#man i am so sick and my brain is on the good idea juice

[inkykeiji]

DAZAI AKU AND READER DYNAMIC AGAIN 😧 not a request but i’m wondering how dazai would punish aku and if reader would be involved like forcing aku to watch as he touches them or only allowing aku to eat the come from readers 🐱 after he nuts in it. 🥱

anonnnn thank u so much for this i have SO much to say oh my gosh

tw: mentions of caning + physical assault, daddy kink, overstimulation, noncon, cuckholding kinda???, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, toxic relationships, cum eating, honestly Daddy dazai is just brutal. 

words: 1.1k

SO! the punishment that i had in mind at the end of that piece specifically was actually purely physical—it was caning! really fucking brutal caning that borders on physical assault. i’m not gonna talk about it much tho because HEHE between u and i, i am currently writing a lil piece that deals with like,,, the aftermath??? and the punishment itself is kinda gotten into in that oneshot so c: 

BUT I LOVE BOTH OF THESE IDEAS SOOOOO MUCH and i could totally see Daddy dazai definitely using either of these as punishment so let’s get into that because i have many Thoughts!!! 

okay first of all forcing akutagawa to eat reader out only after dazai has cum in her/you is so sick and sadistic i love it SO much oh my goddd especially since you know he’d be more than eager to do it, to please Daddy, to receive that precious praise dazai is so goddamn stingy with giving him. so he’d be so fucking enthusiastic as he sucks and slurps Daddy’s thick cream from your cunt, making a real mess of his face, cheeks and chin glistening oh-so-prettily with your and Daddy’s combined essence, tongue unfurling from his mouth to clumsily lick at his own stained skin, anywhere and everywhere he can possibly reach, slick muscle flexing as he stretches it as far as he can, desperate not to waste a single drop. 

and he’s holding your thighs open with such force that his fingertips are sinking into your flesh, nails carving deep crescents in their place, bruises blossoming beneath his grip, sowed deep in the tissues. your muscles ache from how unbelievably wide he’s stretched them, but he won’t let you close them, won’t even allow you a moment of rest at all, a man on a mission—your comfort doesn’t fucking matter, not when Daddy has a demand that needs to be fulfilled.

he eats you out until you’re fucking spotless, not a single ounce of Daddy’s cum anywhere, not even splattered on your inner thighs, because akutagawa, good boy that he is, sopped that up with his tongue, too. he’s almost obsessive with it, eating you until you cum again, until he’s sure your juices have flushed every last bit of Daddy from your body and into akutagawa’s tummy, safe and sound and where it should be. he’ll get in trouble for that, too, of course—you were never supposed to cum, he was never supposed to make that happen, and it’ll be his fault for allowing it, for procuring it, no matter how he tries to spin it. he knows better to argue with Daddy once Daddy’s made up his mind, but he just can’t seem to help it when it comes to situations involving you, whiny complaints spilling from his lips before his brain can even sift through them, voice stringy and thin as he cries about how it isn’t fair! and she should’ve stopped it herself! and it isn’t his fault she can’t control herself! 

at the end of it all, though, he’s proud of himself irregardless, proud of the stellar job he did eating you clean. and even though he scolds him callously, Daddy’s proud of him, too <3

ON THE OTHER HAND, i also really love the idea of Daddy dazai fucking reader over and over and over again and not only making akutagawa watch but also instructing akutagawa to not touch himself at all, in any way (and yes, this includes not shifting and twitching his hips up, rolling them into the air in tiny, pathetic little motions so the head of his cock grinds against the tight denim of his jeans). i love it, because it’s a double whammy in so many ways: in addition to the obvious, he also has to watch as his Daddy fucks the favourite, he has to watch as his Daddy plays with his toy, feeling left out and neglected and lonely. he has to watch as Daddy pushes his toy well past the point of pleasure and into a whole ton of pain, easily reminding akutagawa in that infuriatingly charming, slightly breathless voice that your pain is his fault (v touya-nii of him LMAO).

at first, he acts as if he doesn’t care, and he tells Daddy so, the words spit from his lips with such derision it sours his face, features screwed up tightly. it doesn’t matter to him, he says. he doesn’t give a fuck if she’s in pain, he swears. 

except by the third orgasm you’re sobbing out his name, dainty fingers grappling for him in cute little claws that scratch at the mattress in their haste and leave little divots in their wake, sheets ripping audibly, and ryuu! ryuu, ryuu, it hurts, make Daddy stop! 

but this, this pure emotional torment, is a part of his punishment, too, he realizes. 

because then Daddy’s shushing you, gentle and sweet and all of the things he never is with akutagawa, large palms cushioning your sweaty cheeks as he murmurs to you, voice silk and syrup. 

you can do it for Daddy, can’t you, sweetheart? you can cum one more for me, right? you want to be good for me, don’t you? 

and that hurts, too. watching Daddy be so fucking nice to you, watching daddy dole out praise to you the way he doles out punishment to akutagawa. it isn’t until dazai’s sure he’s fully broken akutagawa in every conceivable way that he finally stops, takes the shivering, snivelling man into his arms and onto his lap, akutagawa’s chest shuddering beneath the force of the sobs he keeps trying so desperately to shove down, long lashes scraggly and weighted with fat tears.

you did good, baby, he’s whispering as slim fingers pop the button of akutagawa’s jeans, hand wiggling beneath the material to pull his cock free a moment later. Daddy’s good baby boy, so precious, so fucking pathetic, aren’t you?

yes, yes, yes, he’s sobbing into dazai’s neck as Daddy strokes his aching cock, hard and fast right at the top, thumb grinding little circles into the slit. his words are nothing more than tangles of spit oozing all over Daddy’s skin as they leak, uncontrollably so, from his lips, but that’s alright, Daddy doesn’t mind the mess today, humming out condescending coos into inky strands as he encourages akutagawa to cum all over Daddy’s fist.

and, oh, he’s so fucking hopeless for his Daddy, cumming after a mere three pulls of his cock, thick and sticky and so much, it’s so much for such a skinny boy, almost embarrassingly, disgustingly so, don’t you think ryuu-kun? 

of course. of course it is; he’s disgusting and deplorable and so fucking desperate, but he did it; he’s Daddy’s good boy, and that’s all that matters <3 

[fragileizy]

my parents tensed up last night when i said i wanted to go back upstairs alone.

friday night in the big city and i was ready to turn in at 7pm. maybe it’s the depression, or maybe the heartache, or maybe both. maybe the cold. it’s freezing and i don’t do well when i have to wear layers. i want to peel off my skin whenever i have to wear more than two shirts.

i wanted to go back upstairs. back upstairs and watch more cartoons so i could turn off my brain, but my parents wanted to stay in the lounge— i’d been able to get a few large bitefuls of dinner into me before hand— to listen to the live music in the reception desk + bar area where surprisingly a lot of people were congregated.

i wondered if i should get a drink myself. i don’t do alcohol, never have, always afraid to. i realized i’d left my wallet back upstairs with my phone, one that i’m on the tip-edge of powering off and chucking into a trashcan, so i don’t have to wonder and wish to get a text message.

dear god, i am grateful to get text messages at all. it means he’s thinking of me. even if it’s just to tell me that he’s seeing his new girlfriend today.

“no, not right now, i don’t want to go up. it’s different here than back at home,” my mom said. “we don’t have life back at home. live music? that’s unheard of.”

we live on farm land. suburbia clashing with farmland, actually. white-picket fences. cookie-cutter houses. common to find goats and pigs passing behind it. horses are expected in our town.

“you’re right,” i told her. yelled out, actually, because the music was loud and it wasnt very good and hurt my ears. artistic flair while singing stand by me isn’t the absolute best idea. my parents are starting to get deaf in their 60s, and though i tease them a lot for it, there’s always a ping of fear.

my parents are aging.

i’m an only child.

i’ve lost my friends, and the few that were solely mine are on the computer and not tangible. i’ve lost the man that i thought i was going to be with forever— he has six little brothers and one little sister, with one tired father trying to keep it all together, did you know that? he’ll never be alone. he’s got family.

my family is sick. i’m worried about them. dad coughs a lot, mom went to the hospital for heart problems, and i was told that the man that i loved would rather be with someone else than with me. the lines under his eyes are deep. the tone of finality is painful. i wonder every day if i should’ve been better. well, i should’ve been. that’s not much of a question.

it’s a lot easier to be with her than it is to be with you, izy.

i started counting up to ten in my head. i don’t know where this habit started, but it’s helped. beat out the thoughts by yelling out numbers. over and over and over. if i stop myself from thinking, i won’t cry.

“i want to go back upstairs,” i tried, after my seventh or eighth count. taking in my dad’s hesitation to swallow around his juice. “uhm. i don’t feel so good.”

“are you sure?”

i know my parents. i know that they asked my therapist to make sure i wasn’t… critical. what a bad way to talk about it. i’ve never been suicidal— ironically, i’ve always been the type of person to think it’s rather useless. i want to live. i like living. dying always sounds so painful. i like listening to music. and drawing. and writing. even if it’s hard and difficult when i’m like this.

i know that my therapist asking me if i’m safe meant that my parents asked her to make sure. and what i told her was true: i’ve never been suicidal. it’s the only thing “left” to truly say i have depression. it’s the only box left unchecked.

just because you’ve never had it doesn’t mean you won’t. and i want to check, because i obviously don’t want you to die. i look forward to talking to you all the time. you’re one of the funniest clients i’ve ever met, and so interesting.

probably not a good idea to be called interesting by a psychologist.

the hotel room we have is twenty floors up. nineteen, actually, because this hotel skips level 13. superstition? it’s so fun. my dad and i snickered about it the first time we spotted it. twenty floors up. the window opens. it’s too cold to do that, but it does.

i made eye contact with my dad across the table in the lounge. i know my dad. i know how he thinks. he’s always telling me to pay rent if i’m gonna read all of his thoughts so clearly.

my dad is aging right in front of me.

and he is absolutely terrified of letting me go upstairs alone.

“i’m sure,” i told them.

my dad swallowed slowly. he struggled to pull out his key card from his wallet, taking his time. i’m not sure if he was taking his time because his fingers don’t move as quickly anymore. i’m not sure if he was taking his time because our fingers were red from the cold that we’re not accostumed to. i’m not sure if i was reading too much into it.

i took the keycard. i went to the elevator. i pressed the button.

the live music really sucked.

and i thought about my parents. sitting there. wondering.

before the doors of the elevator opened, i went back to the lounge. i sat through the aggravating music, and played with the bottle cap of my mom’s barely-touched diet pepsi bottle. we’re a coke zero family.

when an ambulance stopped in front of our hotel, glittering red and blue lights into the lobby, my parents said nothing.

and it said everything.

[the-ghost-of-jason-todd]

infecting you with the brain worms. also imagine a normal human getting isekaied to a fantasy world, getting sick and slowly getting over it, if the sicknesses change their immune system so much, would there be a point where they aren’t considered human anymore? while we’re at it, what’s the medical implications for hanahaki disease? surgeries? dungeon meshi has mana sickness, owl house has the common mold, so it got me thinking of sicknesses very specific to magic users. like a fire user getting a fever that’s permanent after a while, their magic altering their immune system so much

ngl i think i've been infected for a long time, anon XD

lot of deep worldbuilding you could get into here... like "what makes a human human" sort of deep. ship of theseus deep. plus the question on top of how much of our actual, real life biology is due to the influence of microscopic creatures that we can't even see? *chef's kiss*

you know how your gut biology can influence your mood/cravings/etc? imagine it's like that, but with the influence of something magical or ethereal in nature.

plus the double whammy of maybe they change so much that it's impossible to get back home...

i've seen a lot of fics where surgery can cure or cause hanahaki to go into remission, with various side effects tbh. i think my favorite take on it is that surgery only helps up to a point--if the roots get deep enough, it WILL kill you to excise it with a blade, just like any tumor. i also like the idea that once the love is reciprocated, the plant takes time to shrink down and loosen its hold, tho i don't see that much in fics. hurt/comfort, my beloved.......

also ngl, dungeon meshi needs to come back here and EXPLAIN MAGIC BETTER. like is dark magic forbidden just because it's old?? is it legit dangerous, or is it outdated??? because they CLEARLY have what could be considered necromancers who can LEGALLY raise people from the dead (tho only in dungeons, admittedly). so what gives?? why, exactly, is what marcille did so dangerous? I have my guesses, but I demand to know!! that and the mana sickness, like... is learning magic like flexing a muscle and you just have to strengthen your ability and the mana sickness goes away?? can marcille get mana sickness still?? what would it take?? also laios with a bloody nose.... i am looking respectfully (maybe)

this was what i loved about BNHA tho, like for real. there was SO MUCH depth to quirks and their consequences (thank you, deku, for prattling about them all the time, seriously), and you could dig even deeper in fan works. like.... mr. nitroglycerine sweat. and how he can make himself sick if he accidentally ingests his own sweat. the strengths and weaknesses, the uniqueness of them all. iida using juice as fuel LMFAO. loved that so much??

but more generally... imagine chlorokinesis users who can be affected by blight, or root rot, or fungus because their bodies have started to take on plant-like traits. god, or imagine this: a chlorokinesis user who can't take off their shoes and socks because their feet have started growing roots into them LMFAO. psychic users who always feel others' symptoms as if they're their own. diseases that can pass across a psychic link!! immunizations against psychic viruses that alter your brain chemistry!!

good SHIT, man

[tumblunni]

Today’s completely random headcanon out of nowhere: what if lumis and umbra from yugioh are married

yknow.. that random duo of one episode villains in Battle City that tried to throw people off a skyscraper

i just think the whole matching mask halves and sun and moon naming would be cute as a couple thing. its a good aesthetic! don’t waste it on bad guys!

...unless theyre a couple AND bad guys. just sayin!!!!!!!!!

also HUH via the wikia i found out that technically we see them unmasked and technically we do not? I never saw this episode as a kid but apparantly there’s some other members of the same evil organization that have a shorter appearance in a previous episode and look REALLY alike! but the subject is up for debate in the fandom because the english dub gave them the same voiceactors but some sort of japanese interview says otherwise?

i dunno, I’m kinda in the camp of ‘unintentional coincidence’. The shorter one looks very similar in both duos but lumis seems to have widely spaced eyes and this npc dude has very close ones. And the taller dude seems to be skinnier and have a different shaped chin. Then again yugioh has a lot of animation errors so its equally possible that they could fuck up drawing the same characters OR accidentally give a similar design to an npc.

