#if anyone has fic requests about it lemme know now because i am about to go unhinged for it and you'll have to be quick enough

[finniestoncrane]

Finnie, do you think Arkham!Eddie would let his s/o wax or shave his chest hair?

:)

OH anon you have tapped into a lesser known kink of mine but i will stay on TRACK

i think he'd absolutely 100% do waxing to prove that he can tolerate the pain, and then would be wincing and biting his lip and his eyes would be watering and he'd be gripping whatever surface was below him

if his partner was into it, i think he'd definitely let them shave him anywhere as a gesture of his trust. very intimate, very delicate. very aerodynamic (maybe he'd be able to scurry around faster if he was smooth and covered in baby oil and shirtless and BACK ON TRACK FINNIE)

it's also one of those things where he could say "of course i'll take my shirt off and let you touch me and bring a blade close to me" because he can play it off as a "you asked and it's a neutral act" when in fact he'd be hard as the dickens the entire time from all the intimate touching DROOL

[shig-a-shig-ah]

Gangbang by the lov

Anon I know I have ignored this for a week and I am sorry for that, but let me tell you: I got this request and I was like ‘fuck it, if I’m going to do it I’m going to do it right’ and was all set to do a full fic because how do you even fit something so involved into a few paragraphs? 

Except here’s the thing: it’s fucking hard! Who knew? Not me, because I am a fool and I thought I could just pop out 3.5k words of gangbang in a week or something and be content with it, but lemme tell you, it took that way longer than I expected just choreograph some sequence of events. Like, just the set up and making it clear who’s doing what, let alone making it actually read well took so much time. So, hats off to anyone who’s ever accomplished that task, you’re more man than me.

Anyway, in the end I abandoned the set up and I wouldn’t quite consider this a full fic, but it got pretty long anyway. 

» pairing: male!LoV Members x afab!reader

» cw: gangbanging, obviously. Also double penetration, eating ass, anal sex, masturbation, a sprinkle of voyeurism and a lil’ bit of dirty talk, and maybe degrading language if you squint. 18+, minors DNI. 

» wc:  1.7k

They let Jin start you off—the League doesn't want to wreck you too badly after all, wants to get you nice and ready so they can keep doing this, again and again for as long as you're willing to be their good little slut. You never know when it's coming either, some of them will exchange a look and suddenly Jin is pulling you to him, nestling his broad chest against your back and letting his hands wander, groping at your chest and pinching your nipples, sliding beneath the waistband of your pants to toy with your folds, telling you that you're “such an obedient slut” for him in one breath and “such a useless whore!” the next, his face flushing at the outburst while he grinds his cock against the curve of your ass.

It's Compress who joins next—what kind of gentleman would he be, after all, if he didn't help get you warmed up for them? He and Twice will guide you somewhere comfortable like the couch in the corner, peeling off your clothes along the way, and the next thing you know Jin is tugging you into his lap, making you face him as he sinks you down on his cock, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he whimpers at the feel of your warm, wet pussy enveloping his length. Compress is already kneeling behind you too, hands spreading your cheeks wide so that he can tongue at your ass; it's important after all to get all those holes ready, because god knows they'll be using them.

When Jin gets close to finishing, he'll reach down to stroke your clit, getting you mewling. Those sweet little sounds pouring from your mouth are more than anyone could resist—can't let 'em go to waste, after all. This is when Muscular steps in, stroking that intimidatingly large cock, pressing it's fist-sized tip against your lips until you part them to give kitten licks around his head, all you can manage to start, when it's so thick.

Your hips buck when Compress slips one of those agile fingers into your puckered hole, chuckling softly at how the invasion makes you squirm and then adding another slick digit. The way you writhe has Twice gripping your hips harder too, thumb rubbing more furiously at your sensitive nub, and all those sensations are enough to have you cascading over the edge, crying out and shuddering as you cum. Muscular takes advantage of the way your mouth gapes when you cry out, forcing his way past your lips, stretching your mouth impossibly wide around his length, all while Jin is twitching beneath you, the feel of your cunt clenching around him more than enough to have him painting your walls white as he shouts his appreciation, "Thank you, thank yo—fuck—thank you."

And then Muscular and Compress are lifting you from Twice's lap, arranging you on all fours so that Muscular can fuck your mouth more properly and Compress can start the work of sinking himself into your tight ass. He whispers in your ear the whole time, praises and reassurances to help you take him.

"Deep breath now, that’s it," he'll croon. "Just relax, I assure you I'll take excellent care of you."

There's something about his voice that’s soothing. Hypnotic even, perhaps one more trick the mysterious man has mastered, and it never fails to work, your whole body going limp and accepting those invasions in the best possible way, leaving you tight yet compliant for Compress as he buries himself in your ass. It helps for Muscular too, your throat and your jaw relaxing enough for him to surge past the tight ring of your throat so he can fuck your face properly, growling lustily as you accept him without complaint. They rock you back and forth between them, a seemingly endless and exquisite fullness that has your sex dripping, slick running down your thighs as you clench around nothing, and you swallowing eagerly when Muscular finally releases his load down your throat.

When he withdraws you catch a glimpse of Moonfish, leaning against the wall on the other side of the bar. It's impossible to tell if he's watching with that leather hood covering his face, but you know he's enjoying himself one way or another, the same way he always does—thick threads of spit running down his chin and an obvious bulge at his crotch as he ruts against the air, writhing his way to his own hands-free release.

But that view is blocked when Shigaraki and Dabi settle in to take Muscular's place in front of you, stroking themselves gently and grinning widely. Dabi runs one hot thumb along your spit-slicked lower lip.

"Ain't that cute, you looking all fucked out already?" he murmurs, and then his hand is on the back of your head, guiding you to lick at his cock. You run your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tickle at the line of barbells placed there before sucking lightly at his tip, moaning against it as Compress's thrusts grow rougher, more erratic, sending you gasping every time he sinks himself deep into your rear entrance. Dabi draws a hissing breath and then guides your head towards Shigaraki instead.

"That's a good little fucktoy," Shigaraki whispers, dry lips twisting into a fond smile as he pinches your tongue with two fingers, tugging it out and ordering you to keep it that way as he brushes his tip back and forth over that hot, wet muscle, ruts gently against it, using you to tease himself.

You don't notice when Compress cums, not until he's pulling out and his hands at your waist are replaced by the feel of claws tracing gently over your sweaty back. You can hear Spinner panting, and feel the way he's trembling a little. No matter how many times you've done this he always get so nervous about filling you up with those hemipenes, his cheeks flushing pink and his movements uncertain. But you know he loves that there's someone who can finally take him, take both of them, and you love the feeling of them filling you up just as much. So you cant your hips, rub your wet eager holes against him until he's making a strangled, impatient noise and forcing both cocks into you with a single thrust, and then you're moaning against Shigaraki's stiff member.

He jams it down your throat in response, humping against your face a little more eagerly as you meet Spinner's movements the best you can. The curve of his cock in your cunt hits just right against that sensitive spot inside, the feel of being stretched so wide and full sending you hurtling towards your next climax.

And Shigaraki's eager for it, loves to see you writhe and then squirt, making such a mess. He pulls out of your mouth, Dabi quickly taking his place in that drooling cavern, and then two of Shigaraki's fingers are rubbing fast circles against your clit.

"Should I make them cum, Spinner?" he asks, a teasing edge in his voice. "Want to feel them clenching around you?"

"Y-yeah, boss," you hear Spinner pant. "Fuck, please, yes."

Tomura's fingers speed up, add just a little more pressure and that's all it takes to have you bucking, your cunt contracting, gushing all over Spinner's cocks. You hear him whine, swearing under his breath as his thrusts speed up, and you feel even more deliciously full when he's twitching inside you, flooding both your holes.

You're repositioned again almost immediately, cum dripping out of you as you're tugged upright onto your knees, Shigaraki slotting himself against your back and sinking without warning into your ass while Dabi pins you from the front, driving himself abruptly into your cunt.

They like to be last, you know, like you sloppy and overstimulated when they take you, and fuck, you'd be lying if you said you didn't love it too, Shigaraki stretching your ass wide and the ridges of Dabi's pierced shaft massaging your insides in the most delicious way. It's different than the fullness Spinner gives you; his cocks always move in concert, a rhythmic cycling of fullness and emptiness that is a drastic contrast to Dabi and Shigaraki's variegated, asynchronous thrusts. Shigaraki wastes no time pounding into your ass with constant rough strokes, while Dabi likes to tease, likes to go slow until you're a whining mess, whimpering every time he grinds against your overstimulated clit and still begging him for more, pleading with him to make you cum as tears of pleasure stream down your cheeks.

He doesn't of course, not until he and Shigaraki are ready—they want you to cum when they do, want to feel you convulsing and milking every drop of their seed out of them. They only start to match their movements once they’re close, Shigaraki's hands snaking between your and Dabi's bodies to tweak at your nipples, twisting those sensitive buds.

"Is the greedy little toy gonna cum for us?" Dabi murmurs, his breath hot in one ear.

"You've been such a good little cocksleeve, taking everyone," Shigaraki purrs in the other, "so go on and show us how much you like it."

And you do. You cum so hard there's white spots flashing behind your eyes, your toes curling and your moans strangled as they escape your abused throat, throbs of ecstasy radiating through your core until you're left limp, Dabi and Shigaraki's grips the only thing keeping you upright as they ride out their releases, their cum leaking out around their cocks as they fill you to overflowing.

They lay you back gently on the couch when they're finally finished. There's a warm washcloth wiping at your thighs already, a soothing hand brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead, but you don't pay any mind to who's doing what. You simply lay there and let them go about the business of cleaning you up, entirely trusting of their attentions, because you already know there's no reason not to be.

They always take such good care of you.

[shozaii]

title: too feisty.

genre: angst.

characters: dazai, chuuya, kunikida, akutagawa.

warnings: rough behavior, the boys arguing with you :(

request: hi, i could ask for scenarios and headcanons for dazai, chuuya, kunikida, akutagawa, when i have an argument with my s/o and they don't speak to each other for several days. how it is reconciled and after how many days. thank you very much☺️☺️☺️😉😉😌😌

(a/n): hewwooo anon! thank youuu so much for requesting!! i did my best writing this, so i hope you enjoy reading it! 

masterlist.

☆ d a z a i.

- arguing with dazai is like yelling into the void. he doesn’t really understand why you’re both going through this pain, the torture of the wrong emotions at a very wrong time - when in reality it was all supposed to be sunshine and rainbows. did you not see the sunshine in his eyes anymore? was he going to be left alone again? so many thoughts left his head, yet all he could do was listen to what you have to say.

- simple to say, he is quiet the entire time because he just doesn’t want you both to end up torn; worse, broken. he wouldn’t want to see you break, either. unable to express any of his feelings, he tends to stare at you with a thin line formed on his lips.

- it depends on what you’re arguing, really. if he knows it’s his fault, he obliges to it. if he’s just confused, his darkened gaze burns into you. he looks like he’s about to flip. instead, he huffs softly, walks up to you, and looks right at you for a bit.

- once he’s done looking at you, he leaves. he walks and walks to literally anywhere which would give him comfort. he looks up into the sky, and wonders just what he could do to become a better person. after all, it was all for you.

- shall no one come in between and take away one from the other.

- the silent treatment has gone as far as a week. dazai respects the time you need to be alone, even though he is tempted to initiate a conversation earlier than expected. the other arguments have lasted for at least 2-3 days. i wouldn’t see him asking for help from anyone - he wants to show you and himself that he has the capability of reaching himself out to you, owning up to his mistakes and reconcile. if it was you who returns first, his heart would literally shatter. 

- i feel like he would call you to come over to the favorite spot of yours, or maybe walk up to you one fine night, wrapping his arms around you, planting slow kisses on your neck. his way of apologizing is sometimes through affection, or touch. it’s like a reassurance that he’s going to be there for you, and he understands that arguments do happen once in a while. 

☆ c h u u y a.

- he might get really irritated. no cap. i have a feeling he might blow up on you just a little? but the irritation mostly comes from the moment the two of you start arguing. he clenches his fists a whole lot, might chew the inside of his lip, try not to look at you in the eyes because he might start tearing up too.

- oh he might go as far as to slamming his hands on the table, which would leave you taken aback by his actions. once he realizes what he did, he just crumbles because holy crap did he not want to see you panic. 

- chuuya doesn’t like silent treatment at all. i feel like he would have a fear of abandonment. the pre - port mafia days didn’t treat him right. at this point his heart is thumping hard because when you both begin the treatment, he knows he’s not going to go through this well. so how does he cope? wine. but he doesn’t go to a bar. it’s always from the stock he saves at home. he possibly never leaves the house, either - except for serious missions.

- he shakes when his comrades tell him to text you, so practically he would rather do it face to face. it seems way more better that way for him. this period lasts for about 2 days max. he can never go beyond that.

- cue him engulfing you into a warm cuddle sesh; it’s going to take a while for him to let go of you. he talks about how wrong he was, how he’s going to make it up for you - i feel like he would’ve gotten you something just in case. he’s just willing to spend tons for you i swear

☆ k u n i k i d a.

- i feel like one of his written ideals about you/arguments is him reminding himself that conversation is key. it doesn’t have to be any specific topics; it must be implemented in everything. i have a huge headcanon that kunikida tends to get nervous if he has to let out an opinion he never has put out about, until the very last minute where he has to decide his own fate - right or wrong?

- but nope, he’s not reserved. he would let you know exactly how does he feel during the argument, though he would never, ever try and raise his voice at you. let’s just say you accidentally raise your own, he wouldn’t be bothered by it either, and would maintain his composure.

- yes, he does get angry very easily. but when it comes to you his guard gets let down, and he is more of himself when it comes to conversations with you. fights are very rarely heated. 

- i think they do get pretty intense when he’s just so stressed out with work in general, worried if he could protect you during these trying times, paperwork maybe? or how you might take his job easily while he doesn’t. it doesn’t hit him at first but when he does realize that he screamed at you, his heart drops to his feet. the longest you have not talked to each other is for about a day.

- sometimes i forget that kunikida is younger than dazai. but anyway - if dazai notices kunikida’s sour face, and somehow dazai gets him to spit it all out. this would somehow give clarification to kunikida that his partner isn’t all that bad when it comes to advice. he would give pretty good ones and fulfil his role as a senior.

- when he apologizes he looks down at the floor, but slowly proceed to look up into your eyes if he realizes this is his opportunity to take. 10/10 would give you the smallest apologetic smile, and might even kneel while taking your hand. he’s just sooo in love with you aksjkdjkj

☆ a k u t a g a w a.

- hot-tempered. send tweet. 

- a little bit like chuuya to be honest. would bang his fists against a hard surface, stomp the floor, or crush any type of object he has in his hands. but never, ever expect him to use rashomon on you. having you in his life was more than a gift itself, so using his ability on you wouldn’t even be on the last things he would do.

- maybe when he does show his anger by banging and smashing things around, you would see a red glow which would cause you to back away or be afraid of him. this is his turning point. has he officially scared you already? was he bad? what did he look like in your eyes? what’s your next step?

- not talking to each other would probably last as long as a week? two weeks. it’s what i see. he gets scared of himself too, and might as well get a panic attack from what he has done to hurt his loved one. he’s always wanted you to be his first and last. would go to more missions to distract himself (and win most fights, but fail at forgetting about the argument you had). 

- in this case, it would take some time for him to loosen up and talk to someone about it. he might have done this once. only once, never repeated again because he’s just so embarrassed to do so. 

- aku would start the conversation. he’s lightly tap on your shoulder and might utter the words, “let’s talk” but tiny. as for affection, he would kiss your hand and look away, flushed. there would be this lil pout too, but at least you guys are one again.

(a/n): after a long time, here i am with a new fic for bsd!! i feel accomplished now UwU!! lemme know what you think!!🥰❤

[darling-i-read-it]

Will Being Unhinged HC's

Will Graham x reader

Warnings: will being dangerous, hannibal spoilers

Requested: by @deathordesire, Omg okay there is so little Hannibal x reader and will x reader fics SO HERE I AM 👀 I'd love for maybe anything to do with will being unhinged and protective for the reader? Or even Hannibal--whichever you prefer. Or maybe some sort of Alpha/omega dynamic stuff? I'd appreciate anything tbh, thankyou so much for listening 🥰🥰🥰

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

Author’s Note: unhinged will supremacy! Unhinged will supremecy! Honestly i could make this shit a full fic lemme know. I hope you enjoy love!

- Will has always been slightly menacing, people just tended not to see it because they all saw him as the vulnerable person he sometimes portrayed

- and so when he met you, you saw a little something that most people didn’t

- under the sarcasm, worry and stress Will Graham was actually very much unhinged

- and Hannibal didn’t help

- you and Will met around the time that he started to go back and work for Jack Crawford in helping him with the Garrett Jacob Hobbs problem

- but you didn’t start dating until around the time that he was working regular cases with Jack

- you got to see the change in Will as he started going more and more often to Hannibal, working more cases

- then he went to prison which can put a hinge on anyone’s relationship

- but it was different with the two of you because he knew you would stay

- he had a very odd assurance in that. That you would still be in his corner, even when everyone started to leave it

- Hannibal saw you as nothing but a problem but he was too curious about what Will would do in this situation to do anything about it, even when you weren’t protected by Will while he was in prison

- when Will got out he had an air about him that, this time, everyone noticed

- but the thing was you already knew it was there

- this wasn’t a new thing for you

- it was a new thing for Alana Bloom, for Jack Crawford, but not for you

- so now that Will was out of prison, Hannibal wanted to get you out of the way of Will’s ‘treatment’

- you had only met Hannibal a few times and you got a bad feeling from him but didn’t say anything about it to Will

- you were asleep one night at the house, the dogs sleeping peacefully beside you, Will out late getting firewood for the bonfire he wanted to have with you the next night

- and Hannibal came to the house

- he knocked on the door and when no one answered he let himself in

- Hannibal had already been to the house so the dogs didn’t seem alarmed that he was there, they woke up and sniffed him but that was about it

- you figured in your sleepy mind that Will had come home

- Hannibal walked up to the bed and figured he would snatch you right up

- “Will? Shower before you get in bed please”

- Hannibal didn’t even get a chance to startle you when Will came up behind him, putting his hand over Hannibal’s mouth and dragging him out the front door

- Will shoved Hannibal off the porch and he stumbled down, startled at Will’s presence

- Will had a look on his face Hannibal had never seen up close

- it looked like someone feral, someone filled to the brim with anger and had the control to use it

- “What were you going to do Hannibal? Kill her and frame me for that too?”

- for once in his life, Hannibal Lecter was speechless

- he stood up, wiped off his clothing and straightened his back

- “My apologies. I see this is a bad time.”

- Will made Hannibal leave, took a shower and got right into bed with you

- you never even knew that it happened, he nor Hannibal ever told you

- but Hannibal did not try to hurt you again

- in fact, he pitied the next man who tried

[thetriggeredhappy]

recently rediscovered your blog and read the fic from your dad spy au where scout starts out as the "guard" and then becomes scout from there and lemme tell you that shit put me on some s-tier brainrot. like a cranial decay type beat.

i had a concept in my head that instead of being hired as a guard, he could have been hired as a right hand man to the administrator like pauling, because i think hed be awesome in that position. like imagine having a personal merc who can get in fast and out even faster. but maybe he would stay in the base like the rest of them, sort of like a secret on call intel gatherer, who also maybe sometimes has to dig a couple graves. and also like, nobody on the team expects anything from him at first because its this 20 year old newbie kid. hes dressed in his formal clothes and he talks like somebody from relatively around boston but not quite. i can just imagine one day he comes back during a team dinner with his shirt half untucked and stained with blood, hair disheveled as he asks soldier if he can borrow his shovel, or him debriefing them for a mission when miss pauling is busy. same vibe as the fic i mentioned before but scout gets to have a job as cool as miss paulings. honestly id write it myself if i didnt have the attention span of a fly

anyways your scout content gives me life thank you

scout teamfortress but 20% more competent standing next to miss pauling teamfortress while she's doing her job and doing like silly quips and otherwise contributing nothing like it's a buddy cop film is literally my fucking ideal

(warnings for some canon-typical violence)

-

“Oh, Pauling, it’s good to see you again,” greeted the chairman, smiling in an imitation of a grandfather and clasping her hands perhaps too-kindly considering she barely knew him. “Young as ever, and still so stylish, I see. And who’s the new fellow?”

