be paid double what you are now, but will be considered ‘on call’ twenty-four seven. The other eight hours of on call will pay for your housing and your centaurs. If your centaurs get registered for any kind of public engagements the prizes for those will go to the Authiers, and it will be allowed to be assumed that they are owned by the Authiers. However, you still are the legal owner, and retain full possession, provided you allow the pretense to continue. You will decide whether or not to register your centaurs in anything at your own discretion, though if you choose to do so they will have the same advantages as any of the Authiers’.”

Thomas’s mind was more than a little spinning, but it sounded relatively ok. He didn’t really want to register Remy or Emile for anything, and everything else seemed good.

“O-ok.”

“Excellent. Sign here, and here, and here. I’ve had a key to the bunk room delivered to the stable. And also here is a card. You are allowed to use it for any discretionary purchases for the centaurs, provided you keep a record of those purchases and deliver the record to me monthly. Here is my card, the number is on the back.”

Thomas’s mind was still spinning. He just managed to nod and sign and accept.

The lawyer smiled. “Thank you, Thomas. Please call me with any questions or problems.”

And then he left. Leaving Thomas feeling like his brain had been stuffed with cotton.

“That… was a lot.” Emile said.

“You’re sure he isn’t all sneaky and tricking you?” Remy asked.

Thomas just shrugged helplessly. “I… need a shower.”

He took a quick shower and then packed a backpack as quickly as he could, rolling up a blanket and a pillow and shoving them into a pillowcase. That’d be enough for tonight, and he would have more opportunity later to get more of his things.

“Oh, no, I have to get those things for Patton too. Ugh… I’m gonna be so late.” Thomas scrubbed a hand over his face. Well, he was trying his best. He could make it. Maybe late, but he’d make it.

Remy and Emile had also packed up a few things, and Remy was wearing the ‘carry-saddle’ when Thomas got back. It was a cobbled-together thing, an old saddle with hooks and straps on it. Thomas was able to hang his backpack from a hook, and tie on the pillowcase bundle.

“Do you mind if I ride, Emile?”

“Not at all,” Emile said, holding a hand down to help pull Thomas up.

“We have to stop at the pet shop on our way, I promised Patton a rat cage and toys.”

“They have rats?” Remy asked, screwing his face up.

“Not loose, not for much longer. I have to get a cat too. And probably cat supplies. Are you good with carrying all that?”

“Not the cat, but I can carry the rest.”

“If the cat’s in a carrier, I don’t mind,” Emile said.

Thomas agreed readily. A carrier would be a good thing to have anyway.

It felt strange to rush through a pet store, almost wrong, and he was a bit surprised they just let him adopt a cat when he was so frayed and hurried, but they did. He got an old, black cat that seemed calm. He didn’t want anyone to worry about a frisky little kitten darting around underfoot.

Everything packed up, they were finally on their way.

When they arrived, Thomas opened the door, alarmed to hear soft sniffling and Roman speaking softly but harshly. “...and that’s why you can’t do that!”

“Whoa, hey, can’t do what?” Thomas asked, careful to keep his tone gentle.

Roman frowned, crossing his arms and turning slightly away. “Can’t talk. Not when it’s not safe.”

Thomas looked to see Patton rather teary, holding his arm, but not in the usual embarrassed-type pose.

“What happened?”

“Oliver did,” Virgil said, his tone dark and bitter.

Thomas turned to see Virgil in Logan’s stall, smushed between him and the wall.

“Ok,” Remy said, “I’m sick of this dancing around. What happened, completely, and who’s this asshole?”

“Oliver is the Authier’s… I think nephew,” Patton said quietly. “He came in earlier and was mad about Virgil being in Logan’s stall. I tried to get him to leave, but he got mad at me too.”

Patton moved his hand to show a red wheal on his arm.

Thomas set the carrier down immediately, rushing to get the cream.

“But then why would you fuss at him?” Remy asked sharply.

“Because he could avoid getting hurt like that if he just shut up!” Roman snapped. “And the whole thing wouldn’t have happened if everyone was following the rules!”

“Yeah, like victim-blaming is helping anything,” Remy said caustically.

“That’s not-- If they do it right it does help!”

“Remy, Roman, please,” Thomas said firmly. “Don’t argue.” He gently tended the mark on Patton’s arm, and the stable grew very quiet and still, only Emile coming over to be on hand to help Patton, and to subtly direct Thomas’ attention to Roman.

Once he was done Thomas turned around to Roman, who backed up a step, a sudden, but genuine fear flickering through his eyes, especially when Thomas opened his stall. Things were clicking together in Thomas’s mind, things Roman had done, had said, as well as certain behaviors he recognized as being similar to Remy a long time ago.

Thomas moved slowly, deliberately, holding out a hand to Roman.

Roman stared at his hand, eyes wide and alarmed, before finally reaching out tentatively to take it.

“Roman,” Thomas faltered seeing the repressed flinch, but took a breath, almost sure he understood the situation. “You’re trying to protect your friends.”

Roman made no response.

“It’s worked for you before. You made sure that by following all the rules and laying low that you were safe, and you just want them to be safe too.”

There was a tiny nod, and Roman’s face pinched, the slightest glimmer of tears in his eyes.

“You did well. I’m sure they all appreciate you trying to protect them. You did enough. They’re safe now.” Thomas echoed some of the words Roman had said to him the day before, and Roman blinked tears back, scrubbing away the one that made it past. “The things you protected them from are not right. Not ok. Not at all. I’m throwing out all those rules. You don’t need to keep them anymore.”

Roman took in a shuddering breath, looking like he was trying hard to control his emotions.

“I’m going to be here for you all as much as I possibly can be. You don’t have to be strong for them all, you can call me and I’ll help, ok?”

Roman nodded, scrubbing at his eyes.

“Roman?” Patton said. Emile had moved close to him, and it seemed they had talked about something.

Roman nodded in acknowledgement that he was listening.

“Thank you for trying to protect me. Protecting all of us.”

Roman shook with a half-sob, turning away and trying to hide his face from all of them. “Y-you’re welcome.”

“But… you… also hurt me, with the way you were doing it.” Patton said hesitantly.

A ragged sound tore out of Roman’s throat. “I-I know. A-and-- and I’m sorry. I thought-- I thought it would be better, cause I could-- I’d just fuss at you-- but the humans hurt you!”

Roman suddenly turned, and Thomas stepped out of his way, Emile moving Patton’s door, and Roman crashed into a hug with Patton, shoulders hitching with sobs he tried to keep quiet. “I’m so sorry, Patton. I-- I never wanted to hold you back, I just wanted you safe…”

Patton hugged back tightly.

Thomas figured they’d appreciate a bit of privacy, at least by not having him staring, so he started unpacking things carefully and quietly. Remy also seemed a bit ashamed, and very quietly helped.

There was a soft rustle, and Thomas saw out of the corner of his eye, since he was still trying to not stare at anyone, that Virgil and Logan were having some kind of conversation composed mostly of stares and touches. It was slightly odd. He was used to those silent conversations, when he’d seen them before, being mostly facial expressions and hand motions. He was beginning to realize that something, though what he had no idea, was going on that he was missing. Something with Logan.

And then Logan spoke up, clearing his throat and drawing attention to himself. “I would assume that the two of you are Remy and Emile?”

“Yes, we are,” Emile said politely. “I think we may have arrived more suddenly than was expected.”

Logan nodded. “Indeed. We hadn’t been aware you were coming at all.”

Emile shot a look at Thomas, who raised both hands. “I didn’t really know either, I’m kinda flying by the seat of my pants here. I’m… I’m sorry if it’s uncomfortable for you guys though. I should’ve found a way to make sure it was ok first.”

Logan nodded slowly, looking like he was rolling information over and over in his mind. “I see. I don’t believe any of us would strongly object to new stable-mates.”

Virgil shook his head a little in hesitant agreement.

Roman and Patton weren’t full hugging anymore, standing pressed against each other side-by-side, much like Logan and Virgil, though much more evenly sized. They were holding hands though, and both were trying not to look as teary as they were.

“It’s fine,” Patton said. “I’m happy to have new friends.”

Roman just nodded, a hand covering his face as he tried to calm down.

“I’m glad,” Thomas said, his mind whirring a bit trying to figure out where was best to put Remy and Emile so that no one would argue, but then he stopped abruptly. He was literally treating all of them like pawns in his mind right now. “Um, where do you guys think would be best for Remy and Emile to stay?”

There was a lot of looking back and forth between the centaurs. Apparently none of them had considered that yet.

“We can stay wherever is most convenient,” Emile said.

Gradually all the stares converged on Logan. He frowned slightly. “I believe it would be best if Remy was not near Virgil or Roman. And I think it likely that the two of you would prefer to be closer to each other. And seeing as the rat cage was intended to be mounted in the stall adjoining Patton’s, there will be less room there. It seems the best option would be if Remy was housed in the stall next to mine, and Emile next to Virgil’s.”

There were nods all around, though Remy’s was more hesitant.

Emile tried to lessen the tension by walking into the stall suggested for him and looking around. He then looked around the rest of the barn. “You only have standing beds here.”

“That is correct,” Logan said.

Emile just nodded, looking around the stall some more. “Thomas, would you help me make a straw bed?”

Thomas nodded quickly, hoping that doing something helpful would release the tension he was feeling. “Yeah, absolutely. And I think we need to make one for Logan too. He isn’t supposed to be standing up nearly as much.”

Logan blinked. “I am curious as to how you could make a bed sufficiently comfortable for sleeping out of straw.”

“I’d love to show you,” Emile said cheerfully, smiling at Logan.

So for the next hour or so Thomas hefted down the rectangular bales of hay, and Emile helped stack and arrange, and eventually tore a few open for a softer top layer. Finally, Thomas got out some heavy blankets to lay over the top, noting that to have enough he was using all the blankets there were in the closet.

“This is the last one, but I can buy more. I’ve been given permission to buy whatever you guys need.” Thomas said.

Logan looked at the bed suspiciously. It took up a good half of his stall, and Virgil had had to leave while they made it. But then slowly, carefully, he knelt and flopped to the side, and then let out a long breath with so much relief in it Thomas felt a sudden pang of guilt for not having remembered to get him more pain medicine right away.

Thomas sat down on the floor outside of his stall. “I think the vet is coming back sometime this morning. It’s mostly just so she can prescribe medication so you can get better. And then after that, I think you all have a mostly free day. Patton has something this evening, but the afternoon is fine. So I think I’ll go shopping to get whatever you all need. I’d really like it if you mostly just laid around for the next bunch of weeks, so is there anything I can get you? Books maybe? Or craft supplies?”

Logan squinted at him suspiciously. Thomas tried not to worry, or to get defensive, but it seemed he’d gone and said something dumb or unknowingly hurtful again.

“You are unaware that I am farsighted.” Logan said, his tone perfectly flat.

Thomas’s eyes widened. “Yes. Yes, I was completely unaware. Patton has glasses, why wouldn’t you, if you needed them? Did they break?” He caught himself before he just rambled endlessly and shut his mouth.

Logan just sighed. “I think you’re a good person Thomas.”

Thomas was caught entirely off guard by the sudden change of subject. “Um… thank you? I certainly try to be.”

“But you’re also quite unobservant.”

Thomas frowned slightly, but just nodded.

Logan raised his voice just slightly. “And we’ve made matters worse by assuming the opposite of you in both cases.”

There was a slight acknowledging grumble from behind him.

Thomas just nodded again, hoping to figure out where this was going.

“I believe my glasses are somewhere amongst the paperwork,” Logan said. “And I would greatly appreciate books to read.”

Thomas nodded quickly. “Yes. I’ll see if I can find them.”

He shuffled through the paperwork until he found a pair of glasses, vaguely remembering having seen them before, and assuming they were a backup pair for Patton, as they looked almost exactly the same.

“Are these them?” He asked, handing them to Logan.

Logan put the glasses on, and nodded, studying Thomas’s face, and then turned to look at Remy and Emile. Then he laid back and seemed to fall asleep very quickly.

And now all eyes were on Thomas again. He’d have to get used to this.

“Um… I guess, let’s set up the rat cage, and then hopefully the vet will come, and if any of you want anything, let’s get it all on a list for me to go get it?”

There was a general nodding and a couple ‘thank you’s, and Thomas forced a confident smile onto his face. Maybe he didn’t have everything under control, but he was certainly about to do his best.

[wish-that-i-was-buckys-girl]

A/N: Hello again! This is apart of my pop song series with Sebastian Stan Characters. This one is Mob! Charles Blackwood and the reader. It is based off the song “my boy” by Billie Eilish. I figured the song would be perfect for this character and this trope. Specifically the line “my boys and ugly crier, but he’s such a pretty liar and by that I mean, he said he’d change.” There are other lines that fit as well but this one stuck with me the most. I hope you enjoy :)

Summary: Your boyfriend is a mob boss. He’s always working and you’re always worried. You never get the attention you deserve, will he be willing to change his ways for you?

My Boy Part 1

(Not my gif)

You hated living in Chicago. Well, hate was a strong word. You hated where you lived in Chicago. You couldn’t walk to the tourist attractions to distract yourself from being home alone all day long. You loved the museums, and your boyfriend Charles always gave you money to take a cab and treat yourself as you’d like, but you preferred to walk.

You loved to visit the Museum of Natural History and the Aquarium. You’ve seen them a million times, but you couldn’t get enough of the vast amounts of information it held. You would sit in front of the dinosaur exhibit for hours, wander the Egyptian exhibit until they closed, and do it all over again the next week.

You also didn’t hate your home in Chicago, if you would even it call it a home. It was a beautiful house, just empty. You didn’t like to call your home a mansion, even though it was. Unlike Charles, you were humble when discussing your possessions. However, all the marble countertops and comfy furniture in the world wouldn’t make up for the deafening silence that filled the halls every day.

You weren’t afraid of the city. Your boyfriend practically ran it, that’s what he told you anyways. You would believe it, too. Charles never stated exactly what he did for a living, but you picked up on his endeavors by the second month of the relationship. That’s when he stopped giving you the proper amount of attention, and stayed out all hours of the day and night. You overheard phone calls of an angry man demanding his money by the next Friday, sometimes even threatening men’s families. You knew it was all wrong, but you just couldn’t believe that Charles, your Charlie, would ever do something like that. You thought, or at least hoped, they were all empty threats. You didn’t know what you would do if you found out they weren’t.

You knew being involved with the mob was dangerous, leaving you to worry every hour of every day when Charles wasn’t with you. Would he be killed if a deal didn’t go right? You hated being left alone with your thoughts. Not to mention you missed your boyfriend. What time you did spend together made you so incredibly happy. You were his princess, and he would always take care of you to the best extent. Draw you a bath, rub your back, give you tiny kisses all over your body. He was a completely different man at home. You figured none of the “guys” have or will ever see this side of him. He would probably get harassed out of town if they did see the way he treated you.

Those days are few as far between. You were at your wits end, begging him to stop the deals, lies, and even potential murder of families. You were scared. Not only for your life but especially his. He would always tell you the same thing.