*le shrug*

ANYWAY now i wanna draw some married dudes who have cool masks...maybe a special move where they fuse together SU-style with the power of love.. except they turn into a dragon... man what sort of story could i even fit dragon love men into? I DONT CARE I WILL FIND A WAY

something like a combination of these aesthetics perhaps? (first one is bayonetta concept art)

im thinking like a two headed dragon but both heads are just faceless spiky halo arrays similar to if cracking dragon’s whole body was the head. and then they’re joined to a wyverny two legged body with the humanoid face for its heart. Just the one face, in a single colour, but still with the angry/happy tragedy mask halves on each side. and i dunno maybe its a translucent red or blue glowy crystal? and then the headless heads would gain the colourscheme that the masks used to have. Also possibly give it a rotating hula hoop thing of feather-shaped light protrusions instead of actual wings. (think arceus?)

i think thatd be a cool dragon of gay pride, right?

hmm tho i actually did have two ocs ideas once who were a lesbian couple whose souls were fragments of an ancient sealed chaos goddess. cos it was an idea i thought up while i was depressed it was a dumb plot about them having to die to ressurect the goddess and save the world and then the goddess was always sad cos she remembered being in love but was forever alone now and her love was technically ‘fake’? like man wow internalized homophobia much. so yeah would probably work INFINATELY BETTER as just “hey yo here’s your special love power that you can use whenever you want and its not a permenant death to your entire soul”. And have this dual headed dragon aesthetic to make it clear there’s no singular personality consuming the other and no this is fueled by good and healthy romance dynamics like all fusion powers always should be! ...i say as if turning into a giant mask dragon is a common circumstance in relationships,lol

SO YEAH help me out guys! which would somehow be more romantic/cuter as a giant badass dragon superpower? two dudes or two ladies? also should i roll with that plot of them being destined gods/goddesses sealed in human form? i was thinking of making that concept part of the “dark pokemon” game idea i had, like u have to search for the legendary monsters to solve some crisis and in the end it all looks tragic cos the last one was killed centuries ago but hey it turns out two of your party members were that deity all along and didnt know it. That’s weirdly romantic right? its not just me? thats romantic? Being A Cool Dragon Together Hangin Out In Th Sky. spice up ur valentines day by transmogrifying into a god. just do it

[talesofstyles]

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain. 

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder. 

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment. 

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car. 

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.” 

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later. 

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald. 

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.” 

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later. 

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks. 

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off. 

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.” 

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors. 

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve. 

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING. 

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head. 

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her. 

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals. 

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom. 

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife. 

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process. 

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop. 

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache. 

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink. 

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers. 

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest. 

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room. 

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward. 

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket. 

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages. 

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side. 

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket. 

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door. 

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.” 

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going. 

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him. 

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear. 

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat. 

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes. 

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt. 

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige. 

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down. 

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.” 

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching. 

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

[artemstellation]

tot men + cooking.

artem wing...

.... is a wonderful cook! it's canon in-game that he's good at cooking, so expect him to whip up a whole five course platter for you if you allow him to (please don't, you'll never be able to finish it without crying tears of joy because it's that good-).

if you're good at cooking yourself, the two of you have a blast with cooking dates! he enjoys making little challenges with you, such as making each other dishes that remind you of the other or baking things that you think they would like!

on your days off, expect to wake up to a whole meal in the mornings if you wake up late. will cook you the most bomb soup to help you get better when you're sick (give him a lot of cuddles and kisses to thank him!!). once you have a taste of his cooking, you just can't stop, and honestly, if he weren't an attorney, he'd definitely have a career in the culinary industry.

marius von hagen...

.... cannot cook to save his life. do not trust this man in the kitchen. he can and he will burn your building down accidentally (sorry marius stans, i'll make you one where he cooks in apology later).

most of the time, it's either his chef cooking, or you, if you can (then he'll just keep you locked in a back hug or whine about wanting to taste whatever you're making).

if neither is possible, then takeout all the way baby! just watch, mans is going to get you a whole buffet as takeout from the most expensive restaurant he can lay his eyes on because he wants to flex like the peacock he is (sorry, not sorry).

if the both of you can't cook, then he will sign up both of you for cooking classes (and he didn't even ask). just straight up drags you to said classes and then tells you that you're stuck with him as his partner and his moral support. good luck with surviving, bestie.

luke pearce...

.... can cook just enough to not starve. he's to be trusted in the kitchen, but not too trusted either (sorry luke stans). he makes simple dishes, nothing too complicated on his own.

however, the story's different if he has someone to cook with. then he'll try his hand on one of the more complex recipes! works his hardest, and gives the most brilliant smile when it turns out good!

makes you some of your comfort foods (like that tomato omelette, i wanna eat it) if he can. works hard to learn and get better at some of your favourite recipes so he can surprise you! (please give him all the hugs and smooches that you can because precious-) loves seeing your smiles when he blows you away with his improved cooking.

vyn richter...

.... is more of a baking person than a cooking person, but he's still pretty good at it! he knows a few complex recipes that you might not, and he's more than happy to teach you those (and he finds an excuse to spend time with you, too).

can be trusted in the kitchen, but cannot be trusted enough to the point that you're sure he won't start a food fight. always manages to sneak up on you and get at least one ingredient on your face (get him back when you're done. he's caught totally off guard).

bakes a lot of things in his free time for you! his favourite things to makes are cookies and macaroons, so expect a lot of them to be a part of your gifts from him. is always trying out new stuff to bake and cook, and calls you over each time to be the first one to taste them and give him some feedback on them. loves your expressions when you're eating his food.

✦ notes; marius and luke stans, i am sorry, but also not sorry (if that makes sense). i am squeezing out creative brain juice because my brain is overflowing with ideas. have a tiny bit more lu jinghe content because i think bullied him a little too much in this post. anyway, artem's the only one that you can fully trust in the kitchen (totally not because i'm being biased). 👍

- rine

© 2021 rine @artemstellation. do not plagarize or repost without due permission.

[tintentrinkerin]

Title: Pink Pulse

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Rating: explicit

Tags: Bottom!Dean, Top!Sam, Witch OC, Magic, Demon Blood!Sam, Horny Idiots, Breeding kink, Dean has a magic pussy, slightly crack!fic

Summary: Dean wants to piss Ruby off and reclaim Sam as his. During a bender he meets Mandrake, a shady witch who offers him help.

Word Count: 4.5k

READ UNDER THE CUT OR ON AO3

When Dean Winchester regains his consciousness on this cold and foggy morning, he doesn’t really expect a surprise. He’s been drinking for a day… or maybe two, after Ruby, this damn bitch!, showed up again to lure Sam back. It’s her usual fucked up game, she does that when the angels aren’t looking. Sometimes, Dean knows it, Sam secretly calls her and when he sneaks out, Dean knows where’s going. And when he returns he stinks of blood and skank.

Dean’s head hurts like crazy. It takes several attempts for him to roll from his stomach to his back and then get a grip on the dumpster he’s lying next to and swing his body up. His feet feel jiggly and his stomach seems to be empty but he’s nauseous as hell. He hasn’t been robbed, that’s a good thing, his phone, his purse, even the keys to the Impala are still in his pockets. He checks his phone.

It’s 7.38am. Okay, great. He might’ve just passed out a few hours and if he’s super lucky, Baby is parked in close distance.

His phone shows several texts from Sam and from someone who calls themselves “Mandrake”. Doesn’t ring a bell. Not yet. Rather, Dean browses Sam’s texts which tone switches from mopey, to angry, to frightened and then there are over thirty missed calls. Holy shit, was Dean really gone for just a night? Dean tumbles out the alley and winks at the bright daylight he’s now exposed to. He might call Sam before he really freaks out. Some memories flare up in his brain about the damn fight, and that Dean insisted Sam was caught by Ruby so easily because he was underfucked and needed pussy a little too bad. He still thinks he’s right.

There is something to that word. Pussy. Dean loves saying it, Dean loves eating it, Dean loves everything revolving around it, but when he accused Sam of being a horny underfucked loser craving some, he felt bitter about it. A feeling that he had earlier, before Sam went to Stanford. Now Dean is a grown ass man with the Apocalypse on his heels, he has more pressing issues - or so it seems.

He phones Sam while stumbling through the alleys and trying to find Baby. Damn. His pants feel weird. Like he has a wedgie. In the front.

“Dean! For fuck’s sake, where are you?!”

Dean stops in his tracks and scratches his crotch.

“Chill out, Sammy. I’ll find out where I am, I just need to find the damn car.”

“I was a second away from letting Castiel locate you.”

“Forget the damn angel, I’m on my way.”

Sam scoffs into the phone.

“You’re such an idiot. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

“No, no, I don’t. I thought you’re sucking pussy all night.”

Sam hangs up without another word.

There it is again, this fucking thought. That Sam could be out fucking Ruby while he’s been… what? What exactly happened between nightfall and now? There was a fight, not physical, but Dean has been so fucking close to slap the bitch across the face. Sam stopped him.

Dean finds the pub where he supposedly was drinking his anger away. It’s closed. The “Full Moon”. And it’s been a full moon last night. How damn right poetic. His phone rings.

“Yo, Sammy - wanna apologize and admit you’ve been eatin’ her all night?”

A female voice on the phone laughs. Dean frowns.

“Who’s this?”

“Mandrake. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember jack. Where’d you get my number?”

Dean knows, he should hang up. This is maybe a very bad idea. Give too much away. This woman sounds familiar but a lot of women do, he’s not exactly in celibacy since he’s back from Hell.

“I got it from you, idiot. And I got something else.”

Dean follows the main road for as long as he somehow feels he’s been here before. He surely didn’t drive far from the motel but far enough that Sam wouldn’t find him. This is so not usual for Dean. Being a mopey idiot? Yes. Getting drunk? Also very much yes. It itches in Dean’s pants and when he makes sure no one’s looking he sticks his hands in his boxers.

Holy shit. What the fuck.

Sam can’t focus. He sits at the motel room’s table, trying to do research, but he just can’t block out all of the things that distract him. The flickering TV. The humming of the air conditioning system. His fingernails clicking on his laptop’s keyboard. The thoughts. All of his thoughts combined as sinister and hilarious and frightening they are at the same time. Dean’s been gone for two damn nights. Okay, now he’s back, sitting on the sofa, manspreading. Only in his now deflated looking underwear. Watching something on TV that Sam can’t process. He sees the images, but his mind is racing like crazy around all the other things. The goosebumps on his own arms, the sound of his own breath. He feels the harsh and fast pumping of his heart, circulating his blood. He can feel his pupils dilate. And his legs won’t hold still. He has to move somehow.

Ruby’s blood wasn’t enough last time. The fuck wasn’t enough. Everything aches inside Sam. Anger is like a fist in his stomach but he isn’t quite sure if the anger is the fuel of everything.

He knows Dean hates it when he bounces like this, his legs are shaking and damn, something is pressing against the zipper of his jeans. Of course it’s not something. Thing is, he wants to ignore it.

Dean seems to be calm right now, but he’s sitting right under the air conditioning, the blow is ruffling his hair while he stares on the screen, his arms crossed, legs spread out. He scratches himself. There. Sam follows the movement and gulps.

And then, shit, Sam, stop fucking looking at your brother’s crotch! - but he can’t stop! - Dean isn’t scratching anymore. Two of his fingers press right between his thighs, the fabric rustles, and it turns wet. The fucking boxers get wet. Dean doesn’t even seem to notice, but he should. It’s his body! It’s his-

Sam can’t even think it without feeling a rush of hot blood and sharp imaginary knives stabbing his lower stomach. Pulse spikes up. Pupils dilated. Mouth waters. Sam tries to hide a grunt but he can’t.

“Sammy, you good?”, Dean asks, still rubbing his-

Sam looks at him. He must look like a drug addict in withdrawal. Well, maybe he is. He’s maybe addicted to- it’s all Ruby’s fault. She came when Dean died and she lured him in, now he can’t stop thinking of her warm salty blood in his mouth. Or his teeth on her skin. His tongue-

“Fuck.”

Dean looks irritated.

“Hey, look. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry, I don’t even remember most of the fight. It’s only twelve or thirteen days from now and I’m-- I’m normal again.”

Sam inhales. Dean’s scent was building over the last couple of hours and now it’s so thick, musky and intoxicating that it’s hard to ignore it.

“Shut up and take a shower.”

Dean now closes his legs and presses his hands on his thighs. He looks at Sam with furrowed eyebrows.

“There’s nicer ways to tell me I still stink of garbage.”

If it was only fucking garbage! Sam is so close to yell it, to jump up, throw the table over or punch a wall.

“You don’t stink.”

“Then what?”

Dean gets up and walks towards the table. His chest is heaving, Sam notices. Breathing heavy. Such a broad chest, covered in goosebumps. Sam feels incredibly sick all of a sudden.

“I can smell…”, Sam needs to cover his mouth and nose with his hand. The closer Dean comes the worse it gets.

“Now tell me already, if I don’t stink anymore what’s the problem?”

“Dean, I could smell a chipmunk’s fart from miles away, that is a problem.”

Sam needs to breathe. He jumps up and throws himself over to the window and opens it. He should’ve done that way earlier, he realizes. But Dean is behind him now.

“Unless we have chipmunks with flatulences in here, I still don’t have a clue what’s going on.”

Dean touches Sam’s shoulder. Adrenaline. Dopamine. Oh holy shit, the whole hormonal time bomb erupts inside Sam’s body. When he turns around, he’s sure he looks super frightening to Dean, but he can’t stop, won’t stop and pulls Dean close. Dean freezes. A shaky little laugh.

“Sammy… what…”

“I can smell your pussy”, Sam growls, his lips on Dean’s skin.

Dean doesn’t smell like a woman at all, everything about him is testosterone, if there wasn’t this tiny anomaly about him.