“He’s just here to help with transport, Mr. Montgomery, nothing unusual,” Miss Pauling replied, returning his smile and adjusting her glasses. “Heavy cases, you know how it is.”

“Of course, I remember you almost toppling clean over last time we made a trade!” Montgomery agreed, frowning at the memory. “You’ll pull a muscle that way, better to be careful. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man. And your name?”

“Mr. Normandy, sir,” the new kid replied easily enough despite his slight East Coast accent, giving the man a firm handshake, expression neutral and stony, the picture of professionalism. Internally, Pauling breathed a sigh of relief.

“Firm grip there, young man,” Montgomery praised, nodding approvingly. “Tennis player, perhaps? Or golf?”

“Baseball, sir,” he replied, still evenly. “First baseman.”

“Ah! Of course! Were you any good?” Montgomery joked.

“At everything but playing in front of the crowds, otherwise I’d be in the major leagues,” he replied, tilting his head just slightly to imply that he was joking, his sunglasses glinting at the movement, and Montgomery barked a laugh.

“I like this one, Miss Pauling!” Montgomery said, and Pauling just barely caught herself from physically relaxing at it.

“We do too, Mr. Montgomery,” she agreed. “I was under the impression that you’re very busy today, so we won’t keep you for too long, we just wanted to sort out the final details surrounding the manufacturing rights for the—“

“—Pacific Northwest branch, up into British Columbia and Alberta, of course,” Montgomery agreed, nodding faintly. “Of course, of course.” He turned to regard his own man in a dark suit, the one standing to the right, who appeared to be unsuccessfully trying to stare down Normandy, who was completely ignoring him. “My briefcase, please.”

The man handed over the briefcase, and Montgomery put it on his desk, opening it and pulling out a sheaf of papers. “All our requests are submitted and approved, at this point we just had a few dustbins to take care of regarding initial percentages and making sure everything is wired to the correct accounts, which names are undisclosed, things like that,” Pauling explained as he glanced through the papers.

“Right, right, everything looks good here,” the man murmured, nodding to himself, sending his long-white hair just ever-so-slightly out of place. “I’m assuming these more sensitive documents should be sent some way besides through the mail?”

“If you finish them today I can take them with me, otherwise either me or Mr. Normandy can return to pick them up at your convenience,” she replied, to which Normandy gave a singular nod.

“Oh, it would only take me a short while,” Montgomery said, waving a hand. “We have a lovely lounge just down the hall from here if you’d prefer to wait there, it should only take me ten, fifteen minutes at most. In the meantime, I do believe there’s also the manner of payment for services rendered.”

Miss Pauling tilted her head just slightly to one side, confused.

“I arranged with Helen already,” Montgomery explained, not looking up from where he was initialing a few things. “The payment, rather than being wired, she asked to be made in material investment. A venture of mine from years ago that she’s willing to sit on. Rather than gold or bonds, she agreed to take some old currency of mine that my family collected, from early 18th century New Zealand and Australia. Monetarily it’s worth around the same, and I’m quite a bit attached to it to be entirely frank, but it was at her request to buy the whole collection from me, and after years of the work we’ve been doing together, well, I’d never trust it with anyone else.”

He gestured to the other man, the one on his left, who stepped forward to hand him a manila envelope, which he passed to Pauling.

“Inside is both keys, the door alarm codes, and all other security information for the building where the collection is being stored. They’ll ask for a few codes and confirmation of identity, only because several other art collections and artifacts are being stored there by other affluent individuals such as myself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling said, taking the envelope gratefully.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. Helen talked me into it all her own,” he said easily enough. “Now, gentlemen, if you would let Miss Pauling and Mr. Normandy into our lounge? I should have these wrapped up before any of us can even think about lunch, eh?”

One of the suits showed the two of them through the doors and down the hallway, through two doors bracketed by similar suits who simply nodded politely at Pauling and ticked their chins at Normandy as they passed them.

Normandy posted up beside the door for all of three seconds before they shut and Pauling pulled her glasses up, rubbing at the bridge of her nose and making a vaguely distressed noise. He then promptly relaxed, instead leaning his hip against an armchair probably worth the same amount as a small car. “So, uh, we’re glad that he’s giving us a bunch of commemorative coins from when dinosaurs still walked the earth?” he asked just below normal speaking volume, eyebrows raised.

“Yes. Very glad. Because unlike about six people total on the planet, he hasn’t figured out yet how valuable those are.”

“What, is a picture of a kangaroo on some copper really gonna make up for a couple hundred thousand American dollars?” Normandy asked, sounding doubtful.

“Not copper. Something else,” she replied. “I can’t tell you much more about it other than that, but these coins are made of something priceless to us. And to the Administrator.”

“…Love? Memories? The magic of family?” he joked, cracking a smile, and she rolled her eyes, moving to open the envelope and start reading the papers inside. “Hey, uh, not to question whether my job should exist, but what the hell am I doing here, exactly? Besides carrying a briefcase. Like, chivalry isn’t dead but I really don’t think you need me carrying your bags and holding the door for you.”

“You’re helping with security, basically,” she replied, adjusting her glasses to squint at tiny handwriting about the collection. “Mr. Montgomery is trustworthy, but he mostly hires out to… well, people like us. His security detail is mostly people we’d rather have screened, freelancers, stuff like that. A lot of people we contract out to are like that. Most of them have heard about me and know better than to try and pull something, since I can hold my own pretty well, but if they haven’t, seeing a second person might persuade them to think it over again.”

“Oh, so I’m like, uh, when it says ‘tow zone’ next to the no parking signs even though nobody checks, or when they’ve got a camera in the corner of the store that isn’t even plugged into anything,” he said, and the looked up at him, confused. “Like, uh, what’s the word… I’m a casual deterrent.”

“Sure,” she said, because it sounded like he knew what he was talking about, shuffling the papers back away and closing the envelope again, making a note to ask the Administrator if she should change their current containment procedures to be closer to Mr. Montgomery’s. “Just… if there’s a fight, you deal with it, otherwise you just stand there and look like you’re paying attention.”

“That’s what the sunglasses are for,” he agreed. “I was blinking morse code at the guy across from me literally the whole time.”

“You know morse code?” Pauling asked, surprised.

“Just the alphabet, ‘S.O.S.’, and ‘ass’.”

She rolled her eyes again, and that’s when the door opened.

She expected Mr. Montgomery, not one of the men in suits. “Excuse me, both of you, if you don’t mind,”the man said, accent having the slightest English tilt to it, a Londoner if Pauling had to guess. “You’re Miss Pauling, the Mann Co. affiliate, yes?”

“That’s me,” she agreed, hesitant, and glanced at Normandy.

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. Mr. Montgomery have you the wrong envelope on accident,” the man said apologetically, extending a hand forward. “We apologize for this unfortunate mix-up, it’s really quite embarrassing, but those documents are sensitive and we’ll be needing to see them back now.”

Pauling looked at him, and within a moment, shifted her expression. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she agreed, nodding. “No, right, of course. These aren’t the papers for the currency collection?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Brit agreed, head tilting just slightly, hand still extended, moving a fraction further forward.

“Well, thank goodness we figured out now and not with us halfway back,” she joked, and moved to hold the folder closer to her body. “I’ll take this right back to Mr. Montgomery, then.”

“He’s sent me to correct the error,” the man explained simply.

“Right,” she said, and saw in her periphery that Normandy had already started sneaking a hand in towards his primary, clearly having pieced together something she was only suspecting. “We can bring this to his office, then, right down the hall.”

“You misunderstand,” the man said, taking a step forward again. “I’ll be taking it to his office myself.”

“That’s funny,” Pauling said. “I didn’t realize you had clearance to be in there. Or to be carrying a semi-automatic instead of a standard handgun.”

The Brit reached for the semi-automatic, and before he could even get it out properly, Normandy hit one clean shot to the side of his head and another to his thigh, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Pauling had only as far as pulling her own handgun free, thumb on the safety, and breathed a sigh of relief, glancing over at Normandy, shifting to more comfortably hold her gun. “Quick reflexes,” she noted.

“Just noticed a lot sooner, maybe,” he shrugged, stepping forward to glance over the body, tucking his gun back away.

“What was your hint?”

“He’s here to give us the right folder, yeah? Well, why were his hands empty, then?”

She was just starting to nod and realize that as well when a second man shouldered through the door, holding a gun at the ready. Normandy scrambled to draw his own, but Pauling fired a shot into his knee, shoulder, and neck to send him dropping before he was even close. “There’s quick on the draw, and then there’s prepared,” she said pointedly. “Gotta think of if there’s more than one, new guy.”

He nodded, and drew his gun again, bending to hit the guy on the ground at the temple hard enough to knock him out if he wasn’t unconscious already. He then glanced up at the sound of a shout from the other side of the door, two men shouldering through, guns drawn but lowered. It was only the firm eye contact they made with both her and Normandy that made her pause the millisecond it took to realize these ones weren’t trying to kill them.

“Pauling, what on earth is going on here?!” Montgomery demanded, entering the room and staring with wide eyes at the bodies on the ground. “What could’ve possessed you to—“

“He was trying to run off with these documents,” she explained quickly, gesturing with the envelope. “He knew whatever was in here was valuable.”

“He drew his gun, sir,” Normandy added, tipping his head down towards the body, and Pauling glanced down as well and found herself a little surprised. He’d rearranged the man just slightly, apparently, adjusting the arm to be holding the gun a bit further outward. “Other one was aiming to kill.”

“My, my,” Montgomery tsk’d, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene. “What a mess. My apologies, Miss Pauling, Mr. Normandy.”

“It’s alright, but you need to start doing more thorough checks on your staff, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling stressed.

“He’s only been here two weeks, sir, he was one of the men we hired in a hurry after the incident last month,” one of the bodyguards said, and Montgomery shook his head.

“Thank goodness nobody was hurt,” he sighed. “Mutiny, and besides that, they’re bleeding on my carpet. Here are those papers, Miss Pauling—what a day, eh?”

“It’s really alright, we handled it,” Pauling assured him, giving her bravest smile, a little exasperated now.

“Right, right, you and the first baseman,” he agreed, and Normandy fought back an actual smile.

“If you’d like, we can take care of those for you,” Pauling said, gesturing at the bodies. “To pay you back for the carpet and the scare.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Montgomery agreed, clearly relieved.

-

“My dad’s gonna be pissed, by the way,” Normandy was so helpful as to say on the way back up the path to the base. “And you’re fielding that.”

“About the suit, or the fight?” she asked, glancing at his clothes where he was somewhat covered in a fine dusting of mud and grime from the gravedigging, shovel still in his free hand.

“Both. Mostly the fight. Your fault for saying it’d be an easy one to start with,” he said.

“If it was going to be that much of a problem, you wouldn’t have gotten this job. I’d just have made you go do dishes all day or something,” Pauling replied.

“Point taken,” he said, walking ahead to get the door, holding it open for her. “Wait, we’re allowed to mention what we do, right? Just not names?”

“Or locations, even with travel distance. Round up to the hour if it comes up,” she replied.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed, trailing a step behind her as she led the way through the base.

In the common area, there was a bit of a ruckus happening. Soldier, Heavy, and Demo appeared to be having some kind of arm wrestling competition on a rapidly-toppling table, the Engineer was on a stepstool trying to fix the ceiling fan, and Sniper appeared to be half-watching the beginnings of an argument between Pyro and the Spy regarding use of the oven as Medic patched up a burn on his arm.

“Hullo,” Sniper greeted the two of them, sounding a little bored, Medic giving them a brief, polite nod. Normandy’s eyebrows were raised pretty far as he surveyed the room.

“Hi, Sniper,” she greeted in return, then cleared her throat, raised her voice. “Team meeting in five minutes! New mission for next week!”

Groans from the room at large, the eight mercenaries starting to finish up what they were doing and filing out. Spy moved over, glancing over Normandy and starting to talk to him in rapid-fire French, picking smaller bits of gravel off of his suit as they walked.

“Alright,” she addressed the room, Normandy peeling off from getting mother hen’d by Spy to stand next to the blackboard with her. “Monday, you’re all going on a transport mission. Getting the truck from point A to point B with everything in the boxes intact. Already we’ve had to put up with some people trying to get ahold of these things, so bring your guns.”

“Oh, our guns, you said? Lads, this is a serious one, keep your heads on a feckin' swivel, she’s sayin’ we might even need guns, can you believe it?” Demo faux-gasped, and chuckled when Spy bopped him on the arm, rolling his eyes at the Scot's theatrics.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved off, flipping through the papers a bit. “So Engie, I’ll need the keys to the truck, me and Normandy are going to be loading those tomorrow, all of you need to be at this drop point bright and early.”

“How early?” Heavy rumbled.

“Six. Hour and a half of drive from here.”

Some complaints from the room that she sighed at.

“Hey, hey, calm the hell down,” Normandy cut in, and she glanced over at him where he had his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. “You chuckleheads get to have all eight of you to unload the damn thing, me and Miss P gotta do all the rest of this on our own and probably kill twenty guys on the way there and back. She had to be up at 6 AM, workin’ since 7 AM, lunch break at noon and nothin’ else, and we just got back now at, what, fuckin’, 10, 11 PM? Any of you work her shift and then see if you even got the energy to complain about wakin’ up early, how about that?”

The room went utterly devoid of complaint or backsass. “Thank you, Normandy,” she said politely, and he just nodded once, glancing off to the side. “Anyways, anything new on this end? Spy, how are you adjusting?”

“Very well,” he said simply. “I have nothing pressing to say. Once I’ve been updated from the stock weaponry provided here to my requested preferred weaponry, I believe I should do just fine.”

“I see you already have Herr Normandy digging graves,” Medic chimed in. “Straight into the hard labor, ja?”

“Eh, hey, y’know, it’s why they keep us young people around,” he shrugged, grinning, and there was a brief uproar to drown out Medic’s entirely offended scoffing and Spy’s snort-laughing.

“Get ‘im, lad!” Demo cheered, and Normandy indeed looked fairly proud of himself.

“Monday, transport mission,” Pauling noted over the noise, writing it up on the chalkboard to hide her own smile from the room. “Normandy, you and me are doing the boxes tomorrow. Everyone on the same page? Good. Dismissed. Oh, and Pyro—stop taking the fire alarms down when they beep. They’re beeping because you light things on fire in the base. Do that outside.”

“Oh, hey, uh, helmet guy, All-American Beef,” Normandy called, and Soldier straightened up. “Here’s your shovel back. Gettin’ my own tomorrow.”


Soldier walked directly over to him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a high honor, Cadet,” he said, tone grave. “Do not take this responsibility lightly.”

“I, uh, I won’t?” he said hesitantly, and blinked a few times as the shovel was carefully taken from him before it was promptly marched from the room in double-time. Only then did Normandy look over at her. “So he’s always like that?”

“You’ll get used to it,” she assured, dusting chalk from her hands. “You should get to sleep soon, we have to be up early.”

“Sure thing, Miss P.”

[pen-guin-writez]

Okay I'm kinda in need of a comfort fic rn so like-. Can I request a Dunnstock or SQUIP x a reader who has anxiety?

HI CORIII OH NOES ARE YOU FEELING DOWN HERE LEMME SUPPLY YOU I CAN DO BOTH ~~~

Martha Dunnstock

(Y/N POV)

October 1st, 1989--- Dear Diary,

Being unnoticeable to the entirety of high school isn't so bad anymore. I don't have anyone to bother me when I'm at lunch, I get to do my own thing without people laughing at me, it's all super cool! Is what I would've said before today. My life has changed, Diary.

If people did ever notice me, I probably would be dead where I stand. But today, someone did notice me. It was freaky. I was sitting by myself at lunch, (as usual) when an overweight (not saying that it's bad) brown-haired girl asked me a question. The question that changed my life.

"Is this seat taken?"

Okay, maybe I make it a tad bit dramatic? But I was really surprised! No one ever talks to me, and this girl just did. I was so excited. "No, you can sit here. I really don't mind."

"Thanks, no one really lets me sit anywhere. Except for Veronica, but she's out sick today, so I didn't really have a planned sitting destination!"

Veronica. She's one of the Heathers, isn't she? I vaguely remember hearing about her. Veronica renamed the Heathers to "The Seventeens", since she's the new leader.

There are four members, There's, of course, Veronica Sawyer. The queen bee. It used to be someone else. Heather Chandler. But she commited suicide by drinking drain cleaner. At least what I heard from Jenna Rolan, the gossip girl here. Veronica's pretty chill, she lets anyone sit at her table, unlike Chandler. You only get banned from her table if each and every Seventeen is in agreement that you are causing problems. I'd love to be Veronica's friend, but I'm too scared that she might think I'm weird.

Heather Duke, shy bookworm. I heard she took over Heather Chandler's spot before Veronica did. I heard she used to be super rude, and almost convinced a Seventeen Member to committing Suicide. But when the Seventeens revamped, she became quieter, and more pleasant to be around. I've tried to talk to her a few times in the hallway but got too scared and ran away

Heather McNamara! She's like a little puppy dog. Probably the easiest Seventeen to befriend. She's so sweet, but I feel my stomach sink whenever I try to talk to a Seventeen. God, why can't I just do it? We're almost graduating and I still haven't talked to a single Seventeen.

And The Final Seventeen is Martha Dunnstock. I've never actually seen Martha in person but I heard she's super nice, and she had a crush on Ram Sweeney. But I don't even know who she is. Sigh.

"..You sit with the Seventeens?" Oh my god. Did that sound offensive? Just because she sits with Veronica doesn't mean she sits with all of the Seventeens! Oh no, she probably thinks I'm a weirdo now!

"Oh, yeah! I am a Seventeen, after all. I'm Martha. Martha Dunnstock. You?" MARTHA DUNNSTOCK?!

I was so surprised, Diary.

"Oh... I'm Y/N, nice to meet you..!" "..." "Can I be honest with you, Martha?"

"Of course!" "Well... I always get this feeling when I see a Seventeen. Like.. I can't move. And if I ever try to talk to one, they'll think I'm weird. But here you are! You... used to be one of the weirdos and now you're a Seventeen. I could never be friends with one of you." I sighed. It felt really good to spill my guts out. But to my surprise? She smiles!

"Y/N, I may not really know you, much. But I can tell we'll be great friends in the future. You seem like a really sweet person, despite any of your flaws. I'll see if Veronica will let you join The Seventeens. She probably will, she's really sweet."

Those words melted my heart. Martha was nice enough to help me join the Seventeens. That wasn't so hard after all!

"Thank you so much, Martha!" Does she want more of a response than that?? I'm scared oh please he-

"Anything for a new friend."

That'll do, Y/N, that'll do.

SQUIP

(3rd POV)

The SQUIP was out to seek its first ever host. Right before Jeremy, The SQUIP had another host for a few months.

This host is named Y/N L/N. They are an anxious, insecure junior that wanted to fit in with everyone. They didn't have any friends, and yearned to know what life was like if they were popular.

"Y/N L/N. Welcome to your Super Quantum Intel Processor. Your SQUIP." The SQUIP was expecting a host just like Y/N. Most teenagers that took the SQUIP were just like them.

