#probs will link ao3 link somewhere

[lonelostwriter]

Took My Wallet (A Stobotnik Fic Pt1)

I wrote a series of Stobotnik One shots that at this point flow into a story so uh here you go.

For basic context this is an AU where Stone and Eggman are childhood friends!

Stone talks in Blue

Eggman in Red

♡ "What's the softest way to say,

That you took away my friend, 

My buddy?"♡

After graduation Stone had said something the Ivo honestly should have expected. And yet it still caused the now no longer high school student to process.

"Ivo. I'm a guy." 

No not that. That's not the right thing!!!! But it is funny. Not the point! Anyway. 

"Yeah. I've been thinking about going to college. And I got accepted! It's pretty far out though. Like 15 hours by car? But it's got a pretty great curriculum and has what I want to major in!" 

Baffled.  Ivo stands there for a moment. Others chatting loudly and their parents congratulating them, some just enjoying the other's presence. And some rough housing like normal. 15 hours. That meant that they-

I mean. He would live. Would just be really bumming to know he wouldn't be able to see the other often, if ever during the next couple years. 

"But hey. I promise to write to ya. Ok?" Ivo stops, before chuckling. 

"Alright. Good luck then, Stone."

"You too, Ivo. Now c'mon! The night isn't over yet. And I'm not gone for another week! So let's make the most of it." 

And that was true.  

Though the week went by faster than Ivo would ever like to admit. But. They promised each other to write.

Weekly.

Every week, same time, letters would be mailed. And if they missed a day that was made up by being sent later. 

A specific letter that always stuck out to the young Robotnik was this one in particular. At least certain lines.

'I miss talking to you in person.  Everyone else seems so much less intelligent without you around. It's kind of infuriating. '

Which was a fair assessment. No one could truly match his intelligence.  But the other one.

'Exams are coming up so I probably won't be able to write to you as often as I'd like. Sorry Doctor. I promise to make it up to you. I love you <3' 

Doctor. I love you. Odd choice words considering. The last one was certainly new within their messages. Ivo leans back into his chair, spinning around in it. 

What he wasn't expecting was for the letters to stop altogether. The first 3 weeks he brushed under the rug. By the time 4, 5, and 6 went by he found himself worried. Stone couldn't have forgotten,  right? Surely everything was… ok.

It wasn't like their Junior year. It wasn't. Stone was fine. Maybe the letters just got lost in the mail. Incompetence was common within mailing. 

Still. He couldn't help but feel uneasy.

Weeks turned into months. And before he realized it. 4 years had gone by. 4 years, 5 months, 2 weeks, 3 days, and 14 hours. 

Why had he still been counting, anyhow? What was the point? Stone hadn't sent him a trace to know if he was alive or not. So why keep counting? Every second that ticked by, every minute, hour, day, week- he was still waiting. This was silly. Even when he pondered his orb something would nag at him.

Why did Stone leave?

[bitterfishiesstuff]

Saw folks doing self rec's and considering I don't think I'll be up to writing for at least a few more days, prob more like a week or two, I figured I can do a daily old fic summary from oldest to newest.

First my oldest series

Vlogger Tech, AO3 link:

Pairing: mostly Tech/Wrecker with light poly batch undertones(it's more friends with benefits, although you can see Crosshar wanting a bit more in one fic).

Rating: M-E

My raunchy reentry into fan art and fan fics during covid. I've improved a lot as a writer and artist. You won't find the art there though. I deleted it all because of reasons, although it might still exist somewhere on tumblr under my deactivated account if someone rebloged it.

The premise was Tech Fucks, lol. I was, and still mostly am of the opinion Tech knows exactly what he's doing with sex and fucks. It started as a joke, Tech having an only fans where he reviewed sex toys and it spiraled into a massive drawn porn folder and a few fics exploring it.

[moirai-moros]

bar none · chapter one; wednesday (ao3 link) - pairing: rafael barba/dominick "sonny" carisi jr. rating: t, later prob. m+ words: 3672 summary:

“You’re really intending to sit the bar next week? In the condition you’re in?” “Yeah? I mean, is that so hard to believe? I’m just a little roughed up is all.” “Roughed up?” The counsellor repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You were shot by an assailant. You have a head wound. And you think that putting yourself through a bar exam is the correct way to recover from that?” With a sigh, Sonny sank back into the pillows on the bed. “Look, I appreciate the concern, Counselor, I really do. But I know you’ve worked really hard for things you’re not willing to give up on, even when the odds weren’t in your favour. Maybe it’s a dumb idea to assume I can think straight enough to pass the bar after hitting every stair on my way down, but I don’t want to… not try. I’ve put a lot into this, and I’m not givin’ up, not now. Not so close to the finish line.”