That he got himself hexed by a shady witch.

There’s no struggle against Sam’s force when he pushes Dean against the table and then -- as if he waited for it -- Dean hops on that table, opens his legs for Sam.

“What are you doing?”, he still asks, his green eyes big and glassy, lips a cute pout.

Sam has no answer to that than before: “Your smell drives me mad. I need…”

What does Sam need? His brother? His magical pussy? Or wouldn't it be easier to run away to mountains nearby and scream from the bottom of his lungs until he passed out?

Decisions, decisions.

Dean's face has the colour of fresh pink guava juice, his freckles pop, his eyes pop. His lips part for a second. His tongue flicks. No Sam knows exactly what he needs.

“Do you need it? My pussy?” Dean whispers. He slowly pulls his boxer briefs down to his ass but then Sam needs to help, Dean clings on him, Sam pulls. Dean lays across the - thank GOD, long table and is spread out like a delicious meal, while Sam frees Dean from the fabric. It's more ripping then pulling and Sam groans, shit, he's ripped them apart. But then, when Dean opens his legs even more, lying here on his back like a beetle, helpless and weirdly pliant, the odor of Dean's pussy makes Sam cuss and tumble.

“Fuck, Dean…”

“Huh? Not good?”

Sam is out of words, super-ego just logged out with an ‘I have no power here’ and damn right it doesn't!

Dean's pussy is perfect. Another grunt. Holy shit. Instead of an answer for Dean, Sam kneels between Dean's wonderfully wide spread legs. His brother is the definition of a bottom here. Just opening his legs for anyone. Even Sam. The smell is intense and rich, Sam knows it from the other women he's been with... but Dean has one perfect twist. He smells like Sam's brother, too. Musky and citric. And that makes Sam go lizard brain.

“I need to taste you.”

Dean now even slides closer, his legs lie on Sam's shoulder. Sam jerks up and leans over the table, over Dean's naked body. This pussy is just the material of Sam's wet dreams. His nose rubs Dean's skin under his belly button and Dean moans.

“Do it, Sammy. Fucking do it or I'll push your face in my pussy myself.”

Well. Not the worst threat he's ever received. Sam's hand trails between Dean's legs and when he feels the wetness, a fucking intense wetness that is spread all over. Even the thighs are a little glossy from Dean's fluids.

Sam needs to see. Going down, he pushes Dean's legs apart even wider and dives in between these legs. Pink and juicy, dripping wet. The smells almost knocks him out, makes his mouth water and a generous drop of drool falls from his lips. He cannot fucking take that anymore. And Sam pushes Dean closer to him, winds his arms under Dean's now trembling legs and -

Dean cries out, muscles flex, he kicks out, then sinks down again. Just one damn lick.

Sam is in such rage that he can't be fully a gentleman here and do everything slowly, patiently. He's hungry and his primal urge has taken over. Greedy, he licks up and down Dean's labia, tongue working and opening his brother's pussy up and Dean sounds so fucking hot. No girl or guy ever made him sound so needy and so desperate for a fuck. He tastes just as good as Sam imagines when he sucks the thick and sweet wetness from Dean's pussy, sucks on the folds while his fingers run up and down Dean's thighs and Sam needs one free hand now, his thumb rubbing just above the hood of the clit, other finger just teasing his entrance. Not really pushing it in, just a little rubbing while Sam sucks and licks and circles Dean's clit with his tongue.

Dean feels like he is losing his mind. Not only that Sam really is between his legs and gives him mind blowing oral sex, fuck, Dean loves it. He thought Sam was angry but the way he devoured Dean's pussy, anger was definitely gone. He can't stop moaning and winding and his hands in Sam's hair. When he looks down and sees his brother's face up and down, he looks very focused on what he's doing. And in Dean feelings build up, it's a heat and a tumbling, never felt like this.

In a moment of taking a deep breath and Sam looks up, Dean's juices run down his chin and in the collar of his shirt. “Dean, you taste so good…” he says and bites in Dean's thigh. Doesn't hurt. “Better than anything.”

Dean shudders. He needs more.

“Sammy, keep going.”

Sam smirks, his thumb circling Dean’s now swollen and hot clit, his whole pussy is slick with his wetness. No woman Sam ever had sex got that wet.

His thumb is gentle, a perfect rhythm of circling. Stopping. Circling. Stopping. Little pressure. Dean’s body feels on fire.

“Is that what the girls tell you when you go down on them?” Sam asks, his voice rustling leaves.

Dean can’t help but utter a short, almost hysterical laugh.

“I never really listened.”

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk, Sam clicks his tongue.

“You should’ve. Not only that. Listen to what they say but what-”

Sam finger slides in Dean’s wet pussy with one fast but well adjusted movement. Dean winds and arches his back. Tries to get Sam’s finger away and yet…

“-when they want to escape you, you’re doing it right.”

“Sam, for fuck’s sake! I had enough sex with enough people to know the god damn basics!”

But feeling it himself gives him a whole new sense for it. Sam’s finger moves, wet sounds, in and out and it takes not even a blink and Dean begs for more. Two fingers, holy shit, Sam’s fingers are thick and long and when he starts fucking Dean’s pussy with them while sucking on his clit, the impulse to turn on his stomach and either crawl away or present his naked ass to invite Sam to fuck him -- Dean wants both!

Sam’s ‘come hither’ movements tighten the knot in Dean’s stomach. That’s not what an orgasm feels like for him when he’s about to blow. This is so much deeper, feel tight and hot right up to his lower belly. The noises Sam makes as he sucks Dean’s clit are downright vulgar. And the faster Dean’s breath goes, the more he tries to wind away, Sam’s hand around his upper thigh is a bench vice - he won’t let Dean go. Not unless…

Dean can feel it. He whines “fuck, Sammy, ‘m gonna cum…” and this would be the same moment he came. If Sam just sucked his dick. But this is… slower. And Sam goes absolutely frantic, like a boxer he just goes for Dean’s weak spots and he has definitely found them now and he rubs Dean’s insides, sucks his clit, damn how big can such a tiny thing swell? And Dean fucks himself on these fingers, his rhythm clashes against Sam’s, the bigger the friction, the better. His fingers clench in Sam’s hair and then finally, Dean comes, he feels like exploding, black dots in his sight and he has to close his eyes. His heartbeat goes straight up to his throat, only faint moans, a ‘holy fu…’ but he can’t even finish a fucking curse. Sam won’t stop fucking him, but slower now, more gentle. His tongue presses against Dean’s clit. Dean feels Sam’s breath on his wet skin. Everything tingles still, Dean’s hornystupidmanbrain is on standby, extremities just twitch helplessly.

When Dean opens his eyes he only sees the dirty brown ceiling and the dim light.

“I need a smoke”, Dean blurts out. Oh, the sweet refusal to acknowledge what just happened.

“Fuck, you clenched so hard I thought you would break my fingers.”

Sam sounds so deep, so gravely. Does Ruby hear that a lot?

Dean laughs, trying not to choke on his jealousy. Sam just ate him out. His brother. Just. Ate. Him. Out! Dean feels like he took drugs, heavy, light, euphoric. Not tired. This doesn’t seem to end in a hangover.

“Sam. I really, really wanted that”, another stupid thing to stay. But Dean’s stupid, especially when things are about Sam.

Sam scoffs. “I guessed, otherwise you would’ve punched me to a pulp.”

“Damn right…”

Dean covers his face with his arm, the dim light is too much right now. His breath hasn’t even calmed down yet and somehow, he has to admit, he’s not satisfied. The climax gave him a solid blank for a couple seconds but even now he’s throbbing and wet, Sam’s spit hasn’t made him any drier.

Dean is still a powerhouse of sex, Sam can’t deny it. Resting between his legs doesn’t help but he doesn’t dare to get up and reveal that he is rock-hard and ready. Eating his brother out has been a wild ride already, something he maybe dreamed of as a teenager (but even then - who would imagine Dean as a girl?), of sucking him off like he saw when Dean brought a girl or a dude home. Sam needs to get himself up, slowly, Dean is lying there, arm covering his eyes, but a smile on his face. He grins like an idiot. It’s cute.

Silence.

Awkward.

Sam doesn’t know what to say now, he’s lost control, because his brother grew a pussy. How could you ever explain that? Gladly he doesn’t have to.

Dean gets up, his eyes look teary, but not in the sad I’m-about-to-cry way. He rather pulls Sam close and whispers, something so idiotic, something so innocent, and yet something that makes Sam’s boner grow even more.

“You didn’t even kiss me first.”

“Sorry”, Sam replies, he’s just as stupid.

Dean makes it easy for Sam, wrapping his arms around Sam’s neck and kissing him. This is just another short circuit for him and before Sam realizes what he’s doing, his vision turns red. His instincts and his lust are wired to the taste and smell of blood - and Ruby. This is not Ruby. Gladly, this is not Ruby. It’s Dean. The one he thought of when it first happened, the one he was mourning so deeply. Now he gets what he wants from the person he wants. Bingo.

His brother is heavy, but Sam’s strength is to be reckoned with these days. It’s easy to lift him up - Dean’s legs wind around his hips, his ass feels so great. Firm. Dean moans in his mouth when Sam throws him on one of the motel beds and follows, laying his full weight on his brother.

“Sammy…”

Damn, Dean’s fumbling on his zipper.

“You’re big.”

Scoff.

“Am I?”

“Yeah.” Dean looks really intrigued. Sam lets it happen. Dean slides a hand in his boxer briefs and squeezes his raging dick.

“Fuck. Dean.”

These big pleading eyes. Sometimes Dean looks at him like this. And he looks younger than Sam now. Needy. Small. Vulnerable. Sam can never say no when Dean looks like this. He kicks out of his jeans and Dean is so damn impatient. Fabric tears on the seams. Sam doesn’t care.

The way Dean strokes him, the close they are it would be easy, way too easy just to slide inside Dean. Feel his wetness, how tight. How hot. And greedy. Swallowing Sam’s cock like he did with his fingers. Dean stops him. Sam’s heart sinks. It hurts.

“Take everything off”, Dean just says, “I don’t want to feel like quick fuck-”

Sam just has to laugh.

“Never”, he vows and then pulls the shirt over his head and throws it over his shoulder.

The way he towers over Dean, ready to mount, he feels like a steam breathing monster. He really shouldn’t do that. He’s spiralling down to something he never wanted to be. But he can be with Dean this way. Just this once…?

More than once…?

Dean’s legs around his hips trap him now, he can feel the slick wet folds on his cock already and all he can do now is just thrust in. Around his fingers Dean already felt like heaven and hell on earth, but this. Sam hisses, he feels like growing fangs, he digs his teeth in Dean’s neck, he tastes salt and sweat, Dean whimpers but doesn’t complain.

“God… so deep…”, he says. Like he can’t believe it.

“Hurts?”

Dean makes a sound that says ‘nuh-uh’ and that’s enough for Sam. He even pulls Sam closer, his legs force his cock deeper inside this fucking wet and inviting pussy.

This is so much better than Ruby. He needs to fucking forget her. The deeper he sinks, the harder he thrusts and sweat runs down in his eyes and makes them sting, he forgets about what all of this could mean for them. He just wants to fuck Dean silly. And Dean clings on him like he’s drowning in this feeling, no matter how harsh Sam is. His hips are snapping, damn, it must hurt, right? He eventually slows down to kiss Dean sloppily and open mouthed, their moans intertwining and building a cacophony of sounds, loud and rough, soft at the same time. Sam manages to slow down a little and Dean relaxes.

“I want you to fuck me from behind”, Dean mumbles on Sam’s lips, trying to hide the fact he’s blushing deep.

Sam huffs.

“Yeah. Whatever you want.” Babe.

He almost called Dean babe. Sam winds out, slides out, winces. It feels so good, Dean’s so wet, Dean’s just perfect.

On all fours, arms spread out like a silly yoga pose, back stretched… Sam definitely dreamt of this more than once. This time he pushes in slowly, and Dean arches his back. His breath staggers, yelps. But yet again, after a second of adjusting, Dean starts moving. Fucking himself on Sam’s cock and saying such nasty, irritating, hot things. He mewls and begs for more and then.

“God, Sammy, cum inside me!”

Sam stops. Dean repeats. “Cum inside me!”

There’s no way Sam can deny him, he’s close since Dean started working him like he did it a thousand times already. Sam grips those hips tight, leaves white marks, then pink long traces of his fingernails as he snaps in Dean’s pussy, shit, these sounds. Juicy and full, and Dean’s longing. This is the best fuck. This is it. This is what will blow Sam’s mind for hours, the whole night. Days.

“You want me to breed you, big bro?”, he hears himself say, the animalistic side, awake, fully in rage makes him say it, he can’t stop. “You want me to pump my load in ya?”

Dean nods frantically, his mewling and crying is so pretty. He’s still bouncing on Sam’s cock, his wonderful, round and firm ass, perfect for slapping. And Sam does. Dean whimpers, “please, more, Sammy, more!”

Sam claws at Dean’s hair, pulls it, overstretching his neck. He’s so out of control he might fuck Dean all bruised and sore.

“Touch your clit, c’mon babe, rub it. Cum on my cock and you’ll get it. I’ll knock you up”, whoa.

Dean does it, his hand traces down his body and he starts rubbing his swollen, red, overstimulated clit, squeezes it between his fingers and starts rubbing, circling.. hard to find the thing that gets you going, right? But soon, Dean writhes even more, his voice turns higher. Legs start shaking. “I think I’m gonna-”

He cums on Sam’s cock, clenching and moaning, getting so wet it drenches Sam’s crotch and runs down both their legs. The feeling is amazing, Sam’s checked out once again, babbling “Good boy, good boy” and then shoots a generous load of cum, he tumbles and hips snap and snap, until he’s finished.

They collapse, sweaty and gasping for air, Dean makes incoherent post orgasm noises.

Another period of silence that is only interrupted by the usual motel room sounds that creep back in Sam’s ears. He wants to pull out but Dean claws on his arm, his legs trapping Sam’s.

“No, no. Not yet. Please not yet.”

Sam sinks back and gives Dean what he needs, the closeness. Even though after some time fluids will dry and get cold. It will get sticky and that’s when Sam will have the urge to shower.