"SQUIP, I want you to make me popular!" So it was popularity they sought? "Popular? I can do that. There are a few steps we must commit to first. You need to trust me and the process though. Are you ready?"

"Anything, SQUIP!

~~~

Now Y/N was in a better place than they were before. Everyone liked them, they had a beautiful partner, and they have great grades.

"Thanks, SQUIP! Now I can just take the Mountain Dew Red, since I don't need you anymore, right?" Foolish little Y/N...

They can't just get rid of the SQUIP. There is much work to do. Not just in Y/N's brain, but in her classmates...

"No, Y/N. I have a plan. We have to help your classmates achieve their goals. Go through Rich's locker. I know the combination. Trust me."

~~~

Rich found out that Y/N was going through his locker and punched them in front of everyone. They were the laughing stock of highschool.

"Y/N-"

"I'm taking the Mountain Dew Red." Not a word was said after that. They purchased the Mountain Dew Red and headed home.

"Just a word?"

"What. Is. It?"

"I know you're still insecure about what people think about you. And now look at where you stand with me, and where you stood before you got me. You may be hated now, but tomorrow is a new day. You can fix this. We can fix this."

The SQUIP wanted the best for Y/N. And though it had weird ways of doing it, they have to trust the process.

"..." "But SQUIP, what if they tease me tomorrow?"

"We'll show them. We'll make a difference, rebuild relationships, and they'll see the true Y/N L/N."

Y/N smiled at this. They could tell this was coming from the heart of a SQUiP.

"Let's show them, then."

[tavern-aa]

Tetsurou Kuroo: Pretty Boy

Hi!!! I know you recently did a Kuroo fic , and I deadass feel kinda bad for requesting Kuroo-BUT!! Lemme at least shoot my shot 🥺 Can I request a Kuroo x popular, pretty boy *Male reader? Maybe where Kuroo doesn’t see all the hype around the male reader and why he’s so popular with girls but when he bumps into him one day he’s all like 😳❤️🥰✨ if you don’t take male rn, gn is totally fine!! I love y’all, stay safe!!

A/N: @mizunetzu​ Thank you so much for the request, this is Teddy and I had a good time working with this prompt. It was so pure and wholesome and I loved it!! I hope this fulfills your expectations!!

Part 2

Rating: T

Word Count: 752

-

-

-

If anyone asked Kuroo bluntly he would say he wasn’t a possessive guy. The idea of putting so much effort just didn’t appeal to him. Confrontational? Sure. Competitive? Oh yeah. Hell, he would even accept that he was a little shit, but possessive? No, way.

So with all that in mind there has to be some logical reason that the chatter of the general student body at the beginning of Kuroo’s third year became steadily irritating to him. Now as we’ve already established, Kuroo is not a possessive guy. But his steady build up of irritation was something he can’t ever remember experiencing. He wasn’t being possessive, he was just…annoyed that no one seemed to be acknowledging the volleyball team’s improvement. That’s it, yeah! 

As captain, felt it was his responsibility to make sure his team’s hard work was acknowledged on and off the court. How were they supposed to be recognized by other teams if they couldn’t be acknowledged in their own school. Then Nekoma wouldn’t be remain the power house school that it is and the school’s overall reputation would go down and the community would suffer. And it was all because all that anybody would talk about was this damn guy!

Kuroo felt his eye twitch  slightly as he walked beside Kenma on the way to school. The closer the two would get to campus the more of their fellow classmates they would see walking on the same path. And on this day just up ahead of where Kuroo and Kenma were walking was a group of girls chatting and giggling away about the current bane of Kuroo’s existence, Y/N.

Kuroo has never met the guy personally, he’s just heard the seemingly never ending talk. But despite that Kuroo was pretty sure he hated him. He didn’t care how pretty he apparently was, it didn’t excuse the guy from taking his team’s thunder. In that moment Kuroo made a decision, he was gonna have to have a little chat with Y/N.

_

_

_

_

Finding Y/N proved to more difficult than Kuroo originally thought. Despite all the talk he didn’t seem to be loitering around the halls soaking up the attention of his peers. Kuroo honestly thought the guy was actively hiding with how elusive he was. Kuroo was currently searching during lunch so as to possibly catch him entertaining his followers but he has had no luck thus far. He had already checked the library, the gym, and his class. 

“Is this guy even here today?” Kuroo mumbled to himself as he angrily stalked up one of the back stairwells of the school.

The captain was just going to give up when he felt a sudden weight fall onto his front. Kuroo was lucky enough to not fall down by grabbing hold of what fell on him. Looking down Kuroo came face to face with the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen. Honestly everything about the person was beautiful. Not necessarily in the conventional way, but more so beautiful in the same way art was. There was something unattainable but captivating. Kuroo was so shocked and awed that he didn’t even notice the person talking.

“Oh man, I am so sorry” a voice started.

Could voices be pretty? Kuroo had never thought about it but he found himself considering this voice pretty. Is this what inspired old poets?

“I didn’t mean to run into you, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright?”

The person started to move out of Kuroo’s arms and the loss of warmth seemingly broke him out of his trance.

“Um, no worries…” he trailed off.

Now that Kuroo wasn’t having a moment he could see that the person who fell on him was a guy. His uniform seemed to flatter his figure and his worried expression made Kuroo’s chest tighten. 

“Are you sure? I mean, i feel pretty bad about crashing into you like that…”

Kuroo scratched the back of his head, “it’s no big deal really.” The guy’s expression didn’t waver for a moment before it suddenly brightened.

“How about I buy you a bread as an apology?” He smiled brightly and before Kuroo could answer he had grabbed his sleeve and began tugging him back the way he came. He turned his head back towards Kuroo for a moment with a large smile on his face and said, “I’m Y/N by the way, nice to meet you!”

In that moment Kuroo knew he was fucked.

[echos-newlegs]

Y'all 🥺🥺 I wanna thank each and everyone of you 501+ for getting me here. I made this blog on March 24th, bored out of my mind and simping for echo all because my friend wanted an echo x mom!reader fic(which I need to pick back up but oh well-) but here we are. Venturing further with more fics and tbh its helped me out a lot. I never realized how much of a creative outlet writing is! Plus I've never realized people might actually somewhat like my writing 😳 so thank you all for the love and support and I hope to carry on these adventures with you all!!

Since I woke up to 30 new followers. I am now at 566 😳 I am making it where you can request any character. Clone, mandalorian, anyone. Here is my character list so just have fun with it ✌😎 thank y'all!

So now I am here to announce that I will be taking special requests for the boys in blue and other characters 😎 here are some prompts for the guys. Just send the number and then the character you want. You can send more than one, too!

If you want a SFW to be NSFW just lemme know in the ask :)

127 prompts total below the cut

SFW Prompts:

tiny hands in big hands

lips barely touching

running their thumb over the other’s hand

hugging while twirling around fives x pregnant!nb!afab!reader

giggling while kissing

squeezing hand for comfort and encouragement

morning kisses

hiding their face in the other’s neck

desperate kisses

happily doing everything with just one hand, if it means they don’t have to let go

bear hug

kisses in the rain

welcome home kisses

holding hands across the table

‘picking them up’ hugs

hushed conversation in-between kisses

nose kisses

frustrated kisses

not wanting to lose each other in a big crowd

cuddle pile

first kisses

wake-up kisses

hugging with height-difference

tummy kisses

comparing hand sizes, then linking fingers together

kisses as a promise

touching foreheads

spooning at night

feeling for each other in the dark

Secret kisses

a hug after not seeing someone for a long time

giggly cuddles

squishing their cheeks

an incredibly loud and painful high-five

accidentally knocking your head into someone’s chin

tugging on the bottom of someone’s shirt

kissing someone’s cuts/bruises/scratches

“You look beautiful/handsome in the moonlight.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“How about a kiss?”

"They've been gone for ten years! Ten years! They're not coming back!"

“Have you seen my hoodie?” “Nooo.” “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

“Can we stay like this forever?”

“Is there a reason you’re blushing like that?”

“Please just kiss me already.”

“Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”

“Do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?”

“All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.”

“You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.”

“You always duck away when you smile.”

“Do you like it?”

“Like I expected, you’re much comfier than my pillow.”

“Piggy back ride?”

“I heard you weren’t having that great of a day... These are your favorite candies, right?”

“Quit poking my sides; you know I’m ticklish!”

“If you need my shoulder, or my hand, or a hug-”

“You look good in it.”

“I’m not jealous, I’m just practicing my pout.”

“You make me cliche, but I love it I guess.”

“Since it’s you, I’m gonna let it go.”

“I’d let you if you asked.”

“My only regret is not telling you I loved you sooner.”

“Give me a minute, I’m going to tickle the shit out of you.”

“I got the biggest blanket for us to share.”

“My bunny slippers are too cool for you.” Rex x Reader

“You’re my designated cuddle-buddy tonight so stay close.”

“It’s hand holding season.”

Person A always has to help Person B unload the washing machine because Person B is not tall enough to reach down into it

Person A is cooking breakfast and sets off the smoke alarm waking up Person B who was still asleep

Person A bringing home a pet without asking Person B

Person A and Person B stealing / borrowing each other’s clothes

Person A and Person B having deep conversations together on the patio / balcony at 3 a.m.

Person A comforting Person B, who is afraid of storms, during a massive thunderstorm

Person A forgetting their keys and banging on the door until Person B finally hears them and lets them into the house

Person A mistakenly opening a package that came in the mail for Person B and it turns out that it was a gift that Person B was planning to give to Person A

Person A having a broken leg and Person B has to carry them up and down the stairs to their bedroom every night/morning

You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions.”

“where have you been all my life?” “hiding from you”

“Never trust a man whose smile steals the breath right from your lungs.”

“Maybe you should leave the cooking to me.”

“Sorry, is that supposed to impress me?”

“I’d punch you, but that’d ruin that pretty little face of yours.”

“So it's a date?” “nope. not a date”

“It's because I'm so attractive isn’t it?” “I say this. and I cannot stress this enough. I find you completely repulsive.”

“shut up with all that soulmate shit”

“alright daddy long legs, next joke please”

"Think I could steal a kiss?"

“It’s you, it always has been.”

“This reminded me of you.”

“Can I stay here tonight?”

“Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.”

“You’re safe now, I’m here.”

“I like your shoes.” "my what?" "I can't flirt, sorry." Echo x Reader

“Can we make cake? I like cake.”

“My hand was made to fit into yours. That’s all there is to it.”

“You just dropped love into my heart and that’s all I needed.”

“I’ve never enjoyed anything more than a hug from you.”

Specifically NSFW:

98. “ What's the kinkiest thing you have ever done ?”

99. “ How many have you slept with ?”

100. “ What's your dirtiest fantasy ?”

101. “ Do you regret letting me close ?”

102. “Be good for me baby. We wouldn’t want to see those tears again.”

103. “I want to mark you in front of everyone.”

104. “Baby, I asked you a question. If you know what’s good for you, you better answer me.”

105. "You'd better be quiet if you don't want to get caught."

106. "Are you sure that's what you want? I could really hurt you."

107. "If you're going to act like a little brat then I'm going to treat you like a little brat."

108. "Look, I'm not into choking but I wouldn't mind if you grabbed me by the neck every once in a while."

109. "Look at you, I've only started using my fingers and you're already shaking."

110. "I can't wait to be on my knees for you later."

111. "If you keep making those sounds I'm not going to be able to stop myself."

112. "Take it off. Slowly."

113. "I guess I'll just get off all by myself."

114. "Yes! I mean yes, Sir!"

115. "When we get home I'm cuffing you to the bed and going down on you all night until my jaw is sore."

116. "Wanna see what I'm wearing underneath all this?" Jesse x gn!reader(doesn't actually get smutty, I got lazy, sorry 👊😔)

117. "I can't wait to put bruises all over that pretty skin."

118. "You look so good on your knees like that."

119. "Is that a tattoo?"

120. "These walls are pretty thick, which means you and I can be as loud as we want."

121. "Well, since you want to cum so badly, why don't we see how many times I can make you cum right now."

122. "Come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you."

123. "Do you know how beautiful you are? It's truly distracting."

124. "If you don't change out of those shorts and into some pants I'll have them around your ankles by lunch time."

125. "Open your mouth."

126. "If you leave the house wearing that then the second you get back home I'm going to bend you over that bed."

127. "Mmm, good morning to you too."

[buckys-other-punk]

Christmas Lies

Pairing: Chris Evans x Assistant!Reader

Request: I was thinking of Sebastian Stan/Chris Evans x (assistant) reader where reader is originally from another country and is living alone and is going to celebrate the holidays and made up an excuse  that she's celebrating with someone and is in the middle of prepping her Christmas eve dinner and was caught red handed that she's celebrating alone?😅😅 

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: cussing and some cliche fluff (the title may fool you but yes this is fluff)

A/N: Hello my loves! Wooo another request, I hope I did this justice and sorry if this sucks. I am a little late for a Christmas fic but hey its still the Christmas season right? Anyways here is a cute Christmas fic for y’all (Merry late Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Years!) As always please lemme know if you wanna be tagged in my future works and feedback is very much appreciated. This is unedited so don’t mind those mistakes. 

Tis the season right? Yeah the season for stress and anxiety. A season where people had to find the perfect gifts for one another and hope that their gifts weren’t sold out. Luckily for you, you didn’t have to worry about that. Moving to the United States from your home country over two years ago it seemed pretty lonely, but more freeing than ever. You didn’t have any relatives that lived in America, but occasionally some would fly over to visit you. Sadly this year you were alone for the holidays. Your parents won a vacation to the Bahamas for the holidays and your older brother was expecting his first born anytime now. The rest of your family had various holiday plans and wanted to celebrate in your home country. So yeah, this year you were going to enjoy your own company.

“So do you have any plans for Thursday night?” Chris, your boss asked you.

“What’s happening Thursday?” you asked looking at him with confusion.

“Y/N, it’s Christmas Eve!” He exclaimed with a big smile.

“Oh fuck. Umm, well not really.” you shrugged. 

“Well you already know my plans. I gotta go to that party my brother wants me to attend.” Chris huffed out.

“Speaking of your brother, I got a call from him asking you to bring a date to said party.” you said to the man.

“Why don’t you come with me.” he said with a smirk.

This wasn’t the first time Chris has asked you to come with him to parties. Hell he asked you every time he was invited to one, but you always turned him down. He was your boss for crying out loud, wouldn’t it seem inappropriate to bring your assistant as your date? But, you weren’t gonna lie that the man was attractive, sweet, and you may or may not have a crush on him. He’s fucking Chris Evans. Shaking your head trying to think of a cover up of your actual plans for the night, which was nothing, and rejecting his offer just because well you don’t even know. 

“You know what, my cousin from my home country is actually visiting for a bit before she heads off to see her boyfriend in Hawaii.” you lied telling the man. Why were you lying again? Right, saving yourself from embarrassment.

“Oh, well that’s nice of her to stop by. I bet you’re gonna make a big feast.” Chris mumbled as he sipped his cup of coffee.

“You know I’m not gonna quit Y/N, you’re gonna have to go on a date with me someday.” he teased nodding your way.

“Yeah whatever.” you breathed out while rolling your eyes focusing back on your work. 

*Christmas Eve*

You were glad that the nearest grocery store was still open for you to grab some last minute ingredients for your dinner. Making a random stew recipe you found online that sounded pretty good and some brownies for dessert. Right when you got home you started making your brownies, from scratch, and once the batter was complete you put it into a tray and in the oven. You went to your room to change into your black Nike spandex shorts (since you haven’t done laundry and this was the only thing that was clean) and an oversized sweatshirt you stole from your brother before you moved to America. You weren’t trying to impress anyone since you were again alone for the holidays. Heading to the kitchen you began cutting the vegetables for your stew and boiling the broth when you heard your doorbell ring. 

“Please don’t be carolers. Please don’t be carolers.” you muttered to yourself crossing your fingers as you walked over to the door. When you opened the door you saw your boss standing in front of you wearing a black suit, looking handsome as fuck. “Chris, don’t you look nice. What are you doing here?” you said without any expression to the man.

“Y/N, you’re looking festive without pants.” he smirked, staring at you up and down.

“Fuck off. I’m wearing shorts underneath. Seriously, why are you here?” you asked again.

“I ditched my brother to hang out with you and your cousin.” he said smiling. 

“Oh thats so nice of you, but you didn’t have to come all this way.” you said trying to change the subject.

“What, that's ridiculous. I also forgot to give you your Christmas present.” he stated showing the nicely wrapped box that he hid behind his back. “Where is your cousin by the way?” Chris asked, trying to peek around your apartment.

“Oh, Mel? She’s in my room video chatting with her parents.” you lied pointing behind you.

“Aren’t you gonna let me in?” he asked.

“Yeah, sorry. Where are my manners.” you said moving out of the way for him to enter your home.

“Thanks.” he smiled as he stepped in again looking around your place. “Um, Y/N.” he said.

“Yeah, what’s up?” you asked as you shut the door behind you.

“Something smells like it's burning.” he stated looking back at you.

“Shit my brownies!!” you yelled as you ran to your kitchen. You put on your oven mitts and took out the burnt dessert and placed it onto your countertop. “Damn it!” you exclaimed.

“You forgot to put a timer on, didn't you.” Chris chuckled as he walked towards the kitchen bar island.

“Shut up.” you huffed shaking your head.

“Hey Y/N.” he started, drawing your attention back to him and not the burnt disaster. “You said your cousin was here right?” he asked.

“Yeah, why?” you replied, not really paying attention to him placing the burnt tray in the trash ans cute veggies in a pot.

“Well two things. One, why is your dinner table set up with only one plate. And two, your bedroom light is off.” he said pointing at the table behind him.

“Fuck.” you whispered underneath your breath as you looked up at the man. “Maybe Mel fell asleep?” you said with a shrug.

“You lied!” he exclaimed looking at you. “You sneaky shit! Why did you lie to me?”

“Because you’re my boss and I can.” you sassily said back with your hands on your hips.

“Y/N.” he said more sternly.

“Fine.” you said as you raised your hands in defeat. You walked around the counter towards your couch motioning Chris to follow you, which he did. “I lied because I didn’t want to go with you to the party.”

“Why not?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Because. I don’t know. Isn’t it a little inappropriate that your date to a fancy party is your assistant?” you sheepishly asked averting your eyes from the man that sat next to you.

“Y/N, that’s a bullshit reason and you know it.” he cursed at you. “Tell me the truth.”

“Fine!” you said, taking a deep breath. “Honestly Chris, I kinda have a crush on you and I didn’t want to look stupid in front of your celebrity friends.” you shrugged looking away at the man.

“Now that wasn’t so hard was it?” he said quietly and he gently grabbed your chin to make you look up at him. “I’m glad you told me the truth Y/N.”

“What no snarky remark? No cheesy comeback?” you questioned.

“Nope.” he said with a smile.

“That’s it?” you asked looking into his greenish blue eyes.

“Yup that's it.” he smirked, staring at you.

“Hold up. I just confessed to you, my boss, that I have a crush on you and you’re not goin-” you started, but was cut off when you felt lips crash into yours. As Chris pulled away your eyes were still closed and your mind was in disbelief. Slowly opening your eyes, you stared at the man in front of you.

“Umm..did that..What just?” you were slightly panicking. Chris noted the panic. So he leaned in again and kissed you. This time you were aware that your boss was kissing you. Holy shit your boss, no fuck that CHRIS EVANS IS KISSING YOU! His eyes were closed and his hands were placed at your waist. As he began to pull away, you put your arms around his neck pulling him back towards you to deepen the kiss. The two of you pulled away, your foreheads still pressed together as you looked into each others eyes.

“Wait is that your Christmas tree?” Chris teased, still staring at you as he pointed at the small tree on the ground next to your record player. You leaned back and turned your head to look at your tree.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with it?” you asked, looking back at him.