“I promise I’ll stop baby, please, you just gotta let me finish this one deal.”

“Babydoll, you know I’m gonna quit, just be patient for me okay? Can you be a good girl?”

“Princess I have to take care of you. How am I gonna take care of you if I lose my job? I want the best for you sweetheart, please just give me more time to make arrangements for us.”

You were tired of the lies, tired of waiting around for the day he would finally choose you over his job. This was the last straw. When he came home tonight (like he said he was going to) this would be the last time you asked him to choose you. If he gave you another bullshit excuse, you were going to walk out the door and never look back.

_______________________________________________

Charles returned home from his “job” at an ungodly hour, 3AM to be exact. You stayed up to confront him. You didn’t care how long you had to stay up, only compromising that if it reached noon the next day, he probably wasn’t coming home for a while.

He was surprised to see you awake, his face turning from confusion to anger.

“Babydoll what are you doing up this late?”

“Waiting for someone important to get home. Aren’t you excited to see me?”

He knows he needs to control himself.

“I am irritated, but of course I’m excited to see you. You should be getting to bed. Cmon, I’ll come join you. We can watch your favorite Disney movie.” He says enticingly.

You were tempted, daydreaming of going upstairs to cuddle and watch Y/F/M. You needed to stay strong though. Confront him with the truth.

He begins to turn on his heel and make his way up the staircase.

“No, Charles. We need to talk.”

He rolls his eyes with his back still facing towards you. He puts a smile on his face before he whips around. “Why on earth do we need to talk Angel? I thought you would be happy to see your daddy...”

You were. You were practically bursting at the seams, wishing you could run up to him and shower him in hugs and kisses. You loved him so much, but you needed to set your limits. You deserved to be happy.

“I miss you. You’re never here. I feel like all I do is ask you to stay when you come home. You always promise me that you will ‘eventually.’ When will that day come Charles? When will you give me the love that you promised?”

He looked like a wounded animal as you spoke to him. He looks at you with what seems like confusion, hurt, and disappointment. You couldn’t tell if that disappointment was targeted at himself or you.

“I-, baby you know I love you. Why would you say that I don’t give you the love that I promised? Of course I’m going to quit this job. I already have a job lined up in Connecticut. We can stay with my cousins. I just need to finish up one more deal. Can you wait for me sweetness? Can you be a good girl and wait for your daddy to finish his last and only job?”

You heard that lie too many times. Empty promises. When will it end?

“I’m done” you whisper.

He comes closer to you.

“...what?”

“I’m done Charles. I can’t do this anymore with you.” You feel the hot tears brimming in your eyes.

“Y/N, please, please don’t leave me. I need you.” His eyes seem to also tear up, but you don’t notice. You needed to get out of here. You needed to leave.

You started to make strides to the door. You’d worry about the finer details later. Collecting your clothes didn’t feel as important in the moment.

He grabbed your arm.

You finally looked at him. He was a wreck. Tears flooding his red cheeks. You hadn’t noticed but his hair looks like it had been demolished by his hands.

“Please, Y/N. I love you. We’ll leave tonight.”

“Is this a promise you’re willing to keep?”

He nods quicker than you expected.

“I’ll do anything for you, my love.”

You were unsure. You wondered why he caved so fast after begging him Was it truly love that was motivating him?

“This is it Charles. If this is just another empty promise for us to move back here, I’m done. I love you but I can’t keep putting myself out there like this. I shouldn’t feel alone in a relationship. I need to feel loved and appreciated.”

“And you’ll get it.” He comes over to cup your cheeks in his hands. “You’re the only damned thing I care about.” He kissed you deeply. He captured your lips with his. You always loved how his kisses were so inviting. You kissed back with as much ferocity, wanting to truly believe this was going to be the start of the rest of your life.

_______________________________________________

Two hours into driving to the promised mansion in Connecticut, Charles actually keeping his promise.

Charles was a foolish man, in trade and deals, but not foolish enough to lose you.

He knew you were the only thing that mattered. Although leaving with unfinished business could pose potential danger to not only him, but you as well, he was willing to take that risk to keep you.

Your head felt amazing on the cold window of Charles’ red Camaro. Your head had been throbbing since crying a little over two hours ago when you thought you would lose your boyfriend to his “job.” Thankfully, he chose you. Crying, however, exhausted you beyond belief. All you wanted to do was rest. This is probably why you wouldn’t notice the subtle details that would lead to you and Charles’ demise just hours ahead.

You looked over at Charles briefly, his eyes firmly on the road, determined to take you both to your final destination. There was no hint of regret swimming in his eyes, only pure joy thinking of the beautiful life you two would share. This euphoria is probably why Charles’ wouldn’t notice the subtle details that would lead to his and your demise just hours ahead.

You reached over and took his free hand in yours. The touch was electric. Even though you were in a car traveling 65 miles an hour, this was home.

_______________________________________________

In the moments of euphoria both you and Charles were experiencing, you didn’t notice the van following you since you left Chicago. What Charles failed to mention to you about his job was that he was in debt. A lot of debt. Charles would repay these debts by collecting from other people who had yet to pay his boss as well, and if they couldn’t, he was asked to “take care of them.” Charles refused to hurt the persons family, but had no other choice when it came to the individual who owed the debt. Especially if he wanted to keep his own life, and his sweet girl.

What you didn’t know was that your life had been threatened many of times. On your walks to the museums there were always men watching you, waiting to attack if Charles refused to take on a mission. Thankfully that hadn’t happened, until now.

Sam, his boss, only had two more missions for Charles when he decided to skip town with you. However, Sam was not pleased to find out Charles wouldn’t be finishing what was owed to him. Due to Charles’ ignorance, Sam had no other option than to send 4 men after the pair. They would slowly tail behind them on the highway, making sure not to lose them. Even if they did, Sam knew Charles’ license plate number and other information that would ultimately lead the boys to them. They were surprised neither of you stopped for gas or a snack, but the time would come when they would spring into action.

_______________________________________________

You woke up from your brief nap to see you had pulled into a gas station with Charles. He smiled at you lovingly.

“Good morning sleepyhead. I’m gonna go fill the car with gas and get us some snacks. Is there anything you want?”

“Can I just have some sweet tea and a bag of chips? Any kind is fine. I’m not too hungry right now.”

“Of course, Angel. I’ll be right back okay?”

You nodded as he planted a kiss to your forehead. You shut your eyes as Charles went in to pay the teller and grab you your snacks.

You were startled by your door ripping open, two men standing there with a gun pointed directly at your face.

“Don’t make a sound, and get out of the car” the first one spoke. You unbuckled your seatbelt quietly and got out of the car. The other pointed a gun to your back as you stood there, praying Charles would see through the window to come and rescue you at any moment.

“Go to the van and get in. If you scream, I shoot. We both don’t want that, now do we?” The second one said.

You shook your head no, holding back a waterfall of tears. You did as you were told. Immediately as you got in you were blindfolded and held down. Your arms and legs were wrapped with duct tape, your mouth being covered as well. Before you knew what was going on the van started abruptly, racing out of the parking lot.

Charles had noticed the van pulling up behind them, but didn’t think anything of it. He just assumed it was a family who needed to stop and grab stuff on their way to or from an airport for a family vacation. However, he became skeptical as five minutes rolled past and no one came in for anything. Why would someone just pull into a parking lot and sit there? He suddenly got an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach, putting down all the snacks he had gathered up until that point. He told the attendant he would be back as he quickly ran outside to see if something had happened. And indeed, something had.

You were gone.

[ayzashl]

Pairing: Shoto Todoroki x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Crack (i think)

Also um, im new to these so sorry for possible gramatical errors or typos (i dont double check bc I literally was bored doing this and just, decided to share it on tumblr lmao)

Disclaimer, I made this out of boredom because I was thinking about exams and stuff and was wondering about how my husbando would react about my situation, having placed on high ranks barely putting efforts towards studying lmao (Not rlly bragging im sorry if it came out as bragging :((, i jusy rlly be curious and hopefully I portrayed it like how I expected for him to react, sorry im new to writing bc I mainly draw🌚👉👈)

***

It was already sunset. The hues of yellow, orange and red envelops the dorms of U.A high school, its gradient tinting the windows of the students occupying the rooms shine bright, displaying its vibrant colors on the inside of each dorms facing the sunset.

You, who were sitting on your knees, switching positions time to time, searching for a particular pose to get comfortable while drawing on your boyfriend's kotatsu in his dorm, door leading into the balcony open, making the cold breeze of late October allow itself to enter the room.

Autumn has already arrived, and that also means midterm exams. It had just finished today. After a almost whole month of preparing for the exams, and the 3 days of taking it, the students of 1-A was relieved and relaxing in their rooms as the days of hardhips were finally over, plus its a Friday so the students were scattered on each others dorms due to the upcoming weekend.

You were taking a sip of your juicebox, almost emptying it now out of frustration for having a hard time drawing a hand. In your opinion, the struggle was equal or actually a lot harder than your midterms. Art frustrates you a lot and your boyfriend wonders why you still do it, yet never really ask you since he can also tell you're really passionate about it than your other hobbies.

He was sitting on his futon, leaning againts the wall as he stare at your back figure, watching you scribble something on your sketchpad and aggressively erasing it afterwards, making the papers crumble into the direction on where you rub it, making you groan in annoyance even more.

As he observes your actions, a thought runs up his mind, asking himself the same particular questions over and over again.

"Why?"

He asks himself. Why were you putting most of your effort into this drawing? Why were you more irritated in this than the midterm exams?

"Just..... why?"

Shoto had noticed you since the start of your so-called-library-dates, although its mostly just you accompanying him to gather resources for the upcoming exams while you just scan your notes or draw, or read a completely different book whose topic is not related to your exams.

Its always been like that everyday, he never really saw you offer a lot of your energy in terms of studying, like most of the students does, as he noticed the library being almost full as soon as October started.

He saw you scan your notes time to time, yes. But full on concentration on studies? no, never seen you. The most of what he saw were you fixate immensely on your math notebook before exams started, and that was it.

The exams ended abruptly on the second day but there was extra curricular on the Hero's Course on the third day before their final grade were posted. And yes, both of you did well. After the announcement, Shoto (and you) were shocked to find out that you were in 6th place and he placed in 5th. You both exchanged congratulations, you mostly squealing out of joy to actually achieve this particular rank.

Shoto on the other hand was, doubting?. Of course he feels happy for you, but at the back of his mind, he was a little agitated. You both got the exam results at the end of the third day and to his surprise (and also yours, but internally) your scores were high, almost having the amount of same mistakes as him, except your math which you devastatingly, almost failed (lmao), which merely affected your overall result since your scores were high anyways.

Your boyfriend wasnt the type to get irritated over these things, heck yeah he feels ecstatic over your accomplishment, signal the kiss he gave you on your forehead plus the soft look he gave you with a slight smile displayed on his face. But there was a faint thought of doubt running through the back of his head, how did you get such results when you were barely even studying? There was no way you would cheat right? He didnt want to accept it, he didnt want to doubt you, but it was the one of the highest possibilities that was mostly that likely happened, as he could think of right now.

He couldnt let go of this thought unless he confronts you about it right now, so he decided to ask you, waiting for a few moments, observing you, waiting for you to calm down a little from your work.

"Y/n...."

"Hmm?" you hum, not turning yout back at him, eyes and most of your attention fixated on the paper.

"How did you manage to get a high rank even though I barely saw you studying?" he finally asks, hoping you wont get offended by it, but this thought had been bothering him a little, and he wouldnt be satisfied until he gets his answer, as the stubborn man that he is.

"Are you doubting me?" you say in an offended tone, although you meant it sarcastically, turning your back, giving Shoto your full attention now as you crawl towards him, pencil dropping in the background as you make your way towards your boyfriend, offering him to lay down as you pat his futon. He complies so, already knowing you wanted to cuddle whenever you do that certain action.

You cuddle next to him, facing him as you give him a smile to reassure him that you werent offended by him back then. "Did you notice that in class, I always, almost bury my head on my notebook, writing on it almost 24/7 whenever lecture starts?" you ask him, as you start to fidget his hair on the sides which you and him really enjoy, making its way up to his bangs, and back and fort.

"You were.... writing?" Shoto asks, raising an eyebrow with the same stoic face who seemed not to show a lot of emotions, a little dumbfounded. "I thought you were doodling". You burst out in laughter from the small misunderstanding of your boyfriend.

"Of course I was. You see, whatever the teacher blurts about that sounds important to me, I write it down because, you know, its usually what appears in exams" you explain to him, closing your eyes time to time as if you were a philosopher, passionately explaining your beliefs, only with an added self-sense of humor. As he was on the other had was, fascinated.

I mean, who knew?

"Also just to clarify things, I do put some extra effort on, some of my studies"

"By some you mean just the science topic you reported you keep rereading everyday"

"......yes"

Shoto lighlty chuckles as he moves your head to his chest, placing an arm on your head, planting a kiss on your forehead, as a sign of affection like he always does. He feels a little guilty, assuming you were cheating but in the end, you were just and always has been the genius that you were. Heck if you actually put a lot of effort in your study, you might actually come out at the top in the class, but he's aware you have other things to focus and worry about as his eyes gaze at the table with a slightly crumpled juice box standing out.

"Were you mad?" you ask, out of curiousity. You had assumed he was maybe upset about the results because he gets a little too competitive or has the sentiment that he has to prove that he only isnt good with his powers, but in academics as well, considering his situation.

He lightly shook his head as he fully encloses you to his grasp, leg placed on your sides, locking you in as he settles his face on your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your lavender shampoo in which he always adores.

You on the other hand, was relieved now that the matter was somehow resolved? Putting those thoughts at the back of your head, your perception of relief was shortly replaced by a wave of worry as you lightly chuckle of uneasiness.

"Shoto?" you tap his sides, body tightly secured onto his. This was the one that made worry. His hands tightly clutching you, but not too much, leg on your sides, locking you in so that you wont get away easily, to him it made him feel happy, knowing that you werent going away and draw for a while. You've had situations like these already and all you ever do is give up and shower him with affection, already knowing he was slightly, probably getting a little touch starved, craving for your attention and affection. But in your situation right now, it was, unpleasant, so to say.

Not after you just finished your juicebox.

-Disclaimer, uh, I made this from

He hums in response, head tilted a little more into your head's direction. He was sure you would have given up already, knowing that he will never let you go.

"I need to pee"

"..."

"Shoto..."

"........"

"Sho"

"All I can say is good luck getting out"

"......"

"Noooooooohohohoooo!!!" you exclaim, with a sarcastic crying in your tone. This was gonna be one hell of a struggle.

.

Im bad at explaining things, hope you did enjoy reading this as much as I did though :))

[obeymeimagines]

@savourthelittlethings asked: Can I get headcanons of the brothers seeing MC get sick? Like wobbly, dizzy feverish sick? A while ago, an anonymous asked: I've got a bad cold right now and if possible I'd love to see how the 7 brothers would take care of their mc when they got sick vs when they get sick and mc takes care of them.