--

tl;dr; an A.D.A. helps a Fordham Law student revise for the bar from a hospital bed.

When Sonny came to, he immediately regretted regaining consciousness.

Everything burned, everything hurt, everything was too loud and too bright. Eyes adjusting to the offensive brightness of the hospital fluorescents and crisp linen bedding, his mind spun its wheels aimlessly for a moment - two - as he tried to regain his bearings. It felt like he’d been reset, roughly turned off then on again like the vending machine in the break room that was always on the fritz, and he certainly felt like he’d had the shit kicked out of him just as much.

“Carisi?” A voice spoke from somewhere beside him, one familiar enough to force him to focus his eyes and try to gather himself together enough to rejoin reality again.

Canting his head to the side - Christ, his head hurt - the image of an overly-concerned Rollins swam into sharpness. Brow furrowed, she looked like she hadn’t slept in some time judging by the rings underneath her eyes, one hand reaching forward and clasped around his own forearm - and dimly, Sonny realised where he was.

“Rollins.” He was aiming for that trademark Carisi-family confidence in his response, but to his dismay it came out as more of a grating croak. Ugh. “Hey, you look awful.”

The concern on her face was quickly replaced by surprise, then bemusement as she scoffed. “Obviously you haven’t looked in a mirror recently, but thanks for the compliment. Charming.” She pauses briefly, expression softening as Sonny looks around the room sluggishly, trying to piece the mess that was him in this hospital bed back together. “How are you feeling? Y’know, you gave us quite a scare back there.”

Back where?

It’s Sonny’s turn to frown as he turns his head back to rest position on his pillow, the effort too much to both keep up an appearance for Rollins and try to figure out what had put him in here.

Last thing he remembered… think, Sonny, think. Okay, so he’d been at work - that much he could remember, because he can remember Fin putting in their evening takeaway order (two chow meins, a bag of prawn crackers and a large fried rice from the Chinese joint two blocks away); he can remember them being interrupted by the Lieutenant as the prawn crackers had just been broken out, sending Sonny and Rollins over to check out a suspicious call placed by a witness on a case they were currently working; he can remember Amanda making snarky comments about his driving on the way there, and he can remember the just as snarky rebuttals he’d made in response (“Yeah, well, I can’t drive, but you can’t boil water without settin’ it on fire.”).

They’d turned up to the apartment block what, perhaps nine? Nine thirty? It was dark out and New York was sporting a classic miserable winter’s evening, because Sonny remembers being cold as all hell as he didn’t remember to bring his thicker jacket. A witness had called SVU in a relative panic, babbling into the phone incoherently about being afraid and paranoid, and “please, just come quickly”. The call had been so non-specific and hard to understand that the actual problem wasn’t really apparent, so Liv had sent him and Rollins to do a welfare check, especially since this was the only witness they’d managed to convince to stay on their rolodex for a potential testimony further down the track.

The case itself was a sticky one: hard to tie together and lacking a lot of concrete evidence, but flush with consequential evidence and obvious lines to draw together. The perfect combination to give the entirety of SVU and the DA’s Office a collective migraine, hence the overtime, hence the late night, hence the prawn crackers and quickly cooling tupperware of chow mein that had sat at Sonny’s desk. An elaborate front of high-school tutors - all young women, all decidedly underage, all listed like they were in a catalogue on an innocuous looking website - had been circulating the depraved underbelly of the city, money changing hands in legitimate-looking ways to solicit teenagers for exploitation. TARU had their work cut out for them, and no hard evidence had floated to the top of the bucket of scum yet. They had been attempting to ply overseas domain providers with warrants and as much pressure as SVU could put on, but aside from identifying some local girls involved with the ring, their work the whole week had come up with a big fat nothing.

That might’ve been why Sonny hadn’t really expected the way things played out that evening. The welfare check, by all ticks and balances, should’ve also been a bit fat nothing. But, as he’s starting to remember as his head threatens to tear itself into small pieces, it had definitely been a bit fat something.

The entire situation had felt off as soon as the lady had answered the door. Small things, that Sonny simply catalogues as a second thought now - the wobble of a voice, the watery look in her green eyes, the fact that she would only open the door a crack to show a sign of life to the people she’d called over just twenty minutes ago. Exchanging a look with Rollins as they stood out in the apartment corridor, Carisi had asked a couple of standard questions - was she safe? (“yes,”), was there anyone else at home besides her? (“no- … no.”) and then the fatal, could we come in for a moment?

Hm. Yeah, he could remember why he was here now.