Not with Dean. They stay like this for minutes before Dean turns around, Sam lets him. They lay beside each other and the whole scene is hilariously and bizarrely romantic. They keep kissing and Dean’s like the devourer of Sam’s kisses and affections.

Dean rubs his nose on Sam’s, humming. He seems so proud of himself, so satisfied, but then his eyes widen.

“Oh. Shit.”

He gets up on one elbow and looks at the mess they made. Cum is leaking out of him and he wipes it from his thigh. Tastes it.

“Dean, really?”

“Hey. It’s only natural. Have you never been curious?”

Sam shrugs. “Yeah I was, but I never thought you would be.”

“You know this breeding kink thing. I did that before but I- I mean. Hot fantasy, works with anal but… Do I need an emergency pill now?”

Dean’s face is deadpan serious. Sam clears his throat to hide that he actually wants to laugh. How could he know?

“Just to be sure, I would say a magical pussy isn’t spunk proof. We could get to a pharmacy ...”

Dean falls silent and leans into Sam. There’s so many things unsaid and he’s not in the mood to unpack it. Sam is reluctant either. It’s enough for him to hold Dean close, pet his hair and keep kissing him over and over until they feel in the mood again. That Dean’s been hexed is a secondary matter. They will enjoy it as long it lasts.

Sam goes down on Dean, even when he’s still leaking cum, he just swallows it, he doesn’t mind. And when they get tangled into each other, both thinking ‘well, if he needs an emergency pill we’ll make it worth it’.

Consequences? Which consequences?

Apocalypse might come, they might enjoy every fucked up delightful thing along the way.

[fallingfor-fics]

Teachers Pet-chapter 19: the universe

All chapters

chapter 18

Nothing crazy happened in DADA today and I was heading to potions with Draco, we were going over the properties of Amortentia in hopes to brew it perfectly with no mishaps. I was also a bit worried, I was aware that the way it smells is different for each person, and I was afraid to find out what mine smelt like. We walked into class and took our seats, still quizzing each other on each step. 

The bell rang and everyone was seated waiting for instructions. "Open your books to page 324 and begin prepping your tables as usual, all the ingredients are here and you know where your supplies are, get started and let me know if you have any questions, please do not make me have to take my time to clean up any messes." he said coldly and sat back down in his chair. I went up and got the cauldron and our ingredients. "Ok Y/n would you like to do the honors and I'll stir it this time?" Draco asked smiling "If you really trust me then yes" I said laughing, I worked on this for so long with Snape so I should be able to do it perfectly! I just needed to focus and not overthink it, it was a simple potion and if Draco can do it, so can I. I added peppermint flowers and leaves, powdered moonstone, and Draco stirred between each teaspoon, I then sprinkled in the rose thorns and placed in the Ashwinder eggs. Draco watched closely as I did so making sure I was getting everything correct. After letting it sit we uncovered it and stirred it counterclockwise and it took on its pearl sheen. I smiled wide and refrained from jumping up and down. "Hell yes" I whispered to Draco "We did it!" he said high fiving me. I looked up at Snape and we made eye contact. I motioned to the cauldron and smiled, to which he returned with a very small faint one and turned back to his work. I felt butterflies again and a sense of joy that I succeeded for him again.

"Ok now take a whiff Y/n'' Draco said, "What? no you first" I said afraid of what may happen. "Ok ok fine." he leaned over and took in a light sniff, I looked at him expectantly, "Well?" I questioned looking at him thinking of what it smelt like "Hmm it smells sweet like warm cookies and pumpkin juice" he said with a confused look, "ha you know who likes pumpkin juice?" I said teasing, "Who?" he questioned seriously trying to figure out who it was, "Harry" I said smiling. "Oh buzz off Y/n It certainly does not smell like Potter, that's absolutely revolting" he said a little too defensive, I shrugged my shoulders and giggled, "Your turn! Better hope it doesn't smell like Filch!" he said trying to tease me like I did him, I cringed at the idea and leaned over the cauldron I took a deep breath preparing myself, I closed my eyes and took in a small whiff, "Well what do you smell?" Draco said, waiting. I opened my eyes and took it in, "Um, just pine trees and rain" I said lying, I took another whiff and the scent of old leather shoes, parchment, and firewhiskey filled my nose, I closed my eyes once more taking it in and letting it linger, "I'm gonna use the restroom" I said to Draco, walking past Snape not bothering to ask and exiting the class, I quickly walked outside, shaking hands and began to take deep breaths, counting to ten and doing everything in my power to keep the tears that brimmed at the edges of my eyes in. I can't. I couldn't deal with this right now, none of this made any sense. A hot tear ran down my cheek and I quickly swiped it away. No not right now, not here. I closed my eyes shut and the smell lingered in my brain. How could this be possible? I leaned over my hands on my face, trying to slow my heart back down. How could it smell like him?

"Mr. Malfoy where did Ms. L/n just run off too?" Snape asked, noticing she darted from the room. "She said she had to use the restroom, I'm guessing it was an emergency." Draco stated. "Yes, well pour the potion into a vial and get to cleaning up" he ordered the boy and walked out of his room.

I looked to the sky again wanting to scream at the universe. Of all the people in the world. There had to be something wrong with the potions? Or my nose? There's no possible way this was real? I mean there's no way he's- I began crying at the thought that the one person for me was the one person I couldnt have. "This was just supposed to be some silly little crush and now I've just found out my whole future" I sighed to myself. I refuse to believe it, I must have it mistaken, I mean lots of people probably smell like this, its very popular scents. I thought as I wiped my tears, the pressure was getting to me and I couldn't help it. There was a light mist falling and my hair grew a tad frizzy and my skin damp. "Ms. L/n what's going on?" I stood up straight at the sound of his voice. No. why is he out here what's he doing? "Nothing, I'm fine I'll be back in a minute" I said, trying my best to sound like I hadn't been crying. Now wasn't the time I needed him here to comfort me, I wanted more than anything to run and hug him and let him hold me in his arms, but the thoughts of what this all meant were reminding me of why I couldnt and why I'd never be able to. "Did Mr. Malfoy say something?" he pressed on "What? No, I said I'm fine" I said sniffling quietly and still not turning to look at him, "You can't just run out of class Y/n, what happened?" he said in a more stern but soft voice walking closer to me. "I just needed some air, that's all I felt l-lightheaded" I said, tears forming again as I thought about the scent that was now growing closer to me. "Do you need to go to the infirmary?" he asked, slowly growing closer. "No, I'm fine" I said thinking about what the hell I'm going to do with this information. I mean what does this mean? Am I gonna be alone? Will it change once these feelings pass and I can find someone else? I knew the answers to these, but I wasn't going to accept there was nothing I could do.

"Y/n tell me what's the matter?" he said putting his hand on my arm and turning me to face him, I looked down tears still flowing down my face, this situation was becoming all too familiar. Why did we keep finding ourselves here? "Y/n." he said, wanting me to spill my heart out like id done in the tower, but I wasn't going to, I couldn't, "Y/n come on." he said in a calm tone. I looked up to him wiping my tears and then looked off to the side. "I can't, it's none of your business." I said in a calm but stern tone. "You said we were friends right? So tell me what troubles you or else I may need to inform Albus." he said, not taking his gaze from me. I looked up at him "Are you going to continue to threaten me with my godfather everytime I dont tell you something?" I said upset he was using this factor against me, "As long as it works yes" he said with a slight smirk. "When you brew Amortentia what do you smell?" I asked looking at him in his eyes, they flashed with a sense of regret and he looked away for a moment "I don't see how that matters?" he said looking back at me. "Well when I did it, I smelt the same someone I was troubled over at the tower, and I'm not sure what kind of sick joke the universe keeps playing, but i'm not gonna be able to withstand the...humiliation any longer.'' I spat out getting more frustrated and another tear falling. He sighed and looked at me, "No don't say anything, I need to get back to class, just pretend this never happened ok?" I said wiping my tears and looking up at him. His hair was lightly dusted with mist and his face looked sadder than normal, he looked empathetic and concerned, his skin beautifully painted with the damp water and his dark eyes clear through the mist. He looked so handsome. I walked past him and headed back inside not wanting to risk him reading my thoughts and picking up on my emotions and what was causing them.

   Draco didnt question anything and after class I went to visit Albus before dinner. I needed family right now and some of his wise words. I waited outside his office and it opened up. I walked in and was greeted by the kind old man. "Ahh evening dear, how are you?" he said smiling as I just silently walked over and hugged him, "Oh whats wrong my child? Bad day?" I laughed lightly and let go, he sat down in his chair, hands crossed as I paced back and forth. "You could say that." I said sarcastically. "We brewed Amortentia in potions today" I said slowly walking around his office. "Oh and how did that go?" he said innocently, I know he knows everything, so I know he knows I didn't have the easiest time. "I just feel like the whole universe is against me you know?" I asked laughing. "Yes I'm aware of the feeling" he said smiling still. I went and sat down, my feet draped over the arm of the chair. "Is it possible someones cursed me?" I said looking at him. "Possible, but unlikely" he said offering me a lemon drop. I took it and popped it in my mouth. "Well if karmas real, what did I do to deserve this punishment?" I questioned looking up at the ceiling. "Well what happened that you believe is a punishment?" he asked patiently. I looked at him and swung my legs back over to face him. "I smelled the potion, and it told me that i'm never gonna be happy" I said shrugging "Do smells talk to you often y/n? He said grinning through his half moon spectacles. "Haha you know what I mean." "Well how can you be certain? Is the person dead?" he asked looking at me. "No" I said in a small tone. "Is the person in Azkaban?" I looked at him noticing what he was doing "Nooo." He placed his hands on his desk and leaned forward a bit, "then how can you be sure?" he questioned. I pondered for a moment, "You don't understand, I literally can't be with this person, they'd never feel the same, and it just won't work." I said sighing, "Well the universe is never against you my dear, it may feel so, but everything that happens, no matter good or bad, happens for a reason. And the universe has a plan, so if it wanted you to know your person is easily accessible, for lack of better words, then it would have. Never underestimate its powers." I listened deeply and took in everything he said. "So you're saying it is possible this may not be as irrational as it seems?" I said still confused "Im saying its more than possible." I smiled up at him and walked around his desk hugging him. "Thank you" I said smiling and waving as I headed to leave for dinner.

[justlookfrightened]

Special delivery

Takes place in fall of Bitty’s junior year

Holster balanced the stack of boxes on his arm while he turned to shove the door closed with his foot.

“Rans, how much protein powder did you order?” he said, carrying the boxes towards the coffee table. “Like, a year’s supply?”

“That’s not all protein powder,” Ransom said. “The boxes aren’t all the same.”

“I did order tape,” Holster said. “And extra sheets. I forgot that I cut that one set up to make a toga last year.”

“And I got a new set of slides,” Ransom said. “I left mine at home by mistake.”

“You’ve been showering at Faber barefoot?” Holster turned back from the junk drawer with a utility knife and raised both eyebrows. “That is seriously disgusting, bro. We could have like, gone to Target or something.”

Ransom shrugged.

“I didn’t catch anything,” he said. “I don’t think.”

“Better you than me,” Holster said, inserting the tip of the knife into the tape that held the top box closed.

He slit the tape and pulled the box open. It was the smallest one, and kind of light, so maybe Ransom’s slides? He pushed the plastic packing material out of the way and to find a box of condoms.

“Ransom, are these yours?” he said, suddenly feeling a little sick. Sure, Ransom dated around, but an economy-size box of condoms? Maybe he ordered them for the Haus. They’d be good to have around, especially during kegsters. Encouraging good choices and all that shit.

“What?” Ransom peered into the shipping carton. “Trojans? No. I use Durex.”

“Right,” Holster said, stifling the giggle that wanted to bubble up. He knew that. He’d seen the box -- a normal-size box -- in the attic. “I thought maybe you got them, just, you know, to have around. In case someone ends up hooking up.”

“Like put out a bowlful during a party?’ Ransom said. “Sounds like something Shitty would do.”

“That doesn’t make it a bad idea,” Holster said.

“True,” Ransom said. “But I didn’t order them, and you didn’t order them. Who did?”

Holster flipped the top of the box back to read the address label.

“Eric Bittle … Bitty? Why would he need condoms? He hasn’t gone out with anyone since that rugby guy we screwed hin with last year, and that never went anywhere,” Holster said.

“Maybe he’s got a secret life, dude,” Ransom said.

“Like he’s getting out there without us knowing?” Holster said. “How? With who?” “He was away that last weekend before the home opener,” Ransom said.

“He was visiting that cousin, he said,” Holster said.

“He said,” Ransom said.

“You don’t really think … I mean, after screw last year I was pretty sure Bits was y’know, inexperienced,” Holster said.

“You know what Shitty says about virginity being a construct,” Ransom said.

“I didn’t say he was a virgin,” Holster said. “But speaking of Shitty … he and Bitty are close, right? Maybe it was Shitty, and he sent them to Bits. For the Haus. Like he knows Bitty wouldn’t hog them all himself.”

“I think Shitty was closer to Lardo than anybody,” Ransom said. “Except maybe Jack.”

“But he wouldn’t send a box of condoms to Lardo when he’s been pining after her all this time. That would be a little weird.”

“It’s Shitty,” Ransom said. “A little weird is his brand.”

“Whatever,” Holster said. “The problem is what we do now.”

“With what?”

“Unless you have a roll of that Amazon tape, Bitty’s gonna know we opened it and saw what was inside,” Holster said. “Think he’s going to be pissed?”

“Who’s this ‘we’ you speak of?” Ransom said. “I’m not losing pie privileges.”

“Some d-partner you are,” Holster said.

No, man, you're not thinking clearly,” Ransom said. “If he’s mad at both of us, then neither of us get pie. If he’s just mad at you, I get pie. I bring it to the attic, and you can have some.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” Ransom said. “You’re my partner. Well, depending on the kind. And if Bitty lets me leave the kitchen with it. But sure.”

“Well, for now I’m just going to put this in his room,” Holster said. “Maybe he’ll be flustered enough to never mention it. But if he does figure out who opened it, I can chirp him to hell and back. It’s a win either way.”