“It’s kinda pathetic.” he joked, placing his arm over the back of your couch.

“Hey! That was the first tree I bought when I moved over here!” you yelled in defense playfully punching his arm.

“It’s cute is what I meant to say.” he chuckled, rubbing his arm.

“Whatever.” you said shaking your head. “Are we gonna talk about that kiss?” you asked.

“Why don’t you open your present first?” he replied.

“You're ignoring my question, but fine.” you huffed out a bit irritated. “Wait, did you wrap this?” you asked, looking at gift wrapped in green paper.

“Actually you did a while back.” he said rubbing the back of his head. “I was hoping you forgot about it and luckily you did.” Chris added chuckling.

“I don’t deserve whatever this is Chris. I didn’t even get you anything!” you exclaimed with wide eyes.

“That kiss was plenty enough.” he grinned towards you.

“Shut up, I’m serious.” you sighed and looked down at the gift.

“Stop moping and just open the damn thing.” Chris said, lifting your chin up and pointed towards the present.

“Alright fine.” you stated back, slowly undoing the elegant wrapping you worked so hard on. As you opened the present it was a box that said ‘Thank you for helping me get my shit together!’ You laughed at the note looking back at Chris.

“Open the box.” he smiled trying to hold in his excitement. You opened the box and inside was filled with confetti paper and a card at the center. You took the card out saying ‘I kind of sort of maybe like you a lot’ with a heart underneath. You looked back at the man who nodded signaling you to open the card. Inside of the card it said ‘will you go out with me? P.s. here’s $100 for you. No pressure;)’ A hundred dollar bill was taped at the bottom of the card.

“Is the money a bribe?” you asked.

“Nah, it's just for reassurance.” he answered chuckling. You laughed and took out the bill from the card.

“I went through all this work, wrapping a present beautifully, just to get one hundred dollars in return.” you said seriously.

“Well, if you don’t like the present I can always take it back.” he said upset.

“Chris I’m messing with you.” you smiled as you pulled him close to you placing a kiss on his lips. “I would love to go out with you.” you said.

“Oh thank god!” Chris exhaled pulling you close into a hug.

“I better be getting more money outta this relationship!” you teased as you were engulfed in the man’s embrace feeling the vibrations of his laughter.

A/N: This was so cliche i hate it lol. Anyways did you like this late Christmas fic? lemme know! Again if you wanna be tagged in future fics, have any requests or just wanna chat hit me up! 

Tags: @lostinthoughtsandfeelings​ @sebtheromanianprince​​ @aquabrie​ @who-the-hell-is-sebastianstan @princess76179​​ @anbrax5553​​ @wintersoldierissucharide @caplanbuckybarnes​​ @miraclesoflove​​ @kitkatd7​ @saiyanprincessswanie​​ @fandomsandxfiles​ @hailmary-yramliah​ @coffeebooksandfandom​​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​​

^please lemme know if you wanna be added/removed for future tags or if i forgot you^

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Just Fine

Prompts: I just finished your Merlin fic Not Bad, and was wondering if we could have something of a sequel to it, if you're willing? Thank you either way! - anon

hi omg i absolute love your works on ao3, you're such a talented writer! i'm in love with your touch starved! merlin fic on ao3 and if you're still writing merlin fics and if you wanted to write it i would love to see a second part! (i've never used tumblr before so i don't know if this is where you even take promps/ requests but i figured i had to try, i love your works so much!) - anon

So many people asked for a part 2 so now we have a part 2 yay

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: this chapter is fluff all the way down, folks

Pairings: platonic merlin & everybody, can be merthur if you want I don't care

Word Count: 4729

Healing isn't supposed to be easy, but maybe the others can help make it easier.

He did say he was going to be pulling Merlin into his bed to cuddle with him in the mornings.

The sunlight is a menace, Arthur’s sleep-slack brain decides one day as it slices knife-like over his eyes through a slit in the curtains. He furrows his brow and turns, nuzzling his face into his pillow and doing his very best to ignore the fact that it’s morning now which means he’ll have to get up and do things. He’s royalty, he shouldn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to.

…well, okay, maybe that’s not true.

Arthur muffles a snort into his pillow.

That should show how much Merlin’s been rubbing off on him since he came to Camelot, Arthur before Merlin would’ve huffed in that arrogant prat way—he’s not too proud to admit he has his moments—and said that he gets to decide what he wants to do, no one else. Arthur after Merlin knows that he’s his people’s servant as much as they are his. He may not have had the words to express it before Merlin but he’s always felt that way. Seeing someone so blatantly defy the status quo—and by extension, Uther—helped bring that out of him.

See? This is why he’s tired and deserves more sleep. He’s already waxing poetic about Merlin. He turns over in bed again and resolves to try and get a little more sleep.

Of course, as soon as his head hits that side of the pillow, the door opens, and in come Merlin’s footsteps.

The curtains are pulled open and Arthur winces, the light beaming onto the back of his head. Merlin putters around, probably setting up breakfast going by the smell of sausages, and then there’s a tug on his blanket.

“No,” he mumbles, holding it closer to his face, “lemme sleep.”

“You have to get up, Arthur,” comes Merlin’s amused snort, “you’ve got a meeting with Leon in a few hours.”

Arthur grumbles, refusing to open his eyes. “Then why can’t I sleep until then?”

“Because if I don’t get you up now, you won’t have enough time to wake up properly.”

“But it’s just Leon!”

“Yes, and you know he has this annoying habit of looking pristine even when he’s covered in mud.”

This is true. Arthur sighs, cracking his eyes open, and is immediately greeted by a wonderful sight.

Merlin, his Merlin, is standing in the sunlight.

It felt like a knife on Arthur’s face, but on Merlin, it looks like a cloak. A cape. Something to be worn with pride. He glows, that’s the only way to describe it. Even his eyes are shining.

How can anyone believe that Merlin isn’t magic?

…yeah, he must be really tired.

“Arthur,” Merlin calls, and only then does Arthur realize he must’ve called his name a few times, “you okay?”

Arthur nods dumbly, still grinning dopily up at Merlin. Merlin looks warm. Warm Merlin. Merlin should be warm. Warmth is good for Merlin.

Something cold ripples through his chest as he remembers how cold Merlin was the first day he let them hug him.

Merlin shouldn’t be cold.

“Arthur?” A gentle tap on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Arthur blinks and holds his arms out. “C’mere.”

Now it’s Merlin’s turn to blink. “What?”

“Come here,” he insists, reaching for Merlin, “just come here.”

Merlin’s face flushes an adorable red. “Arthur, I—“

“I’ll get up in a minute, I promise, but come here first.”

Merlin sighs. “Alright, you big baby.”

But Arthur can see the way he trembles with uncertainty as he sits down to take off his boots. He can see the way Merlin’s brow twitches and how he isn’t quite sure of himself as he slides under the covers.

Well. Can’t have that.

“I said come here,” Arthur murmurs, gathering Merlin into his arms, “there.”

“…’rthur?”

“There,” Arthur sighs, snuggling into his new Merlin-shaped pillow, “perfect.”

Merlin’s tunics are scratchy. He’s a bit elbows and knees. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with all his limbs.

But as Merlin’s arms shakily come up to hold Arthur back, a contented rumble comes from Arthur’s chest.

Merlin is warm.

Yeah, they’re not getting up for a few hours. Leon will understand.

2.

Merlin doesn’t like going hunting, which is fine, which is why they’ve affectionally renamed it ‘a woods trip.’ Actually, he’s pretty sure Gwaine calls it ‘get Arthur out of the castle so his prat nature doesn’t consume him,’ but everyone gets the point.

The point is that it’s one of the few times where they can just be a group of men, bit worried about getting stabbed by bandits, yes, but not worried about the rules and hierarchies and eyes of the city on them all the time. They can mess about and joke and partake in the bizarre sense of humor they all seem to have without any of the guards looking worriedly at each other when they think they won’t be seen.

Honestly, most of the guards at this point have just…accepted it. Arthur will never quite get over the one time he overheard a conversation with one of the new guards outside his room.

“Shouldn’t we tell someone that the servant is conspiring against the King?”

There had been a scoff from the older guard, Kodi. “You must be new.”

If Merlin had wondered why Arthur was muffling snorts into a napkin when he returned, he didn’t ask.

The woods aren’t exactly safe, not like Camelot is, but as Leon says, the safest place for a ship is in the harbor but ships were made to sail.

It’s what he tends to pull out whenever one of them complains about camping out for a night.

“Come on,” Gwaine mutters as he tries to get the fire to start, “come on, you bastard…”

Merlin glances over and hides a smirk. “Need a hand, Gwaine?”

“No.”

After a few seconds pass, Gwaine stifles a sigh.

“Maybe.”

Merlin stands, takes the flint and steel from him, and crouches down. He strikes it once and there’s barely a spark. He frowns. Another try yields another failure.

“What’s wrong with this thing?”

“So it’s not me. Great.”

“No, it’s—did someone leave this out?”

“Ah—“ Percival raises his hand— “that might’ve been me. One of the canteens spilled over the pack that it was in.”

“Well, yeah, that’ll explain why the—yeah, that’s it.” Merlin sighs. “Okay, well, um…”

“Can’t you just—“ Lancelot snaps his fingers— “you know?”

Merlin stiffens.

“Hey,” Gwaine murmurs softly, resting his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “Merlin. Hey, Merlin, look at me.”

Merlin turns, his mouth a hard line.

“You have magic,” Gwaine says gently, “we know. We don’t care that it’s illegal. You’re not bad for having magic and we won’t punish you for using it.”

“…thanks.”

“Anytime.” He nods toward a scrap of kindling. “Now come on, I’m hungry.”

It gets a weak laugh out of Merlin as he stretches his hand out and mumbles something. A fire sparks into existence and roars merrily. Gwaine smiles and wraps his arms tightly around Merlin.

“Good job, Merlin,” he says quietly as Percival drops a hand onto his shoulder and rubs, “good job.”

“…really?”

“Yes.” Percival gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Good.”

3.

New rule they figured out: Merlin isn’t allowed to go near bodies of water unsupervised.

It’s the end of winter and the trees are just starting to grow their leaves out again. The grass is turning green under the lumps of snow that still remain and the birds have started to sing. All around them is the sharp sweet smell of new, the soft cracks as the ice melts.

Soft cracks, mind you. Not big ones that mean someone is about to fall through a thawing lake.

He didn’t actually fall through, but it had been a close thing.

Elyan had fretted for a good few minutes as Merlin’s teeth chattered until they figured out the poor man had just had a clump of snow fall on top of him, he hadn’t fallen through the ice into the lake. He gets a half-hearted scolding as they whip up a fire and a warm drink, quickly replaced by questions of whether he’s okay, is everything still attached to him, is he hurt?

“I’m fine,” Merlin insists, huddling by the fire, “just a bit cold.”

“You’re still shivering,” Elyan points out quietly, “give me your hands.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m going to make sure you don’t lose circulation.”

Merlin frowns but lets Elyan take his hands. The knight begins to rub his fingers in a pattern Merlin recognizes from Gaius, stimulating blood flow back into the digits to ensure that everything is working properly.

Elyan works patiently for a few seconds until he realizes that Merlin’s eyes have glazed over.

“Merlin?”

Merlin blinks and seems to snap out of whatever daze he was in. “Sorry, sorry, I just—um—“

Elyan tilts his head, Merlin’s hands still cradled in his lap as he struggles for words. Absentmindedly, he swipes a thumb over Merlin’s palm and Merlin bites back a whimper.

“Merlin, am I hurting you?”

“I mean…yes? But no, no wait, I don’t want you to stop, I just—it—“

“Shh,” Elyan says, “it’s okay. Tell me what hurts.”

“I just…you’re really warm,” Merlin mumbles, “and I guess I’m just not used to…to…to touch yet.”

“Ah, I see.” Elyan moves his hands slowly, seeing the blood flow is mostly back to normal as he cups Merlin’s hands between his own. “It’s still warmer than you’re used to, right?”

Merlin nods.

“Can I keep holding your hands?”

“Mhm.”

Elyan holds Merlin’s hands in his own until they deem it safe for him to ride back to Camelot.

4.

If Lancelot knows the secret to getting Merlin to feel a little more comfortable in his own skin, it’s to have him hold something.

He’s not sure why it takes Merlin’s mind down an edge as he begins to fiddle with whatever’s in his hands, but it does. The worried furrow in his brow softens into one of concentration, the anxious twitches of his fingers grow more fluid, more relaxed as he twists and turns the thing between them. Over the years, he’s gotten good at figuring out what Merlin needs to be holding, if he does say so himself.

When Arthur has an important meeting that makes Merlin’s eyes dart around the room, Lancelot hands him a shirt that needs to be repaired. Merlin’s hands navigate the stitches with ease as he makes sure Arthur’s got his armor of a different sort.

When there’s a tournament full of knights coming from far away that Merlin can’t trust quite yet, Lancelot hands him a pouch of seeds to sort, collected from one of the children from the flower store. Merlin sorts them deftly, putting each group into a little envelope to be returned, using it to hone his eye.

When there’s a terrible thunderstorm and Merlin can’t sleep, when Lancelot finds him wandering the castle late at night, he gives him a little plush toy. It’s a small thing, stitched together from remnants of clothing, and something that the servants pretend doesn’t exist. But if you know where to look, and who to talk to, there will be a little stuffed toy sitting on your nightstand if you ever need something to hold. Malwen raises an eyebrow when he asks for one but once she knows it’s for Merlin, Lancelot has it before the day is out.

As he watches Merlin fiddle with the toy, twirling one of the buttons around and round its thread, he wonders.

Is this the only form of physical comfort Merlin has ever allowed himself to have?

The answer is an incredibly disheartening yes, and Lancelot resolves to always give Merlin what he needs to help himself.

Then there’s a moment where Lancelot has no idea what Merlin would want to hold.

It’s a visiting lord, because it’s always a visiting lord when it’s not bandits or a visiting knight. They storm inside—Lancelot hadn’t bothered to remember his name—and pronounced that he missed Uther’s way of doing things. That when Uther was in charge, Camelot was strong, that there were roots of evil snuffed out at every turn.

Of course, he was quickly glared into submission by Percival and Arthur had cooly informed him that evil was snuffed out by not giving it an environment to grow, not futility ripping weeds from the soil.

But not in time to stop the lord’s words from getting to Merlin.

Lancelot finds Merlin on the balcony that isn’t a balcony, an abandoned training ground far above the rest of the city. He sits on the old stone, swinging his legs back and forth, staring at the ground with a glazed expression. His hands twist and turn over each other and his breathing is a little too controlled to be safe.

“Merlin,” he calls softly, not wanting to startle him, “Merlin, can I come sit with you?”

“Mm.”

“Thank you.” Lancelot eases himself down onto the stone bench, speaking softly as if he’s trying to soothe a wild animal. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Merlin isn’t hurt, good. Lancelot glances down at his hands. They twitch and knead at the fabric of his tunic. They clench into fists only to open a few seconds later. They look like they hurt.

They’re trembling.

Lancelot takes a deep breath and carefully, oh, so carefully, takes one of them in his.

Merlin goes limp, all but slumping into his shoulder. His hands are so cold.

“I’m right here, Merlin,” Lancelot murmurs, giving the hand in his a squeeze, “I’m right here.”

Slowly, he reaches out to take the other, feeling Merlin’s hands twitch lazily in his. Every so often, Merlin will squeeze and he will squeeze back. Merlin’s head tucks itself under his chin and the warm rush of his breath hits Lancelot’s arm. His hands stay safely in Lancelot’s grip.

Lancelot will always give Merlin something to hold. It’s no accident that includes his own hands.

5.

Not many people in Camelot know that Leon isn’t just Arthur’s right hand, but the closest thing Arthur had to a brother.

They grew up together, in the streets and fields and halls of Camelot, running around with sticks before they got given swords, fighting dragons and monsters before they battled the real ones, helping each other in secret before they rose to places where no one could hurt them.

Leon remembers holding an Arthur too young for any of this as his father raged, as the swords clashed too close to his face, as a peaceful village burned around them. He remembers a younger Arthur holding onto his cloak, his sleeve, his hand, always asking, asking, asking Leon to be there, just to be there, the way he didn’t feel anyone else was.

They’re older now, and now Arthur is a man Leon is proud to know. He asks Arthur for things now, for help dismantling the things they hated as children, for help finding ways to take care of the knights when he doesn’t know what to do, for help figuring out what to do in this world where things are starting to make less and less sense day by day.

Arthur is his brother, his friend, and his King. Leon is Arthur’s brother, his friend, and his Knight.

To most others, Leon is nigh untouchable. He is the longest-serving knight in Camelot, he is almost royalty with how close he is to the Pendragon family, and he is near unmatched on the dueling grounds. He has the ear of the King, the unwavering loyalty of the knights, and the faith of the Council.

There is a short list of the few who know he this is not all he is.

There are a few children in the lower town who know he is a kind man before he is a great knight, that there are scrapes and bruises they receive running from something only to be protected by a red cloak and a calm voice. There are a few servants who know that his presence as they walk to Gaius is an impenetrable shield on one side and the softest guiding hand on the other. There are a few stable boys who know that they will never again be beaten for who they are because he is just like them.

But Leon has not truly cared for someone younger than him since Arthur was little. Not the way he used to.

Of course, as he is with most things, Merlin is the exception to this rule.

Merlin, with all his magic and baffling charm and bumbling wisdom, worms his way into Leon’s heart by the time he gets assigned to be Prince Arthur’s Manservant. From there, it isn’t hard for Leon to watch with a certain glow of pride in his chest as Arthur starts to change, from the hardened fist Uther wanted him to be to the man the little boy he grew up with was supposed to be. He keeps his words to himself about how kind Merlin is, relentlessly so, and smiles quietly when Arthur begins to clumsily mimic the acts of kindness. He grows to care for Merlin quickly, making room next to his heart for one more, nestled close.

But it isn’t until he has a chance to comfort Merlin properly that he begins to think of him as a brother.

Don’t get him wrong, Merlin is his brother the same way the knights are his brothers. But Leon hasn’t loved someone the way he loves Arthur in a long time.

He receives a call from Gaius and responds, hurrying down to the physician’s chambers to see Merlin’s face is awfully flushed and his eyes red-rimmed in tears. He hurries faster to Merlin’s side, asking what’s happened, what’s wrong?

It seems Merlin has been fixing something wrong with the magic of this bracelet Gaius shows him, a silver one with a big amber stone in the middle. It looks familiar, it reminds Leon of Morgana for some strange reason, but he can’t quite place it. But it seems something went wrong and now…now poor Merlin is upset.

Leon knows what to do.

He guides Merlin carefully into his room, stopping to remove his mail shirt and leaving him in the softer under-tunic and cloak, and sitting Merlin carefully down on the bed. The poor man looks cold, small, like a scared dog.

“Merlin,” he says softly, “Merlin, I’m going to sit next to you now.”

He eases his weight down onto the bed and waits. Waits for another tear to roll down Merlin’s cheek to let out a soft noise of concern, melting at the sight of someone crying.

“Come,” he murmurs, opening his arms, “shed your tears, Merlin.”

And oh, he hasn’t seen those eyes for a very long time. Not since little Arthur had looked up at him, shining with undisguised hope and want but holding himself back, like a starved puppy too scared to eat. It breaks his heart and he lets out another low noise, reaching for Merlin.

“When Arthur was little,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he begins to gather Merlin into his lap, “he never used to like sleeping alone when his father was away. He said the castle was too big, too empty, even with all the people inside.”

He takes Merlin’s hands and guides them around his neck.

“I never liked sleeping in the castle either, it was too quiet. I didn’t know where anything was, except for Arthur. One night, he came into my chambers and all but tackled me in a hug.” He smiles fondly at the memory. “He insisted I let him stay.”