The question had shot such fear into the woman that she’d fatally faltered in her act, eyes darting off to the side to some unknown player in the room behind her - and then, a flurry of action had unfolded. The door swung back on its hinges hard enough for the wood to scream as it slammed into the inside wall, a large man pushing his way out and essentially bowling over the two detectives standing outside, sending them staggering for balance as he made a run for it down the corridor. Sonny had already had one hand on his gun at the fearful glance from the witness, drawing it as he and Rollins took off down the corridor after him.

“Stop, NYPD!” He’d yelled in full sprint, handgun still trained on the figure as they rounded a corner to the stairwell. Of course, he wasn’t stopping but instead trying to jump the stairs three at a time, the detectives thundering after him and managing to actually close a lot of the distance despite the cramped quarters - and it’s when they catch up to the same flight of stairs that the man stops for a second and raises his own weapon.

“Gun!” Rollins shouted with urgency, turning to the far side of the stairwell’s wall to take cover. Sonny, already a third down the flight, had no such cover to turn to and faced with an aggravated suspect, he froze midstep and squeezed the trigger.

It all happened so quickly - the familiar pop of a gunshot, or gunshots? ripping through the air like a knife through canvas - and, well. Now?

Now, Sonny was here.

- hold on.

“Wait, I got shot?” He asked incredulously, voice tinged in disbelief. “I thought I shot him.”

“You got shot,” Rollins confirmed politely. “And, you fell down the rest of the stairs.”

“God,” Sonny’s voice came out as a mumble as he attempted to raise his hands to summarily bury his face in, but the pain that shoots up his right arm when he does so makes him swiftly reconsider. “You’re kidding. Ain’t no way I’m gonna live this down.”

“What, that you got shot in the line of duty? Are you serious?”

“And, I fell down the stairs. Is that why my head feels like I’ve gone twenty rounds in a ring with the Hulk?”

“Well, if you want the laundry list: you have a fairly major concussion, a gunshot wound in your right shoulder, and a sprained ankle.” Distantly, Sonny’s aware that Rollins was trying to keep things light, but even concussed he could pick up the underlying worry in her voice. “Let’s just say you’re not getting discharged tonight, and the doctor says you’re banned from - uh, how did he put it? - ‘any phones and whatnot’ for several weeks.”

“Several weeks,” Sonny repeated, eyes slipping closed as he desperately wondered just who the hell he’d pissed off upstairs to have eaten shit so hard while simply pursuing a suspect. “Several weeks.”

(There’s something important, something critical in his head that conflicted strongly with the idea of taking off ‘several weeks’, but the what, the why was too difficult to sort from all the pain and brain-fog. Too much effort.)

“Yeah. Look, I’ve got to go tell Liv that you’re awake - she’s been worried sick about you all night and I’m pretty sure she’s still hanging about. Actually, I’m pretty sure most of the crew are still hanging about.”

He’d roll his eyes at that, but his head hurt too much. Denied the pleasure. “Gloating?”

“Oh, shut up.” Rollins admonished, slowly drawing herself up from the hospital chair with a stiffness that belied sitting in it all night. “You might’ve taken a fall, but you got the guy too. You did good.”

Ah.

“Dead?” He croaked, cracking a tired look back at Amanda.

“Not dead.” She corrected. “Incapacitated. Luckily, incapacitated enough not to shoot at us anymore.”

Oh, fuck. That’s right, what an asshole he was being right now - “God, Rollins, I forgot to ask, are you-”

“I’m totally fine.” His question was cut off before he could finish it, but from what he could make out of Amanda’s face, she looked reassuring. Warm. Not shot. “Thanks to you, for really taking the brunt of it.”

Carisi laughs at that, a dry empty chuckle that makes him instantly wish he hadn’t. Everything burned. Everything felt like shit. But at least it had been for something, right? Even if his pride hurt as much as his brain did right now?

“You’re welcome,” He settled on as Rollins headed over to the door, eyes following her as closely as he could manage. Punctuating her exit with a tired grin; “Though if you feel real grateful, consider the large stack of overdue paperwork on my desk.”

All he hears is Amanda scoff again, and then the room is quiet.

He must’ve drifted off after that, because the next time Sonny wakes up it’s the morning, and the nurse informs him there’s more visitors.

Normally he’d be thrilled to be the center of such adoring attention, but he’d been having the most awful nightmare just before waking. God, it was terrible; to think that he’d dreamed that the bar exam was in a week, and that he’d put himself in a position where he’d injured himself so stupidly and so thoroughly that it’d be near impossible to -

Oh, sweet Mother Mary.