And since I finally have some time off, I figure I’ll do this mixed request!

When Lucifer first sees you get sick, he’s worried. He came up to get you when you didn’t come down for breakfast and he sees you under so many blankets and still trying hard to warm up. He takes off his glove and puts a hand on your forehead.

“You’re burning up.” He informs you. You’re not sure you can comprehend the words. It feels difficult to listen, so you just keep your eyes on him, hoping to can convey that.

Lucifer makes sure to visit you every time he can during the day, bring you fresh, hot tea whenever he does.

When he’s sick, he appreciates a subtle touch, if you could come to his room and just bring him warm tea and maybe a nice book or otherwise a distraction, that would be great. Be warned, though, if not kept under supervision, he might try to go right back to his job.

Mammon does not mess around when you’re sick. If he notices you looking slightly pale, getting dizzy or complaining about pains, he will demand you stay home and rest. He also demands to stay with you.

If you’re feeling only slightly sick, he might come and go every now and again, but he’ll still mostly stay with you. When you’re really sick, Mammon stays with you the entire time. There’s not a single moment he’s away.

When he’s sick, he appreciates you staying near. Just your calming presence is enough for him, but if for some reason you decide to sit next to him while he rests and run your fingers in his hair, well, there’s no happier demon than Mammon.

Leviathan tries to keep you engaged by playing video games with him, but if you start to fall asleep on him, he’ll happily pick you up and put you in your bed, then cuddle close to you. He wants to warm you up for the most part.

If you’re more lucid, he’ll set you up somewhere comfortable, if you’d like, even leaning against his back, while he plays some game that’s heavy on exploration. Something with calm music and beautiful sights that you could relax to, with the occasional fight that really poses no threat.

If he’s sick, Levi appreciates you sticking with him. Since he practically lives in the water, even in his bathtub bed, he appreciates you bringing fresh towels, keeping the room and the water warm, and just playing similar games while he watches. The comfortable quiet where only the soundtrack plays is wonderful for him.

Satan doesn’t panic as much as most of his brothers. He does his best to keep you warm and calm, and he does what his brothers don’t think of doing. Satan calls in a witch that happens to be a doctor to see if there’s anything serious going on.

He mostly follows their advice, and keeps close. It won’t do to have you sneeze on his books, so Satan moves you to your room and brings in a few books he can read while he watches over you. He refuses to go to his classes if he’s the one who finds out you’re sick, and of all the brothers, Satan is the only one Lucifer lets stay with you.

Maybe it’s because he’s competent?

When he’s sick, he appreciates you staying near, bringing him tissues and tea, if you want, you can also pet his hair sometimes, but do keep quiet and keep his boundaries in mind! A happy Satan is a Satan that gets the amount of attention he wants when he’s sick. Not more or less.

Asmodeus does not come near you when you’re sick. Much as he’d love to cuddle up to you until you feel better, you’re still sick! He does his best to make sure you always have warm, comfy pyjamas around and he makes sure to draw you hot baths and stay around you when you bathe, to make sure you don’t overheat or faint.

You’ll also notice warm tea and sweets appear whenever you wake up, as well as a heartfelt apology. When you get better, Asmo demands you take tests and check what made you fall sick. If it’s vitamins or anything that can be helped, you know he’ll remind you to take them!

When he’s sick, he doesn’t care about infecting you, mostly because demon diseases don’t spread to humans, so you know he’ll be cuddling you whenever he can. You’re not going to be getting him tea or sweets, you’re trapped cuddling him.

Beelzebub does his best to help you by bringing you soups and teas, anything warm and hearty, anything he thinks is good for you, and anything his brothers and Simeon say is good for you, he makes.

If you don’t have an apetite when you’re sick, that’s fine, no food goes to waste here, and Beel is happy to provide you with drinks and other energizers throughout the day. If you also want them, you know Beel would happily hug you as much as you want!

When he’s sick, Beelzebub loves it when you hand feed him, or curl up next to him. If you bring him homemade food, he will be over the moon. Beel has a problem with forgetting to drink when he’s sick, so do remind him!

Belphegor truly does believe sleep is the best medicine! He keeps you close, under weighted blankets and comforters, in a pile of pillows and tucked close to him, and if you need it, some calming ambience in the background while he holds you just tight enough for you to breathe easily.

Anything you need is replaced with sleep in Belphie’s care, so no one agrees for you to be left alone with him completely, but he does make for a good snuggle buddy.

Of course, he expects the same of you when he’s sick. Cuddle him and nap with him for as long as you can stand! It is, in his opinion, the only way to get better!

[tastyliltina]

Coconut conundrum (sim sized vore)

A/n: Aka Tina being absolute GARBAGE for a little bit TwT. Haven’t written anything with @princesaltines ‘ sona and mine being gay together in a minute so...cue indulgent writing XD

I keep having?? Ideas in the shower so please excuse my second opening shower scene. There’s something fun about writing them pwp

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Tina’s skin burned. It felt like a glowing mass of magma, boiling beneath the heat of a deserved hot shower. Steam swirled in the air, coiling and curling against the pull of the humming fan above her before it vanished. Every breath felt heavy yet refreshing, opening every part of her pores and lungs as a toasted coconut smell filled the air. She’d long been finished scrubbing herself, her new body scrub settled to the side. For now she stood.

The water felt like fingers running through her hair, a sensation that locked her in place. Hands traced along every curve of her figure, soaking in her exhaustion and insecurities and whatever she wrestled with before washing it all down the drain. Pricks of sleep teased her eyes, and the thought of curling up in bed became impossible to ignore. Soft, fluffy sheets, nestling her face into the curve of her pillow… Tina sighed. She leaned into the shower wall. If she stood here much longer, she’d fall asleep again.

She turned, staring at the faucet. God she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to face the world beyond the shower curtain. Slowly, she forced her hand to close around the faucet. It turned. The stream of water stopped with a hiss, leaving only the echoes in its wake. Steam danced around Tina as she pushed the shower liner aside, stepping out and onto a bath mat. The air was hazy, heavy, but refreshingly warm. Tina supposed a forty-five minute shower had that effect.

Her towel felt rough against her skin. Tina patted away the excess water, bending herself in half once she felt dry enough to wrap her hair in the towel. Once it was secure, she grabbed her lotion. Toasted coconut, it was a new smell but one she’d been meaning to try out for weeks. Nimble fingers lathered the cream up and down her legs, arms, shoulders. If the smell of coconut hadn’t clung to her before it sure as hell did now.

Tina took her time putting on her sleepwear. It wasn’t anything fantastic, a tank top and some short shorts. Somehow, despite the air conditioner being set to the lowest setting she managed to overheat at night… She was thankful her roommate was the same way. Removing her towel, Tina took a moment to replace it on the hook and sighed. She opened the door.

Cold air rushed at her almost instantly. Goosebumps pricked her arms as she stepped out of the bathroom, an explosion of steam at her back. Her tail dragged from the damp bathroom tile to the cool and clean wood of the hallway, further driving the chill into her bones. It felt amazing. Quiet steps padded down the hallway as she moved to the living room and peered inside. Ollie was stretched over one of the couches, their too-big frame awkwardly sprawled across the arms. She smiled.

Creeping into the kitchen was hardly a problem for Tina. She’d been compared to a mouse time and time again, and being quiet as one almost came naturally. Slowly, she headed for the fridge to grab a water. A nice cool drink was the perfect way to enjoy a fresh break from the shower. Cuddles didn’t sound too bad, either...she doubted Ollie would mind if she joined them on the couch.

Tina scooped a water bottle from the fridge, using the tip of her tail to close it as she pulled away and took a sip. The brunette sighed. She turned slowly, yawning as she did to head into the living room. Something solid and warm blocked her path. Tina squeaked. Her eyes flew open, instantly trapped in a gaze much larger than her down.

“OLLIE!” the human-sized hybrid shrieked, dropping into a squat with a shaky laugh. “God-shit, hon! You scared me…”

“Sorry, sorry…” their voice was a croon. Tina grumbled, forcing herself to her feet so she could properly glare up at them. She wiped her face, dispelling any flustered blush on her cheeks.

“It’s...you’re fine,” with a huff, she stepped back to meet their gaze.

Their eyes were groggy, but not completely as brown-rimmed drops of blue burned into her. Even their hair matched the sleepy look. It was an absolute rat’s nest...hers was no better, she imagined. Still dripping wet, too.

“Hm,” Ollie hummed. Tina nodded slowly, about to speak up before they stepped closer. She matched their step, though got no farther than a step before the fridge pressed at her back. The metal was strikingly cold and earned a gasp from the hybrid. Before she could complain, Ollie’s hand placed itself a few inches from her arm. Oh no. Oh no no no, no she knew what this meant.

If at any time Tina felt like the mouse she was constantly compared to, it was at that moment. That very second Ollie’s hand pressed into the wall behind her, preventing any escape. She’d never run from them. But that didn’t stop her heart from kicking into overdrive, the frantic beating only worsening as Ollie hiked a brow.

“Something the matter, little mouse?~” as they spoke, Ollie leaned in closer, flashing their fangs in a wicked grin. The scales on their face shimmered in the dimming kitchen light, and Tina’s mind flickered to a snake posing to strike before a defenseless mouse. Fitting. Too goddamned fitting.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I-it’s, you...I’m….I can’t move,” the words fell out of her mouth, awkwardly hanging in the air. All the while, her pitch grew higher and more frantic.

“Of course, can’t have my little treat running off~.”

Something like a laugh was the only response Tina had.

“But you wouldn’t run away from me, would you…” Ollie leaned in further, further. Tina’s entire gaze was taken up by their face, the heat of their breath warm against her skin. Goosebumps lined her arms. When they spoke again, Tina could feel their voice rumble in her core. “Princess?~”

A shriek-like laugh tore itself from Tina’s lips in a bubbling cackle. She pressed into the fridge at her back but found no relief. Instead, Ollie’s face moved all the closer. Something pricked at her skin-just along the nape of her neck. Light pressure that grew to a point as breath cascaded over her. Tina’s mind struggled to form a coherent thought around the wonderfully familiar and radiating sense of primal terror coursing under her skin.

When they pulled away, whatever ounce of retort she had absolutely puddled at her feet. Tina slouched into the fridge, her eyes wide and locked on Ollie’s while her fingers slid to the area. She could feel the divots. No blood, of course, but there was definitely a mark. Her cheeks reddened again.

“Now…”

Tina looked up just to catch Ollie’s grip snaking around her back. All in one motion, Ollie tugged her away from the fridge and towards them. With her support gone, Tina melted into their grip and allowed their hands to grasp her wrists. She had an idea of what they were going to do, but she didn’t fight.

“I know you just got out of the shower,” Ollie continued, “but I think it’s time I put you to bed~.”

She whined sheepishly. Their fingers laced through her palms, absolutely consuming her hands in theirs. Ollie’s eyes shone mischievously, their oblong pupils glittering while they drew Tina closer. Eventually, her hands landed on something soft and warm. Their lips. Tina tittered again, knowing all too well what lay beyond the barrier of skin beneath her hands.

Tauntingly taking their time, Ollie’s lips began to part. This revealed the living cavern of blue beyond, framed by shining and sharp fangs that glittered in the light of the kitchen. Despite her innate desire to pull away, the feeling that she needed to run, Tina remained rooted to the spot. Ollie’s mouth flexed, the blue flesh beyond pulsing in an almost inviting manner. Beckoning her forwards. A silent promise that inside, she’d be safe and snugly tucked away.

If she hadn’t been sure before Tina knew exactly where she was going now. It rang especially clear as Ollie shifted, their tongue wiggling to life. The forked muscle slid out and slathered Tina’s wrists in saliva. Tina flinched, the warm and squishy feeling biting against the previous chill. But, Tina got the idea Ollie wanted to move things along. Their tongue continued to creep up her arms, all the while blotting and drenching her in a heavy dose of drool. All the while, they purred above and around her, the baritone noise resonating through her.

~~

Ollie shifted, carefully drawing Tina’s hands further into their mouth. The delicate taste of coconut mingled with her mocha flavor, encouraging them to go further and faster. Tina’s fingers shifted in their mouth, the little digits pressing and exploring the back of their gullet while they drew out the tease. Eventually, they decided they’d postponed long enough...bed was calling. With a hefty swallow, they drew TIna further inside. Pleasant shivers ran along their back at the feeling of weight in their throat and they swallowed again. Again. As they worked Tina inside, their hands trailed down her figure to help guide her around their teeth and ensure she was comfortable. It wasn’t any fun if their lady wasn’t enjoying herself, after all…~

Long, shuddering gulps tugged Tina deeper into Ollie’s core, and eventually the warm and living weight sank into their stomach. Ollie tilted their head back, focusing fully on the sensations and movements trailing into their middle. It had been so long, too long since they’d indulged...another gulp left only Tina’s legs poking out of their mouth, the odd sight making Ollie’s lips quirk. How weird this would have looked to wandering eyes…

Ollie steadied themself, eyes fluttering closed. They stood there a moment, head tilted to the sky and Tina’s form almost completely hidden within their chest. When they were ready, they swallowed a final time. There was a feeling like a propulsion, an awkward rock dropping in their abdomen and settling there. Ollie crooned, now able to feel every little shift and twitch of Tina inside. Their hands slid to the bulge hidden beneath the sweater they wore, mapping out just where Tina was and squeezing in to ensure she was safely snuggled up. By the pressure and wriggles inside it seemed Tina was doing just fine.

“Ugh...mmm~,” their purrs deepened as they straightened and sighed. Really, they hadn’t planned on eating anyone tonight-not that they were complaining. Something like a primal urge stirred in them the instant they smelled that coconut, something that encouraged them to pounce on their little lady. Ollie’s hand traced over the curve of their middle. “You comfy in there, little mouse?”

For a moment, it was quiet.

“I’m okay!” her voice was muffled and squeaky, no doubt a result of their tease. Tina broke into a yawn. The noise itself was soft, nothing too eccentric-but the nuzzling movement inside set Ollie’s cheeks into a blush. If Ollie was butter, they would have melted into a puddle...so much for being the big bad wolf to their little mouse. Dammit.

“Good,” they smiled. Patting their middle, they regarded the living room. Sleeping on the couch didn’t sound like a bad way to go...but stretching out in bed didn’t, either. They muffled a yawn behind their wrist and decided on the bed. It was a longer walk, sure, and with a heavy temporary meal it wasn’t comfortable to walk too far, but snuggling under blankets with Tina tucked away sounded heavenly… Slowly, they began to meander down the hall, unable to ignore the swaying motion in their gut.

“You...did not have to go….you didn’t have to go...that hard-at me, I mean…” Tina’s muffled voice trailed up to them. Ollie smirked, patting their middle as they stepped into their bedroom.

“Oh, I know~,” trailing into a chuckle, Ollie approached their bed and turned, carefully setting atop it. “But you didn’t have to wear that coconut lotion, either...you know I love the taste of coconut~.”

“I-well, it wasn’t-I didn’t!”