“St-stay?”

“Yes, Merlin, stay. Stay with me, let me hold him until we both fell asleep. He pulled himself into my lap—yes, just like this, your legs over mine—and wrapped his arms around my neck—there you go, just here, that’s it, you hold onto me now—and we stayed like that until we fell asleep.”

Merlin’s hair ruffles as he settles, Leon’s breath warming the top of Merlin’s head as he tucks the poor man close. Merlin’s hands are ice around his neck.

“And when the nights got cold, we would wrap ourselves up in the blankets,” he continues, beginning to swaddle them both in his cloak, “until we were bundled so tightly together that even the coldest night wouldn’t get it. It was warm, I remember being warm, there, in the bed, in the blankets, safe…and warm…”

There’s a quiet sigh against his neck as he wraps the cloak around the both of them. It’s warm, a perfect little nest. Merlin’s weight settles against his chest and part of him that’s been suppressed for many, many years starts to warm.

“He stopped coming to me when he got older,” he murmurs, “whether because he didn’t need it anymore or if he got too big. Between you and me, I’m sure it’s the second one. He’d still try if he weren’t worried about hurting me. I think he misses it, sometimes.”

He pauses, then leans closer and tucks his face against Merlin’s temple.

“I know I did. I still do, every now and then, but I know Arthur feels safe now in a way he never did when we were growing up. And most of that is thanks to you.”

“M-me?”

“Yes, Merlin,” Leon whispers, “you. You make him feel safe, make the rest of us feel safe. You’re a good person, Merlin, and we care very deeply about you.”

“…you do?”

He can hear the sleep coloring Merlin’s voice. He hushes the poor thing, cuddles him close, rocks the both of them closer to slumber.

“Of course we do,” he whispers to his brother, “of course we do.”

+1.

Sometimes Merlin has good days. Days where he’s smiling and laughing and joking with the knights. Days where he’s bantering back and forth with Arthur like it’s nothing. Days where he uses his magic the way he always has, like it’s a part of him.

Sometimes Merlin has bad days. Days where he’s quiet and they can’t get him to smile. Days where he is every bit the perfect servant for Arthur, which means he’s about as far from Merlin as he could be. Days where he seems to want to pretend he’s never had magic in his life.

Today is a bad day.

Merlin doesn’t talk until one of them asks. He goes off on his chores and they don’t see him for hours. Gaius is worried. Leon is worried. Lancelot is worried.

Percival is angry. Some of the new knights believe Merlin is a traitor—for whatever reason—and spends time educating them on the training fields.

Elyan is afraid. Gwen came to him and said that she hasn’t seen Merlin all day, which means Merlin is avoiding the servants as well as the knights.

Gwaine is upset. Because he can’t find Merlin anywhere and the longer he stays away the worse he’s going to be when he comes back.

Arthur walks into his chambers at the end of the day and sees Merlin sitting on his bed.

He stuffs away the outrage at himself for not thinking to look here first, stuffs away the fear and sadness that Merlin is upset, stuffs away the need to order him to Gaius and have him looked over, and replaces it with a soft call of: “Merlin?”

“Sire.”

Oh, no.

“Hello, Merlin,” Arthur says softly, “can I come over to you?”

“If you like, sire.”

“I would.” Arthur crosses the room slowly, wary of Merlin’s reaction, until he can stop within arms’ reach. “Hello.”

“Hello.” Merlin looks up at him. “May I ask you for a favor, sire?”

“Of course, Merlin, anything you like.”

“…m-may I have a hug, please?”

Arthur’s heart shatters.

His face must do the wrong thing because Merlin flinches, withdrawing into himself. “I’m sorry, sire, that was rude of me to ask. I’ll leave you be, now.”

“No, no, no, Merlin,” Arthur stammers, “no, that’s not what I meant, stay, stay, Merlin, of course you can have a hug, come here, come here—“

He gathers Merlin into his arms, to his chest, wrapping him up as snugly as he can.

“You don’t need permission for a hug, Merlin, that’s why I was upset,” he mumbles, “I don’t want you to think you have to earn it, you don’t—“

It seems his ramblings, however embarrassing to him, are helping Merlin calm down. Or at least get over his fear enough to wrap his arms around Arthur too. Arthur squeezes him tight and is content to sit there for a moment to let Merlin have what he wants, but then he feels something tug at his chest.

Tug, tug, tug.

Arthur frowns, tries to tug back, only for the tugging to grow more insistent. He follows the tugging to scoop Merlin into his arms, carry him to the bed, and lie down beside him. As the tugging persists, he tucks Merlin’s head under his chin and pulls him closer, threading a leg through his. One last tug and oh, oh, he understands now.

“You’re not bad,” he murmurs, ruffling Merlin’s hair as he talks, “you’re not evil. You have magic, Merlin, that’s alright. You’re my Merlin. I don’t want a proper servant, I don’t want a normal servant, I want you. You’re my Merlin.”

There.

Whatever wall there is crumbles as Merlin begins to sob desperately into his chest. The tugging renews, guiding him this way, that way, to hold Merlin close, to pull back and let him gasp for breath, to murmur reassurances in his ear, or to roll a little and hold Merlin down as he seizes with the force of the cries.

And through it all, Merlin never stops asking for comfort.

His fingers never loosen their grip on Arthur’s shirt. His legs never let go of the one Arthur wraps through his. His nose never strays far from the crook of Arthur’s neck. He never stops pushing himself into Arthur’s chest, almost as if he’s trying to climb inside and make a home for himself there.

He already has one.

Arthur realizes the wordless asks and answers, holding him as tight as he wants, listening to the tugs in his chest to take care of his Merlin properly, never stops murmuring that yes, this is good, this is alright, Merlin can have whatever he wants, Arthur’s here, he’s here, he’ll take care of Merlin.

He’ll be here. He’ll always be right here.

After, Arthur will ask him softly about the tugs, and Merlin will blush and realize that his magic was asking for help when he couldn’t. Arthur will smile and ruffle his hair and tease him about his magic liking Arthur better than him. The smile will soften when Merlin shakily admits he’s thought the same thing.

After, Merlin will start asking for touch more. He’ll brush his hand against Lancelot’s, sit a little closer to Gwaine or Percival, start accompanying Elyan on his daily walks, or find himself reaching for Leon’s cloak only for Leon to bundle his hand in his and keep it safe.

After, Merlin will slide into bed the moment Arthur opens his arms, letting them both sleep in a little more and enjoy the feeling of warm, warm, warm.

But right now, Merlin is crying in Arthur’s arms and Arthur isn’t going anywhere.

He’ll always be right here.

[thelastspeecher]

Spirit Touched - Chapter 5: Nephew

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5   Chapter 6   AO3

Whoops it took me longer to update this than I planned, but it turns out that moving states takes time and effort.  Hopefully I’ll be able to update every other week for the last two chapters, but we’ll have to see.  In the meantime, enjoy the crew fawning over sick Zuko and a sudden appearance from a certain beloved uncle.

Again, this fic is inspired by @muffinlance‘s fic Salvage and fanart that @agent-jaselin did of it.

——————————————————————————————

              It started with a sneeze, the day after they fished Zuko out of the ocean for the second time.

              “Aw, you sneeze like a raccoon-kitten,” Toklo cooed. Zuko glared at him.  Then sneezed again, louder.  A few sparks appeared with the second sneeze.  “Uh, little firebenders sneeze fire?”

              “I’m not little,” Zuko growled. “But…yes.”  He sneezed again.  Toklo hurriedly stomped out any sparks that landed on the deck.

              “This won’t end well,” Panuk said quietly.

----- 

              The sneeze progressed to a full-body cough, one that was so obviously agonizing it made the crewmen wince in sympathy.

              “We need to follow you around with a bucket,” Aake rumbled, watching Panuk and Toklo rush to put out yet another fire. It appeared that accidentally producing flames wasn’t something reserved for sneezing.  Zuko sat down on the deck, even paler than usual.  He coughed again.

              “That might be a good idea,” Panuk agreed, hurrying to stomp out the new sparks.  Zuko let out a low groan.  Aake pressed the back of his hand against Zuko’s forehead.  He quickly removed it.

              “You’re sick, kiddo,” he said to Zuko.  His voice had more affection in it than he’d realized he had for the boy.  Zuko looked up at him, eyes already glazed over with fever.  “Someone better take him to the healer right away.  When someone this young gets sick, it can go bad fast.”

              “Come on, little brother,” Toklo said, scooping Zuko into his arms.  “Wow, you’re warm.”

              “No, ‘m cold,” Zuko mumbled blearily.  He let out another hacking cough.  Toklo carried Zuko to the infirmary while Panuk stayed behind to put out the third accidental fire of the day.

----- 

              As Zuko’s condition worsened further, he became less and less willing to leave his pile of furs.  Eventually, he could only leave the infirmary if carried out.  The crewmen checked in near constantly.  At first, it was just Toklo, Panuk, and Hakoda. Then Bato.  When Aake began to stop by to inquire as to the toddler’s health, Kustaa knew it was official.

              Zuko had wormed his way into the heart of every crewman.

              “I’m surprised by how frequently you poke your head in,” Kustaa remarked to Aake.  Aake stroked Zuko’s hair.

              “He reminds me so much of Sitka, especially when he’s wearing blue,” Aake said, keeping his voice soft so as to not wake up the sleeping toddler.

              “All Zuko had to do to win you over was be turned into a four-year-old.”

              “Hmph.”

              “And don’t think that I haven’t noticed you only stop by when he’s asleep.”  Kustaa smirked at Aake.  “You don’t want him to know how much you’ve come to like him.”  Aake rolled his eyes.  “Maybe once he’s better, you can be another uncle of his.”  The door to the infirmary opened.

              “Come on, Kustaa.  Let a man miss his son in peace,” Bato said, entering.  “Aake, you’re needed on deck.”

              “On my way.”  Aake’s hand lingered on the crown of Zuko’s head for a moment before he got up and left.

              “How is he?” Bato asked Kustaa.  Kustaa sighed.

              “Sick and getting sicker.”

              “Any idea what it is?”

              “Not yet.”  Kustaa looked at Zuko.  “The kid should wake up soon, and once he does, I’m going to ask a few questions about his symptoms.  I’m starting to wonder if it’s something only seen in the Fire Nation.”  Bato frowned, concerned.

              “If it’s a Fire Nation illness, would you be able to cure it?”

              “Depends on what it is.  I have the instructions for treatments of a few Fire Nation maladies,” Kustaa said.  “Not as many as I’d like, though.”  Faint stirring came from Zuko’s pile of furs, along with a weak groan.  “Are you up, nephew?”

              “I’m up,” Zuko mumbled, fighting his way free. He sat up and stretched.  “Did you want something, Bato?”

              “I just wanted to check in on the sick little pygmy puma,” Bato replied.  He ruffled Zuko’s hair.  “Feeling better?”

              “I’m not feeling worse.”  Zuko let out a hacking cough.  “Never mind.  I am.” Bato raised an eyebrow.  “What?”

              “No sparks?”

              “He hasn’t produced fire on accident for a few days now,” Kustaa said, coming over.  He put the back of his hand against Zuko’s forehead.  “Hmm.  Your fever’s getting worse.”

              “Can he firebend on purpose?” Bato asked.

              “He is right here,” Zuko grumbled.

              “Zuko, would you mind trying to create a small flame?” Kustaa requested.  Zuko held out his hands.  His brow wrinkled in concentration.  The only thing emitted, however, was a weak puff of smoke.  “Hmm.”  Kustaa stroked his beard thoughtfully.  “Bato, could you get him something to eat?”

              “Will do.”  Bato gently lifted Zuko.  “Candy and sea prunes, right?”  Kustaa frowned at him.

              “Tummy hurts too much,” Zuko said blearily. “Not hungry.”

              “Broth it is,” Bato said.  He carried Zuko out of the infirmary.  Kustaa took down his most thorough book on illnesses.

              He can’t firebend…maybe that’s the symptom that will allow me to finally diagnose him.

----- 

              Hakoda knocked gently on the door of the infirmary.

              “Come in,” said Kustaa’s calm voice.  Hakoda entered, closing the door softly behind him.

              “Any luck?” Hakoda asked.

              “Some,” Kustaa said from his spot by Zuko’s side. He gently draped a blanket over the sleeping boy.  “I’ve figured out what he has.  It’s called bender’s burnout.  It’s an illness only firebenders can have, caused by the bender’s inner flame being stifled.” Kustaa got up and walked over to his desk.  He pulled out a book.  “According to this, hypothermia or a near-drowning are the primary means by which an inner flame is stifled enough to cause bender’s burnout.”  Hakoda swore softly.

              “This happened because he went overboard again?” he asked.  Kustaa eyed Hakoda.

              “Before I identified the illness, I knew that was the cause,” Kustaa said.

              “Yes, but-”  Hakoda shook his head.  “He didn’t get this specific illness when we fished him out the first time.  Why now?”

              “Apparently, bender’s burnout is most common in the very young, because their inner flames tend to be weaker.  As a teenager, Zuko’s inner flame was strong enough to hold his own in a firefight.  As a child, well.  You’ve seen how much effort it takes him to even make sparks.”

              “What’s the cure?”

              “I don’t know,” Kustaa said softly.  His lips flattened into a thin line.  “None of my texts have information on afflictions that only affect firebenders.  I was lucky to stumble across what I did: symptoms and the cause.”  Zuko coughed weakly from his pile of furs.  Hakoda looked over at the boy.  Zuko’s already pale skin was corpse-white, his forehead shone with a thin sheen of sweat, yet he was shivering intensely.  “If we hope to cure him, we’ll need to find a healer who has expertise on firebenders.”

              “Where would we find one of those?”

              “We could try the next port,” Kustaa said with a shrug.  “People believe us when we say Zuko is a war bastard for a reason.  There’s a lot of them.  And where there are firebenders, there are healers who know how to treat them.”

              “There’s no other way to help Zuko?” Hakoda asked softly.  A long moment passed.  Kustaa shook his head.

              “Bender’s burnout doesn’t go away on its own.  It needs to be treated.  And I don’t know how.”  Zuko tossed fitfully in his sleep.

              “How long does he have?”

              “I’m not sure,” Kustaa admitted.  “But my nephew is far more stubborn than anyone else I’ve met.  As long as I can continue to manage his symptoms, he should hang on until we make port again.”  Hakoda walked over to Zuko.  He brushed sweat-drenched hair out of the boy’s face.  Zuko leaned into the gesture with a faint smile.  Hakoda’s heart ached.  Zuko was so young, too young.

              “I’ll tell everyone we’re changing course. We’ll head for the nearest port.”

----- 

              The Akhlut finally arrived at a bustling Earth Kingdom town.  Hakoda carried Zuko, buried in furs, off the ship.  Kustaa followed close behind.  They approached the first person they saw.

              “Excuse me, but we need a healer,” Hakoda said urgently.

              “Ryo is-” the man started.  Kustaa stepped forward.

              “We need one specializing in firebender ailments,” he said softly.  The man’s eyes widened.

              “I hope we can trust you,” Hakoda said.  He put as much weight into the words as he could.

              “Of course,” the man said.  “My son’s best friend is a war bastard.  The boy goes to Healer Lee, on the outskirts of town.”

              “Thank you,” Hakoda said gratefully.  He reached into his pockets for money.  The man shook his head.

              “Save your money for your…”

              “Nephew,” Kustaa said.

              “Save the money for him.”

              “Thank you,” Hakoda repeated.  Zuko let out a weak cough.  “Hang in there, Nuktuk.”

----- 

              This town was lovely.  Iroh enjoyed the friendly townspeople.  But he couldn’t help being disappointed.  It was yet another dead end.  He had yet to find any sign of his missing nephew anywhere.

              In a sea of green and brown, there was a sudden burst of blue.  Iroh looked curiously at the two Water Tribe men rushing through the crowded town square. His eyes widened.  They were the same men he’d seen shortly before he arrived at the North Pole.  Iroh’s heart sank as he realized that one man wasn’t just carrying furs; a young boy was hidden within them.

              What was the boy’s name?  Nuktuk?  Nuktuk looked deathly ill.  Concerned for the boy’s health, Iroh followed from a safe distance.  They had just exited town when Nuktuk began to thrash in his father’s arms.

              “Lemme down, lemme down!” Nuktuk whined loudly. “I gotta-”  Nuktuk’s father (step-father, more likely – the boy seemed to be a war bastard) hurriedly set the boy on the ground.  Nuktuk stumbled forward and vomited.  His father knelt next to him, rubbing his back.

              “Are you okay to be carried again, Zuko?” the man asked.  Iroh’s breath caught in his throat.  The boy straightened.  Now close enough to see him well, there was no doubt as to who the child was.  Iroh would recognize his nephew anywhere, with or without the horrid scar on his face.

              What have the spirits done?

              “Zuko, we need to go to the healer,” said the second man.  Zuko nodded. “Can the chief pick you up again?”

              “I…”  Zuko trailed off.  He had caught sight of Iroh.  Their eyes met.  “Uncle!” Zuko sprinted away from the men, directly for Iroh.  Iroh dropped to his knees.  He held his arms out.  Zuko collided with him.

              “Prince Zuko,” Iroh croaked, embracing his nephew as tightly as he could.  He could feel Zuko’s fever through his clothes.  “Nephew, what are you doing?”

              “Seeing a healer,” Zuko replied.  Iroh held him out at arm’s length.  Zuko’s beautiful golden eyes, normally sharp like a hawk’s, were unfocused and cloudy with fever.

              “You certainly need one.”

              “Excuse me?”  Iroh looked up.  The tribesmen had walked over.  Iroh stood. He kept a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “Are you really his uncle?  General Iroh?”

              “Yes, I am,” Iroh said.  Zuko smiled at him.  “I have many questions, but I think they can wait until my nephew has seen a healer.”  The men looked relieved.

              “That would be best, yes,” said one.  “We got directions from someone in the village.”  Iroh picked Zuko up.  Zuko nestled against his chest.

              “Lead the way,” Iroh said firmly.

----- 

              Iroh and the tribesmen sat outside the healer’s house.  Zuko had been treated, but needed to rest for a while before the healer would let him leave.

              “We should probably introduce ourselves,” one of the tribesmen said abruptly.  “I am Chief Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe.  My companion is our healer, Kustaa.”  Healer Kustaa bowed his head.

              “Why did you need to bring Zuko to a different healer, if you had one?” Iroh asked.

              “I’m not well-versed in firebender ailments,” Healer Kustaa replied.  Iroh hummed softly.

              “By the way, thank you, General, for not attacking when you saw Zuko,” Chief Hakoda said.  Iroh leaned back.

              “You don’t get to be my age as a soldier unless you learn to take stock of a situation fast,” Iroh said.  “The immediate concern was my nephew’s health, not you.”  He chuckled softly.  “Not to offend you or anything.”

              “No, I understand,” Chief Hakoda said.  He leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees. “But I still appreciate it.  To be frank, we wouldn’t have stood a chance against you.”  Iroh chuckled again.

              “I know.  So, how did you come to have my nephew with you?  I received a letter from a friend in the Northern Water Tribe telling me you had Zuko, but the letter didn’t provide many details.”

              “We pulled him out of the ocean, half-dead,” Healer Kustaa said.

              “Thankfully, the spirits stepped in, ensuring you rescued a young boy.  If you had come across a Fire Nation teenager, you would have had a drastically different reaction.”  The tribesmen looked at him, bemused.  “I have seen firsthand the realities of war; I know what would have happened if you stumbled across someone old enough to be a soldier for the opposing side.”

              “He wasn’t a toddler when we rescued him,” Chief Hakoda said slowly.  “That particular…situation is more recent.”