Draping his good arm over his face, Sonny swears under his breath at the sheer stupidity of the universe and all of its creations, yes, even those ones. So deep is he in his current Defcon-5 that he doesn’t realise that the nurse had let two people into his room, and those people had started to repeat themselves louder to get his attention.

“Carisi?” Olivia repeated, strongly enough that it gets him to lift his right arm to look in her direction. Standing at the side of his bed was the Lieutenant, and, strangely, A.D.A. Barba. He - what was he doing here? “Are you alright?”

“Fantastic,” Sonny quipped, his voice still hoarse. “Really great. I think I’ll put in for the New York marathon next week.”

Olivia simply gave him a look that said in no uncertain terms that she could now relax; he was being Carisi, and therefore, he was actually fine (in a relative sense). “Yeah? Noble, but I might hold off on that, actually.”

And right now, it’s easier to just maintain eye contact with the Lieutenant than try to figure out why Barba had tagged along, much less perceive the fact that he had. Here Sonny was, having flown down fifteen stairs and eaten the vinyl floor of a barely-liveable Harlem apartment, looking his worst, feeling his worst, and literally prostrate in front of the one person he only ever wanted to see the best of him. It was absolutely, thoroughly embarrassing right down to Carisi’s core, that he was lying in bed like a dumbass for being a dumbass right now in front of - him.

Him.

If only a giant sinkhole could’ve swallowed the entire apartment building up with him, then this could’ve all been easily solved, but unfortunately the sinkholes in New York never appeared where you wanted them to.

“Rollins gave me an update last night, but the doctors recommended that you got rest so we decided to leave you to it.” Olivia continued. “The squad sends their well wishes, though Fin passes on that he’s ‘commandeered your leftovers.’”

A dry chuckle escaped Sonny at that - and some mild regret. It was good chow mein.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure today?” Carisi asked with an attempt at light-heartedness, glancing up between his two visitors - especially since Barba had yet to say a word. Unnerving, and far too much stress for his battered head to handle. “The Lieutenant and the A.D.A.? Am I getting told off?”

It’s Barba’s turn to scoff quietly, and if Sonny knew any better, he’d say that the counsellor almost looked - concerned?

“Believe me, if that were the case, I would’ve done it already.” Barba stated, his gaze as piercing as ever. Unfair, Sonny thinks, because he’s already been pierced through-and-through by one thing in the last 24 hours. “Actually, I came along with Olivia to check on the suspect’s status - the People can’t prosecute the dead.”

Oddly, Sonny’s heart dropped slightly at the selfish thought that Barba hadn’t simply come down to the hospital to see how he was doing - but yeah, why would he? Better things to do.

“And?”

“You’ll be pleased to know he’ll make a full recovery.”

“Great,” Sonny replied flatly, allowing himself to close his eyes again if only because it was easier than witnessing this entire situation.

“I agree; he’ll be held accountable to the full extent of the law. A huge amount more satisfying than indicting a corpse.”

“Is this your attempt at bedside manner, Counsellor?” The detective groaned. “It could use some work. Like, a lot of work.”

Somewhere down by the foot of the bed, a quick inhale made it sound like Barba was about to retort but Olivia quickly cut whatever it was off with her own question.

“And how are you doing, Carisi? How are you feeling?”

“Yeah, fine,” Attempting to brush it off, Sonny looks back up at Olivia like it’d definitely convince her. It did not. “Honestly. I’m stuck here for a bit, but y’know. Gotta make the best of things. It’s not like I can un-shoot myself.”

Olivia sighed knowingly, her arms crossing over her chest. “Okay, well, is there anything that we can get for you while you’re holed up in here?”

“Nah.” - is his automatic response, because Sonny’s so used to looking after other people that the idea of being asked what he needs is so foreign that a thick, Staten Island-accented ‘nah’ is his go-to - but.

“Actually -” He started again, shifting up in bed slightly. The pain of doing so was apparently evident on his face, as he notices Barba’s eyes flick towards him as he does so. Unreadable, as always. “Could I trouble someone to grab some things from my apartment?”

“Sure. Clothes?”

“Nah, books. There’s a big stack of ‘em on my coffee table, but please ignore the absolutely-everything-else that’s lying around. Haven’t had a chance to clean recently.”

“Oookay.” The look on Olivia’s face suggested that she thought clothes were a far better, far more useful option in Sonny’s situation. “Anything specific?”

“Yeah, just - anything that looks like a law textbook. Uh, I wasn’t going to tell anyone because I don’t think it’s good luck before you know the outcome, but my bar exam? It’s in a week. I kinda need to catch up on study.”

The ensuing silent pause in the room was deafening.