****

Bitty saw the box on his bed as soon as he dropped his bookbag.

He had been about to strip out of his jeans, pull some shorts on and start a pie, but there the Amazon box, tape slit neatly down the middle.

“Oh, lord,” he said, tiptoeing towards his bed like he could sneak up on the box.

It didn’t have to be the condoms he ordered, he reasoned. He hadn’t ordered anything else, but maybe someone else did. Maybe Jack sent him more French picture books, or his mother sent another sweater. But why would the box be open?

Maybe it was something from someone in the Haus. Maybe Chowder’s aunt had sent the shark cookie cutters he kept talking about, and he left them for Bitty. Sure.

Nope, the label clearly had his name on it. Bitty pulled the flap back, and sure enough, there was the box of Trojans nestled in plastic padding.

Fuck. All he’d wanted was to be prepared if Jack was able to sneak a visit to the Haus sometime. Sometime when everyone else was not around and he could get to Bitty’s room unseen. Sure, maybe 36 condoms was optimistic. So sue him. Once he and Jack got together, he figured out that he liked sex.

Bitty left the box where it was and stalked to his bedroom door. When he opened it, Chowder was just heading out of his room.

“Chowder, sweetheart, you didn’t by any chance put an Amazon box in my room, did you?”

“No,” Chowder said. “Wasn’t me. Is there a mistake or something?”

“Only in having packages sent here,” Bitty muttered.

Aloud, he said, “Do you have any idea who might have delivered it? Did you see anyone?”

“Um, no?” Chorder said, his face screwed up in thought. “Wait a minute -- when I got home a little while ago, Ransom and Holster were both heading down the hall toward the attic stairs. I thought it was weird that they’d both be using the hall bathroom at the same time, but I thought maybe one was waiting for the other one? Or whatever. It’s Ransom and Holster, you know?”

Bitty gave a curt nod.

“I know,” he said. “It’s Ransom and Holster.”

Chowder clattered down the stairs, no doubt off to meet Farmer, and Bitty went back in his room and closed the door to consider his options.

Option one was to simply never speak of it. Maybe they -- or one of them, but it didn’t really matter because they were both there in the hall -- maybe they simply opened the package by mistake, realized it, and put it in his room to avoid any further embarrassment on any of their parts.

Bitty was an adult man, he reasoned. He was allowed to have a sex life. His captains wouldn’t argue with that. Heck, they’d tried (and failed miserably) to facilitate it. The question was whether they could accept him having a sex life and not sharing the deets.

Option two was to confront them with the open box and ask who they thought they were, going through his mail. Mail tampering was a crime, wasn’t it? Maybe that didn’t extend to package deliveries, but the principle was the same. He could tell them that if they breathed one word about it -- to him or anyone else -- they could say goodbye to pie for the rest of the semester.

That option had its appeal, but it might do nothing more than show Ransom and Holster that that this was a sensitive topic for Bitty. Doing that would be like putting a big red button in the middle of his forehead that said, “Push me.” They wouldn’t be able to resist.

So back to option one. He wouldn’t say anything if they didn’t.

****

For a while, the topic of the Amazon delivery that mysteriously made its way -- opened -- to Bitty’s room didn’t come up.

Bitty could have forgotten it, almost. Maybe he would have, if he didn’t notice Holster shooting him a curious glance when he announced he was going to spend the day in the library on a Sunday. Or if Ransom didn’t ask him -- twice -- if he’d figured out what his type was, so he and Holster could do a better job of hooking him up for Winter Screw this year.

So the box of condoms, now safely squirreled away at the back of his closet, didn’t tickle his brain much. Or at least its manner of arrival didn’t, not until Ransom and Holster started planning the post-midterms kegster.

“So,uh, you have anything to contribute, Bitty?” Ransom asked over breakfast a couple of das before the party. He had his laptop open and the party planning spreadsheet pulled up.

“Well, I was planning on making a few batches of cookies,” Bitty said. “And maybe some brownies … blondies if you think they’d go over. But no hand pies. They take too much work and no one appreciates them properly at a kegster.”

“I got all that,” Ransom said.

“He meant, like, what maybe Shitty suggested?” Holster asked.

“Oh, no, I am not doing that,” Bitty said. “I don’t mind making some special brownies for Shitty every now and again, when he asks and when he supplies the weed. But not for a party. I don’t want anyone to get confused or not know and end up high when they’re not expecting it. And I don’t want a reputation as that kind of a baker.”

“Wait … you’ve made Shitty pot brownies?” Holster said. “And you didn’t give us any?”

“It was his weed, Holster,” he explained again. “And it was over the summer, when I came up to stay with Jack. Y’all weren’t even around.”

“Jack has had pot brownies in his kitchen?” Holster asked, incredulous.

“No,” Bitty said. “I spent a day in Cambridge with Shitty, too. Lardo was there too if you don’t believe me.”

“See?” Ransom said.

“Fine,” Holster said. “But Bits, we’re thinking maybe Shitty reminded you to make sure everyone has a chance to be protected, y’know, in case the opportunity arises.”

“Protected?” Bitty said, feeling a bit nauseous.

“And lubricated,” Ransom said. “Just a little.”

“Just a little lubricated?” Bitty said. “I thought he left y’all the recipe for tub juice.”

“He did,” Ransom said. “And that’ll make you a lot lubricated, but not necessarily in a safe way.”

“Look, Bits,” Holster said. “We know about the box of Trojans you got. We figured maybe Shitty suggested that we put them out for parties, y’know, to help people make better decisions. Seemed like a Shitty thing to do.”

Bitty paused. He thought about going with it. Fluffing it off on Shitty trying to lecture the team all the way from Cambridge. But if he did that, he’d be playing into the false idea that Ransom and Holster had, the idea that in addition to looking twelve years old when he stood next to his huge and buff teammates, he was as inexperienced as a child. And he would have to give up the condoms he got for when Jack visited.

“No,” he finally said. “I bought those. For myself.”

“Bits, you don’t need a condom when you’re by yourself,” Holster said.

“I said I bought them for myself, not that I was going to use them by myself,” Bitty said. “And I’ll thank you not to go through my mail next time. I was willing to believe it was an accident, but here you are trying to get me to give up my property.”

“They’re condoms, Bitty,” Holster said. “Not the deed to Boardwalk.”

“Not the point.”

“How about this?” Ransom said. “You let us put the condoms out, because the more I think about it, it is a good idea. We keep whatever is left over in a stash for the Haus -- a stash you can use too if you want. You can take the money to cover the cost from the fine jar. Whether you use it to buy condoms or not … well, we won’t know, because we learned our lesson about checking the names on packages. What do you say?”

“Fine,” Bitty said. “If you insist.”

“Great,” Holster said. “Bring them down early so we can tear the strips apart.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n.”

The whole thing was ridiculous, Bitty thought, as he put down a full tray of cookies in the place of one that held only crumbs. The condoms were right there on the food table, arranged in a glass salad bowl. It looked like a few had already been taken.

It was silly for him to have bought so many anyway.

He was still looking at the bowl when he heard a Holster whoop from the area of the front door.

“Jack! We weren’t expecting you tonight! Excellent game yesterday.”

Bitty plucked a handful of condoms from the bowl and thrust them into his pocket.

****

Also posted to AO3 as part of Bits ‘n’ Pieces

[wreckofawriter]

Pencil Sketches

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader

Warnings: Ummm none fluffy

Word Count: 2,738

Summary: You start receiving sketches of yourself and find out who the artist is in a very surprising way.

A/n: Hi this is my first Cedric fic. I dont exactly love it buuuut whatever.

You remember when it all started. It was four months ago. You had just had a particularly hard day, you were late to Charms and got 5 points taken from your house, you spilled ink all over your positions essay, you got pumpkin juice on your blouse and forgot about a very difficult quiz in DADA. You were heading to the back of the library to choose a book when something fell out of the large amounts of papers you were holding. You groaned bending down to pick it up as you did you glance at the contents of the page and your heart stopped.

It took you only a second to figure out what was on the paper. It was you. You were glaring down at a notebook, your eyes appearing to shine as you clutched a quill in your right hand. Your hair hanging in front of your frustrated face, your lips drawn into a thin line. It was the best drawing you had ever seen, for a second you thought it was a photograph. But it was a drawing, a drawing of you, a drawing of you that looked so realistic it almost scared you. The pencil marks were flowing yet sharp, shading was done in just the right places to give your face depth. It was like looking in a black and white mirror.

    You stood in the middle of the hallway for what must have been a good five minutes just staring at the photo in amazement. You then realized what you were doing and continued to the library.

From there the drawings became a normal part of your life. You would usually receive five to six a week in your bag, waiting at your desk or even in your dorm room. You had no idea how they managed to swing that. Each one was more beautiful than the last and you swear that they made you look much prettier in the drawing than you really were. Most were done in pencil a few in quill and one in charcoal. Each one seemed to be a different mood, sometimes you would be scowling, sometimes smirking, sometimes smiling and one was even of you with your head down on a desk your eyes closed and your hair hanging in your face. The ones you received the most were ones of you laughing. Your lips split open in a smile and your eyes crinkled or just shut altogether.

Many times you had tried to find the artist who had drawn you without luck. They never left any notes or indications and it made it extremely difficult to find the culprit. You wished for nothing more than to meet and thank the person who had brought so much happiness into your life with their artwork. But they never revealed themselves even after four months, nothing. You began to worry, what if they never revealed themselves? It was your last year after all, you would be leaving in a few months. Eventually, you stopped looking and simply hoped they would reveal themselves.

“Ms. Y/l/n,” McGonagall called to you.

“Yes, Professor?” You asked your arms full of books as you made your way back to your common room.

“Could you please follow me? I have something we need to discuss.” She clipped, beckoning for you to follow her.

Your eyebrows scrunched together in momentary confusion before following the orders you had been given.

As you followed McGonagall through the castle you wracked your brain for what you could have possibly done wrong. Did they think you cheated on an exam? Did they find your stash of food in your dorm? Surely that wasn't that big of a deal. Then you remembered the bottle of firewhiskey under your bed and fear rose in your throat. What if they expelled you? What would you do? Your heart pounding you were lead into a room expecting all of hell to rain upon you, but when it opened you were greeted by Dumbledore's warm smile.

“Ahh Y/n, looks as if the last of you have arrived.”

You glanced around the room and easily recognized two-thirds of the famous fourth-year trio and a young girl you didn't recognize.

McGonagall went to talk to Dumbledore as you made your way over to Ron and Hermione.

“Umm do you guys know what going on?” You asked as you approached them.

“Not a clue,” Hermione responded with as she glanced around the room as if looking for clues on their current situation.

“Are we in trouble or something?” You inquired.

Ron snorted, “As if Hermione would ever get in trouble.” he jeered earning a glare from the bushy-haired girl.

“I think it has something to do with the next task.” Hermione guessed.

“Then why am I here?” you wondered.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer but she was cut off by Dumbledore.

“I assume all of you are wondering what is happening, well as Mrs. Granger pointed out it does have something to do with the task tomorrow.”

Everyone else seemed very excited you, on the other hand, were very confused, what did the next task have to do with you?

“Tomorrow morning your friends are going to have to rescue something of great importance to them from the bottom of the black lake. You, my friends, are those things.”

Hermione gasped. Ron raised both his eyebrows and the girl seemed a bit frightened.

“You will be put under a spell and not remember a thing until you break the surface again. I promise all of you will be fine. So if you could just take som-”

“Umm excuse me?” You asked cutting off your professor, “Why am I here?” His eyebrows raised in confusion. “I mean I get the whole rescuing someone that is important to them thing, I mean Hermione for Krum.” Hermione flashed red and Ron rolled his eyes. “Ron for Harry and I guessing she's Fleur’s little sister or something?” You said gesturing to the young girl, “I just don't get why I'm here.”

Now Dumbledore's face was filled with amusement, a small smile on his lips. “You don't know?” he asked.

“Know what?”

He started to laugh, “For such a bright girl I expected you had already found out.”

You were beginning to feel stupid, “Found out what?”

“Have you been receiving drawings for the past few months?” He mused glancing at Mcgonagall who also seemed amused.

“Y-yeah, wait how do you know about those?”

“It's impossible to miss,” Mcgonagall said sweetly, “Cedric is constantly pouring over as sketchbook in his classes, particularly the ones you are in, Ms. Y/l/n.”

You heard Hermione let out a giggle as your face flashed a brilliant red. Your head was spinning. Cedric was the one who was giving those to you? The golden boy of Hogwarts was spending his time sketching you?

“Cedric is the one drawing me?” You managed to get from your mouth, the sentence came out squeaker than you would have liked but at least you managed it.

“Yes Y/n, I'm quite surprised you hadn't noticed the boys admiration in you.” Dumbledore smiled as your eyes got impossibly bigger and your stomach began to fill with butterflies. “Now we don't want to waste much more time." He sighed, “Take some of this, it will put you straight to sleep, although I must warn you it tastes terrible.” He passed each of you a bottle full of a deep purple liquid.

You downed it quickly and almost immediately your world grew dark.

Cedric had grown exceedingly nervous as he stood on the docks in the middle of the lake. While the others around him seemed to be scared of what lurked in the dark of the lake he was concerned at where you were. He hadn’t seen you at breakfast, where he was planning to slip his newest drawing into your bag and now he couldn't find you here either. What if you were sick? Where you ok? Had you gotten hurt? He silently shamed himself for caring so much for a person who didn't even know he existed but he couldn't help it. He had tried to stop caring about you, but fate seemed to work against him as all he could do was see you no matter where he looked. It was as if you had been placed behind a glass case in a bakery, with a price tag much too high. So all he could do was look and wonder how your lips would taste against his own.