              “Then you are bigger men than I would have been in my days as a soldier,” Iroh said.  The men exchanged a look.  Clearly, they were holding something back.  But Iroh knewit would be best to wait patiently for further information, rather than immediately pry.  “Thank you for taking care of him.”

              “Well, the kid’s more endearing than he realizes,” Healer Kustaa said.  “Our youngest crewmen befriended him quickly.  Once he had them on his side, it was all over.”  Iroh beamed.

              “I’m very glad to hear that he has been working on his social skills.  My nephew tends to struggle to make friends.”  Iroh adjusted his seat slightly.  “How long has Prince Zuko been like this?”

              “A handful of months.  He’s actually spent more time with us as a toddler than as a teenager,” Chief Hakoda said.  “And before you ask, we don’t know why the spirits did this to him.”

              “Zuko might know,” Healer Kustaa said suddenly. Chief Hakoda and Iroh looked at him. “The incident that made him fall overboard, which caused him to get so sick?  He’s been talking about it in his sleep.  Most of what he says is nonsense, since he’s been so feverish.  But every now and then, he mumbles something about talking to a young woman in the moon.”

              “The young woman…”  Iroh leaned forward.  “Prince Zuko wouldn’t happen to be calling her by name, would he?”  Healer Kustaa raised an eyebrow.

              “He’s called her Yue.”

              “A Water Tribe name,” Chief Hakoda remarked.

              “Yes, but also the name of the new Moon Spirit,” Iroh said.  Chief Hakoda and Healer Kustaa sobered immediately.

              “We heard about that,” Chief Hakoda said. “Like everyone else, we saw the moon go dark.  When we crossed paths with our sister tribe, they informed us of the tragedy that happened during the Siege of the North.”

              “Yes.  It was most distressing,” Iroh said solemnly.  “I was there.”  The door of the healer’s home opened.

              “He’s awake now,” Healer Lee said.  Zuko toddled out of the house.  “Kustaa, come inside, I’ll go over the continuation of his treatment.”  Healer Kustaa nodded.  He got up and followed Healer Lee inside, ruffling Zuko’s hair on his way.  Zuko sat between the two men.  He beamed at Iroh.

              “I thought I had only dreamed that you were back,” Zuko said happily.  Iroh rested the back of his hand against his nephew’s forehead.  The boy was still feverish, but whatever the healer had done clearly put him on the mend.

              “No, Prince Zuko, I’ve found you,” Iroh said warmly. A strange look crossed Zuko’s face. He looked down at his adorably minute feet.

              “Just Zuko, Uncle,” he mumbled.  Iroh hid his surprise at the request.

              “If you insist, nephew.”  The enormous smile was back.

              “Are you going to join the ship?” Zuko chirped. His grin broadened.  “You could get a fake name, too!”

              “I was hoping that the Water Tribe would be kind enough to let me accompany you, yes,” Iroh said with a nod.  Chief Hakoda grimaced.  “Chief Hakoda, I recognize that you would not be comfortable with two firebenders aboard your ship, but-”  The chief was already shaking his head.

              “You seem a sensible man, General.  As such, you should understand that it’s not my comfort I need to think of, but the comfort of my men.  They would not want the Dragon of the West on our ship.” Iroh’s heart sunk.  He bowed his head.

              “Yes, I understand.”

              “What?  But- Uncle!” Zuko whined.  Iroh put a gentle hand on his nephew’s shoulder.

              “Nephew, what is right may not be what I want to do. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do it. What is right is that the men who have helped you so much stay comfortable.  I cannot be on the ship.”  He squeezed Zuko’s shoulder, his heart heavy.  “And what is right is that you continue to be treated for your illness. You need to stay with Chief Hakoda, so that Healer Kustaa can take care of you.”

              “But-”

              “Chief Hakoda,” Iroh said abruptly.  “Is your ship headed for a specific destination?”

              “Yes.”  Chief Hakoda eyed Iroh.  “Can I trust you with it?”

              “Pakku trusts him,” Zuko piped up.  “I trust him.  Isn’t that enough?”  Chief Hakoda wavered for a moment before sighing.

              “Fine.  We’re headed to Chameleon Bay, to help the Earth Kingdom Army protect Ba Sing Se.”

              “I’ll meet you there.”  Iroh smiled at Zuko.  “Maybe during my travels, I’ll stumble across a way to return you to your appropriate age.”  Zuko’s eyes widened.  Healer Kustaa emerged from the house.

              “Come on, nephew, you need to lay down for more rest,” Healer Kustaa said, taking Zuko’s hand.  Iroh tensed.  “Oh.” Healer Kustaa managed a wry smile. “When he was feverish and ill shortly after we brought him on board, he mistook me for you and called me ‘uncle’. Since then, I’ve called him my nephew.”

              “…I see,” Iroh said slowly.  He stood.  “I should leave.  It will take me longer to arrive at Chameleon Bay, given I won’t be traveling by ship.”

              “Before you leave,” Chief Hakoda said, standing as well, “would you please tell me what happened at the North Pole?  Our sister tribe didn’t inform us of any of the specifics, just that the Avatar had been involved in the battle and that the Moon Spirit was killed and revived.”

              “It may have been too painful,” Iroh said. “I am more than willing to share with you what I witnessed.  But if you don’t mind, I’d like to say goodbye to my nephew.”  Chief Hakoda nodded.  Iroh turned to Zuko.  He knelt on the ground.  “Nephew…” Zuko pulled free of Healer Kustaa’s hold and rushed forward to embrace Iroh.

              “I don’t want you to leave, Uncle,” he whispered. Iroh rubbed Zuko’s back.

              “I know, Zuko.  But remember what I said.  I can’t do what I want.  I must do what is right.”  Iroh removed something from his pocket, an item he had been holding on to since Zuko was lost at sea.  “Here.” He handed the knife to Zuko.  Zuko took it from him with awe in his eyes. “Do you remember this?”

              “Never give up without a fight,” Zuko said softly. Iroh smiled.

              “That’s right.  You are waging many battles right now, young nephew.  But keep fighting.”

              “I will, Uncle,” Zuko said, holding the knife close to his chest.  Iroh ruffled his hair.

              “Good.  Then I will see you soon.”  Iroh stood and watched Healer Kustaa lead his nephew away.  Once Zuko was out of sight, he turned to Chief Hakoda.  “I am willing to share my stories, but I would like more information as to my nephew’s stay with you in return.”  Chief Hakoda nodded.

              “I expected as such.”  The men began to walk together.  “Where would you like me to start?”  Iroh sighed, glad to ask the question he’d had since he saw Zuko.

              “Why is my nephew dressed like a Water Tribe child?”

----- 

              “Hold that pose,” Toklo instructed.  Zuko wobbled slightly.  “C’mon, little brother, just a bit longer!”  Zuko’s legs gave out.  He collapsed to the deck, coughing.  “Maybe we should go back to the basics.”

              “No, those katas are for babies,” Zuko snapped.  He coughed again.  Hakoda, who had been observing Zuko’s practice, crouched next to him.

              “You’re only four and recovering from an illness. Pushing yourself right now would do more harm than good,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.  “Once you’ve stopped coughing so much, you can move on to the more complicated forms.  But for now, I agree with Toklo.”  Zuko scowled.

              Zuko’s treatment involved him actively practicing firebending.  The healer had informed Kustaa that Zuko developed bender’s burnout in large part due to Zuko restricting his firebending to simple meditations.

              “He said to me, ‘Water Tribe people might not be very educated, but that’s no excuse for making a young bender suppress his art.  No matter the element, if they avoid bending, they’ll become ill,’” Kustaa vented angrily once Hakoda had returned to the ship.  “I tried to tell him that the kid didn’t want to bend, but he wouldn’t hear it.”

              “Zuko needs to practice firebending, then, to get better?” Hakoda asked.  Kustaa nodded.

              “And to stave off future bending-related illnesses.  He gave me a scroll with forms for children Zuko’s age.”  Kustaa handed Hakoda said scroll.  “My nephew probably already knows most of these forms, but I guess we could use them as a reference to make sure he’s doing them right.”

              Hakoda took the scroll from Toklo and looked over the forms for the easiest.

              “Turtle-duck pose,” he instructed.  Zuko scowled, but did as he was told.  “Good work, kid.”  Zuko’s scowl was replaced with a grin that stretched ear to ear.

              Initially, Zuko had brushed off any compliments he got on his bending forms.  Hakoda had a feeling that Zuko’s reaction was because he didn’t believe them. Thankfully, it only took a week for the boy to shift gears from doubt to exuberance at being told he had done a good job.

              “Chief?” Bato called from his spot at the ship’s bow. Hakoda ruffled Zuko’s hair, handed the scroll back to Toklo, and walked to his second-in-command.

              “What is it?” Hakoda asked.  Bato handed him a spyglass silently.  When Hakoda looked through it, he swore.  “Fire Nation.”

              “Yes.”  Bato’s face darkened as he stared in the direction of the ship he’d spotted.  “And they’ve definitely seen us.  We won’t be able to avoid battle.”

              “You’re right.”  Hakoda swallowed.  “Hopefully, Zuko will sleep through it.”

              “He’s a light sleeper.”

              “Not lately.  Being sick can make you sleep like the dead.”  Hakoda handed the spyglass back to Bato.  “I’ll inform the crew to prepare for battle.���  Hakoda looked back at Zuko.  The toddler was unsteadily working through the basic firebending forms for Toklo.  “And I’ll see if Kustaa can put him to bed earlier than usual, so that he misses the fight.”

----- 

              Zuko did sleep through the entire battle. Better than that, however, was that no one on the ship had fallen.  Any blood stains or scorch marks on the deck were hurriedly scrubbed away before Zuko could see, though he did get told the day after.  Like before, Zuko sat watch with a small flame in his palms.

              The rest of the trip passed by without incident. Not just Hakoda, but the crew as a whole felt a swell of pride as Zuko became more confident in his bending practice, progressing from the basic steps to the intermediate ones quickly.  Well, the ones considered intermediate for his age. The boy was eager to begin the advanced movements, but Hakoda felt they were still beyond his ability.  Not to mention, the advanced katas seemed more likely to accidentally set the boat on fire.

              “Finally!” Zuko whooped as they landed at Chameleon Bay. “I miss dry land.”  Scattered chuckles sounded among the crew.  Bato stopped him from rushing down the gangplank after Hakoda.

              “Hold on, little warrior.  Before we come ashore, the Chief needs to meet with whoever’s in charge.”  Zuko cocked his head curiously at Bato.

              “Isn’t Chief Hakoda in charge?  I thought he was the leader of the entire Southern Fleet.”

              “He is, but it’s still important to announce ourselves to the person that has been running things.  Once we’ve settled in, the Chief will take over.”

              “The Chief also needs to let the other men know we’ve got a Fire Nation brat on board,” Aake added.  Zuko frowned at him.  “Otherwise, you might get a chilly welcome.”

              “I guess,” Zuko muttered, crossing his arms. Bato ruffled his hair.

              “Go help Kustaa take stock of the infirmary supplies while we figure things out, okay?” Bato said.  Zuko sighed and toddled off.  Bato shook his head, hiding a smile.  “Damn kid really weaseled his way into all of our hearts.”

              “I’m taking bets on how quickly he does the same to the tribesmen already here,” Panuk drawled.  “So far, no one’s put anything down on it taking any longer than a month.”

              “Well, yeah, those odds are too slim,” Toklo said. “My little brother’s gonna have everyone eating out of his hand in a couple weeks at most.  Especially with his lingering cough.”  According to Kustaa, Zuko was no longer ill.  His occasional coughs were just the result of his sickness irritating his throat.

              “I agree,” Bato said.  “‘Nuktuk’ has a very endearing backstory.”  He looked at Panuk.  “Put me down for twelve days.”

[dcbbw]

Sixish Sunday and Update

Hello, Tumblr! Miss me? I know it’s been a (hot mess) minute since I have been around these parts and a lot has happened. (it’s all under the cut)

I quit my job in DC (and worked three full days AFTER my end date because apparently the 11 page spreadsheet, calendar of everything I was responsible for complete with internal deadlines and vendor deadlines and notes, as well as examples of all the things was not clear enough) and packed up my life and made the move to NC.

My cousins moved me because no way was I paying someone $3800 to haul my stuff 300 miles and renting a car. I ended up paying $1300 + meals for the move and got a ride to boot. All I’m gonna say is I got what I paid for; it was a two-seater panel truck and we put a metal folding chair between the seats. We looked like Bonnie, Clyde, and Curly coming down the road, and the passenger door didn’t close properly, so it randomly swung open at inopportune times.

But I made it one piece; my laptop was not as fortunate. It looks like a rusted out Chevy sitting on bricks at the moment but it saved my stuff and I can type, so YAY!

While I am excited about a fresh start here in the Tarheel State (new job starts Tuesday), I am sad to be away from my studio; I lived there for 17 years and swear it’s the home I (emotionally) grew up in. It’s where I rediscovered my love of writing and became family with a building full of strangers. But I am certain I will find that again here.

While I try to maneuver a huge chunk of my life into what used to be my brother’s bedroom, I have found time to jot down thoughts and ideas that will eventually become full-blown stories. I plan to work on Burnsy’s incredibly late birthday fic, answer some asks for SGL, Dramien, JGL, and a writer’s choice ask. I want to follow-up on so many of WIPs and to post my follower appreciation poll.

And on that note, I do have a little somethings to share for Six Sentence Sunday!

From Remixed: The Social Season, Chapter 3:

“I got a text message from Drake,” Bliam said as he tucked his crisp white shirt into silk black trousers. “He says House Beaumont has a sponsee.”

“Did he say which one?” Asiam asked eagerly as Whiam tried unsuccessfully to knot his necktie.

Bliam shook his head negatively. “When I asked, he said he needed a “what the fuck” emoji.”

Asiam looked at Whiam impatiently. “I could have tied this thing three times by now!”

“You had it wrapped around your waist saying it was your belt!” Whiam retorted, his eyes squinted in concentration. “I can get it, it’s just this is harder than it looks.”

“That’s what she said,” Asiam smirked.

“WHY are you like this?” Bliam complained.

“I’ll be happy to get some real food in me,” Whiam commented as he finally looped the cravat.

“I took the liberty of requesting prime rib and yearling potatoes.” Bliam pulled his arms through the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket.

Asiam frowned. “I ordered curried lamb with rice.”

Whiam sat on the edge of his bed, clumsily buttoning his shirt. “I asked for seafood pasta!”

Bliam rolled his eyes. “Can we EVER agree on anything?”

Whiam pulled on his socks. “Madeleine!”

Bliam nodded in agreement. “Amen to that, brother!”

Asiam said nothing, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead. Feeling two pairs of blue eyes staring at him, he gave a loud exhale. “WHAT?”

Whiam shook his head in disapproval. “You didn’t! Did you? I mean, she was engaged to … Leo!”

Asiam ran a comb through his raven locks. “All I’m going to say is the drapes and carpet match.”

 Original song lyrics for Love Grind from the next chapter of my Platinum/TRR crossover fic:

You workin’ so hard to bring home the bacon

Hustlin’ a grind, no time for lovemakin’

Giving your keyboard all your strokes

All your strokes

All your strokes

You ain’t kissing these lips

You ain’t grabbing these hips

Baby come home, let me clear your mind

Put this peach in your lap

And take you for a love grind

Bounce, roll, thrust, hold

Kiss, moan, scream, groan

Give me that eggplant, make me eat vegetarian

Then lay back so I can ride like an equestrian

Lemme give you that love grind

That love grind

Slap this ass, fill all my holes, make me say your name

Gimme that love grind

Bounce

That love grind

Moan

That love grind

Roll

Gimme all your strokes

Groan

All your strokes

Thrust

All your strokes

Fill all the holes

 Mr. Sonny’s Children, Original Work:

“Hello, Ma.”

There is silence for a few moments; my mother is caught unawares because I rarely answer her calls during the day. There is baggage between us, and demons who play messenger with us. I can’t deal with that when I am trying to heal and cure people.

I gave up on trying to save anyone a long time ago.

“Mabel?” Her voice is hesitant and laced with a warble.

I wonder if she is holding back tears or curses. My mother doesn’t hate me, but she is scared to love me.

I am a child of rape. To love me is to admit she is okay with the violent assault that conceived me. To acknowledge that I survived the rusty hanger and jagged forceps that tried to kill us both is to accept I was meant to be here, destined to be hers throughout all eternity.

Nothing good comes from an evil act.

“Hi, Ma.” I don’t bother to remind her I go by Ann now. She knows.

More silence, thick with tension and unspoken emotions.

I set the spoon back in the bowl and use my chopsticks to toy with a sushi roll instead. I idly roll one side in wasabi that is more pasty than creamy and dunk the other side in soy sauce. I speak into the phone pressed to my ear.

“Ma, I’m at work. Is everything okay?”

“Mr. Sonny died,” she exhales.

I set the chopsticks down carefully before blinking my eyes and staring out at the rain again. “When?”

“Last night. Lung cancer.”

I nod slowly. Mr. Sonny was notorious for consuming all types of tobacco products: he smoked cigarettes, cigars, and pipes. When he wasn’t smoking tobacco, he was chewing it. When he was younger, he was quite handsome: tall with dark, wavy hair and deep green eyes. He was a persuasive speaker with a raw confidence unheard of rural Mississippi, even for whites. That is how he became the Imperial Wizard of our county’s chapter of the KKK.

The last time I saw him was three years ago. He had shrunk, walking with a hunch in his back. His face was wizened and wrinkled; the pate of his head speckled with brown liver spots where hair no longer grew. The backs of his hands were wrinkled and knotted with bright blue veins, his fingers gnarled.

He looked at me as if I were shit on his shoe.

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask slowly. But I knew why.

Mr. Sonny was my father.

[generallybarzy]

1 Year

January 22nd, 2020. That was the date it all started.

Now, it’s been a year. 

(Sorry, you don't get a read more, this is too important)

I started this blog last year, after attending a local hockey game that we get to see every year and realizing how much more I was into it than my other friends there. I went home, logged onto my other tumblr account, and started looking through random hockey tags from my [redacted] blog (y'all don't gotta know the fandoms I was into haha). For a week or so, I lurked. I saw bits and pieces of the all star game, of some of the games that were being played, but I was too scared to interact with anyone because I was joining the community so "late". I wasn't late to anything, its not like hockey is a new thing or something with a time limit, but it felt like I was behind. I wasn't a lifelong fan like some people I saw post about it, I didn't even understand what people were talking about. But I saw the game, eventually saw the cute players everyone loves, and got excited. I finally decided to make this blog, wanting to make some new friends in the hockey community. I kinda floated around hockeyblr for a while, rebloggong a few things quietly but not interacting too much because i didn't feel like i could, until my school closed down in March. After that, I turned to writing- specifically for barzy, who I had just learned about on this site. And with that writing, that very first fic that I tagged bigger writers in, trying to get some recognition, I started to gain followers. And friends.

Since i started, my followers on here have traveled with me through life. Literally. I got my drivers license, i embarrassed myself with that guy at the beach, got my first job, started (and hopefully soon finished) my senior year of highschool, and got accepted into my dream college. I didn't have online friends before this, so when I stopped be able to see my irl friends irl, you guys became just as necessary as them. We've been through highs and lows together, both irl, personally, and in this community, but honestly, i still love it here. I couldn’t be more thankful for all of you, the old and the new.  I genuinely wouldn’t have been able to get through the past year if it weren’t for this place. 