“Carisi, do you really think that’s such a good idea?” Olivia replied softly, in the way that she did when she saw someone in the squad doing something monumentally stupid with their well-being, or their relationships, or their anything. “You’ve just gone through a traumatic shock. Perhaps it’d be better to just… put the exam off until you’re in a better condition.”

The frown creasing Sonny’s brow did more explaining for him than his words needed to.

“Nah, nah, that’s not an option. I’ve been working real hard for this, real hard, and I don’t want to miss the final exam just because I fell down the goddamn stairs. Jesus.”

“Got shot,” Olivia corrected.

“However you wanna put it,” Sonny replied instantaneously. “Just. Please, I’m going to go mad in here with the five cable channels they’ve got, anyway. I need to do something with my time, and it mayaswell be somethin’ useful.”

Raising her hands in mock defeat, the lieutenant shook her head with a faint smile on her face. “Okay, I understand. Look, I’ll get Fin or Rollins to go over to yours and get your stuff sometime today. In the meantime, you should get some more rest before you think about doing anything academic.”

“Yeah, yeah. Promise.”

Moving to leave the room and give Sonny some space, Olivia looks expectantly at Rafael, still standing stoically by the foot of Sonny’s bed. And now, Sonny’s looking at him just as expectantly.

“Counsellor?” The lieutenant queried as she opened the door to Carisi’s room. To both of their surprises, Barba raised a hand up briefly.

“Give me a moment,” He murmured in Olivia’s direction in a way that would make shivers run down Sonny’s back if he weren’t so worried about twinging his shoulder wound. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

And with a nod, the Lieutenant is gone. It’s just them, having an awkward, quiet stand-off in Carisi’s hospital room. Pity, because if he were in a better condition, Sonny would’ve made it a loud one.

At least the noise of him running his own mouth would take the edge of this situation, because now they’re alone, all he can hear is the thrum of blood in his ears and Sonny’s not a doctor but, y’know, he’s pretty sure that’s not a sign of his concussion. Unfortunately, things always got this way when they were in close proximity, and Carisi had been dismayed to notice it getting worse as time went on and they crossed each other's paths more frequently. What had started as an initial attraction when the A.D.A. had strolled into the precinct on his first day had developed into much more of a headache, which was even shittier when he now had an actual, splitting headache to contend with.

It was a sordid, shameful one-two punch of being both extremely attracted to someone in a physical sense and a professional sense, and for someone already feeling fairly sore, Sonny didn’t know if he could do this today.

“So I’m in trouble after all?” Sonny attempted to break the silence, a hand drifting towards his wounded shoulder. “Knew it.”

Barba ignored the deflection. “You’re really intending to sit the bar next week? In the condition you’re in?”

“Yeah? I mean, is that so hard to believe? I’m just a little roughed up is all.”

“Roughed up?” The counsellor repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You were shot by an assailant. You have a head wound. And you think that putting yourself through a bar exam is the correct way to recover from that?”

With a sigh, Sonny sank back slightly into the pillows on the bed. “Look, I appreciate the concern, Counsellor, I really do. But I know you’ve worked really hard for things you’re not willing to give up on, even when the odds weren’t in your favour. Maybe it’s a dumb idea to assume I can think straight enough to pass the bar after hitting every stair on my way down, but I don’t want to… not try. I’ve put a lot into this, and I’m not givin’ up, not now. Not so close to the finish line.”

“It’s not giving up,” Barba said quietly, his gaze meeting squarely with Sonny’s in a way that makes him want to curl his toes. “It’s doing it later.”

“I’m doing it now.”

The detective’s response comes out much firmer than he’d intended - not in an aggressive way, but in a way that made Barba’s shoulders relax slightly, as if he knew the battle he was waging was a lost cause. Of course, there’s an expression the counsellor’s wearing that is absolutely inscrutable, though if Sonny had to guess, it would be that he clearly thinks he’s an idiot.

So, imagine his surprise when the corner of Rafael’s mouth quirked up into a half-smirk as he crossed his arms across his chest, a combination that made the breath catch in Sonny’s throat.

“Very well - then I suppose the least I can do is make sure you’re ready. Fordham Law needs all the help it can get.”

- and the jab at his school goes completely unnoticed as the detective all but gaped at the unsolicited offer of help from the guy he’d never ask it from, but the one he’d want it from the most.

Want, well, a lot of things from the most, but -

The door closes, signaling Barba’s departure, and Sonny simply sits there staring at it.

[thetrashywritingwitch]

Hello!! No idea if this is possible but I’ve been binging Sometimes I’m Alone In A Crowd and LOVING IT!!! I just can’t seem to find chapter nine… the link isn’t working and it’s not in the tags. Is there somewhere else I might be able to find it?