Ollie grinned as Tina faltered, kicking their legs onto the bed. “Of course you didn’t, Sweets~. Absolutely no thought went into what came after you went around smelling like the little treat you are,” their eyes fell to their middle. “Unless…”

“Unless nothing!” Tina cut them off, breaking into a squirming fit. Ollie purred, both from the pleasant feeling of movement inside and the fact they’d riled her up again.

“Right, right, well,” slowly, Ollie shimmied under the covers. They drew the blankets up to their neck, rolling over so they could curl around their middle. “Whatever you say, love~. You can think about all that while we get some sleep, hm?”

“Mmh..” her voice was a grumble, but Ollie could feel Tina settling down. Another yawn reached their ears. They felt something press out and stretch against them, eventually trailing into another nuzzle. “Fine…”

“Good.” Ollie sighed, relaxing into their pillow with a purr. “Love you, lady~.”

“Love...you, too…” there was another yawn, and Tina fell still. It never took Tina long to fall asleep-and Ollie followed soon after.

[ratsoh-writes]

My curiosity got me, so here is my submission for a match up.  Sorry it’s so long!  I look forward to seeing your reasoning.

PERSONALITY TRAITS:

MOM FRIEND:  I’m the friend that is almost over prepared for any situation and is protective, usually keeping others out of too much trouble or danger, but not stopping them from doing that stupid thing.  Some people will only learn from doing it and so long as it won’t seriously injure or kill them, go for it.  And I mean I am seriously prepared for most situations:  I have fluffy throw blankets and pillows in my car for those who get cold, extra towels just in case we somehow get wet, umbrellas/ponchos for those who need one, snacks/water just in case someone gets hungry/thirsty, first aid kit for small injuries, etc. Ironically, I am the only one without a kid so far.  

Extension of this would be my habit to act as the friend “nurse.”  Willing to spend hours taking care of a friend who isn’t feeling well and give platonic cuddles if needed.

Another extension of this is my need to feed anyone who comes over.  I think my love language is acts of service after typing all this. 

I’M LISTENING:  Always willing to offer an ear, even if I don’t believe I can council you.  Plus, for some reason, people just end up splurging life stories or something that is bothering them to me.  My life is mostly spent as that Naruto meme: “I have no clue what is going on, but I’ll pretend that I do.”  But I’m responsible about it, I won’t offer advice I’m not sure about and will usually refer you to someone else I feel is up to the task.

PATIENT:  Earned after years in customer service dealing with toddlers disguised as customers and also with friends who far exceed my energy levels.  It takes a good bit to anger me or very specific things to set me off, such as when I have asked you to please stop bringing up that stressful memory of mine again and again. 

I am told I am terrifying when I’m actually pissed.  Most times I don’t remember much when I actually snap, just that it happened, but details are fuzzy.  

CHILL:  My counselor once told me if I “Was any more laid back, I’d be on her floor.” And to a point, she is correct.  My house was on fire and my reaction wasn’t panic at the time, it was this odd calm that even when I reported the fire to my sister and authorities, they didn’t believe me until I showed them said fire.  I am reserved with those I don’t know well or are not comfortable around.  Once I trust you or you get me on a topic I love, I’m surprisingly passionate and animated.  

I feel this fits under here, but I also tend to do things at my own pace.  And not much can change that pace, but I will get what I set out to do done.

WHY ME?:  Too many people tell me I’m a natural leader, even got awards for it, but I never volunteer or want to be the leader in anything.  Usually, I just end up in that role somehow, some way.  Most times because I hate disorganized messes and those times the people I am with have trouble making concrete decisions and need some guidance to work out what they really want to do or the pressure to actually make a decision.  I may be an unwilling leader, but I will step up if needed.

WHIMSICAL:  Sarcasm, dry and sometimes cheesy humour, and an attitude to boot, but it’s rarely to be mean.  Most times it is me being playful and if I’m teasing you, that usually is a sign I like you and enjoy your company.  Plus, sometimes people need a little laugh or a spark of different emotion to get them out of a funk.  

INTEGRITY:  I could absolutely despise someone, but like hell I’m going watch them suffer.  In the same sense, if I take a job, I will do it right and not half ass it.  And far too many times I’ve had to step in and explain certain concepts in order to disperse negativity or help others see from another perspective to avoid adversity.  

CUDDLE BUG:  With people I am comfortable with, I am a cuddly person and do not mind a lot of skinship.  I am used to friends hanging all over me.  Plus, sometimes I just want to curl up someone as well.  

  STRENGTHS:  

Observant

Good communication skills & honest

Responsible & reliable

Full Size Human Heater.  I am ridiculously warm and always putting off heat.  Friends and coworkers alike use me as a portable heater.

Surprisingly good at being sly and collecting information if needed, like getting a shoe or ring size without tipping the person off it’s for a gift.  If they manage to call it, I always fess up and playfully make a fuss they ruined the surprise.

  WEAKNESSES:  

Terrible at lying, so I tend to simply keep my mouth shut instead

Willfully oblivious to flirting and absolute flustered mess once I am forced to recognize said flirting

Vast open waters terrify me

Tendency to keep my troubles to myself and try to solve problems on my own (don’t want to be a burden)

Can become despondent if I feel useless at times

  HOBBIES:

ART:  I’ve dabbled in several different medias, but my favorite is just a pencil or pen and any paper I can get my hands on.  I love drawing figures in dynamic poses.  Second favorite is sculptures built from wire.

COSTUMES:  I love Halloween, since it is the perfect excuse to make and wear my homemade costumes.  It also lets me challenge myself by making more complicated pieces like hooves, horns, and even chain mail.

BAKING/COOKING/CANDY MAKING:  I’m the cook in the house and I love it.  Seeing people enjoy my food is my favorite part.  Just don’t ask me for a recipe, I literally don’t have any and I won’t remember what I did.  

ORGANIZING/CLEANING:  I love puzzle games like Tetris and Catherine, and I love a challenge.  Combine the two by having me organize and rearrange a space to make it work and I am in heaven.

STORYTELLING:  When a story needs to be told, I am the one asked to tell it. Specifically I have such an entertaining way of telling it according to others.  Animated and colorful language, plus a few pit stops along the way with some side stories.  

  PET PEEVES:

CONTRARY:  Do not tell me to do something while I am doing it.  That will kill any motivation I had to do it.

BACKHANDED COMPLIMENTS:  It is possible to compliment someone without insulting them or others at the same time.  It just makes the compliment feel empty and negative.  And I tend to just hum and not reward that behaviour.  

TOO MUCH ATTENTION:  I don’t mind attention… from people I trust and are comfortable with.  Feel free to cuddle and coddle away.  But vast amounts of attention from those I feel are strangers or acquaintances will unnerve me (I have literally left functions immediately  where I walked in and was bombarded with shouts and attention aimed at me-sensory overload I guess).

  ODD HABITS:

NESTING:  No, I don’t think I have enough blankets and pillows.  Yes, the giant stuffed animal is needed and his name is Snuffie.  

CRUSH ME:  I’m serious, some days I need one of my friends or my bf to just lay all their dead weight on top of me.  It’s just oddly therapeutic.

NO, I’M NOT PREGNANT:  Just cause I ate that jar of olives in one sitting or suddenly was craving jalapeno juice and crushed ramen noodles.  There are never enough pickles and yes, I am determined to try every kind–I may have a vinegar addiction.

IRONY:  I bake some of the tastiest, sweetest desserts and make pralines and caramels, YET I myself do not favor sweet things. 

HANDS:  One thing I tended to do with nearly every boyfriend and guy friend I had was play with their hands and put their hands on my face/head.  I lived for being pet and having people play with my hair.    

NONVERBAL MOMENTS:  Sometimes words are just too much, so I instead make sounds.  Can be anywhere from a growl to a cat like noise, or the reliable “Nyeh.”

NO NOs:

I think I listed a few as I went through everything else, but ignoring boundaries is the main one.  If I tell you I’m not comfortable with something, do not make me repeat myself.  And usually that something is given a pass the first few times it is done before I say something and explain why I’m not comfortable with it.   

Example:  I have thick, curly hair, a product of my mixed heritage.  Well, sometimes I like to straighten it and I did just that one day.  Well, a coworker decided to make a backhanded compliment, stating I should stick to what works: straight hair over my natural hair.  I had gotten on him about it, but I decided to vent to a friend about what happened as well.  She proceeded to constantly repeat those hurtful words and while I knew she meant it playfully during those times, I had to stop her and sit her down, explain I don’t find it funny cause the words are linked to a hurtful, possibly racist memory that I didn’t want brought up again and again.   Thankfully she understood and stopped.  So, I don’t snap immediately and I understand sometimes a sit down needs to be done.

Ok first of all I gotta say that I absolutely loved reading your matchup!!! It’s so well organized, detailed, and the descriptions are pretty creative!!! Do you do any writing yourself, because you should!!! alright, geek out moment over.

i’ve got three guys you’re perfect for, but let’s go for the obvious one. HONEY!! 

You’ve checked off everything on honey’s list: caring, organized, laid back, and good for cuddling. Now here’s what he has to offer to the table: he will cuddle you back. This guy is the ultimate cuddle slut. You’ll never feel unloved with him. Honey is also a very thoughtful and appreciative guy. He likes caring for his partners. You may be the mom friend, but he’ll do his best to return that love as well.

Honey is a little awkward, but he’s also sensitive and empathetic to how others feel. If he puts his foot in his mouth, just tell him and he’ll never bring it up again. Plus this guy is just so honest and genuine that backhanded compliments aren't really a thing with him. 

Also you like costumes!!! He’s always wanted to try cosplay or theatre. You just might be the person to give him the courage to finally stick to one. 

dating honey includes:

cuddles upon heaps of soft things. He has his own collections of ridiculously soft blankets and pillows that he’ll happily add to your collection. Honey is also a master at pillow forts. 

honey is a good listener. He’ll be happy to just sit back and enjoy the stories you tell. There is start though, who is also the storyteller of the underswap home. Any funny story you give about your time together will be rewarded by star with a funny story from his and honey’s childhood, much to honey’s embarrassment

if you don't really like sweet things but love baking them, then honey and star will happily finish them for you. People are usually surprised about how just how much skeleton monsters can pack away. 

he’s a picky eater and will give you the wtf face when you fufil your weird cravings though lol 

Oh! Also if you’re wondering, the other two would’ve been either oak or coffee

[lostinthewiind]

Hey there! I honestly love your writings, I'll literally stop doing whatever I was doing to read them. Your fluff is the best fluff ever! So I was wondering of you could do any Martin fics maybe? Lots of love - x

It makes me so happy to hear that you enjoy my writing! Thank you so much for reading. One Johnny Martin fic coming up :)

Nothing More to It

Your feet ached something fierce as you reluctantly trudged through the large, never-ending field with the rest of Easy Company. You couldn’t remember how long you had been walking for, and much to your dismay, you had no idea how much farther you had to go.

“I’m gonna scream,” you muttered lowly, more to yourself than anyone else.

“Don’t scream.” Bull tapped the butt of his rifle against your helmet. “Don’t need to alert the Germans when we’re so out in the open like this.”

You rolled your eyes and swatted at Bull with your free hand. “I wasn’t actually going to scream…but now that you mention the Germans, do you think if I were to yell they would come and shoot me? Because an eternal dirt nap doesn’t sound too bad right about now.”

“Why are you talking about eternal dirt naps?” Martin piped up from his position behind you and the large man from Arkansas.

“Because my feet hurt.” you shrugged.

“All of our feet hurt. Stop joking about getting shot.”

You turned to Bull and shared a wide-eyed, amused look with him. “Sorry Mama Martin.” you chuckled, causing Bull to let out a snort.

“Mama Martin is about to whoop your ass if you don’t shut the hell up and pick up the pace.”

“Yes Mama Martin.” you and Bull sing-songed at the same time, giggling silently among yourselves as you lengthened your strides. 

Time passed by at an excruciatingly slow and tedious rate, the only thing keeping you distracted from your boredom being the occasional banter between Luz and Perconte. You tried to keep quiet for as long as possible, knowing full-well that Martin was still watching you from behind, but after a while of zero talking among the company, you just couldn’t take the deafening silence any longer.

“You know what I could really go for right now?” you posed the rhetorical question to anyone within earshot. “Chocolate. I haven’t had chocolate in…well, I don’t even remember how long. I know we were supposed to have some in our bags, but someone snatched mine before we jumped.”

George let out a small whine. “Oh, don’t talk about chocolate. I’m already starving as it is.”

“Skinny gave me some of his Hershey bar last week.” Frank thought back to the last time he had gotten to taste the delectable combination of cocoa and various other sweet ingredients. 

“Guys, I’m serious.” George’s stomach let out a gurgle. “You’re making it worse. Stop talking about food.”

You felt bad for George, and although you did plan on switching the conversation topic, another side thought branched off of your previous one and before you knew it you and Frank were talking about how you would kill for a big bowl of true Italian spaghetti. 

Every minute or so George’s stomach would rumble in protest, but he pretty much stayed silent otherwise, his pace steady in between you and Frank. 

You were thankful for George’s patience with the two of you because the conversation made the remaining leg of the hike fly by much faster than it would have regularly. When you arrived at the dense, small grouping of trees where you would dig in for the night, you sighed in relief. 

Picking an ideal spot a few meters away from the front of the line, you dropped your gear down onto the dirt, relishing in the absence of the weight weighing down on your shoulders and spine, and began digging out your foxhole. 

The hard work made your muscles sting and your body sweat, and by the time you had finished, you really did just want to sit down with a bowl of spaghetti and chow down.

As the men eventually began sliding into their holes for the night, the sun had almost completely dipped behind the horizon. The once cool, refreshing breeze had turned bone-chilling and unwelcomed in a matter of minutes and you could feel the cold seeping into your bones as you settled in for the evening.

Wrapping your arms tight around your body, you closed your eyes and attempted to locate some sleep. However, Mother Nature had different plans. First, it was just a single drop on the bridge of your nose, then one on your cheek, but before you could even really register that it was raining, it was pouring down hard.

The canopy of trees provided some protection from the weather, but after a while, everyone was soaked completely through and it didn’t matter one way or the other if the foliage had been there or not. 

Hearing footfalls behind you, you craned your neck up just as a body jumped down and sat down next to you. “How you holding up?” Martin yanked his helmet off of his head and tossed it to the side before propping his rifle up beside himself.

“My feet still hurt.” you brushed the accumulated water droplets from your eyelashes. “And I still want spaghetti.”

“Well, I can’t do anything about those things…” he trailed off as he started rummaging around in his pockets. “But, I do have this.”

Fishing something out of his jacket, Martin held out a single chocolate bar toward you. Your mouth nearly started watering at the sight. “Where did you find this?” you snatched the treat from his hands as if he would retract the offer if you were too slow.

“I have my ways.” he shifted slightly and leaned back against the dirt wall. “That, and Penkala keeps a stash at the bottom of his musette bag.”