I have a whole appreciation post but some of the people who either ARE constantly in my messages or had been in the past but we haven't talked in a bit, all of these people helped me along the way. @matbaerzal (one of the very first writers who followed me on here, wow. The 10th person out of 1000 to follow me. I adore all of your stuff and look up to you so much) , @mbarzals (I think I convinced you to post your first fic, and I wrote all of Opportunities just for you, but we haven't really talked a lot in a while), @thirteenisles (mom! Helping me out a bunch, especially when I was way smaller on here and didn't have many friends, and we haven't talked in a bit and I'm so sorry), @d-cozens (has always been a solid reader, I remember you under a different user haha I've been seeing you in my notifications for the longest time), @fallinallincurls (we always talk the best concepts!!!!! I always come to you about fics!!!! In the long run, we just started talking a bit ago but you're like the sweetest person ever and I'm so happy we're moots), @softboybarzal (I can't even begin to describe how much you've helped. I'm serious. Thank you so much. Not to mention the amazing things we talk about, always making me so soft), @folkloreflyers (tk and nolan, we have the matching jerseys what can I say. We also come up with some of the best ideas), @barzzal (I deadass look up to you so much, your theme and content is god tier thank you for helping me with my header. I hope we can talk more smt), @dembenchboys (omg baby. Baby. Your messages mean so much to me and I literally light up whenever I see them. We literally don't deserve you. You're too pure and amazing for this world. An angel. I think I've forget to respond to you a few times and I feel so bad but I love you so much don't forget it!!!!!!), @canadianheaters (why do we always have the strangest conversations like idk what here but there's some cursed energy baaagghschhd anyway we come up with the best shit together like monkey suit mat), 🥔 anon, 💙 anon, 😌 anon, 🖤 anon, BLUE SHORTS ANON (I REMEMBER YOU WHERE ARE YOU) and all you other lovely followers i have who have been so supportive over the past year 💕💕💕

Now that all that sappy stuff is out of the way, here's what we'll be doing today to celebrate!

Send in your stories on how you came to find my blog and what made you stay!! Or just any stories you have about here

Request little hcs not about mat and s/o in scenarios but about small things like "does mat like coffee or tea?" or about what cute habits he might have. I feel like we don't discuss about my hc version of him enough

Also, respond to other anons and send your own hcs!!!!

The final thing is that I will be taking requests for short, personalized blurbs where you send me a prompt, a name, and stuff about yourself and I write YOU and mat instead of reader and mat.. I'll make another post about it when I'm ready to do those, probably around 2pm est.

Once again, lemme just drill it into your heads how happy I am to have all you guys, and how proud I am of where this blog has come to in a year. I couldn't have done it without any of you.💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

[tokyoghoose]

nous aimons tous les deux jours

pairing: dabi x reader

playlist: things we never say - bad bad habits*, sincerity is scary - the 1975, love love love - of monsters and men, if i go, im going - gregory alan isakov, i dont know me like you do - low hum, if i get high - nothing but thieves ( alice kristiansen cover ), i dare you - the regrettes, problems - deathbyromy, fool of you - meltt, hell and you - amigo the devil, creature - it looks sad, tongues and teeth - the crane wives, hooked ( addicted you might say ) - eleisha eagle, nothings gonna hurt you baby - cigarettes after sex, a dream of you - far caspian, so alright, cool, whatever - the happy fits, a lovely night - ryan gosling

warnings: mentions of violence, brief mentions of drugs for expression, and suggestive themes

summary: we love every other day

announcements!

this is my first try at a enemies/lover thingy! Originally it was going to be an enemy to lovers but i liked the idea that they're just on opposing sides a little more haha. Lemme know if you'd like to see the other one though!

i know there are a lot of hero x villain fics like this out there 😌 this is my take on it, so please bare with me!

feedback is welcome and appreciated! requests are open!

"We really have to stop meeting like this."

An addiction. That's what it is. Either that or it's some kind of reverse psychology like you want what you can't have—because nothing else makes sense. If you knew him as a regular person, honestly you probably wouldn't have given him a second thought. If he was a hero you worked beside—or god forbid a villain—then you probably wouldn't have cared for a hookup or two, but then you'd get over it. It's not infatuation. It's an addiction. It's toxic and unhealthy and it just feels good even if it shouldn't. But the high; the high is unbeatable.

It continues on forever and more. From the moment his gaze pierces yours it's like snorting a rail of coke or taking a tab and the trip never ends. It's not even the fact you could get caught. You two are so damn obvious; anyone who stumbles into an alleyway at three in the morning would see the two of you doing more than what a fight warrants. It's just him. It's simply Dabi.

Romeo and Juliette's syndrome is probably a better term for it. But hell, it's not like he'd die for you. Right? It's not like you've known each other way longer than some days and nights and you certainly aren't teenagers and he's definitely not somebody who moves onto a girl and decides he's in love at first sight just because his 'rosaline' left him face down ass up. So maybe Romeo and Juliette is just lack of a better term.

But it's so unfair. How the hell are you supposed to escape him when it's like he's around every corner. With every breath you take, it's like he's an inch closer to crushing your chest with his. And maybe you want him to? This isn't very hero-like.

"You're the one always tracking me down, doll."

The pet name sends shivers down your spine and it makes you want him all the more.

Who am I? What has gotten into me?

You blame the pink tint to your cheeks on the brisk wind of the night, but the heat to them is a large contrast. You cross your arms over your chest and scoff, trying to look taller, stronger, and broader. Not in a threatening way, but more a warning.

This time you'll really take him out.

"In case you forgot, it's my job."

You tell yourself that every time.

And every time he gets away.

"I'm not doing anything but taking a walk."

He steps closer, the already short distance between you two getting shorter. The streetlamp that cuts the scene in half flickers, a moth flying away from the light and towards the moon. You count three squares in distance and you resist the urge to step back.

"You're a wanted criminal, Dabi."

He doesn't deny it but scoffs anyway, shoving his hands into his pockets leisurely. It's like he's never bothered. You're just a nat he's waiting to squash. You have to remind yourself of that: You're just prey.

"I think you just miss me." His tone is serious, but he's only teasing—no matter how true it is. You're starting to think that he can read minds—it's actually quite concerning.

You force a laugh past your lips, trying to show you aren't bothered by what he says. It's just a game of cat and mouse, and it's time the roles switch.

"Please. I could throw you in jail right now."

"But you wouldn't do that. Isn't that right, bunny?"

Your guard faulters and it gives him the opening he needs to corner you completely—and quite literally. It's a blink of an eye and he has you against the brick wall. It'd look rather suspicious to anyone passing, or maybe it looks endearing. But it doesn't matter, to begin with when it's a barren street. Even the crickets seem to have fled.

It's like wherever Dabi walks, everything else scatters. If it were the sea, you're sure it'd part red.

Dabi smirks, trapping you between his body and the cool, damp bricks. The mist from earlier rain seeps slowly into your hero suit, sending a violent chill down your spine. His other hand touches your hip, fingers grazing the fabric so faintly that it'd feel non-existent if it weren't for the heat radiating off them. You hitch your breath when his nose nudges your neck, his hot breath causes shivers and his eyes bore into your own with something mischievous.

"I-"

His lips ghost the skin of your neck and you subconsciously pull it taut, tilting your head to the side. You're beginning to hate how your body arches into his and how it reacts to the simplest of touches.

Like a brick to a window, your dissolve shattered easily.

Dabi quirks a brow, challenging you to continue as you sputter about. It's embarrassing. You can hear him say it now, just like so many times before: "Oh? A big hero like you getting flustered by a big bad villain like me? How cute."

Your walkie talkie comes alive with static and a voice cuts in asking for help to take down a gang of criminals a few cities over.

My saving grace.

"I-I have to go." You push him away by the shoulders with sudden confidence, but he doesn't seem to put up much resistance.

God, you want to wipe the smug smirk off his face.

He backs off and turns with an unbothered wave, proving his point that you wouldn't- couldn't touch him, much less win against him in any sort of battle. The untouchable.

"Until next time, right?"

———

It's like a new tide from the moon—how fast your feelings towards him change. He's awful. A criminal, a villain, a murderer. He's the literal icon of everything your against.. or of what you're supposed to be against.

But you understand him. You get his whys and you feel his emotion like you're apart of them. You empathize with him and it makes you so fucking angry at yourself because you know—as a hero—you should never side with a villain like him, no matter how much sense he starts to make.

Blame it on his tone and the smoothness of his words. He's just a swindler.

The next time isn't even a full week later. He technically protects you from some randoms in an alleyway and you catch him in the act of it all, turning to catch whoever was following you, only to be met with cold blue eyes and a pile of ashes in front of you.

Of course, it ultimately ends in the same place it always does; his bed.

His scent and touch linger a little too long after these meetings and you decide once again that this is the last time.

It's a real shame you have to blame it on his body heat and not the undeniable attraction you feel towards him. But you suppose that could count towards it.

His hands are anywhere—everywhere—and they leave a fire in their wake. It's too much and still not enough. All you want is to be closer. Fingers in his hair, pulling him into you until you can't, and then pulling him in more. It's like air, the way you breathe him in. When you finally give into dabi it no longer becomes a crime, but a necessity.

It's overbearing and messy and awful, but you can't help but slip into his embrace and into his warmth.

It's freezing and he's the sun.

Tangled in between cotton sheets, you feel him rub circles into your shoulder and you hear his heartbeat. It's reassuring to know someone like him even has one. Then again, he probably wouldn't have protected you if he didn't have one. How many times has he saved you from harm's way? Honestly, one time is too many.

It almost makes this fling of yours respectable. It almost makes you want to admit you're falling for that smug face and bad attitude.

"We talked about what we'd do if we ran into your league again, you know?"

Why on earth would you bring that up of all things, y/n?

He doesn't need to know anything about your career, much less your plans to take his team down.

"Hmm.. is that so?" Dabi's fingers move up to draw languid circles into your collarbone before shifting slightly to loom over you. His other hand comes to rest on your hip, sending a searing, but welcomed heat to the flesh. You hiss quietly at the sensation, already knowing there's a bruise forming from the activities not too long ago. His lips replace his hand on your neck and he removes his arm from under your head to hold himself up.

Your hand finds his messy hair, fingers delving into the raven locks and tugging gently as he makes his way to the column of your throat and to your ear. He nips at it, nose brushing against your jaw; his hot breath creating goosebumps that rise to your flesh.

"I like knowing you think of me when I'm not around, Angel."

The tone and raspiness of his voice makes you groan, feeling him kiss beneath your jaw. You just know he's smirking at the reactions he elicits from you because you can feel it. He enjoys watching your internal struggle. You can't act like you didn't choose to form whatever this is with him.

You tug his hair to look at him, bringing his face up and he almost looks annoyed that you disrupted his path heading down towards your chest. Your lips ghost over each other's and you lean in for a kiss, only for him to pull away and leave you chasing.

"I also like when you call my name."

Your hand falls from his hair to cup his jaw, practically pulling him forward into a kiss. It's rough to cover up the intimacy and need behind it. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip, thumb pressed into your stomach before his hand goes upward with an ulterior motive.

Pulling away from him before he can initiate anything more, you run your thumb across his lips and the silver bands that adore the lower half of his face. Surprisingly enough, it didn't take long to adjust to the different textures

"And I like how you kiss me."

This almost feels too domestic—not that you mind, but you're positive he knows you're wrapped around his finger, in the palm of his hand. It's impossible to hide it now. Your actions speak louder than the three words on the tip of your tongue, poisoning your mind.

It makes you cringe when you think about it all. How easily he can get into your head and twist your arm. Some nights you catch yourself thinking that maybe you'll be able to convince him to open his eyes a little wider to see your point of view, especially when you've begun to see his. They're horrible—the villains you go against, but he makes them seem so different. You hate how he makes you double think everything.

He playfully nips at your thumb when you push it gently between his lips, teasingly. His hands trail up your arms, pulling them off of him and above your head. You're the one who makes the move to intertwine fingers as he pushes them down harshly on the pillow underneath you. Insatiable. That's what he is. Is it so wrong to keep wanting more?

The sun beginning to rise over the horizon and spilling in through the window doesn't seem to stir him as he makes his descent from your lips.

You already know that by the next morning you'll hate him and that surrounds him. You'll hate yourself for listening to your heart instead of your head simply because it just 'feels so right.' It's a constant cycle between the two of you, and you're sure he feels the same. He doesn't agree with anything you stand by like a hero, but there's something that keeps him close enough.

There's only so much you can expect, even when you deny it over and over.

But god, you have to stop meeting like this.

[mexicancat-girl]

Miraculously Supernatural

Ao3: Link

Wordcount: 2,720, Rated M for character death and one implied sexual scene.

A Miraculous Ladybug fic that's a parody of the Supernatural ending, because those final two episodes were too ridiculous and I felt compelled to. I'm sorry to the Supernatural fans.

...

.

"I love you," Nathaniel states.

Felix stares back at him blankly, looking like he's barely holding himself back from saying a slur.

Adrien just watches with awkward horror as Nathaniel dies, being pulled into a portal into what looks like Super Mega Hell. "Nathaniel…! Oh my fucking God, he's fucking dead!"

"He dies all the time," Felix reminds him flatly.

"Well, yeah but...Felix, he literally just confessed to you? That's different. Shouldn't we... I dunno... try and bring him back again...?"

"He's an angel, he'll find his way out. He always does."

"Felix, he literally went to Super Mega Hell for being gay for you," Adrien reminds him irately, crossing his arms. "The least you can do is pretend to give a shit."

"I'm still in shock," Felix says, in his usual flat voice, not seeming to feel much of anything. "Now excuse me while I throw up."

"Better than saying a slur, I guess..." Adrien mutters with pure disappointment. Five years and fifteen seasons of homoerotic tension, and Felix was just as emotionally constipated and homophobic as the start.

At least Adrien had a love interest...which was only introduced last season...and who barely got any screen time... But hey! Marinette was a nice enough girl!

...

. 

“So…” Adrien starts awkwardly, wanting to finally address the elephant in the room. “About Nathaniel…”

“What about him?” Felix asks, raising a delicate brow, completely disinterested.

“You…You sad he’s gone, or…?”

Felix just gives a shrug. “Yeah. Shit sucks, I guess.”

“Oh.”

“We should go somewhere else. Keep moving,” his brother declares, finally finishing chugging his coffee and smashing the empty container under his steel-toed shoes, in a very manly fashion.

Well, Adrien should have expected this. His older brother always ran away from his feelings. And problems. And everything in life that was vaguely troubling, like the emotionally constipated and paranoid bastard he was.

At the very least, these habits have kept them alive so far. There’s that silver lining.

...

.

“Y’know, I didn’t realize the Insane Clown Posse was still touring,” Adrien jokes, sweating nervously at the group of juggalos surrounding the pair of brothers.

“Very funny,” one of the juggalos rasps, baring his teeth, and. Alright. Those were vampire fangs.

“Really…?” Felix asks long sufferingly, rolling his eyes. “Is this the best the writers could come up with? Juggalo vampires?”

“With knives!” one of said juggalo vampires says cheerily, raising a knife, his face split half-white half-black down the middle. Not very clown-like, but Adrien was willing to give him A for effort and his nice smile that made his emerald eyes glitter charmingly.

Felix, like the complete weeb he is, readies his shuriken and starting chucking them like he’s a Naruto character. Adrien ducks and rolls, slashing at the enemies’ heels with his claw-gloves and readying his baton.

“Ah, hello again, Kagami,” Felix says silkily, in his Protagonist Fighting Voice.

“How could you tell it was me?” asks the masked woman.

“You aren’t dressed as a juggalo, for one. Two, this show has such a minimal amount of female characters, I could have thrown any name of a woman out there and had a good one in ten chance of getting it correct.”

“Make that a thirty-seventy chance, since most of the women die in the show!” Adrien calls back, because he is all for equality and getting statistics correct.

“Yes, of course. My mistake,” Felix states dryly.

“I hate this fucking show,” Kagami sighs, tired and exasperated.

“You’re not the only one.” And then Felix promptly kills Kagami anti-climatically. “I hope you enjoyed your one scene with dialogue.”

“Felix, why didn’t you kill her with your shuriken? You know your best weapon is your shuriken!” Adrien scolds. “I know we’re in the season finale and things should be wrapping up, but—”

And then the younger blond watches before his very eyes as his brother is impaled.

“NOOOOOOO!” Adrien shrieks, going on a vengeance-fueled rampage to kill the rest of the juggalo knife vampires. He then runs over to his impaled brother, who was impaled by huge…rusty nails? He thinks? Listen, he was too fucking tired to question it. “Felix! Felix, talk to me!”

“I’m sorry, little brother,” Felix rasps, coughing out blood, the red liquid splattering down his chin. “I was…careless.”

“You’re gonna be okay, Lix,” Adrien sniffles, clutching his brother’s hand in his. “You’ve survived worse! Like, you’ve literally fist fought God! You’ve survived fifteen seasons of this shit, you can—”

“I can’t come back from this.”

“But why?!” Adrien demands, tears budding in his green eyes.

“Because…I want you to live…”

“I can bring you back! I can, I swear—”

“You really think the writers will do that, when they want to end this flaming trash heap?” Felix chuckles, with a slight smile, lips coated red.

“But you survived so much! How will the audience even believe you died from murderous vampire juggalos?!”

“They won’t…This is…the stupidest fucking thing the showrunners could have done,” his older brother rasps with a sassy and bitchy roll of his eyes. “Fucking morons…Total brain rot…I knifed God, and this is the thanks I get…”

“You’ve died plenty of times before, I can just bring you back, Felix, it’s gonna be—”

“No. Let me die in peace, you dumb, whiny little bitch,” the other blonde growls. “I’ve been stuck in this hellhole of a show for fifteen fucking years. Let me die already. I don’t care about the situation being braindead and unrealistic. I don’t care about the mechanics. We’ll just say that resurrecting me when you’re alone it too dangerous because it takes a toll on you that’s too great to pay. Before, Nathaniel could resurrect one or both of his because of his holy powers. Without him, doing this is pretty much impossible.”

“I can’t fucking believe that in your death scene, you’re actually giving an in-universe explanation that’s more realistic than what the writers of the show can come up with,” Adrien weeps while laughing.

“It’s a skill,” Felix deadpans, his grey eyes going soft as he brings a bloody hand up to gently touch Adrien’s cheek. “Listen…Go live your life…Live a long and full one…Marry and have children and grow old…All the stereotypical mushy shit, alright? You go and do that.”

“But you’re my brother. You’ve protected me from so much, never left my side,” the younger one whimpers, green eyes red-rimmed and face pulled into a visage of pure grief. “Please…”

“Stop dragging this out. You’re giving the incest shippers more to work with,” the older one states, before his eyes go glassy and he stops breathing.

Adrien wails, burying his face in the space of the other’s chest that wasn’t impaled, sobbing his heart out and clutching his dead protector.

...

.

Adrien burns Felix’s body. It’s what his older brother would have wanted. No physical remains, no possibility for his body to be taken by any of the monsters lurking in the world.

Adrien burns his brother’s body, and keeps moving.

...

.

Adrien is in a shoddy motel the next day. He only has one slice of toast for breakfast, to show how sad he is of his brother’s untimely demise.

...

.

Adrien is wearing glasses and his hair is a shoddy grey comb-over, to show that time has passed. He looks like a very tired university professor on tenure that no one is quite sure what subject he even teaches.

He’s in front of a house, in the lawn. “Lix! C’mere, Felix!”

A little boy with sandy hair and a bright smile runs at him, and Adrien hugs his son. His wife stands back, watching the scene.

Does he end up marrying Marinette? Another woman? Who knows. Fuck the fans for wanting to know that answer, amirite?

Adrien goes through the motions, and hopes the finale will end soon.

...

.

Trees. As far as the eyes can see. Trees, and a mountain range in the distance, dirt road under his feet.

“My love…” Felix whispers, tears budding in his steel-grey eyes, which have softened with pure love and passion. “I…I thought I’d never see you again…”

He stumbles forwards, stopping in front of the beauty in front of him. He carefully reaches a hand out, before gently placing his fingertips against the silk-smooth surface.