Seriously, this story has me hooked!!!!

ANOTHER ONE FOR THIS OLD AF ASS STORY!!!????? Absolutely wild lol

3verything is posted on my Ao3, wattpad, and quotev linked up in my header. I'm trashywritingwitch or witchofwriting on all those. I had removed the chapter from tumblr bc it was 🌶spicy🌶 and only put it on outside websites. I should prob relink it at some point bc fuck it

But dear lird thank u for enjoying that fic bc if I remember right, it was the first one I wrote for this fandom that had proper chapters and a plot. I'm just salty at my own older work bc of my Bakugou-like perfectionist tendencies of holding myself to high standards, including older work. I swear I've gotten better at writing since then tho 🥺

But ya no missing chapters on ao3 🎁 present for u

[kyuohki]

Glitch

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Heavy Rain (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Norman Jayden, Clay Kaczmarek | Subject 16 Additional Tags: Violence, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Drug Use Summary:

He thought it a side effect of the Tripto. Or maybe he was just staying in too long.

(Wouldn't be the first time I started seeing things because of this fucking machine.)

Huh, locking down fic breaks how the link works on Tumblr. That's good to know that I have to put in the title further down.

More old stuff, written February 2013! I'm gonna be posting a lot of AssCreed in the coming days. Just to get it up on Ao3 and archived somewhere else other than my computer.

Ah, Heavy Rain, how I love/hate you. I love the story, and the whole "choose your own adventure" feel to it. Except unlike those books, it sucks so much when you pick the wrong thing, or fail the quicktime event, and have to start all the *fuck* over again.

Norman is my fav of the game, and his use of the ARI was such an interesting concept. (I ship him with Blake. Completely terrible ship, but I love trainwrecks and hate-sex bs. (Though there's also a lot of Norman putting Blake in his place, and the bastard getting off to the idea/loss of control to the agent. :D )

I probs will not finish this fic; I honestly do not know where I was going with it, just working with the imagery of Norman panicking over being dead and apparently downloaded into the ARI? And Clay helping him through it?

[lesbienneanarchiste]

Someone explain to me why i insist on watching old shows from like.... The 90s or earlier and then get upset when there's no fic on ao3 for them

[emospritelet]

Manifesto - chapter 12/?

First off, I'm sorry it's taking me so long to update stuff. I'm super busy with work and now getting over a severe bout of Covid, so I'm pretty wiped out

Last time, Belle had been working with Sutherland on a consultation and trying to ignore her massive crush on him. Here's what happened next

[Ao3 link]

-

Sutherland tapped his pen on the papers in front of him, staring ahead and seeing nothing. His day had started well. A call with the US President had secured bilateral talks, a visit to Washington in October, and the chance of a trade deal. He and the Business Secretary, Sir Frederick Knight, had met with a delegation from India just before lunch to discuss a deal on vehicle manufacturing, and there had been a particularly rousing session of Prime Minister’s Questions, where he had scored some important points against the Opposition. He had been looking forward to a relatively quiet Wednesday evening in Downing Street, a time to take a breath and think about the upcoming election campaign. And now this. 

“Do the press know?” he asked.

Anna was seated on the couch to the left of his desk, legs crossed and a folder of papers on her lap.

“Not yet,” she said. “But it’s only a matter of time. This kind of scandal - difficult to keep a lid on it, no matter how hard the firm may try. Especially if they go into liquidation, as we expect. It’ll get out in the next couple of days, one way or another.”

Sutherland nodded irritably, pen tapping faster until he lost his grip. It whirled out of his hand, spinning across the desk before dropping to the rug with a soft thump. He leaned forward with a sigh, putting his elbows on the desk and running his hands over his face.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, through his fingers. “Emerald Holdings plc, one of the biggest fucking group of companies in this country, is about to head right down the toilet and take all its subsidiaries, thousands of employees and innumerable suppliers with it?”

“Yes,” said Anna. “Although it’s more like tens of thousands of employees. Most here, some in distribution centres abroad. There were a lot of subsidiaries.”

“And the rumour is that its pension fund has been looted by a person or persons unknown but likely to be one or more of its fucking board and it can’t even pay its staff the redundancy they’re owed, never mind their pensions?”

“You were listening to me, then. I thought you’d zoned out.”

“Fuck it all!” Sutherland dropped his hands, pushing back from the desk and almost jumping to his feet. “Where exactly were the fucking auditors when all this was going on?”

“A question the FRC, as regulator, will no doubt be asking.”