You narrowed your eyes at the thought of that grubby-handed little mortarman being the culprit behind your own missing chocolate. “Penkala.” you huffed. “He would hoard candy like a goddamn squirrel.”

Martin let out a small chuckle at that, his eyes closing as he folded his arms across his chest. You watched as he let his guard down ever-so-slightly and attempted to locate even the smallest bit of sleep. 

The rain was still coming down in sheets, slowly filling your foxhole and creating small puddles where the dirt sunk in more. It was looking like it was going to be one miserable night, but on the bright side, you had chocolate.

Your hands trembling from the cold, you slowly tore open the wrapping and broke the bar in half. “Martin.” you nudged him with your elbow. 

Cracking open one eye, Martin looked to you. “Hmm?” he grumbled.

“Here.” you passed him back half of the sweet candy. “Consider it a peace offering for always annoying you.”

Slowly, Martin reached out and took the offering. “Thank you.” he flashed a quick smile; a sight you rarely saw from him.

“Thank you for finding it,” you told him as you took the first bite of your half, the familiar and greatly-missed taste making you forget about the cold, dirt, and rain for a brief moment. 

Breaking off a smaller piece, Martin popped the candy into his mouth. “I do like chocolate.” he sighed. “Haven’t had any in quite a while myself. Probably since before the war.”

“That’s no way to live life.” you quickly downed the rest of your portion before the rain got to it. 

Martin didn’t respond to that, but you didn’t mind. Together, the two of you sat in content quiet and semi-enjoyed the sound of the rain splattering against the ground; a sound that would be much nicer if you were listening to it from the interior of a warm, dry house.

As the final glimpse of the sun disappeared, you felt the temperature drop even lower. You tried to keep from shaking, knowing that it would only use up energy that you couldn’t afford to lose, but you couldn’t help it.

“Not to complain again, Sergeant.” your teeth chattered as you looked over at Martin. “But I’m goddamn freezing.”

“Yeah, me too,” he admitted, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. Martin looked back at you, the thought that crossed his mind doing loops as he mulled it over. “Come closer.” he finally suggested.

You weren’t sure how to respond at first. Was this a test? Was he going to reprimand you for being weak and cold as soon as you moved? Or was he serious?

Martin furrowed his brows at you when you made no attempt at moving. “Jesus, don’t be weird about it.” he held his arm out for you. “This is about sharing warmth. Nothing more.”

“Oh.” you nodded as you scooted closer. “Oh, okay.”

As you pressed your body into Martin’s side, he wrapped an arm around you, the gesture making you feel safe and secure. For a little bit, you just sat there, frozen and unsure of what to do. You focused on your breathing, paranoid that the rise and fall of your chest would disturb his rest.

Martin had tried to get some shut-eye, but your tense figure beside him was much too distracting. “I’m not going to eat you when you fall alseep.” he muttered. “Relax a little, will ya? Try to get some sleep.”

“Right.” you exhaled and let your body melt into his, the minuscule warmth he radiated drawing you in even more. As you laid your head on his shoulder, your cold nose gravitated to the nape of his neck and you gently pressed your freezing skin into his warmer skin. 

Martin shuddered at the touch, but he didn’t make you move. Instead, he pulled you even closer and let out a soft sigh.

As you closed your eyes and tried to will yourself to sleep, a thought crossed your mind and you let out a small giggle. “You know, with the chocolate and cuddling…” you whispered into his flesh. “…this could count as our first date.”

“Shut up.”

“Shutting up.” you complied, keeping your mouth closed until you eventually managed to drift off into a light slumber. 

You probably wouldn’t admit it to anyone who asked, and neither would Martin, but in each other’s arms, you both had the best sleep you had had in weeks.  

[standfortheangels]

What song makes you feel better?what’s your favorite candle scent?what flower would you like to be given?say three nice things about yourself (three physical and three non-physical).what calms you down?what’s your ideal date?how are you?what’s your comfort food?do you still love stuffed animals?what’s something you do to de-stress?hugs or hand-holding?morning, afternoon or night?what reminds you of home (doesn’t have to mean house… just things that remind you of the feeling of home)? [for mun

What song makes you feel better?

Ooo, this really depends on a lot of stuff. But weirdly, one song I go to a lot is Tubthumping by Chumbawumba. The names really tell you the vibe of the song >w>' it's silly- too silly to really take much seriously when you're listening to it, so it gradually cheers me up that way. But it's mostly the chorus bit that does it.

"I get knocked down, but I get up again! You are never gonna keep me down!"

Repeated over and over again with pride and happiness like a football chant.

It's the kind of mood that's just infectious, it's a crowd celebrating something, enjoying where and who they are. Pair that with the message in those lines, and, I dunno. It just really helps me~

_

what’s your favorite candle scent?

Oh this one is tough. My sense of smell isn't that great, usually I can smell a candle if I pick it up and sniff it, but when it's lit I don't tend to smell anything. There are very few candles I can light and smell in the room. So I tend to just pick candles based on colour tbh x'D

One thing I do love though is oil diffusers. A few drops of violet essential oil in the water, it comes out as steam, makes the place smell really nice.

_

What flower would you like to be given?

Aww, that's a cute one~ I'd love to be given any flower really, but if I have to pick... I'd say a sunflower. I think it'd be really funny to have someone pull this giant flower from behind their back and hand it over. X')

_

Say three nice things about yourself (three physical and three non-physical).

That's six! You can't fool me there >w> buuuuut fine.

Physical: I like my eye colour, I've got a general hourglass shape that I like, and I'm told I have very comfortable shoulders to lean on? Haha

Non-physical: I'm fairly intelligent, have a lot of patience when I need it, and I'm pretty weird, which is often funny for other people x')

_

What calms you down?

If I'm anxious, I have a few apps on my phone I can use that usually help. 'What's Up' is a great one, it has different tools you can use like grounding exercises and retargeting your thoughts and stuff. I also have games on there like Zen Koi and Alto's Odyssey, which I find relaxing. They're not too complicated to manage but they do grab my attention and have chill music on them.

If I'm calming down from being angry.... Dogs. I find if a dog comes up to me for a hug or something, I have to relax my muscles more, I have to be gentle with them and reassure them that it's all okay, it's like a conscious effort I make for their sake. So it puts a stop to my stressing out long enough for me to just start enjoying the fact that I have a dog. ^^

_

What’s your ideal date?

Ooo good question...

At the minute I can't really date at all with my health being this bad, so I'd probably go for a casual date where we play a low-pressure game together at home. I'm talking battleship, tetris, any Super Mario game that has a multiplayer feature, Snipperclips, Jenga, Wii tennis, anything. Just us chilling, having a little bit of playful rivalry maybe, a few healthy snacks~ that would be awesome. Some of these games we could even play from two separate places with a video call going, which would mean I wouldn't have to push myself to host or leave the house or even force myself to shower in advance; I could even stay in bed and just prop myself up with some pillows if I really needed to, take a laptop and we could go play something online maybe.

In the future though (because I really hope I'll improve eventually and get some of my life back) I'd still love the more casual fun dates, but not stuck inside. I'd love to go minigolfing and be terrible at it so we can both laugh at my awful shots, and I'll do some hopeless ironic trash talk and then lose by a mile~

I'd like to have a dog we can walk together. We could go to a quiet beach, which will probably be cold and muddy because it's England but we'll let the dog loose and smile at how much fun they're having, maybe play fetch or something, and then at the end be so so grateful that we thought to put old towels over the back seats of the car for our very very happy, very very very wet dog~

It'd be fun to go to a theme park together, or walk around a garden centre and plan out a garden we'll probably never get around to. Or a zoo! That'd be a great date place, a zoo, or SeaWorld, both are good.

I'd like to go for ice cream and sit on some random grassy bank to eat it together. To go to an art gallery with a camera and most of my photos would just be of my date seeing something she likes~ maybe I could even take a sketchbook too, and I could draw her in the styles and/or poses of whichever pieces she wants me to, while she poses in ridiculous funny ways and makes me laugh so much that I have to stop and then we move to the next room.

I've been too ill for too long and had so much emotional crap in my life, I wouldn't choose the rigid restaurant dates with all the same rules and the pressure, or strive to try and be the most romantic couple or whatever else.

For me, what I'd value most is being able to get out of the house and enjoy the world, and having a date with a light-hearted atmosphere.

_

How are you?

Tired as always! X') but for real, today has actually been okay. The last few days have been really rough pain-wise, but it hasn't been quite as bad today, so hopefully it'll ease off back to normal from here~ I've also been pretty productive in the last two days so I'm very happy with myself rn ^^

_

What’s your comfort food?

I have a couple! Chocolate, of course, is a classic one (chocolate peanuts in particular are something I reach for for comfort). And also, a hot pasta-based meal like lasagna or, heck just pasta in a nice sauce will do. Those meals are more like the comfort of being warm and homely, the kind of thing I might love if I were really tired and feeling sorry for myself, while chocolate peanuts are the "I'm upset so I'm eating my feelings" food. X')

_

Do you still love stuffed animals?

Of course! I don't have tons all over my bed purely because it's inconvenient, but I do keep two huge ones- a dog and a shark- on top of my wardrobe, and my littlest childhood friend is always in my room somewhere~

His name is Scruffy, and right now he's sleeping in my crystal box (open) on top of all the empty velvet bags. ^^ I used to take him everywhere, cuddle him every night as a slept.. he usually smelled pretty gross because I never wanted to give him up to be washed, haha X) thankfully he doesn't have that problem now~

_

What’s something you do to de-stress?

This might sound lame but, jigsaw puzzles. It has to be real ones, at the table with some music in my headphones. If I can't do that for whatever reason, I go to the bathroom and run cold water over my wrists for a minute or two, over the veiny side. It's kind of a mini cleansing ritual. I sometimes combine that with some deep breaths and imagine the water is literally washing the stress out of me, and it really does help. It's something I can do quickly and easily, I can just do it while or after washing my hands or something and that's that~

_

Hugs or hand-holding?

Hmm... prolonged, I'm not a huge fan of either? Eventually if you're holding hands it's like, when do you let go? What if your hand gets warm and clammy, or sweaty? Same with like a cuddle. Once you're in it, how do you say "hey I'm kind of uncomfortable now, this physical contact has gone on too long"? You don't want to be rude, and it might be hard to explain, so you've probably got to blame on being too warm even if you're not, and then that's a lie, and.. it's just awkward.

A regular hug though, that's okay. It can last longer than usual and still not be a problem, because at least, you know, you won't be hugging for half an hour, at some point soon you'll let go. And it feels nice, you know? From someone I care about and trust anyway~ it's like a physical way of saying "I love you" and it's nice to have someone's arms holding you, to wrap yours around them and just hold them tight.. you both feel warm inside and secure and wanted. I wouldn't be keen on a hug from a stranger or an acquaintance, even a new-ish friend. But someone who's close to me? All the hugs. Give me the hugs, let me hug you back, many many hugs. X)

_

Morning, afternoon or night?

Night! Actually I love those really early mornings, you know when the air still has that kind of... Crispness to it. That is amazing. But I'm never awake for that anymore.

(^▽ ^;)ゞ

_

What reminds you of home?

Thunderstorms, loud planes overhead, chinook noises, soft hugs when I'm upset, mum's cooking, pictures of our old dog Harvey, little fluffy dogs running about.

Most of this is easy to figure out I'm sure, but I do want to talk about the first couple.

Until the age of 11 my family lived on a military air base, so there were always big planes taking off and landing, and I really do mean always. We learned the difference between some of them by sound. I could be sat at home and we'd hear one and know, that had to be a Herc landing (landing always sounded different to taking off), or a teacher would have to stop talking at school to let one go by, and everyone knew that one was a VC10. (VC10s are the LOUDEST thing I have ever heard to this day. I'd probably still recognise one now~)

We also saw and heard Chinooks a lot. Now for anyone who doesn't know, those are the weird helicopters that have two... Fan parts? I don't actually know what they're called. X') (I looked it up, they're called rotors!) They kinda look like the bit of a retro telephone that you'd pick up and hold to your face.

Now having two rotors means that they can carry a Lot of weight, but it also means they don't sound like normal helicopters do. The two rotors are timed out so that the blades from each side can go through the same middle space without hitting each other, Left blade then right blade then left then right then left, and you can kind of hear it happening. Instead of the kind of 'Wubbubbubbubbubbub' of normal helicopters, a chinook sounds more like 'Wokka wokka wokka wokka'.

Where I am now, we only hear some small jets once a week at most when they take practice flights, and sometimes a normal police or ambulance helicopter. It took me a long time to get used to the quiet of most places, and sometimes I miss all the overhead noise we had back then.

And we got so many thunderstorms! Every single summer, usually at night. Now that I think about it the pollution from all the aircraft might have been involved in this too. >w>" But I loved it. We'd all gather in mum's room and open the curtains wide to watch. My little sister was scared of thunder back then so it was better for her to have people around and to make it fun. I was always just excited! And I still get that way if I hear thunder now~

[dat-fandom-losertown]

The Drift Between Us

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Chapter 7: Celebration

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Hank Anderson x Connor and Gavin Reed x RK900 (Ritch)

Pacific Rim AU

Warnings: Alcohol, Drunkenness (they’re just chillin’ with some drinks)

Word Count: 8,129

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <> Masterlist <> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Connor is just leaving the office area with Ritch right at his heels when someone suddenly pops up from around the corner. Connor jerks into something resembling a fight stance, then just as quickly relaxes with a huge sigh and small smile. It’s just Simon. The blond smiles apologetically, while the rest of the crew starts standing up after leaning up against the wall behind him.

    “Well? What’s the news? Are you staying or going?” North asks impatiently.

    “We’re staying.” Ritch informs in a tone he hasn’t heard in a while. When Connor turns to look at him, his twin has a small smile and a light in his eyes that he thought Amanda successfully destroyed long ago; one of content and relief.

    The four trainees all cheer at once, and Simon hops over to hug Ritch in one arm and Connor in the other. Connor short-circuits for a moment, but Ritch immediately gives a gentle hug back. Before he can copy his twin, though, Simon is letting go and Markus is taking his place, leading them away with one arm over each of their shoulders.

    “This is a cause for celebration!” He calls, making both twins cringe at the volume right by their ears.

    “Yeah! We already have people bringing drinks and snacks to Simon’s and Markus’ bunker!” North cheers.

    That catches Connor’s attention. “Drinks? As in, alcoholic drinks? Aren’t those prohibited?”

    “Maybe for pilots they are, but not for us normal people and trainees, it’s only looked down upon!”

    Josh elaborates a bit further. “Technically we’re not supposed to get drunk, but I’ve been getting close with some of the people who work in the lab downstairs, and they’re all allowed to have drinks every now and then, or they can do this weird petition thing to get a larger supply if there’s some kind of thing they’re celebrating. I just asked a couple of them if they could get one going so we could have a few drinks tonight.”

    “You were that confident we were going to stay?” Ritch asks.

    “Eh,” Markus says unsurely, “We figured you probably wouldn’t be sent off, not with how perfect you guys are for this job, but could’ve been a sending off party if things went downhill. Now stop asking questions and let's get back to our bunker!”