Finally, he gave up looking for you and looked at the challenge ahead of him. If you weren't here he wanted to make sure you heard from everyone else how he had won. Determination took over his features, he had a plan and he just hoped the others were less prepared than he. Just then the horn was blown and he dove into the water quickly casting a bubble charm around his head and begging to swim into the depths of the lake. He quickly located the singing he remembered form the terrible egg he had gotten and swum toward it. He almost choked when he saw what was waiting for him. You. Your ankles were tied with rope and your beautiful y/e/c eyes resting closed as your y/h/c hair floating in the water. The others tied around you suddenly meant nothing as he stared at you. He thought you resembled an angel floating in the water, all you were missing were wings. He then remembered he was in composition and swam towards you at a quickened rate. He thought for a minute, inspecting the rope holding you before muttering a spell. As the bounds broke he snatched you and began to swim upwards. He then saw Harry come into view, he nodded at him and continued upward.

Your eyes popped open and you found yourself gasping for air as you coughed up water. The first thing you noticed was how cold you were, everything thing was cold except an arm swimming you towards the dock. You looked up to see Cedric dragging you towards the dock his face full of worry. He glanced over at you and smiled and blushed.

“Are you alright?” He asked over the cheering of the crowd. You nodded still coughing.

When you reached the ladder you were helped up and quickly wrapped in a wool blanket as you continued coughing tiring to get the water out of your system, finally you were able to intake air and breathe normally and you saw that you were on a dock in the middle of the lake but you could hardly see anything over the crowd of people swarming you, well more swarming Cedric. You then realized that Cedric had his arm securely wrapped around you as he maneuvered you through the crowds and your face flushed red. Cedric led you to an empty bench overlooking the lake on the platform getting congratulated all the way. When you sat down he pulled you close to him in attempts to warm your shivering your form. You instantly leaned into his warm body, looking up at him to meet his grey eyes. He blushed bright red and looked away from you. Just then the crowd erupted into cheers and you looked up to see Krum emerge, Hermione, gasping for breath as she appeared to shriek a bit at his shark head before he quickly changed back.

    “I hope Harry’s alright.” You murmured as you peered into the water.

    “I'm sure he's fine, I saw him when I was getting you.” Cedric blushed a bit when he mentioned you.

    “Did you see Krum?”

    “Uhh no, I didn't,” Cedric answered.

    “Why is he up here before him?” You questioned worriedly, your eyes scanned for the young boy in the water. You didn't know Harry well but you wished for no harm to come to him.

    “I don't know.” Cedric seemed just as confused as you.

    You both waited for Harry to show up as the minutes ticked down. Then suddenly you gasped. In all the excitement you had completely forgotten that Cedric was revealed as the mysterious artist.

    “What is it?” The grey-eyed boy asked you.

    You turned and looked at him. There was no denying that he was absolutely stunning. He was beyond handsome with his sharp features and kind eyes. You saw him blush a bit as you took in his profile, which only made him more attractive. But not only was he gorgeous he was amazingly kind, talented and smart. You opened your mouth to confess your knowledge on the portraits he had drawn of you. But you were interrupted by shouting and yelling and you both turned away from each other to see Harry emerging from the water, with not only Ron, but the young blonde haired girl as well. You sighed in relief and looked back at Cedric who was already staring at you. He blushed for the 1000th time when you met his grey orbs and looked away again. Then he turned back to look at you with something new in his eyes, determination.

    “Hey Y/n I need to tell you something.” He said his voice a bit louder than it had been before.

    “Sure what's up?” You asked.

    “You probably have already realized this but clearly you mean a lot to me, I mean with the whole rescuing you think that was probably obvious but umm,” He paused then continued, “Imtheonewhosebeengivingyouthedrawings” He said quickly his face burning a deep shade of crimson.

    If you had not already known what he was going to say you would have been thoroughly confused, but because of your recent discoverings, you had managed to gather about what he said.

    “I know.” You answered simply.

    “Oh ok- wait, WHAT?” He said his eyes wide his face getting impossibly redder.

    You giggled rolling your eyes playfully.

“For how long?” he gasped.

“Umm, it's almost noon so about, I'll say 14 hours?” You guessed.

He blinked rapidly then smacked his forehead with his hand. “Of course you know, they probably told you before they put you in the lake.” He said clearly feeling very stupid.

“They're amazing by the way.” You complemented, “Although I'm pretty sure you make me look much better in the drawings than I am in person.” You giggled.

He looked at you and scoffed, “Are you kidding.” He murmured running his thumb along your jawline. “The most talented artist in the world couldn’t do your beauty justice.”

You flashed a deep red as you felt your stomach erupt with butterflies once more. You bit your lip, the exact place his eyes lingered.

He leaned in millimeters from your lips, “May I kiss you?” He asked his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

You simply closed the space between the two of you in an answer. His lips were warm against your cool ones and your hands found your way to his damp hair. The kiss was sweet and passionate, his lips moved slowly against your own making you swoon. As you pulled away you were for the second time in the past hour gasping for air.

“I have something for you.” He whispered turning to grab a bag next to him. He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to you.

You couldn't help the small smile on your face as he looked at his newest drawing. You had your head thrown back your eyes closed and a smile wide on your face, it was clear you were laughing.

“I always loved drawing you laughing.” He said shyly.

“I still don't understand how you are so good.” You said in amazement.

“Thanks.” He blushed

“No, thank you. Thank you so much for all of these. They made my day so much better.” You said, “Just looking at them made me happy.”

    Now as you looked at them you felt your world fall apart. Sobs wrecked your body as you stared at the drawings you had saved. You couldn't think, your head throbbed and you felt like you were falling into a deep dark pit but you could never hit the bottom. Your tears soaked the picture of you with your head thrown back in laughter and you were sure you would never laugh again.

Masterlist

[ahiddenpath]

Life Talk/Writing Talk

Uh, I feel like I’ve been a toooouch overactive on here today (no kidding?!), so let me toss this under a cut.

It’s been weird lately, dude.  There’s stress in my body that isn’t in my conscious mind.  Usually, when my anxiety is eating at me, I absolutely know it- it’s shrieking on loop in my head.  But sometimes...  Sometimes, it be sneaky.  Sometimes, it settles into my body, setting the cartilage in my chest ablaze with costochondritis and wriggling through my intestines, causing gastronomic distress.

That’s where I’ve been for the last three weeks.  I’ve been doing fine at work and creating, but there’s a wrongness in my body that makes everything difficult :/  I took a sick day Friday, which seems to have helped- physically, I feel better today than I have in weeks.

I’ve been drawing a ton.  If you missed it, I posted a Joe Four Years profile and a full body drawing of Mimi, and I have a full body drawing of Sora in the works.  I’d love to do a little video of how I worked out Joe’s design- it was a whole process that took about two weeks of work (on and off, obviously).

I’m currently working on the next TIL update.  I have a complete first draft, which is great, but I need to refresh myself on what Meiko knew about Meicoomon when she met the Chosen.  I’m also struggling a bit with Mimi’s characterization during her Ketsui arc, because...  She’s frankly a lot meaner than she ever was in Adventure???  Like, okay, obviously worst case Adventure Mimi uh...  Threw her friends in a dungeon, including Palmon.  Not great.  She was ten at the time, though, and we understood her to be under immense stress (separated from the others for a while, struggling in the Digital World more than most of the others, more afraid of fighting than most of the others, homesick, etc).

In Tri, in my opinion, Mimi is shown to be...  Sort of...  Unbelievably...  Not stressed until Togemon knocks down a news chopper.  But when Meiko admires Mimi’s ability to speak her mind, even as a first year among older students, Mimi gets...  Immediately aggressive about it.  She literally says she despises when people don’t say what they want to say to someone who just said she often can’t say what she wants to say!  And, like, in a harsh tone, not an offhand thing.  

It’s possible that Mimi is having more trouble than anticipated assimilating to Japan after living in the states, or that she’s more stressed about the distortions and disappearances than she let on...  Or that she’s touchy in general about being willing to speak her mind.  We haven’t been given any clear indication of this prior to the Togemon/helicopter incident, though, so...  How do we explain Mimi’s severity when talking to Meiko in the clothing store?

I’m making sure to mention this stuff in TIL- that Mimi is under pressure, that her carefreeness is sometimes forced/an act to bolster the others, that she’s more bothered by the lackluster reaction to her Daters café than she lets on, etc.  It’s still difficult to make Mimi’s harshness sound in character, so I had to soften her word choice/delivery a bit, in addition to allocating time to her mental/emotional state.

I have no idea if I’m doing Nanowrimo, and if I am, whaaaaat I will work on.  I don’t know that TIL is a good idea- I have to reference the movies too much, which I won’t have time to do if I’m trying to write 50,000 words in a month.  Four Years, maybe?  Hff...  I dunno, man, I can’t say I’m feeling it?  And you gotta be juiced if you wanna write 50,000 words in a month.

Uh- my brain utterly blanked out, so...  Good night!  I hope you are all well!  Mwah!

[haunted-by-catholic-guilt]

Now I Remember It Doesn't Take Much To Make Me Feel Small

birthday fic for my platonic soul mate @hangon-toyourself where we project onto tim

i love you so much vesper!!!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

TW EATING DISORDERS AND WEIGHT MENTION

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim Stoker was a happy man.

He wore what he wanted and he was loud and proud about everything.

That’s what he displayed, at least.

That’s not what he felt.

Especially the bad days.

He didn’t really remember when it started, but he remembers when it got bad.

When he passed out and the first thing he was Danny’s crying face above him.

When Danny spent hours with Tim at the table, talking to him and encouraging him.

And after a long time, he got better.

Not perfect, but better.

And then Danny died.

Tim, through some miracle, managed not to relapse as hard as he thought he would.

Eating was harder but more because so was getting out of bed, so he didn’t really lose or gain weight.

But for some reason, now was the point his brain decided it was time to look in the mirror and nearly punch it, and to look in the mirror and cry, and to step on his scale he buried away to the back of his closet and felt his heart stop at the numbers.

He looked in the mirror, his shirt was off and he stood only in his boxers, and he traced the stretch marks on his side, and the scars lining his hip.

God, he was disgusting, how did people even look at him?

He shook off the feelings and stepped away from the bathroom, grabbing an oversized shirt cardigan, and jeans combo that buried him in the size.

He walked to work that day, and didn’t stop for a pastry or coffee.

Work was slow, it was a Friday and all there was finishing up that week’s files and, typically, annoying Sasha and Jon to go out for drinks.

Soon enough lunch rolled around, and it had become an archival tradition to order in food on Fridays, and it was Martin’s week to pick.

Tim put on his best smile and sat on the taller man’s desk.

“Hey, Marto- What’re you plannin for lunch today?”

Martin smiled and leaned back in his chair.

“Hmmmm maybe the cafe down the block? They have nice soup and sandwiches”

Tim quickly ran through his repertoire of calories he had memorized, chicken noodle soup was normally around three-hundred and fifty calories.

He could work with that.

“-Tim, Tim!”

He snapped back into attention to Martin waving his hand in front of him, concern on his face.

“Tim are you alright?”

Tim chuckled and slid off the desk.

“Yeah, I’m fine, sorry about that, just tired.”

He recognized the shake in his own voice.

“I’m here if you need to talk alright? We can order soon.”

He flashed a smile and was on his way.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A month passed, eating as little as he could, fasting for up to a week at one point broken only when Martin bought him food.

He felt like shit but god was he happy.

His throat burned with acid, he was cold and dizzy and he still looked the same.

He stepped on the scale and felt almost happy, but more so determination and a slight mix of anger.

He’d been “skinny” before, according to others, and by his height, he wasn’t overweight but he knew.

52.3 kg

Not small enough.

He sighed and slipped on the same jeans, t-shirt, and cardigan combo he remembered wearing the day this started, now ten times too big on him, and left for work.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To say Martin was concerned is an understatement.

Something was wrong with Tim and damn if he didn’t find what.

Of course, he had some vague idea.

He just hoped it wasn’t.

Tim walked in, oversized sweater, looking sick, and eye bags that rivaled Jon in their intensity.

“GoodMorning Martin.”

Martin smiled at him, a sad smirk, Tim was holding a thermos, and he looked so… empty

“Morning, how’re you today?”

“Good, and yourself?”

Martin decided then he would take Tim out for drinks or invite him over for a movie.

“Just fine, thank you… Hey Tim? Would you like to come over tonight and watch a movie with me? I don’t like watching horror movies alone, Ill order in some food from the Italian place you like.”

Tim visibly froze and calculated his options, and Martin hated how he recognized it instantly.

“Sounds good, does seven work?” Martin nodded and they set to work for the day, inviting Sasha to come along, she accepted the offer and before they knew it, it was time to go home. With a farewell and a promise to see each other later, they were off. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim was fucked.

Astronomically fucked.

Martin invited him over for food and he was fucked.

He took a breath, first step was a game plan then decide what to order for dinner that was low-cal, then go to the gym and work out so he didn’t gain as much.

Hours passed, working out at the gym, and before he knew it was seven, time for hell.

He was at Martin’s door and he heard Martin and Sasha speaking in low and hushed tones, Martin sounded upset and Sasha seemed stress.

I shouldn't be here.

He knocked on the door anyway.

Martins’s voice was muffled but he heard a quiet call that he was on his way, and for a split second Tim seriously considered running, but before he knew it Martin was opening the front door.

“Hey! Food’s inside!”

Fuck.

He was ushered inside and sat on the couch, Martin handed him his food and a water, he felt the couch dip next to him on both sides, and was vaguely aware of Martin and Sasha eating their own food, he knew what was inside, it was what he always ordered, an alfredo dish, and he honestly couldn’t handle it.

“Tim? Are you gonna eat?”

Martins soft voice broke the dam behind his eyes, and before he knew it he was crying.

“I- I- I can’t”

Someone took the food out of his hands, and he was slowly enveloped in a hug.

“It’s alright, I know, it’s okay.”

He pushed off Martin, not being able to handle the thought of someone feeling him and he quickly stood up-

And then darkness.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Martin knew he was going to go down as soon as he stood up.

He quickly caught him and lifted him- god he was light- and laid him on the couch, while Sasha adjusted his legs to be on her lap.

“I’ll be right back.”

Martin left the living room, and grabbed a small juice box from the fridge, and he took a breath.

Fuck.

He composed himself before stepping back into the living room, where Tim was stirring, he stepped over and got the juice box ready.

“Hey, Tim, drink this, you’ll feel better.”

He kept his voice level and soft, non-judgemental, and calm.