“Yeah, well I want their bloody Chair on the phone right now!” he snapped. “There’ll be a Select Committee hearing as a fucking minimum and she’s gonna need to have a bloody good explanation for why this has been allowed to happen!”

“Sir Frederick is speaking to her now to request an immediate investigation.” 

“Request?” he snapped. “She’d better bloody do it! What the bloody hell is the FRC there for, if not to prevent this kind of thing?”

“No doubt she’ll see the urgency,” she said, her tone calm. “I thought we might give her a few hours to make some enquiries before you speak to her. She’ll need to speak to the head of whichever firm was auditor, for a start.”

“Good,” he said, with asperity. “I don’t care if she has to pull the wanker off his bloody yacht, I want some answers. How can this have been allowed to happen? Were they doing their job in scrutinising the accounts, or was it all sewn up on some bloody golf course somewhere?”

“Sir Frederick told me he’d be asking the same questions.”

He grunted approval and began pacing back and forth across the room, running an agitated hand through his hair.

“So we’re going to have to find the redundancy payments, in the first instance,” he said grimly. “How much are we talking?”

“Tens of millions, at best,” she said. “A conservative estimate would be £87 million. That’s not the main problem, though.”

“No,” he said, stopping abruptly. “They were the Government’s biggest contractor. Which means a whole bunch of projects are in jeopardy, right?”

“Some of which were already running over budget.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Not to mention the knock-on effect that this will have on Emerald’s own suppliers,” she added. “If they fail, it’s likely we’ll see hundreds of SMEs fail with them. We’re talking a potential loss to the wider economy getting into the tens of billions.”

A sudden, dreadful thought came to him, and he turned swiftly to face her.

“Arendelle?” he asked urgently. “The defence contract?”

Anna winced.

“They’ll be affected,” she admitted. “Too early to say what impact it’ll have. I suggest getting Sir Frederick to speak with their CEO to see how this affects their long-term plans for Avonleigh.”

Sutherland groaned, letting his head roll back.

“Just what we need in fucking election year!” he growled. “I’d hoped to pick up that constituency! Where’s the Chancellor?”

“Getting briefed by his aides,” she said. “I’ve suggested you meet at nine p.m. when we’ve got a firmer idea of the impact and he’s had a chance to crunch the numbers. Projects are going to have to be delayed, some scrapped altogether, I expect. I think we need to prepare the electorate.”

Sutherland shook his head, hands resting on his hips and his shoulders hunched. His tie felt as though it was trying to choke him, and he tugged at the knot irritably, tearing it from around his neck and flinging it on his desk. Pushing open the top two buttons of his shirt seemed to let him breathe again, and he flopped onto the couch next to Anna.

“I’d been hoping for some good news stories to carry us through to polling day,” he said quietly.

“We’ll do our best,” she said. “Dealing firmly and decisively with a crisis can play well, remember.”

Sutherland pulled a face. A vision of Belle French floated into his mind, her blue eyes shining with anger and passion as they looked up at him. He shoved the image away.

“Well, we’re going to have to make some difficult decisions,” he said. “Something tells me it’s gonna be a long night.”

“I ordered coffee.”

“Good.” He ran his hands over his face again. “Did you speak to the Press Office?”

“They’re working hard on some lines to take. I thought we’d ask Sir Frederick to do the morning media rounds.”

“Good. That’s good.” He let his head roll back against the cushions with a sigh. “We need to find the least worst way to deal with all this.”

“We’ll do our best,” she said. “But whatever you decide, there’s a sizeable amount of shit heading towards the nearest fan.”

“Best start passing around the fucking umbrellas, then,” he said gloomily. 

-

Belle rolled her shoulders, reaching for the glass of wine on the table in front of her. She had just closed up the library following the Friday book club, and Merida had invited her to go for a drink at the local pub, The Miner’s Arms. Leroy had joined them, staring glumly into his pint as though he was due to face the gallows the next day. Belle nudged his arm gently, making him look up.

“I’m sorry Astrid couldn’t make it tonight,” she said. “I thought she was on early shift this week.”

“She had to cover for someone,” he said gruffly. “Working herself into the ground at the moment. That Miss Blue is a tyrant.”

“I’m sure Astrid can stand up to her,” said Belle. “She’s nice, but she’s not a pushover.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t like leaving ‘em short-staffed,” he said. “Says the patients lose out. She’s gonna make herself ill working all hours. An angel, that’s what she is.”

Merida took a slurp of her pint and banged the glass on the table, making Belle jump.

“Man, would you just bloody ask her out, already!” she complained. “If I have to look at the besotted expression on your face one more time I’m gonna puke!”

“I am not besotted!” 