    Markus then unloops his arms from their shoulders and sets off at a faster pace. Connor and Ritch quickly catch up to him. It doesn’t take too long to make it to Simon’s and Markus’ bunker, and when they do, there’s two other people waiting in front of it. One look at Ritch proves that he doesn’t know who these people are either, but they’re holding drinks, so they must be Josh’s scientist contacts.

    “Did you guys bring any snacks?” The tanned woman waiting calls amicably. 

    Simon shakes his head, “No, the cafeteria was completely closed, and no one was willing to donate to our cause.”

    The woman shakes her head with a sarcastic frown, “The greedy fucks.” She smiles, “Lets get all of this inside, then, shall we? I don’t want Hank or someone coming around the corner and seeing this.” She lifts up four bottles of amber-colored alcohol.

    “Why not?” Connor didn’t mean to ask out loud because he has a feeling why she would say that, but there’s no taking it back now.

    “Because this is his favorite stuff.” She walks through the door that’s been opened by Simon, “He used to always try to leech this off of me until what’s-his-face came along and was happy to give up his small ration. And now he’s on complete prohibition by the orders of the Marshal.” She sets them on the desk connected to the wall. “Honestly, it took him long enough.”

    Connor simply nods and makes a note of the brand while looking around the room. It’s an exact copy of his and Ritch’s shared room, except Simon and Markus have photos and drawings hung up with sticky-tack and little trinkets and other small souvenirs on the higher shelves, along with plenty of fictional books among their brand new study material.

    Where Ritch and Connor decided against paying extra to get the study material, they signed up to bring their own (which was almost free because Amanda had most of the books needed). Most people wouldn’t have that kind of luxury, and it makes Connor almost feel guilty for just a moment, then it goes away just as quickly when he spots a family picture on the shelf. Younger versions of North, Josh, Markus, and Simon are all posing around an older caucasion man in a wheelchair outside under a tree. It’s very nice, and it makes Connor wish he somehow had taken pictures of him and Ritch as they were growing up.

    This room makes the twins’ bunker seem empty and lifeless, but Connor doesn’t even know where to start in getting their room to look this lively, besides being cheesy and hanging up Jaeger posters when there’s a loading dock of them in the same building. Maybe he’ll try drawing one of the newer models to hang up if it’s allowed– not that he can draw well, but it’d be a nice challenge on one of his slower, emptier days.

    “Let’s get this started!” North suddenly shouts, making everyone cheer and Connor glad that these rooms are pretty much sound proof with all of the metal and concrete everywhere. 

    Instantly, there’s a bottle and a small cup pushed into his hand. The cup is partially filled with the amber alcohol that that woman, Vanessa apparently, told him was Hank’s supposed favorite. Connor tries a sip of that first and finds it disgusting, plus the burning sensation down his throat is too off-putting for Connor, so he sets it aside. The second bottle is something pink that Simon put in his hand with a wink. A sip of this is like drinking some kind of fruity soda with a certain zip to it. Connor decides he likes it, and grabs the same brand in the four other flavors after reading it barely has 3% alcohol in it versus whatever the hell is in that amber stuff.

    A few hours and many, many drinks later, almost everyone is some degree of drunk and has split off into two groups. Markus turns out to be very tactile when he’s drunk, and is currently cuddling Simon while the blond and North are giggling about anything and everything over where they’re sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. Josh is sitting on the lower bunk, gushing about something he can’t understand to Vanessa and Riley, and Ritch seems to be following along well enough from where he’s sitting calmly on the ground. It makes sense. Ritch was always more into the tech and psychology side of science, and Connor was more interested in biology and first aid. Neither of them really loved science, but those were their preferred types when they had to choose one for schooling.

    Connor gets up from where he’s leaning against the desk with all of the drinks. Over the past few hours, he started a game with himself; how many bottles can he hide somewhere on himself before someone notices. It slowly grew more challenging the more bottles he was stashing away, and he almost got caught twice, but now he has a total 13 bottles of different-colored wine coolers stashed in the fluffy jacket he’s wearing (everyone got hot and lowered the thermostat, so Connor was given Markus’ jacket to keep warm after refusing to drink the beer and whiskey to keep warm) and in various pockets of his cargo pants, and everyone is too drunk and/or preoccupied to notice him taking a 14th one.

    Well, Ritch might be noticing him, but if he has, he’s made no move to stop him. He’d like to think that his brother has secretly joined in on this little game, or made his own in some way. It’s more likely that he just doesn’t care what Connor’s doing, though, and he tries to tell himself that it’s perfectly alright. It actually kind of works, this time.

    The point is, this was all fun earlier when people could still talk, but were stupid and loose enough to do and say ridiculous things. Now, though, he’s the only one sober enough to walk in a straight line (except for Ritch, who only choked down a beer or two after deciding wine coolers are too sweet for him), and everyone else is too shit-faced (North’s words from earlier) to properly hold a conversation. 

    There were four bottles of whisky and two large packs of beer and a thing of wine coolers when this all started, so Connor’s a bit worried that, between six people, there is only half a bottle of whiskey and a six spare beers left (not including the 13 wine coolers poorly hidden on himself). That whiskey is supposedly strong, and he has absolutely no clue how much alcohol an adult body can take before bad things start to happen– he mainly learned about injuries, not drunkenness or illnesses. He doesn’t really trust North around this stuff, since she looks the closest to going into a coma and had been going back for more drinks more frequently than anyone else.

    With that, a sudden idea pops into his head.

    He still needs to thank Mr. Anderson for talking to Marshal Fowler and for everything else he’s done for him, and if what Vanessa said earlier is true, then he won’t be able to get access to any alcohol for a long while, if ever. Connor may not know much about anything outside of injuries, but he does know that completely cutting someone off suddenly when they have a drinking addiction as strong as Mr. Anderson’s is not good. It can lead to worse things, and he doubts he’ll stop drinking just because of the threat of not getting anymore. Maybe he’ll slow, but not stop. He’s pretty sure that’s not how it works.

    Connor glances at the clock, which glows the numbers “1:07” in bright blue. Although, if this whiskey is really Mr. Anderson’s favorite drink, then he shouldn't mind if Connor brings it over this late– or this early– as a quick thank you, especially so if he isn’t supposed to have this kind of thing anymore. Connor knows this isn’t a good idea, but quite frankly, he trusts Mr. Anderson with it more than North at this point. He at least should know how to handle his drinking so he doesn’t immediately die from alcohol poisoning, and Connor wouldn’t be surprised if she already has poisoning to a certain degree.

    Now that he’s finally convinced himself that this is, indeed, what he wants to do, he carefully unloads some of his bottles of wine coolers (he wants to bring some back to his bunker to put in his and Ritch’s mini-fridge because they’re delicious in smaller, occasional doses). That makes just enough room for the several beers he stashes in their place. It takes just over fifteen minutes of shuffling so he isn’t being completely obvious, but no one seems to have noticed yet, not even Ritch, who’d surely be giving him a very strange look by now if he did.

    Now the trick he wants to use for the whisky bottle (shove it in a pillowcase with a pillow and carry it just right, so it looks like it’s just the pillow he’s holding) won’t work because everyone is hoarding the pillows, and the bottle is a bit too square-shaped for that. He can’t even use the balled-up-blanket trick because the only two in the room are occupied as well. Hiding it under his jacket would make the whisky bottle clink against the beer and wine cooler ones, and there’s no way to keep it up in his jacket and look natural at the same time, anyway.

    Unless it didn’t need to look completely natural.

    All it would take to get it out of the room is tucking it under his jacket, and who is going to be walking down the bunker halls this late at night (early in the morning?)? Connor highly doubts that there are guards stationed in a hallway filled with people whose entire job is batting and killing giant aliens that destroy cities for fun. The only other people he could think of that could be out at this time are people working the night shifts, and he doubts anyone focused on their own job will notice or care that he has a bottle in his hand, even less so if the label is covered by something to make it less obvious that it’s alcohol and not some kind of juice or tea.

    Therefore, Connor looks around to make sure that no one is watching– Josh and Ritch are still talking quietly, but Riley is asleep and Vanessa looks about there too, with Markus, Simon, and North following her close behind– then takes three napkins and the bottle and shoves it all under his jacket carefully. He takes two experimental steps towards Ritch both to test how loud the bottles are and to tell his brother that he plans to leave. There’s minimal noise as long as he shuffles “tiredly” rather than taking actual steps. He stops right by Ritch, who looks up questioningly at him.

    “I’m gonna head to bed. It’s getting late for me.”

    Ritch nods, “Alright. I planned on leaving soon as well. I want to get everyone situated and comfortable before I do.”

    Connor nods a single time, then turns and leaves silently. He keeps his arms curled around himself as if he was still cold despite the jacket as he opens the door. Again, if Ritch has noticed anything, which he must have by now, then he doesn’t say anything. Connor keeps his arms like that until he decides the coast is clear, then pulls out the bottle and napkins, loosely wrapping the napkins around it and holding the covered bottle like he would any old water bottle.

    He passes his own bunker on the way to Mr. Anderson’s, but decides against going inside to drop off his wine coolers. Even though less bottles would allow him to move more naturally, the time it would take to dig them out and put them away isn’t worth it, since he’s to get back before Ritch does. He moves on a bit quicker at the reminder of his self-set time restraint. 

    While Connor hopes that Mr. Anderson is still up, he knows the chances of that are rather low. As he approaches his lunch companion’s door, he realizes he needs to come up with some kind of plan of where to keep this stash if the retired pilot won’t wake up or won’t let him inside to unload everything. He doesn’t want Ritch to know about this any more than he probably already does, after all.

    He quickly decides that he’ll put the alcohol under his own blanket. His reasoning is that the mini-fridge is out of the question for anything except for his own colorful alcohol because there’s just no room in the ridiculously tiny thing. Plus, because Connor is on the top bunk, it would be difficult to see unless someone climbs up there, and no one would do that, especially not between now and lunch. No one has even been in their room before, not unless Ritch brought someone in there without his knowledge, but he’s more protective of their space than Connor is, so that’s very unlikely.

    As Connor raises his hand to knock, Connor realizes what it may look like for someone to knock on the known-alcoholic’s door in the middle of the night with a covered bottle in hand. He quickly tucks the whisky bottle under his jacket carefully and hugs his left arm to his chest to pin it in place as he finally knocks.

    He waits a few moments for any sign that Mr. Anderson is up, then knocks again, this time more firmly. When there’s still no response, Connor turns to go back to his room. He doesn’t want to wake him up if he’s still asleep, after al. He pulls out and readjusts the bottle and napkins in his hand so it doesn’t slip from his grip and keeps his stride at a tired shuffle. He makes it five steps before the sound of a door opening stops him in his tracks.

    “Connor? What the fuck are you doing? It is 1:30 in the morning.”

    He spins around as quickly as he’s silently able to with all the bottles tucked into his waistband. It ends up not being very fast.

    “May I talk to you? Inside?” he asks boldly. He notes the other’s disheveled appearance, with the stained shirt and holey sweatpants. 

    “Fuckin’– What?” he shakes his head incredulously. “Could this not wait until a decent time to be awake? Why now in the middle of the night?”

    “I just wanted to give you something as my thanks, and I’d rather do it without people around to poke their noses into it.” he replies genuinely, “But I guess it can wait until after lunch–”

    “Wait a minute.” he interrupts, “What do you mean, ‘give me something as a thanks’? A thanks for what? And why would people not mind their own businesses?”

    “I mean, I’m sure they would, but I’d still rather not talk about this in the middle of the hall.” He swings the whiskey bottle in his hand, hoping the other man will figure it out on his own. If the way Mr. Anderson tracks the movement with his eyes says anything, he definitely did.

    “Fuck’s sake, get in here.” He turns and disappears behind the door, leaving it open behind him. Connor hears him mutter “not like I was actually sleeping anyway…” before he makes a move to enter.

    Connor can’t help but notice that the room is cleaner than it was last time he was in here. The top of his desk is empty. There’s only one bottle Connor can spot out in the open, versus the several before. All of the clothes that were once in one large pile are now in two piles and a folded stack, which Connor elects to assume means “unwearable”, “not clean”, and “clean” based off of Mr. Anderson’s habits and normal wardrobe. He carefully shuts the door behind himself and eyes the older man, who’s leaning against the desk tiredly, now. It looks like he quickly ran his fingers through his hair, but he looks more tired despite that.

    “You cleaned again.”

    He really didn’t mean to say that out loud– hell, he didn’t even mean to say it the last time he was in here–, but Mr. Anderson doesn’t seem as bothered by it as he was before.

    “Yea? You gonna say that every time you come in here and I’ve made progress? What about when it gets messy again, hm? ‘Cause I guarantee it will.” he challenges.

    Connor just shakes his head calmly with a nervous smile. “If you’ll believe me, I didn’t actually mean to say that out loud. And this isn’t my room, it’s yours, so I don’t see why it’d be any of my business what you do with it beyond keeping potentially harmful bottles off the ground.” He pauses to eye the desk Mr. Anderson is leaning on. “Do you mind if I use your desk for a second?”

    It’s a rough topic change, but it’s one that Mr. Anderson takes silently. He simply moves out of the way, overplaying exasperation of having to as he waves to it. Connor nods a silent thanks and walks over, mentally cringing at the feeling of the bottles in his waistband rubbing and clanging together with each step. Apparently his lunch companion couldn’t tell that he was hoarding bottles until now because he’s suddenly extremely interested in what Connor has.

    He puts down the whisky first and uncovers it, discarding the napkins on the ground for now. Mr. Anderson is immediately at his side to investigate, obviously surprised to see the brand.

    “What the fuck? This is full?” he whispers, then continues the same way as if someone will overhear him if he speaks too loud. “Where the hell d’ya get this? And how?”

    “I heard that Marshal Fowler suddenly went from somewhat tolerating your drinking to cutting you off completely,” he answers partially, ever-so-carefully unzipping his jacket so the bottles barely tucked inside the inner pockets don’t slip out and crack or shatter. “And strictly from a medical point of view, it’s not healthy to cut off an addiction like yours like that so suddenly, so I decided to help out as thanks for talking to the marshal about giving me and Ritch a second chance. But don’t expect me to do this again, I was only able to this time because I was at a celebration and everyone was extremely inebriated.”

    Once Connor has his jacket unzipped, he slowly pulls out the two beer bottles in the most danger of falling. The one on the left side makes his wine cooler bottle almost fall, so he has to pin it under his left arm so he has time to put the beer in his right hand down and catch it. He then digs out two more beers and sets them down, realizing there’s no good way about unloading Mr. Anderson’s alcohol without making his own fall out. 

    “Jesus. How many bottles did you take?” He picks up one of the beer bottles, studying the label.