“Plagg, you little bastard, I didn’t even know cars could go to Heaven…” Felix breathes out a laugh, one of elation, tears spilling out of his eyes. He sniffles and wipes them away.

“Well, this is Heaven. Anything you could ever want would be here,” a voice says kindly.

Felix blinks, whirling around to stare at the man sitting in a rocking chair in front of a saloon he hadn’t noticed was there before. Next to the familiar man was an equally familiar ice cream cart.

“Andre…?” the blonde asks, confused. “I—What the fuck are you doing here? You’re a minor character.”

“Yeah, but I’m a minor character that was confirmed to have gone to Heaven,” the portly man says, nodding back at the monster hunter. “The writers couldn’t really think of anyone else to throw in here to serve as your guide, so here I am.”

“Well. Alright then,” Felix blinks back.

“C’mon, son. Lemme share with you some teen-rated friendly ice cream.”

“Suspiciously worded and a suspicious request, but I’ll play along,” the blonde shrugs carelessly, striding forwards.

The portly man hums, digging through his ice cream cart, creating the perfect cone in front of Felix’s eyes.

“Red velvet for his hair, cheesecake for his wings, and blue sherbet for his eyes and soul,” the ice cream man says kindly, handing the cone over to Felix, who takes it with numb fingers.

“Thank you,” he tells the man stiffly, carefully licking at the cone.

“This place has everything you could ever want…Except…” Andre’s face turns sympathetic and soft with sadness. “Well, he’ll be here, eventually. Time works different here than it does where Nathaniel is at. But he’s an angel. He’ll find his way back here.”

“…Sure,” Felix says, lips twisting into an awkward half-smile. This is Heaven. He can’t go calling an angel a homophobic slur. He’ll end up switching places with Nathaniel, or something.

Besides, Andre was kind enough to make him an ice cream cone. And it was a rather nice ice cream. So Felix enjoys the cone, for about five minutes.

“Can I go back to Plagg, now? My baby needs me,” Felix asks five minutes later in almost a whine, sick and tired of the ice cream flavors that reminded him too much of Nathaniel.

The portly man chuckles. “Go on, then, Felix. Go on.”

The blonde grins toothily and runs back to the Impala. “Ohhhh, baby, how I’m glad to see you…!” he coos, opening the door and sliding in. He breathes in familiar scent of his reliable, manly, super sexy heterosexual car. “Now, let’s crank it!”

Felix’s smile fills his entire mouth as he chucks his unfinished cone out the window, turns the ignition on, and revs the engine.

Plagg drives smoothly, like a cat purring. Felix turns on the radio, Carry On My Wayward Son playing as he drives through Heaven. Maybe he can find a place he can look over Adrien from. That would be nice. He wants to see if his little brother actually had kids or not. And see how ugly he’s gotten from old age.

...

.

Adrien’s hair has now turned white, to show how even more time has passed.

Carry On My Wayward Son, but it’s a cover from Evanescence, plays in the Impala as Felix parks the car and watches his little brother be an old man.

...

.

Nathaniel sighs and taps his fingernails against the desk he was sitting at, in Super Mega Hell’s bureaucratic offices.

“What the fuck is taking them so long to revive me again…?” the gay angel mutters, pouting. “They usually don’t take this long! Are they not doing it because Nathaniel feels awkward about everything…? Did one of them die, so they don’t have enough energy to complete the ritual…?”

The redheaded angel sighs, feeling guilty. “Poor Adrien…He always was a nice lad. I hope he enjoys Heaven, at least. I went and fixed it up quite well. Shame he has to use it so quickly… Felix must be grieving so terribly…”

“You look sad, Nath. You want me to suck you off?” asks his underling softly—a fellow named Marc who died as a juggalo knife-wielding vampire. Despite Marc’s strange make-up, he had a kind smile and pretty green eyes, and Nathaniel was fond of the lad.

“You don’t have to!” Nathaniel says quickly, face going warm, suddenly incredibly shy. “You’re not obligated to do anything you wouldn’t like to do—”

“But I want to,” Marc says warmly, already sliding onto his knees and unbuckling Nathaniel’s belt. “I’ll get your mind off your little boyfriend, alright?”

Nathaniel is about to protest about Felix being his boyfriend—after all, he’d just confessed before being dragged into Super Mega Hell, so he hasn’t had the time to have a proper conversation with Felix over them even dating—but then Marc fulfills his offer. Nathaniel’s mind goes hazy with pleasure, complicated thoughts about the Agreste brothers flying straight out the window.

...

.

Adrien Agreste lies on his deathbed, dying from old age. The shot transitions from him lying down with closed eyes, to opening them, his face unwrinkled and youthful once more.

All around him are trees, with a mountain range in the distance, a dirt road under his feet. He turns, and startles, seeing someone he’d lost so long ago.

“F-Felix…?” he asks waveringly, tears in his eyes and throat instantly clogging.

His older brother is as youthful and healthy as the last day before his death. He’s got his arms crossed, leaning his hip against the sleek, black Impala, a wide and toothy smirk on his face.

“Took you long enough,” Felix teases, jerking his head and opening his arms. “C’mere—”

Adrien runs and tackles his brother in his hug, Felix yelping as the two land on the ground.

“Careful here,” Felix grouses, but he’s smiling as he speaks. “You’ll give the incest shippers more fodder.”

“Fuck the crazy shippers, I missed you, you fucking asshole.”

“What did I just say?” Felix sighs, fondly exasperated. He wriggles out of Adrien’s hold, getting up, before offering his hand. Adrien quickly takes it, allowing his brother to pull him up and clap his hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “Welcome back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Adrien smiles with all his teeth, before he looks next to him at the Impala. “Uh…Not to be a Debbie downer, but where’s Nathaniel? And why’s Plagg here? Can a car even go to Heaven…?”

“No clue,” Felix chirps, before he rubs the top of the Impala’s hood like a loving pet own would their cat. “But I’m glad he’s here.”

Adrien deadpans back at him, “You’re grateful your car’s with you, but not the man that went to Super Mega Hell for you?”

“Details, details,” Felix waves his hand dismissively. “Andre told me about Nathaniel—”

“Andre the ice cream man? How’d a minor character like him show up at the finale?”

“You’re asking a lot from the writers of this shitshow,” Felix deadpans back at him. “Anyways, he said Nathaniel would take some time to come back up to Heaven.”

“Dude, that’s pretty homophobic.”

The other shrugs. “All the gays are in Hell anyways. He’s probably having the time of his life down there. He’s aesthetically attractive, he’s probably gotten a few booty calls.”

“You’re the straightest and most ridiculously homophobic man I know, and I am so sorry he’s in love with someone like you,” Adrien says with disgust, wrinkling his nose. “How a selfless angel is in Hell and a homophobic, prickly bastard like you is in Heaven, I’ll never understand.”

“I reap the benefit of the rewards from the terrible writing,” Felix smirks like the devil, throwing up the horns.

Adrien looks into the camera like he’s in The Office. Felix looks into the camera too, his face now startlingly blank, but somehow expressing the full weight of his homophobia. Carry On My Wayward Son plays one final time.

The end.

[thrushpot]

punch-drunk love

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

“dUDE drunken confessions are my favorite trope!!!! I can so imagine a post-starcourt billy au with a reader who maybe was his friend beforehand but they never really acted on their feelings. the reader gets a phone call at like 2am and billy's just like "listen,,remember all those hours we spent in detention with mr kaminsky? I would do it all again if it meant just sitting beside you because sometimes I look at you and I just see goddamn gold. are you sure you're literally not the sun??" requested by anonymous.

word count: 2,454

warning(s): swearing, drinking

a/n: HECK YEAH MAN I wrote this shit up in like two hours, and I’d even be open to continuing it to like a part two if anyone wanted. drunk Billy in fics is always angsty and mean, but I wanted him goofy and soft!! thank you for adding cute ideas to the drunk call trope <3

—

Billy huffs as he clumsily grabs the next bottle and unscrews the lid with his teeth, spitting it out on the ground carelessly and taking a good chug. It quit burning his throat as it went down a while ago, and now he just feels the weight on his shoulders finally give out. His body wiggles as he tries to stand up from the couch he’d been surfing the whole night, and he gives a lighthearted chuckle to himself at the pleasant buzz flowing. It’s getting to that point of his binge drinking where mistakes are going to be made. He has a persistent urge to break the rules, to do something he’s never had the courage of doing sober.

After no thinking at all, because who the fuck needs a brain when you’ve got booze, he picks up the phone and dials a number he’s sure as shit hasn’t forgotten and will never forget. A smirk plays on Billy’s face, a cocky, shit-eating grin that spreads like he’s the goddamn Grinch and even shows the whites of his teeth while twirling the telephone wire similar to a schoolgirl calling their crush. It rings for about thirty seconds, until he’s hung up on and directed to voicemail.

“Fuck! Don’t be a fuckin’ drag, Y/N. C’mon,” he whines as he kicks the cabinet by his knees, then hangs up and spins the rotary dial to yours again. He licks his upper lip deviously and takes a sip from the bottle he had opened, and waits for your sweet voice on the line again. All hope is lost when there is no answer once more, so he just curses and nearly chucks the phone out of desperation. Billy also thinks of leaving another voicemail this time around except more lengthy and demanding, something to grab your attention and make you talk to him again. That’s all he wants, after all. It’s been months since he’d even seen your pretty face sitting in the desks sideways, and he regrets not kissing the smile you always wore when he had you right there in front of him in detention every week.

Before getting to know you he’d settle for trying to make you laugh in the bleak silence of Mr. Kaminsky’s classroom, attempting to balance a spoon on his nose or throwing paper airplanes your way. Billy figured you were just laughing at his antics out of politeness but didn’t care to actually speak to him, that is until you threw a crumbled piece of paper at him one sunny day in regular boring shitsville of Kaminsky’s. It took him by surprise, considering it flew right to his face while he was zoning out, and he reacted by flailing in embarrassment before exclaiming a defensive “WHAT THE HELL?”. It was the most unique companionship the boy had ever had that followed after your laughing and pointing a finger at him. He had to give it to you, it was pretty funny. When he recovered from your attack, he shook his head with a small grin as he unwrapped your note, reading “heads up” in that adorable sloppy handwriting.

After that, the rest is pretty much history. Billy was hooked to goofing around with you more often, and you both always made it a point to get in trouble just to spend time together in detention. Considering this wasn’t hard at all for the blonde boy, getting into fights with guys or taunting the girls, even falling asleep mid-lecture, detention was another place to call home. You, however, chose how and when you got caught.

Billy never really did gather up the courage to say what he was thinking about day or night, how pretty he thinks you truly are and that you don’t even know it, which makes it that much more special. Not to mention the countless numbers he’d done howling with laughter at a comment you made, feeling like he just got a workout after laughing so much. He never got to tell you that those moments are all he’d look forward to day in and day out. That if his dad smacked him around if he misbehaved the slightest bit at home, or if teachers were ruthless and judgemental in every class, then he could take all that. He could take the whooping and the ass beatings and the name calling, if it meant he got to spend two hours fucking around in detention staring at you. A place where nothing is supposed to happen, and no one interesting usually attends.

Billy’s made progress gulping half his bottle, now picking at a protein bar from the kitchen, trying and failing to open the impossible wrapper. He almost decided on just eating the whole damn thing, fuck the wrapper, until the obnoxious blaring of the telephone rings. He’s quick to react, as drunk as he is, and tosses the snack he planned to scarf down before tripping to get to the phone. He picks up and holds it to his ear.

“Hello?”

There it is, that voice again.

“Heeeey. Hey there, little miss thing. It’s Billy Boy,” he draws out each word, trying to sound suave even if he hiccuped a little when he greeted you. Copying the same movements he did when he first tried ringing you up, he tangled the wire between his fingers and stared at the table dreamily, imagining you in your comfy clothes. Smiling and cozy.

“Woah, uh, hey Billy. It’s been a little while, what’re you up to calling this late?” you inquire over the phone, and he pictures you rubbing your eyes before stretching and yawning and he just wishes so bad that he got to see that madness.

“Mm, no no no. I’m curious about what you’re doin’,” he replies suggestively, smacking his tongue in his mouth.

“What? I’m sleeping, dude. I’m all for this reuniting thing, but could’ya please just have waited ‘til morning like a normal human being?” you say, growing a little frustrated at the randomness of the call and his ambiguous intentions.

“No Y/N! It’s top secret stuff, believe me. Fucking important that I call you now, at,” he bends over backwards to check the clock that glows on the microwave, “two fifteen in the morning. We never just talk like we used to, y’know since we graduated and all,” Billy complains like a petulant child, not hiding it in his voice that he’s pouting.

There’s a second of silence, and he slurs out your name to see if you rudely hung up on him again, until you speak.

“Are you calling me drunk?”

“Nuh-uh, silly goose. I never said that you were drunk,” he snorts, having to regain his balance after getting too excited and almost falling over with the phone still tucked in his right shoulder. He hears a long sigh being let out on the other end.

“Oh for fucks sake—“

“You always get so mad when you’re cute, d’you know that? Wait. I mean, fuck, lemme try that again,” the boy squints and puts his fingers on his temple to try to focus. “You’re really hot when you’re mad. There. Nailed it,” he finishes.

“Oh my gosh, you poor thing. Dude, you’re shit faced,” you crack up. “This is gonna be even funnier in a few hours. Not for you, I mean, you’ll probably have a killer hangover, but I for one am enjoying this.”

“Oh yeah? You like it, don’tcha cutie pie?”

“Sure do. Tell me more, Casanova.”

“Mmm yeah, I’ll tell you more. Right after you tell me what you’re wearing,” he chews on his lip, thinking that this is all going perfectly to plan. You double take, then decide to play along just for shits and giggles.

“Okay, you asked for it. I have my old Hawkins High gym t-shirt on, and some Spider-Man sweats on too. Oh, also some slippers, because the floor is cold,” you finish, hoping he’s satisfied.

“Noooo, c’mon. Fuckin’ lame-o. I wanna know what’s underneath,” he whines after not getting the kind of answer he wanted to get. Getting horny was always a given when he had a couple drinks, but what with having absolutely no filter and you right there on the phone, he’s getting irresistibly antsy. Wishing you were right next to him, so he could claw at your clothes and whisper his dirty thoughts into your neck.

“Fat chance there, hot-shot. What was it you were saying before? Oh yeah, about how I’m awesome and beautiful. Wanna keep goin’?”

“Ugh. Fine. If y’like lame sweet talk, then listen up, sweet cheeks. Remember all those long hours in Kaminsky’s? That old man would bitch at me for breathing, and like, existing. So, like the fuckin’ moron he is and the fuckin’ nuisance I am, I would get assigned to be there every day. I coulda ditched lots of times, just sneak through the window if he turned his bald head around or somethin’. But I never did. ‘Cuzza you. In fact, I’d do it all over again. Wanna know why?”

Billy’s now crashed into the nearest chair by the island in the kitchen, staring up at the ceiling and itching his crotch like the drunken mess of a boy he is. The clock on the microwave now glows the numbers 2:28 AM.

You’ve been stunned to silence, not quite knowing whether to laugh anymore or take what he’s saying truthfully or with a grain of salt. They always say that after someone’s had a few, that those are the times they spout about what’s really on their mind all the time.

“I-I don’t know about this, Billy.”

“Nope! Try again,” he giggles, putting the phone in a comfy spot nestled by his ear as his clumsy hands struggle to unbutton his shirt more for better comfort.

“...Cause of, cause of me?” you peep, unsure of yourself.

“Ding ding ding! Give the pretty girl a prize!” he claps his hands when they’ve fully undone the confines of his t-shirt, then laying back and sinking impossible further into the chair. He reaches for the bottle that has yet to be finished, and licks his lips as he realizes how thirsty he is for more.

“Billy don’t — stop it. Stop drinking, I can hear you. You’ve had enough,” you calmly advise, growing more nervous at the heavy weight this whole conversation has thrown at you. Since when did Billy feel this way?

“Aww, takin’ care a me. Such a sweetheart,” he marvels, blushing but keeping the bottle in his grasp. “You wanna know somethin’ else?”

“No, I don’t think I do. Not until we can discuss this when you haven’t been drinking.”

Billy chooses to ignore that and goes on.

“I’d just — when I looked at you, in detention, where we were like a thousand percent of the time together, I just. Can’t help but see goddamn gold. You’re the goddamn sun, you know that? I’m talking to the sun right now,” Billy suddenly wants to be held and nurtured, feeling tears well up in his eyes and his nose begin running funny. He doesn’t feel so good anymore.

Things are quiet on your end. Billy doesn’t know what your silence means, but it doesn’t seem too good.

“Y/N? When you looked at me, d-did you ever like, feel the same way? Look at me like that? Like I’m the sun?” he asks, desperate for your validation and then sniffled as the tears now started running down his cheeks in waves. He’s a hot mess.

“Billy... you never talked to me outside of detention. Like I didn’t exist, or I wasn’t cool enough to hang out anywhere else. I never knew...” you trailed off, trying to fight off your own tears and the overwhelming feeling his confession had given you.

“Y-You were so cool, I woulda hung out with you more if I wasn’t such a fucking bastard, or such a goddamn coward. But I miss you, and I wanna kiss you everywhere and I wish you could hold me all th’time,” his self pitying erupts to sobs as he finally lets go of the bottle that he clutched between his hands. It rolls into the floor, thankfully not breaking on the way down, but the contents begin leaking out onto the rug. Billy has yet to notice, still fumbling over his words and thoughts. He regrets getting this blasted now.

“Billy?”

“Hmm?” he mumbles, still not quite over himself as he hugs his bare chest, shirt still remaining open.

“Of course I looked at you like were the sun. Anybody who didn’t, like Kaminsky, or your fake asshole friends, they all don’t matter, okay? Please let me know if you’re hurting. Have you been home alone drinking?”

“Yeah, I have. And, and’ya really actually mean it? That stuff you said?”

“I would never lie to you. I’m really tired, and I’m so sorry for doing this to you, but I have to get back to bed,” you say, reluctantance in your tone as you sigh prettily in his ear once more.

“I’m gonna, I’m sleepy too. Real sleepy. Talk soon?” Billy asks, sounding about as hopeful as a child on Christmas Eve.

“Yeah. I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?”

“Mmmkay. G’bye, pretty girl.”

You let out a breathy laugh at that, then say your farewell, advising him to drink a glass of water and take an Advil before hanging up. The blonde drunk is absolutely exhausted, the whirlwind of emotions that you and the alcohol had put him through had knocked the boy right out. He face plants into the cushions of the couch for a minute, getting close to sleep until a sudden twinge in his gut pulls him up awake. He then makes a run for the bathroom, slipping on the spilled booze on the floor from earlier, and barely makes it in time. He pukes up all the drinks he had for a good five minutes, heaving sickly into the bowl and helplessly clawing at the toilet seat for a better grasp.

Once he’s sure that he has nothing left in his stomach to give, he sits up and scoots to the wall for support, wiping his mouth and hissing in disgust at the bitter taste it left. He gets comfortable even in an odd position, sitting up with his back against the wall right next to the toilet, and decides that this is where he’ll sleep for tonight. As Billy yearns for a much needed deep drunk sleep, he mumbles to himself under his breath about Y/N and her smile and the sun.

—

edit: there will be a sequel, writings in progress ! do not panic I swear this isn’t supposed to end bleak and depressing, I just wanted to show Billy being a hot mess. at first I kinda thought oooh this ending’s fine, if ppl want a sequel ig ill do it, but after reading it over myself I kinda went “the fuck?? this boy deserves to be happy” so I'm gonna do it. if anyone wants a tag as usual, just let me know ! & thank you for the sweet comments and reblogging, I can't be more thankful:)