Tim obliged when he was back to being conscious, he looked disoriented and cold, Martin wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and ran fingers through his hair.

When Tim came to and realized what happened, he shot up, but was pushed back down by Martin which he didn’t mind because, wow, were rooms supposed to spin that fast?

He sat up slowly after a second before the realization set in of horrific embarrassment of oh shit I just passed out and am laying on Martin’s couch.

“I-I’m sorry”

Martin shushed him and Sasha rubbed his back while he sobbed into Martin’s shirt, after the shorter man stopped crying, Martin decided it was time for a talk.

“Tim.. do you want to tell us why? We won’t judge you, I’ve struggled with it my whole life too.”

“I-I don’t know. Maybe because I’m… ugly? Because I’m not worth it?”

Martin felt his heart break, and Sasha looked close to tears, she pulled Tim close to her and was horrified to feel just how frail he was like that.

“Tim, sweetheart, you deserve food, I don’t know who made you think otherwise, but I’ll hurt them and make them regret ever talking to you.”

Tim struggled a bit, almost as if trying to get away from her but sunk back into her after a second.

“I’m sorry”

Martin embraced Tim from the other side, making a Tim Sandwich.

“You don’t need to be sorry Tim, just let us help you?”

He nodded and hoped they knew he would try.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Toffee: Chapter 3

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Gordon, Scott, John, Grandma, Tracy Family

Not quite such a long wait for the next instalment this time.  The next chapter of my response to @gumnut-logic‘s #irrelief prompt “toffee on the couch”, and the second of my three fic offerings for Thunderbirds Day, we have a little more scheming and Scott’s tale of woe continues.

<<<Chapter 2

The explosion of expletives from his eldest brother were clearly audible even from where Gordon was floating in the pool. It didn't take a genius to surmise that Scott had just discovered the toffee on the chair, and probably by sitting on it.

As far as pranks went, it was simple but effective. No-one had been in the room when Gordon had slipped the small chunk of toffee, warmed in the microwave under his watchful eye and Grandma's carefully blind one, onto the seat just after dumping his mud-lathered uniform off in Scott's despairing arms. Barring Grandma, none of the island residents had any idea that the toffee hadn't just slipped out of Scott's pocket earlier a la the first incident style, and both Grandma and their ever-watchful Eye in the Sky were firmly on his team. It had been John that had struck a conversation up with Alan to keep him out of the way, after all.

Grandma's voice carried clearly from the kitchen as she hollered up at Scott about minding his language. There was the vague threat of washing his mouth out with soap in there, and Gordon could well imagine the look on Scott's face as he called an apology back down.

He suspected Scott was already sick of soap. The washing machine had been a stroke of genius, even if he did say so himself. A little bit of toffee in Scott's jean pockets wasn't even suspicious, not when toffee in his pocket had been the start of it all. Add in an unaware Alan proving him the perfect alibi, and there was nothing to even suggest it wasn't an accident. Still, there was revenge and there was cruelty, and even Gordon had limits. Virgil would get the machine repaired by the end of the day, as long as no more rescues cropped up, and Gordon wasn't about to keep crippling it.

Scott wouldn't be the only one getting suspicious if it kept breaking, and he had no plans to get Virgil on his back, especially as his older brother was clearly annoyed about having to fix it the first time. If he realised it was intentional rather than accidental, well, that would probably be the end of a squid. No, Gordon had to keep things fluid, unsuspicious. Neither John nor Grandma were providing ideas, but as long as they kept providing the means and alibis (when an innocent Alan didn't do the job for him), he had a week to prank with his brother with no fear of retribution.

Scott's toffee stash would last a week, easily. Even if he turned to it as comfort food. Gordon hoped he did; it would be much easier to pull off his plan if Scott continued to eat the stuff. He had John on Scott-watch for that exact reason. True to form, John hadn't told him where the stash was, but he had suggested where a really good hiding place away from younger brothers might be, and sure enough, Gordon had found a whole mountain of the stuff there.

It was a literal mountain. Gordon had no idea how Scott's teeth hadn't all rotted yet. His ached just looking at it.

Above him, it sounded as though Grandma had gone to investigate the cause of Scott's language, because she was still berating him for it. As tempting as it was to go up and see the scene with his own eyes, Gordon had been a prankster long enough to know that returning to the scene of the crime automatically made him suspicious. Content that Grandma had it all in hand, he rolled over onto his front and continued his laps.

He eventually left his beloved water at a call for dinner. Reluctantly, of course – the call had come from Grandma, and just because she was helping him prank Scott didn't mean she'd suddenly become a competent cook. Unfortunately, the pool was right by the kitchen, and with his grandmother standing just under the eaves, there was no way for him to pretend he hadn't heard the call.

At least none of his other Earthbound brothers were escaping, either. John was invariably munching on some dehydrated just-add-water feast above their heads, and not for the first time Gordon thought it thoroughly unfair that he had the better deal. Dehydrated food was not supposed to be better than good old fashioned home cooking.

Maybe that was why Dad had spent so much time in space. Gordon could hardly blame him.

None of them even dared to hazard a guess at the name of the concoction on their plates, but with Grandma seated firmly at the foot of the table and watching them all closely, they had no choice but to tentatively take their first bites before simultaneously reaching for large mugs of their preferred drink.

Alan mumbled something uncomplimentary into his juice, and Grandma sent him a sharp look. Virgil chose that moment to speak, and Gordon knew the timing wasn't coincidental.

"I've got the washing machine fixed," he said, sending Scott a glare. "Don't break it again."

"I don't plan to," Scott groaned in response, throwing back his squash to get rid of the taste from his latest mouthful. "I'd like to see something other than laundry this week."

"Speaking of the laundry," Grandma interrupted. "I want that chair spotless, young man."

"What chair?" Alan asked, fixing their eldest brother with a suspicious stare when he groaned. "Is one of the chairs dirty again?"

"Some toffee appears to have found its way onto the desk chair," Grandma explained. "Your brother found it by sitting in it." Virgil stiffened.

"If that washing machine experiences another death by toffee, I am not fixing it," he threatened. Scott sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked tired, not that Gordon blamed him after that hell of a rescue. They were all tired from trudging through mud and then cleaning it off of Thunderbird Two once they got home.

"I'll handwash them," he promised. "I have no idea how toffee even got there."

"You mean it didn't fall out of your pocket this time?" Alan chipped in.

"I didn't have any in my pocket for it to fall out, Alan," Scott defended himself. Alan shrugged as though that wasn't a factor that needed considering.

"You had some in your pocket yesterday, maybe it fell out then?"

Gordon watched a look of uncertainty flicker across Scott's face, before his shoulders slumped.

"I guess that's possible," he admitted.

"You're quiet, Gordo," Virgil commented, and he looked at him.

"Huh?"

"Something wrong?" Toffee incident(s) forgotten, Scott was straight into smothering older brother mode. Annoying, except when it was useful. He poked at the concoction on his plate dubiously.

"I don't think I feel too good." It was hardly a lie; he loved his grandmother but he could also really do without her cooking.

"Try a few more mouthfuls, dear," the wicked witch of the kitchen said. "Some good food should help."

"I don't see that here," Alan muttered under his breath, but Gordon gave her a patented Believable Fake Smile and prodded at his plate some more, reluctantly forcing himself to eat a few more bites. She beamed at him, and he gave her a polite smile back, all too aware that his alliance with her was just as tentative as his alliance with John, and therefore relied on keeping her sweet.

Which, right now, meant consuming as much of her latest cooking disaster as he could stomach.

Scott – oldest, bravest, sacrificial lamb on behalf of his brothers – was the first to cave, begging off on a full stomach and a reminder of the jeans he now had to handwash. His plate was mostly empty, although when he'd managed to stuff that much in his mouth Gordon had no idea, and after a moment of silent contemplation on Grandma's side he was given permission to wash his plate up and leave.

Gordon loved it when his brothers made things so easy for him. He shoved the concoction on his plate around for another few minutes, occasionally taking mouthfuls, before putting his cutlery down with a groan.

"Sorry, Grandma, I don't think I'm going to eat any more." She peered at him closely before standing up and walking around the table to get to him. He wasn't expecting her to press a hand to his forehead, and jumped when she made contact.

"Well your temperature's normal," she mused, and inwardly he groaned. Please let me leave the table, Grandma! "But if you're really not up to eating, off to bed with you." Yes! Grandma you are The Best!

"Sorry," he said out loud, standing up slowly and picking his plate up. "I'll just get this cleared up-"

She whisked it out of his hands.

"I said bed, young man," she scolded. "I can do your dishes for one evening, but I'll be up to check on you once I'm done and I don't want to see you out of bed." She steered him towards the stairs and, once out of sight of his brothers, gave him a wink. He grinned back, before starting the climb to the bedrooms – and, more importantly right now – Scott's toffee stash.

Having Grandma for an ally made a real difference to pranking.

He kept up the pretence all the way to his room, just in case he met Scott. He didn't, but Gordon had long since learnt not to take that for granted. Shutting himself in his bathroom, he called John.

As predicted, the ginger was munching away on cardboard-flavoured food that Gordon would do a lot to have instead of his grandmother's cooking.

"Scott's in the laundry room," his brother told him without preamble. "Brains and MAX are in their lab, and Grandma has Virgil and Alan pinned in the kitchen." Not for the first time, Gordon was pleased Kayo was off doing agent-y things with Lady Penelope for the week. Her allegiance was harder to secure than John's, and even when he had it she was liable to tell on him to Scott or Virgil at any time. Sneaking past her was also much harder. "I'd estimate you have five minutes before any of them move from their current locations."

"Roger that," he grinned. "It'll take me two."

Scott's hiding place was brilliant in its simplicity. It was both somewhere no-one, not even Gordon, would think to look, but so easily accessible that the chances of being caught in the act of retrieving some were close enough to nil – barring John and his All-Seeing Eyeness. Unfortunately for Scott, now that John had Not-Shared it with Gordon, those same factors made it child's play to steal from.

Gordon was careful not to take too much – Scott was the sort of person to know exactly how much toffee he had, and would very quickly put two and two together if toffee kept appearing in places he didn't remember having any and he noticed it vanishing from his stash. Besides, too much and the game would be up before it even began. He took a couple of small pieces from near the back, ones with identical wrappers to many others. Scott would have to be particularly observant and calculating to notice the disappearance of those.

Prizes obtained, he found his way back to his room and connected with John again.

"Grandma's on her way up," his brother warned, and despite having Grandma as an ally, Gordon figured it would be best to throw on some pyjamas and slink into bed regardless – after depositing the toffee in his bathroom cabinet inside one of his boxes of tablets.

Empty tablet boxes that had not yet reached their expiry date made fantastic hiding places for small objects. With the prescription declaring them for the sole use of one Gordon Cooper Tracy, none of his brothers had any cause to ever touch them. Not even John knew about that hiding place. Probably. You could never be too careful with the Eye in the Sky.

"You decent, kid?" Grandma asked, knocking on the door. John flickered out of sight, and Gordon made a noise that was probably an affirmative from under the covers. She took it as such and his door hissed open. Footsteps crossed his floor, and the bed dipped near his head. He looked up to see her grinning back down at him. "As you're in bed, I assume you've done what you needed to?"

He grinned back at her.

"Yup," he admitted.

"Good, good," she said. "I must say, it's a nice change to see your brother away from that desk more. Toffee or not, he was starting to stick to it."

Gordon laughed and she ruffled his hair.

"Now get some shut eye. Your brothers will have questions if you're out and about after I sent you to bed, and with you boys' job, it's something you're all lacking anyway. If I catch you out of bed again, I'll be dragging you back in here by your ear, got it?"

"Yes, Grandma," he agreed; sleep was nice, even if he'd rather be doing a few more laps in the pool. Ah well, sometimes sacrifices needed to be made in the name of pranking.

"I'll see you later," she told him, kissing his forehead – he made a face – before leaving the room.

So, Grandma didn't want to see him out and about? Well, that was what John was for.

"Hey, John?" he called once the door was shut. His brother appeared immediately, and Gordon suspected he'd never actually left, just culled visual. "Let me know when I have another five minutes free on this floor?"

"Sure thing," his brother agreed. "What's your next plan?"

Gordon grinned at him.

"You know the story of the Princess and the Pea?"

Chapter 4>>>

[flameo-hotman]

ZUKKA PROMPT 🔥💧 Zuko fainting and Sokka catching him (they are already a couple). It can be anything. Maybe sickness (he was feeling weird all day for example), maybe stress (maybe because he is already Fire Lord and he has all those meetings), maybe exhaustion (after training with Aang or not sleeping because of Fire Lord duties).

Fire Lords Need Their Rest

“I really hope Zuko’s doing okay,” Sokka sighed as he laid on Appa’s saddle looking up at the sky. “I mean I’ve been gone for-”

“Yeah, a month!” Katara snapped. ���It is all you talked about during the solstice. The whole month. Zuko this and Zuko that! Next time just bring him with! I’m more than a little sick of hearing about it!”

Sokka sat up and shouted back, “HEY! You know how Zuko does with the solstice! Fire benders get sick when they don’t have the sun! And it isn’t like I haven’t had to deal with you gushing about YOUR BOYFRIEND endlessly!”

“I’m sorry…” Katara answered looking embarrassed. “I forgot… I shouldn’t have said that. You’re right. You just really miss him, and I hate when I have to be away from Aang.”

“I hate when I have to be away from you too, Katara!” Aang chirped from where he sat steering.

“Oogie!” Sokka groaned before he went back to staring at the sky and worrying about his husband. Was Zuko eating right? Was he getting enough rest? Was he listening to Guards Kenzo and Ming about taking care of himself, like Sokka had instructed Kenzo and Ming to do before he left? Did he remember to let Zuko know that was why their favorite guards were now on him about that stuff?

He thought for a few moments and suddenly recalled the adorable eye roll Zuko had given him when he’d let him know, and Sokka felt himself calm down.

“Hey Aang, how much longer until we get to the palace?”

“Two hours.”

Two Hours Later

Zuko had been in a meeting with General Fong when Ming came and stood at attention with a smile.

“Speak.”