    “I had 16 bottles on me, plus the whisky–”

    Mr. Anderson’s head snaps to him, “Wait, what?–”

    “–and I think the only bottle people will notice missing is the whisky, since there were only four of them and there wasn’t enough room to stash them in the recycling with the beers and wine coolers. Though I doubt they’ll really care or question why there’s only three bottles left in the room.” Connor pulls out the last beer in his jacket pocket, then starts the process of freeing the one in his waistband, which is going to require taking them all out then resizing the belt. “Oh! And the wine coolers are mine, so you can’t have any.”

   “I don’t like fruity drinks anyway.” he answers, staring at Connor as if he has a second head or a third leg. Connor ignores this easily, it’s a look he’s very used to, sadly. 

    He moves to pull out one of the two beer bottles from under his belt and immediately realizes his mistake. The wine-cooler bottles carelessly tucked in the biggest pockets are heavily weighing his pants down, and he doesn’t feel like flashing anyone. With a defeated sigh, he pulls the two bottles from the pockets over his calves (People rarely look down when they have somewhere they need to be, so the chances of someone other than Ritch noticing those two and the two lumps in his nearly-untied boots then commenting on it are lower than people seem to think). He then tries to get the bottle out again, but the three in the back start slipping, but if he tries to keep them from falling, then the bottles in the front will fall.

    Realizing how stupid this delema is since it’s his bottles that are about to go down his pants and not anyone else’s, he simply pulls out Anderson’s bottle and lets the rest drop down his pant legs. He tightens up his belt, then removes the two from in his boots and lets the fallen wine coolers in his pant legs slip to the ground unharmed.

    “Jesus fucking christ, you actually had 16 bottles tucked away.” Connor looks up and sees Hank shaking his head in disbelief. “How in the fuck did you manage that? Actually, why would you try to do this in the first place?”

    “I got bored, and despite what everyone thinks of me, I’m not a rule-following teacher’s pet.” He sits on the ground and starts working on lacing his boots properly. “I just make sure that my ‘crimes’ aren’t serious and are done without anyone noticing.” He finishes tying boots onto his feet, then looks up to smirk up at the ex-pilot. “Like hiding 16 bottles of alcohol in various places and delivering seven of them to someone who’s supposed to not have them.” He starts stuffing the coolers on the ground away in his pockets, not wanting to impose on the other man too much longer.

    “And where did you say you got all of this from? A celebration?”

    Connor nods and stands up. “Some of my and Ritch’s mutual friends had a small gathering with copious amounts of alcohol because tonight we found out we’re staying!” Connor beams. It feels very strange on his face after so long of being in a tense or panic-like state. “And with the way Marshal Fowler was speaking, it sounds like we’ll be able to graduate as soon as we find partners to pilot with. So that’s what all this is,” he gestures to the bottles, “It’s a thanks for that, because he mentioned in passing that you spoke to him, and he trusts your judgement of people.”

    Connor sees Mr. Anderson’s expression of surprise, and doesn’t try to work out if it’s a good or negative type. He just waits patiently, knowing that he’s probably trying to figure out a way to say something. That’s what these lengthy silences meant most of the other times, anyway.

    “You do realize that you’ll get in big trouble for this if you’re caught. After all the paperwork stuff and everything.” It’s not the kind of thing Mr. Anderson has to work himself up to say before, but Connor is the last person to push someone for withholding potentially sensitive information or opinions.

    “Then it’s a good thing I won’t be,” Connor states confidently, “I may get anxious or uncomfortable with a lot of things, but these past couple of weeks of adjusting to how things work around here are not how I usually am. I’m not normally that fragile or easy to upset. Besides,” he leans on the desk casually, “if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s yoga and stealing food and drinks. I’ve had more than enough practice growing up to feel confident in my abilities to get away with tonight’s heist, Mr. Anderson.”

    He stands up straight again before blinking in shock at himself. He just mentioned a detail of his childhood and isn’t affected by it. Hell, now he’s actively thinking about how he and Ritch had to sneak out of the house with stolen money if they ever wanted any kind of junk food and he’s still completely unbothered by the memory. There must be more alcohol in his system than he thought. Just how many wine coolers did he have to drink in order to get loose like this?

    “It’s Hank.”

    Connor snaps his head up, not knowing when it lowered in the first place. He’s extremely glad all of his bottles are tucked safely away because if he was still holding one, he might have just dropped it on the hard floor.

    “I’m sorry?” he asks politely. There’s no way the Mr. Anderson is asking Connor, the annoying kid with the fucked up head, to call him by his first name.

    It’s extremely disrespectful to call someone older than you anything other than Miss, Misses, or Mister, even if they’re only older by five years, Amanda’s voice informs in his head.

    Never judge a person purely based on their age. Some people, like you, are completely mature despite their age still being a comparatively small number. Some people, like Howard over there, still act like children even though they’re older than me. Treat a person with a careful balance of how they act and what social standards require, the same voice scolds louder.

    “Look, if you’re still going to bug me during lunch and dinner, then I’d rather you just call me Hank.” He sighs and looks away. “Having someone like you call me ‘Mr. Anderson’ makes me feel old, and honestly? A little fuckin’ creeped out too. Mister and miss or whatever is reserved for children, and you don’t look like a fuckin’ child to me.”

    For the first time in a long while, Connor chooses to ignore Amanda’s irritated voice in his head. He’ll only call him Hank because the other wants him to, and he has a feeling that they’re something he calls “quiet friends”. Friends without stating it and never mentioning as much for one or both people's sake, but still friends nonetheless. But in the end, it doesn’t matter because either way, Connor feels accomplished. He just made his first friend that didn’t tie in to Ritch at all.

    Connor realizes too late that he hesitated for a tad too long, so he tries to break the growing tension with a very bad joke.

    “Well then, Hank, you can just call me Connor, now. No ‘Mr. Stern’ necessary anymore.”

    It takes Mr. And– Hank a second to understand the joke that he never once called Connor by his last name before, then he’s shaking his head at the ceiling with a huff of amusement.

    “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

    “Most likely. Hopefully it won’t be too painful, though.” Connor smirks.

    Hank looks back down with a scowl, but Connor swears he can see mirth in his eyes.

    “Just get out of here and go to fucking bed before anyone gets any wrong– or right– ideas.” he nods to the door.

    Connor nods and quickly gets to the door. However, he pauses just as he’s about to open it, then turns back to Hank.

    “As I said before, I won’t be doing this again and feeding your issue, Hank. I’m just acknowledging that quitting cold turkey like Marshal Fowler wants you to can be dangerous. You still need to work on slowing down with the goal of stopping.” He pauses to see if the ex-pilot has anything to say, which he doesn’t besides a sigh. “Good night, Hank. If, uh, you ever really need sleep one night, I’d be willing to give you some of the oil that allowed me to sleep for two days during my mood dip.”

    Was that only last week? Or was it the week before?

    “Thank you, Connor. I may take you up on that.” He sounds surprisingly genuine, and the trainee can’t stop the small smile from appearing. “Now get out of here before I decide to hate you again.”

    He nods quickly, not bothering to hide his elation that Hank basically admitted that he likes him, and opens the door. “I hope your night gets better.” he says as he shuts the door.

    Ritch is already in bed by the time he makes it back, but he doesn’t question Connor about his whereabouts. That means he probably knows exactly what he was doing and confirms Connor’s assumptions that he knew about the hidden alcohol bottles. Oh well; Ritch probably isn’t too put off by it since he never said anything despite obviously holding off sleep until he got back. They both sleep soundly that night.

    The next morning, Connor is in the training area doing his morning stretches with Ritch at his side when he sees the Jericho Squad walk in, very obviously hungover. Simon and Josh don’t look as bad, but North is in the worst shape, unsurprisingly. She squints against the lights of the room and stumbles directly behind Markus, who doesn’t appear to be miserable, but also isn’t smiling and chatting along with Josh and Simon like he usually does. North suddenly turns her head and immediately spots Connor.

    “How the fuck are you two not miserable?” she shouts across the room.

    She opens her mouth to probably yell again, but Connor quickly stands up from his spot in the corner and moves over to their group so they won’t call anymore unnecessary attention to themselves. He doesn’t hear echoing footsteps behind him, so Ritch must have stayed behind to properly finish his stretches.

    “I’m not miserable because I kept my drinking under control.” He answers quietly as soon as he’s close enough to. “Besides, once you’re jaeger pilots, excessive drinking isn’t allowed anymore, so you guys should start practicing prohibition.” Connor scolds in a teasing tone.

    “Well,” Simon begins, “lucky for us, we aren’t actually pilots. Only trainees, so we can do what we want for now.”

    “But Ritch and I probably will be as soon as we find suitable partners, so I don’t expect us to–” Connor’s teasing is interrupted by North.

    “Woah, woah woah woah. You mean to tell me that not only are you guys sticking around, but you’re graduating early too? And you didn’t even tell us? How skilled are you exactly? What the hell...” 

    Connor thought someone who is this hungover would be quieter.

    “Did Ritch not tell any of you last night?” Everyone shakes their head. “Oh... Huh. Well, as soon as we retake evaluations and find partners, we’ll probably be graduating and moving on as pilots.” Connor pauses, “I think that’s kind of a problem, though, because as far as I know, there’s only one more jaeger, and by regulation, each pair needs their own in case of an emergency where every available pilot is needed–”

    “Wow, yup. Already boring me.” North bluntly states.

    Connor makes a mental note to not talk about jaegers and regulations while she’s around. It’s odd that she wants to be a jaeger pilot but doesn’t want to hear anything about the jaegers. Maybe that’s part of the reason the passing rate of this training is so low? Some have the skills and drive to fight kaijus, but not enough desire to keep up with the less exciting things (if putting one’s life in danger by fighting ginormous aliens can even be considered “exciting”).

    “North!” Markus chides, ”Just because you hate memorizing all of this stuff doesn’t mean everyone does. Leave him be! Besides, you’re gonna have to know all of it if you actually wanna fight kaijus.”

    “Connor’s right, you know.” Ritch’s voice points out from behind him suddenly. “About everything. I don’t know what Fowler plans to do with two possible new pairs and only one known jaeger, unless he has some prototypes hidden up his sleeve, but those would have to be in testing stages now, not available for pilots to use quite yet.” He crosses his arms and looks to the side, a tell that Ritch is thinking through something carefully. “The only thing I can think of is that he has one that’s almost out of testing that we just haven’t heard of yet for whatever reason. Or he just didn’t want to miss a chance having at least two more pilots around here and compromised with whoever about this, despite only having one available jaeger.”

    Josh nods, shifting his weight onto his other leg, “I think it’s more the second reason than the first. There haven’t been nearly as many people looking to be jaeger pilots since the propaganda stopped standing a chance against the horror stories on the internet and news.”

    Everyone silently nods their agreement.

    “Either way,” Connor begins, “I don’t actually know how often we’ll see each other outside of meals now. With us having to redo our evaluations and partner hunting and stuff.”

    “I doubt they’ll keep us out of the class, Connor.” Ritch doesn’t bother to turn to look at him like he would with someone else, knowing he wouldn’t be put off by it. “I don’t know if we’ll still be top of the class, since we’ll likely be overqualified for what stage everyone here is at, but I don’t see why Luther and Chloe wouldn’t let us stay and help, even if it isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

    Connor shakes his head with a shrug, “It really isn’t. I don’t like leadership roles like you do.”

    Ritch nods. Connor has a feeling they’re both thinking about how Amanda didn’t mind this particular dynamic between them, even though it took a bit of time for her to warm up to it. Before Connor can get too wrapped up in his head, North snaps him out of it.

    “So you gonna show us what you can really do today, since you were supposedly holding last time? Which I still don’t believe, by the way.” she challenges with a certain glint in her eye that he has grown to dislike.

    “No.” he retorts at the same time as Ritch. Everyone goes quiet.

    Connor continues quietly, “We weren’t holding back as much as we have with everything else last time. I don’t want to have to do it again and get hurt worse…”

    “I agree. I don’t like fighting against Connor.”

    “The only things I want to fight are kaijus and assholes.”

    “Snobbish, biggoted assholes.” Ritch specifies.

    Out of the corner of his eye, Connor spots a few other students entering the training area, so instead of correcting Ritch that he would fight any asshole if they did something to warrant it and have his brother inevitably push back against that, Connor just huffs. Ritch will understand that he means it as a show of disagreement; and he does, if his version of an eye roll is anything to go by.

    “Well, I suppose I better go off and try to find some kind of jaeger partner. I’m going to need a lot more time than Ritch because… Well, you all know exactly how I was when we were trying to get to know each other.” Connor smiles genuinely. If there’s one thing he can do right, it’s turn his short-comings into jokes or some form of amusement for himself.

    Although, everyone except Ritch smiles awkwardly, so Connor immediately knows that these people don’t really do self-deprecating jokes. Ritch simply frowns sympathetically probably because he already figured out that they don’t use that type of humor, and he takes that as his cue to actually leave. Before he can turn to leave, however, Chloe shouts Connor’s and Ritch’s names. When they look to her, she waves them over with a smile. They say a quick goodbye to the group as they calmly walk over. Connor is painfully aware of all the silent attention they’re getting.

    “Just as Marshal Fowler said yesterday, you need to start reevaluations today. Would you prefer to do them over in the gym, or in here? I can’t promise we’ll have the gym to ourselves, but it may be less crowded than in here.”

    He looks to Ritch, who gives him a sort of curious look. It’s up to Connor, then. He turns back to Chloe and shrugs with a polite smile.

    “I guess in here is fine. It seems more convenient than going all the way there then back again in a few hours.”

    “Are we going to have to do the combat evaluations again?” Ritch cuts in, “Because I will not fight against Connor again if that’s the case.”

    Chloe blinks, her features turning into a careful balance of blank and attentive. She blinks again when neither Ritch or Connor expand on the request.

    “Did you hold back that much the first time?” she half-jokes lightly, but he sees the slight concern in her eyes.

    The only responses she gets for several moments are Ritch’s shoulders tensing and Connor looking away nervously. Although, it’s obvious she’s waiting for some kind of verbal confirmation.

    Ritch sighs and finally answers quietly, “It’s dangerous for us to not hold back when we’re not fighting to kill.”

    Connor only nods solemnly in agreement.

    Chloe takes a deep breath before speaking, “Okay then, you won’t have to do that over again.” She flips through her clipboard of papers and marks something down quickly, “So let’s skip to flexibility, okay? Go ahead and line up against the wall.” She nods her head to the area next to the doorway where some basic equipment is.

    They go through the basic stretches. For the sit and reach, they use the block, adjusting the measurements to their size, and start with both legs on it, then just one at a time with the other bent. Ritch does above average, and Connor does extremely well if Chloe’s expression means anything.

    Next is the v-sit, so Chloe has Ritch put his feet against the wall and lean forward down the middle, then lean to each side. It turns out that he’s a bit more flexible on his right side than left for whatever reason. He’s then told to bend to the middle and touch his toes, which he does relatively easily. When Connor starts, he foregoes the wall, despite the confused look Chloe gives him, and lets Ritch hold his feet in place while he leans forward. He can almost put his forehead on the floor, and when leaning to either side, he lightly rests it on his knees. Chloe starts marking on her clipboard again, and Connor has to ignore the numerous stares he feels from the other side of the room.