“Fire Lord Zuko, Fire King Sokka has just arrived with Water Tribeswoman Katara and Avatar Aang. They are in the courtyard if you would like to go-”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not done talking with-” The unpleasant Earth Kingdom General began, but Zuko was already on his feet and walking out the door.

He paused in front of a particularly shiny and reflective gold statue in the entryway to fix his hair and robes, before heading out into the courtyard, ignoring the look Ming gave him and setting his eyes on his husband. He smiled for the first time all week.

Katara smiled at him, before pointing to him, saying, “Sokka go say hi to your husband, you dork.”

Sokka’s face lit up with his radiant smile as he rushed to envelop the Fire Lord in his arms, and Zuko was home for the first time all month.

“I missed you too.” Zuko sighed as he returned the hug, choosing to ignore the way the world swayed for a moment. Sokka did not need to know that he hadn’t slept in… How many days? Zuko wasn’t sure. He stopped sleeping again after his uncle had gone back to Ba Sing Se.

Right then General Fong came storming out into the courtyard shouting, “We weren’t done talking about the import tax of geminate candy!”

“Another word before I’m done saying hello to my husband, and I am banning the import of the stupid rock candy,” Zuko growled, before tightening his hold on his husband and inhaling the comforting scent of seawater and a scent that screamed Sokka.

Aang laughed at that, before jumping down from Appa, right as Sokka’s stomach growled.

“Ming, tell General Fong that we will have to reschedule our meeting for after lunch,” Zuko ordered with a smile, as he leaned back in the embrace and looked up at his husband. In the past few years, Sokka had shot up in height and stood taller than most people. Stupid Water Tribe genes, making Sokka into a total pillar of muscle that towered over Zuko.

Zuko loved it. He loved how when he stood next to Sokka, he felt safe. He loved how Sokka’s body curled around him, creating a warm alcove of home and safety. He loved how every inch of Sokka was filled to the brim with love and loyalty. He loved Sokka.

He rocked up onto his toes and rewrapped his arms around his husband’s neck, before pressing a kiss to the man’s lips. Sokka happily returned it, before pressing another to Zuko’s forehead.

“I missed you, Beautiful.”

“I missed you too, Sokka,” Zuko replied, smiling. “Now let’s go get you some food.”

Then Zuko turned to Aang and Katara saying, “You don’t mind if I have a private lunch with-”

“Please do.” Katara interrupted. “I can go get something in the city with Aang. I really do not want to see what a private lunch entails.” 

Zuko flushed, but Katara had been absolutely right about the way he planned for his private lunch with his husband to go.

If he had his way, and Zuko knew he would, then he was going to be finding himself thrown onto the table- And oh no… Everything was rapidly swaying, as Sokka let go of him to give his pack to a servant.

“Sokka!” Came the distant sound of Katara shouting, as the ground rushed up to meet the Fire Lord.

—

Sokka had only stepped away from his husband for a few seconds to hand Shoji his pack, when Katara shouted, “Sokka!”

He whipped around to catch his husband, when he’d realized what she was looking at, just in time. Zuko had fainted or passed out, and Sokka already had a fair idea of why. He had known the moment he caught the earthy scent of makeup on his husband, that the man was likely covering up the shadows of exhaustion on his face. However, in his relief at seeing Zuko for the first time in a month, Sokka had been willing to not bring it up until after their lunch, but now it looked like he was going to have to wait until his husband woke up.

“Ming?” Sokka asked, looking at the guard. “When was the last time the Fire Lord slept?”

He wasn’t going to like the answer. He knew he wasn’t. He had never once asked that question and received an answer that had made him smile. This time was no different.

“Counting the nap he took yesterday, during lunch?”

“Naps don’t count.”

“Five or six days ago.”

Sokka sighed and shifted his husband in his arms, so he was carrying him bridal style. Then he nodded at his sister and headed into the palace. He had known leaving his husband to his own devices for a month hadn’t been a good idea, but he had been so excited to join in the Southern Water Tribe’s celebration of the darkest time of the year when Yue’s light filled their days without interruption. However, if Zuko was going to do this every time he was gone, and he did, then Sokka wasn’t going to be able to do this again.

It looked like he was only going to be able to make it work by bringing Zuko with him and staying for the short period of time that Zuko was able to handle without getting moon sickness.

For now, he had to make sure Zuko got his rest and a proper meal.

He was in love with a complete moron.

—

When Zuko woke up, he was in bed and curled up in Sokka’s arms. It took him longer than he would like to admit to realize what had happened. When he did realize, he groaned and curled further into the embrace.

How many people had seen him pass out? Did that awful General Fong see? Would the man try and use it as a sign of weakness and use it to exploit Zuko during their negotiations? How would that beetle roach react, when Fire Lord Zuko refused to allow it to be a way to manipulate him?

“I can hear your brain thinking way too hard, Babe.” Sokka sighed, as he let go of Zuko and sat up to grab something off of his nightstand. That something turned out to be food.

Zuko sat up as well now, and his stomach gave a growl of hunger. How long had it been since he had a proper meal and not just bites of food between meetings?

Sokka held out a piece of mango to his mouth, and Zuko looked up from the offered food and at his husband.

“You obviously aren’t responsible enough to feed yourself, if the palace staff’s report is anything to go by, so I’ve decided that making sure you eat is now my job.” Sokka joked with a loving smile, and Zuko accepted the food.

He made eye contact with the Water Tribesman, as he wrapped his lips around the fingers that held the mango chunk, and felt a fierce sense of pride at the way that smile fell and became something sinful. If Sokka insisted on feeding him by hand, then Zuko was determined to make it into a game of how many bites of food did it take to break the man’s control.

He was sure this game would leave them both very satisfied.

He licked away the juice that dampened his lips before practically purring, “Of course. Thank you for being equipped to take care of my needs, my love.”

It didn’t take much more than that and meeting Sokka’s wide eyes with his own fiery gaze to break him.

Round one of this game had left them both extremely satisfied.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22462120/chapters/54249058

[lemonsandstrawberries]

One Milkshake, Two Straws

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony)

summary: Steve and Tony enjoy an undercover mini-break and during breakfast Steve really wants a milkshake. All to himself, preferably.

length: 1 000

a/n:  sooooo today is soooooo hot and I hate everything and all I can think of is eating cool stuff and going for vacation. so, I wrote this! based on this prompt. hope you like it! also, I am using here one of my fav headcanons about Steve - that he is lactose intolerant, because I think it is funny for a super-soldier to be lactose intolerant ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ asks, reblogs and likes are needed and appreciated!

——————–

One Milkshake, Two Straws

"You're gonna burst, babe."

"I will die happily, then."

Steve smiled contentedly, sipping his orange juice slowly. His plate was pushed aside, his stomach full, but seemed that Tony planned to eat his weight in food. And maybe even Steve's weight.

"This is my favorite part of vacation," Tony admitted, enthusiastically spooning scrambled eggs and bacon in his mouth, eggs served in ten different ways still waiting for their turn on his plate. His legs kept bouncing and Steve didn't mind, even if because of the small table, Tony constantly bumped into his knees. "We should do a breakfast buffet back home."

"And who will cook it all?" Steve asked in humor, watching Tony happily munching away. It was a rare occasion when they had some free time to get away from superhero duties. Currently, they were enjoying a mini-break in one of the smaller hotels in an even smaller city, away from everyone who could recognize them. They had even signed in under a fake name, which became a common practice during their short travels.

"Will hire a chef," Tony decided, cutting with his fork a piece of a fluffy omelet filled with melted cheese. "We hould hamp dahn iht hears ahgo," of course, full mouth didn't stop Tony from talking.

Steve just laughed, leaning back in his chair. His eyes lingered for a while near the table with desserts, where all kids were crowding, taking advantage of the 'make your own milkshake' station. Milkshake did sound good, but Steve checked earlier and sadly noticed that there were no dairy-free options and he didn't want to risk a stomach ache during vacation. It was weird how all of his sicknesses vanished after taking the super-soldier serum, yet somehow he remained lactose intolerant.

Tony chewed, taking another bite before he could swallow the one he already had in his mouth. That was a problem with small hotels. They didn't meet the demands of people with dietary restrictions, and food served was delicious, but made in a traditional way, no alterations. There were a few vegan options available, like a tofu scramble or vegetable pates, but nothing over the top like in some more luxurious hotels. Tony smiled, having an idea.

"Something wrong?" Steve asked, noticing Tony standing up, despite his plate being still quite full.

"Need a coffee refill," Tony smiled, walking away. "Do you want anything? More juice?"

"No, thanks, babe," Steve smiled back, taking his glass and chasing with a paper straw the last drops of the juice. Tony walked away, happy that at least the hotel was up to date with their environmental policy.

After a few minutes, Tony came back, holding in his hand a tall glass with a pink milkshake inside.

"I thought you went to get coffee," Steve frowned, eyeing the milkshake wearily. It seemed a bit cruel to come back with a milkshake when Steve couldn't get any.

"I got this for you," Tony said, pushing the milkshake closer to Steve, "it is almond milk, ice cubes, and mixed berries. I had to turn on my Stark charm to get it," he said, sounding pleased with himself and winked at Steve.

Steve felt something fuzzy in his chest. That was his Tony - always doing some small, sweet things for him.

"Aw, thanks, babe," Steve smiled and saw Tony sticking two straws in the milkshake. Wait, two?

"What? You think I went through all this trouble and won't even taste it?" Tony laughed, seeing Steve's surprised face. "Besides, it is romantic to share a milkshake like that, don't you think?"

Steve thought that Tony only wanted his share because sometimes he could be a hungry, hungry hippo. "Sure, babe," he smiled and decided to play along. Steve moved his chair closer and he and Tony leaned in, both taking first sips of the milkshake, their foreheads nearly touching. Sweet, cold, creamy. Everything Steve craved.

"Do you like it?" Tony asked, straw still in his mouth.

"Yhhm," Steve smiled, taking another sip. And then another. And another.

"Woah, slow down or you will get a brain - "

SLUUUUUURP!

"- freeze," Tony stared in shock as Steve sucked the whole tall glass of cold milkshake, basically on his own. With a satisfied smile, Steve sat straight, the straw dangling from his mouth.

"Ah, that's just what I needed," Steve said in a light tone, playfully wagging the straw at Tony.

Tony had to admit that he was somehow impressed. Still...

"Wow," Tony leaned forward, both hands on the table, "so this is how it's going to be? Every man for himself?" Tony asked, meaning Steve's unwillingness to even let him have a sip.

"It was just a milkshake, babe," Steve replied innocently. Maybe he wanted to mess with Tony a bit, but it didn't mean that he didn't appreciate what his husband had done.

Tony hmphed in offense and put both hands under the table. It was a small round table, made for two, and he didn't have to reach far and Steve jumped, feeling five fingers quickly clawing on his knees.

"Tony!" Steve bit back a laugh, scolding his husband.

"You mess with me, I mess with you," Tony growled playfully, hooking his fingers under Steve's knees and tickling the thin skin. When Steve burst into laughter and pushed his chair away, causing it to make an unpleasant, high pitched sound, everyone present looked at him, with more or less scolding looks. Steve felt his face heating up and apologized for the ruckus and sat down quietly. Soon the dining hall got back to its usual, quieter state, full of talks and clinks of utensils and no one paid attention to them anymore. And then Steve noticed Tony's smug face. His husband even had the nerve to blow a kiss his way, clearly to provoke him.

Fine. Both could play this game.

If Tony wanted to mess with him, Steve won't remain idle.

The rest of the vacation wasn't so calm anymore, but it definitely was interesting.

[solari-writes-things]

Greetings, my lovely friend 💖 May I request Prompt 3 from the Friendship List with Tig please? Sending you a big THANK YOU and all the love! 🌞🌻✨

Thanks for the request, my friend! I love this prompt, and I think it’s absolutely perfect for him!

I apologize it’s a little brief. :c Request me another and it’ll probably be longer lmaoooo

Prompt > Friendship #3:  “What do you mean you’re sick?! You’re my partner in crime!”

Reader is Tig’s close friend!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

You didn’t expect to come down with a cold. You weren’t one to get sick, let alone for more than a couple of days. It was honestly a blessing in disguise, but needless to say when it didn’t apply here it made you just a tad bit frustrated.

You were supposed to be going out with the man who was essentially your best friend in the club, looking for little gifts that he would be giving to someone that he had been laying his eyes on for quite some time. Her name was Venus, she was a trans escort that occasionally came by to work for Nero.

You got along with her swimmingly. She was classy, eloquent, and loyal to boot. You knew she would be a good fit for Tig, and the fact that he chose to pursue her so avidly made you quite happy. The man hadn’t been the same since Dawn, and seeing someone who was able to whisk him away by her mere existence alone was refreshing.

You winced at the sharp tone of your cell phone ringing, the bog in your head feeling like it parted just enough to prompt your arm to reach for the shrilling device. You pulled the phone close to you, your eyes adjusting to see the name that would pop up on the Caller ID screen.

Tig.

You weren’t surprised. After you had texted him a couple hours ago, you were expecting some form of hell raising on his end. So you exhale, knowing your brain would need to catch up, and answer the call.

“Hey, Tiggy,” you greet, your voice quiet.

“Hey, doll, what’s going on? Why aren’t you able to go?” he asks.

“It’s that time of year, man,” you explain, rubbing your eyes.

“What time?” he asks. “Are you sick?”

“I sound like shit, so I’d go with that,” you snark in return.

“What do you mean you’re sick?” he practically groans. “You’re my partner in crime, [Y/N]!”

“I’m sorry, Tig,” you apologize as you roll over onto your back to get more comfortable in your spot. “I know, it’s inconvenient. Just bear with me, man.”

“Who else am I gonna ask to go help me pick out stuff for Venus?” he complained in jest.

“I can still technically help you,” you mutter. “When are you seeing her next?”

You listen to him ponder a bit over the phone, before he inhales to answer. “In a few days. But I wanted to make sure I had something selected soon.”

“Just go get me some cold medicine, orange juice, and other shit. Pray this passes overnight,” you say. “I’ll give you cash.”

He seems to juggle the idea in his head, a couple seconds of silence before he chuckles. “Alright. Alright, fine.”

“Thanks, Tiggy. I owe you big time.”