    The rest of the stretches go similarly. Next they stand and touch their toes (Ritch manages to do so, but Connor is able to put his palms flat on the floor and bends his arms), then they move on to the butterfly stretch, calf flexibility test (they both pass this one with flying colors), side bending, and trunk rolls (this is the easiest one for both of them). Before they know it, almost an hour and a half has gone by and they’re done with their official stretches.

    “Hey guys,” Chloe calls the twin’s attention quietly. She continues when both of them look at her. “Do you mind if I do just a couple more stretches? We did the same thing for North and Traci. It’s to see if we should start designing a jaeger that has more rotation and flexibility for our more bendy pilots.”

    Connor looks to Ritch, who answers. “Sure, whatever you need.”

    She smiles. “Can you do some lunges?”

    They both nod and get into position and hold it easily. Chloe marks something in her book before she tells them to sit on the ground and spread their legs as far as they can go. Ritch raises an eyebrow at Connor for whatever reason before attempting to do the splits. Connor easily does it, then holds the position as he puts his chest to the ground, then sits back up. When Ritch gets up to shift the direction of his legs, leaning into something close to a lunge, Connor doesn’t get completely up, instead just sitting then shifting his legs over. He leans forward towards his knee then, too, just as he taught himself, then sits up, torso perpendicular to the ground and his legs.

    “Surprising,” Chloe states in a praising tone, jotting something else down on her clipboard.

    Ritch gets up and smirks down at Connor. He can’t stop himself from smiling back a bit as he gets up too. It’s nice to actually be praised for something that he had only gotten huffed at for in the past. Now he’s kind of glad that he missed this evaluation altogether while he was going through his mood dip because he wouldn’t have wanted to hold back. Plus, having to rush off to let the next person go and/or having everyone’s undivided attention on him would make this nerve-racking, even if he would’ve held back.

    A sudden wolf whistle from across the room shoves him out of his thoughts.

    “Yass Connor!” North yells obnoxiously, gathering most people’s attention to them, “Show ‘em who’s queen!”

    “North, why are you like this?” Connor shakes his head, feeling his face heat in embarrassment. That question is better than what he actually wants to ask; are you still somehow drunk?

    “Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t.” She then winks and blows Connor a kiss and a winks, the entire act overplayed and an obvious show of teasing him. Maybe she’s overplaying being okay so people don’t suspect her actual hungover state too much.

    Connor just sighs and shakes his head again, watching Ritch as he does his equivalent of an eye roll.

    “Alright boys,” Chloe says behind them, “do you want to do stamina and cardio next or strength and weights?”

    Ritch and Connor glance at each other, then nod simultaneously.

    “We’ll do cardio today since we’re already stretched for it, if we can push strength to tomorrow?” Ritch answers, the end sounding like a question rather than a reply.

    Their instructor smiles, “Sure, that works for me! Let’s head over to the gym for the equipment, then.”

    The rest of their time before lunch is spent doing various cardio and stamina tests. Most of their time is spent on the treadmills and exercise bikes for sprinting and and different kinds of endurance. Chloe gives nothing away about how well they did this time, and they return to the training area just as the rest of the class is finishing up punching techniques with Luther. They’re all released at the same time to go shower before lunch. Connor and Ritch are told to head to the testing room instead of here when they finish lunch so they can retake their written evaluations.

    Connor lets Ritch have a shower first and picks up their room a bit. It’s not really messy, just a few stray clothes in a pile on the ground around the hamper instead of in it, but it gives him a reason to do some very-needed organization in their desk drawers. He spots his journal in the third drawer and suddenly remembers several things from last night and this morning he wanted to write down.

    He writes down North’s hatred for regulation and technical talk. He then adds that he thinks Josh will probably transfer over to the science section of this entire operation, and that North may pair up with Traci if that’s the case and she’s not let go for her lack of interest. He notes that Traci used to be a dancer and is ranked at least third in their class, if not first or second, so she may be a good partner candidate. With that, he starts writing down everyone’s personality and the likelihood that they’ll leave or their partner will leave, and the probability of them leaving if their partner does. He immediately crosses out a bit more than half of the names in the class just from this, knowing he would never work well with them, so he moves on to the active pilots.

    He writes that Gavin is much more likely to partner up with Ritch than himself, since they apparently know each other already, and crosses that name off without writing anything about his character down. Pretty much everyone else he knows of has a partner they work well with, and even with insufficient data, he knows that the chances are low to none of them wanting to suddenly switch partners or share.

    He makes a quick note of Hank’s favorite whiskey and how Hank used to have a dog and probably still loves it according to Marshal Fowler. He’s finishing jotting down the fact he’s probably Connor’s “quiet friend” while idly wondering if Hank would ever consider getting another dog when Ritch steps out of the bathroom. 

    “You’re writing in that journal again?” Ritch says almost immediately, crossing his arms.

    “Yes, because I’m going to screw up if I don’t, especially now that I need a partner.” He closes his book with a thump.

    “Connor, despite what you think, you really don’t need that.” Ritch nods to his journal, sounding softer than usual, and it’s somewhat disconcerting.

    “Yeah, I really do. You’re welcome to read through it if you like.” He makes a point of putting it on the desk. “So far it’s just basic temperaments of different people and the probabilities of the other trainees graduating.”

    Connor walks past his brother into the bathroom to wash up, reflecting on everything he wrote down, trying to figure out if he missed anything. He doesn’t think he has.

    This is going to be a lot harder than I thought, Connor thinks to himself, At least I kind of know what I’m looking for now, though. The only problem now is finding this perfect type of person within the next few weeks…

•◊•◊•◊•◊• 

Previous <~> Masterlist <~> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊• 

A/N: Hey guys! I am so so sorry for the huge delay for this chapter. Life decided to creep up on me and bash me over the head with a bat there for a second, plus I wanted to make some kind of art for my new TDBU masterlist, but now you should be getting updates faster from now on! I’m hoping to get back on a weekly or biweekly update schedule because I have a ton of other things I want to write, but I refuse to until I finish one of my WIPs 😂😅 Also, sorry for the ton of Connor POV recently, I promise that next chapter will be more Reed900 action!! And with that, I hope you all have a good day/night! Until the next update!

P.S. I have actually played the bottle game that Connor did. It started at one of my dad’s promotion parties when I was 15, and I wanted to see how many beers I could stash away (I wasn’t going to drink them, yuck) before an adult noticed. My high score is 12, and the only reason it isn’t 14 is because my aunt noticed me retying my boots to secure the bottles in them.

[waywardaf67]

14x18 Coda

Cas knows Sam was right to hold him back out by the pyre. Dean needed his space, needed time to mourn, but Cas needed his friend to know how sorry he was for keeping silent. If he’d only been honest with himself about Jack, Mary might still be here. They could be playing the stupid mouse trap game Dean insisted was fun instead of sitting in their respective bedrooms, alone. Cas is so tired of being alone, exhausted by running from every time he’s failed the Winchesters.

For the first time since he’s met Dean, Cas considers going home for good. There is a spark of hope that Naomi would let him do something in Heaven, given how much they are struggling. Even the isolation of imprisonment would feel better than the look of disgust in Dean’s eyes when he told Cas he was dead to him. If Cas were home, the empty wouldn’t get him, and Sam and Dean would be safe from any other screw-ups.

His chest burns at the thought of leaving his family behind, but Dean won’t even look at him, and of course, Sam’s loyalties lay with his brother. All Sam did was give him a pitying look and another pat on the shoulder before shuffling off to his own room.

It’s never made sense to him why Sam and Dean mourn alone. They are hurting for the same reason, and if what Cas is feeling is only a fraction of their loss, he doesn’t know how they can stand to be alone. The hollowness inside is threatening to swallow him whole. He’s almost desperate enough to ask Dean to just humor him––allow him to sit on the floor in the corner of Dean’s room, just so he doesn’t have to keep replaying Mary’s joyful squeal as a four-year-old Dean jumps from his father’s arms into hers. Seeing her in her heaven, happy with her family was all Cas needed to see to know that Dumah was right. Mary’s chapter is over, but her story lives on.

The deal she made, the demon blood, the apocalypse, and every subsequent disaster that followed and will continue to follow, all because she couldn’t be alone without the love of her life. It wasn’t her fault, not really. Heaven wanted the apocalypse, they needed Sam and Dean strong. If it wasn’t Mary it would have been John, and the path may have been different, but the destination would have been the same.

Cas rubs a closed fist over his heart and drops onto his bed. The memory foam Dean insisted he get because even if you don’t sleep, Cas, you deserve to relax. He regrets his anger toward Mary. He’d been so mad at her for abandoning Dean when all Castiel himself ever wanted was to stay. She had the chance and chose to run. He would find himself driving for hours on a solo mission wishing he was with his family, not isolated in a tiny box on wheels. He always wanted to be in the bunker working with Jack, teaching him how to use his powers. Helping Dean cook, or answering Sam’s questions on the lore. Maybe if he’d been home more things with Jack wouldn’t have turned out the way they had.

Cas paces the floor as if he could somehow walk his worry away. Jack had never perfected angel radio, and Cas wasn’t sure his signal was transmitting, but he closed his eyes and bowed his head regardless.

Jack, son, we are not mad at you. Whatever happened between you and Mary was an accident. We know that, and we forgive you. We just want to know what happened. Please come home and talk to us, Jack. We need you.

Even in Castiel’s own mind, he stumbles over the phrase, years of hearing I need you and knowing that it was never quite enough. He focuses on those words now.  

I love you we all do. We want you back and we can figure this out. Just please, please Jack, come home.

The knock at his door startles Cas out of his prayer and he’s thankful Sam has come to check on him. Maybe he, too, was wondering why they aren’t being more supportive of one another.

Cas gasps softly as he pulls the door open and sees Dean standing in front of his door. He’s wearing his favorite lounge pants and holding a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

“Hey, um. You got a minute?” Dean asks quietly, watching his feet as they shuffle.

This isn’t what he was expecting, but it’s exactly what he wanted, Still, Castiel is wary of talking to Dean right now. He can’t handle being asked to leave again, and though his mind had been all but made up, Dean telling him he was no longer welcome in his home for a second time might actually kill him. But it’s not like Cas can refuse Dean, so he steps aside and sweeps his arm back, a clear invitation.

Dean’s eyes are bloodshot and glassy, and Cas knows this look. Dean sits on Cas’ bed, tucking his socked feet under himself and hunching his shoulders as he curls in on himself. A rare vulnerable pose for Dean.

The silence is killing him as Cas waits several long moments for Dean to speak. Finally, when he can’t take it anymore, he does the only thing he knows how to do––he tries to apologize.

“Dean I...”

“Don’t. Just don’t, okay? There’s nothing to be sorry for, Cas. We saw it, we all saw it and just kept going forward. It’s like Sam said: he became family. I’ve––” Dean purses his lips and shakes his head before taking a long pull from his bottle. Dean offers it out to Cas, but there isn’t enough left for Cas to feel anything, so he shakes his head. Dean needs what’s left.

Dean takes a smaller sip and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before continuing. “I just watched my mom burn to death for the second time. And as much I want to blame Jack, and…” Dean top lip twitches as he draws his brows together, pain showing clear as the words he’s speaking. “I don’t want to lose him again, not like this. Going Darkside? I can’t, Cas. I just...can’t.”

The bottle slips from Dean’s fingers and lands on the floor with a loud thump. The brown liquid sloshes out as the bottle lands on its side. Dean’s head falls into his hand and for the first time ever, Cas hears him sob. Deep breaths coming in as gasps

Cas drops to his knees, the spilled booze soaking into his pants, as he wraps his arms around Dean and pulls him forward. He goes willingly, and because Cas was expecting a little resistance, Dean crashes into his chest.

“I’m sorry, Dean. So sorry.”

Cas cups the back of Dean’s head with one hand and grips the back of worn, soft t-shirt fabric with the other. He wants to list all the things he’s done wrong, every time he’s failed Dean, and how he would do things differently. But the hunter is shaking his head back and forth, mumbling into Cas’ coat. So the angel stays quiet, and though he can’t understand what his friend is saying, he listens intently.

“...shouldn’t have said it, Cas. I’m sorry. I can’t do this without you.” Dean’s crying has tapered, and Cas isn't surprised. It’s the biggest display of emotion he’s ever seen, so it doesn’t surprise Cas that it passes so quickly.

Dean, breathing starts to slow and Cas tries to pull away with the intention of getting his friend a box of tissue and a glass of water, but Dean’s fingers dig into his back as he tries to pull away. Cas takes a moment to decide if a glass of water is worth breaking the moment. Dean is rarely so open and even though Cas suspects embarrassment will follow, he’s sure the release of emotion must feel like a relief.

“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.” Cas settles back on his heels, holding Dean close to him, but not so tight that the hunter couldn’t easily pull away when he’s ready.

Several long moments pass and Cas finds himself running soothing fingers through Dean’s soft hair. While Cas was debating his return to heaven, Dean had been showering the stench of smoke and death from his skin, leaving behind the warm sandalwood scent of his body wash.

When Dean finally pulls back, Cas selfishly misses the contact. He suspects Dean will go back to his usual repression, leaving Sam and Cas feeling the loss of not only Mary’s death and Jack’s disappearance but also Dean himself. The small smiles, the nerdy outbursts about the thing he’s reading up on, the subsequent denial of said outburst. They will have to deal with a lost Dean, only he will be sitting right next to him. He will probably hunt for weeks on end, hiding from, and repressing, anything that reminded him of his mother or their wayward son. And though Cas will miss that Dean, and will likely get snapped at, swung at, and maybe even forced to accompany Dean to a strip club or Chuck-forbid another brothel, he’s ready to do what it takes to show Dean that one angry phrase, muttered out of desperation, isn’t going to drive Cas away. They are a family and more than ever they need to come together to offer comfort and forgive harsh words.

“Can I stay?” Dean mumbles into Cas’ shoulder. “Sam’s already asleep and—I just want to stay.”

“Of course, Dean. You’re always welcome wherever I am.”

Cas stands and rids himself of his shoes, overcoat, and suit jacket while Dean wiggles himself under the covers, the empty bottle of whiskey long forgotten. With Heaven being so low on power, Cas knows mojoing a glass of water would be seen as a waste of limited grace, but he can’t stand the thought of leaving Dean, and he knows his friend could use a cold drink. The grateful look on Dean’s s face as he guzzles down swallow after swallow proves to Castiel that there isn’t anything where Dean’s concerned that would be considered a waste.

It takes them several long moments to get situated in bed, and a small part of his heart sings when Dean sidles up to him and nudges his arm out of the way, giving him full access to lay on Cas’ chest. The angel isn’t sure if this is cuddling or comforting, or some strange mix of both. But whatever it is, he’s happy Dean came to him—elated to know he’s needed. He wishes the circumstances were different, but as Dean drifts off to sleep, Cas wraps him in a bone-crushing hug and thanks anyone listening that Dean didn’t mean what he said.