“You are head over heels in love with the woman!”

“Yeah, and I don’t stand a chance with her!”

“Well, not if you just sit there and never say anything!”

Leroy opened and closed his mouth.

“I’m - I’m preparing!” he insisted, fingers splayed in the air in front of him.

“Preparing for what? Dying alone?” Merida snatched up her beer again. “By the time you psych yourself up to it you’re both gonna be in a nursing home!”

“Shut up!”

“If you don’t ask her out I’m gonna do it for you.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Alright, cut it out, you two,” said Belle wearily. “Merida, stop teasing him.”

“He’s driving me insane!”

“Then let’s talk about something else,” suggested Belle. “How’s work? You said you were going to ask for a raise today. How did it go?”

Merida snorted, shaking back her red curls.

“I got a load of bloody flannel about how much I was appreciated and what a contribution I made to the team, and how they’d love to give me a raise but the company wasn’t in a position to do it,” she said. “It’s this bollocks with Emerald plc going tits up. You see it on the news this morning?”

Belle nodded, taking a drink, and Merida pulled a face.

“Major Government contractor goes down the drain, it affects a lot of businesses,” she said. “I’ll be lucky to have a bloody job, at this rate.”

“The Business Secretary was on the radio this morning saying that they’re trying to limit the impact as much as they can,” said Belle. “Don’t ask me what that means in practice, though.”

“Probably that they’re gonna cut spending elsewhere,” said Merida. “Usually does. It’ll be the least well-off that suffer, you mark my words. God forbid they make the greedy bastards responsible for this pay, right?”

Belle opened her mouth to respond, but her phone buzzed, cutting her off. She picked it up as Merida took a long swallow of her beer, swiping the screen to view the email that had popped up.

“A message from Ella Deville-Waters about the consultation,” she said, scanning the email header. “At last, I was wondering when we’d hear something.”

“That the posh blonde woman I saw on the news the other day?” asked Merida.

“Yes. Under-secretary for Education. Good sense of humour. You’d like her.”

“She’s a Tory,” said Merida, with a note of disdain.

“She doesn’t have horns and a tail,” said Belle impatiently. “She’s nice.”

“She can be as nice as she wants, I’m still no’ bloody voting for her.”

“Well, neither am I, I’m just working with her, that’s all.”

“Aye, that’s how they worm their way in.” Merida took a drink. “Like Sutherland.”

“He hasn’t wormed his way anywhere,” said Belle, feeling her cheeks heat a little. “I haven’t spoken to him in weeks, and I doubt I will again.”

She opened the email, brows drawing down as she scanned the contents. Shaking her head, she read it again.

“They’re pulling the plug,” she said in disbelief.

“Huh?” Merida put down her drink.

“The consultation!” Belle waved the phone at her. “They’re pulling the bloody plug. Listen. “Given the dramatic impact that the failure of Emerald plc will have both on Government finances and the resources within the Civil Service, we are unable to commit to additional spending at this time. It is therefore with great regret that we must postpone any further development of the Shaping a Stronger Society policy until after the election.”

“Oh, shit.” Leroy winced. “Sorry, Belle, I know you were giving that your all.”

Belle shook her head, frustration and anger welling up inside her.

“I can’t believe he’s doing this!” she said, and threw up her hands. “Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I can believe it! Stringing people along with empty promises is what politicians do! I guess I’m just surprised he bothered to pretend an interest in the first place.”

“The email said they postponed it,” said Leroy. “Maybe it’s not the end. After the election—”

“After the election he’ll have moved on to the next shiny new vote-grabbing bollocks,” put in Merida. “Tax breaks for all his city mates or hunting licences for posh people to shoot immigrants, or something. That’s if he doesn’t get kicked out by Labour, of course.”

Belle slumped in her seat, reaching for her wine and feeling as though she wanted to cry.

“I actually thought I had a chance to make a difference,” she said heavily. “What an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” said Leroy sharply. “You did what you could. You got the most powerful man in the country to fucking sit down and listen to you. That’s not nothing.”

“And you can make everyone else listen, too,” added Merida. “Talk to the press. Get the people on your side.”

Belle grimaced, pushing her glass across the table.

“I can’t,” she said. “I had to agree to keep all discussion of the consultation confidential.”

“Doesn’t have to involve the consultation,” said Leroy. “You don’t even have to mention it.”

“I know, but everyone knows I was working on it, it’s bound to come up,” she said. “I don’t want to give them an excuse to bin all the work we did.”

“So get a petition going,” suggested Merida. “One of those ones on the Parliament website. If you get over one hundred thousand signatures they have to debate it. Make the fuckers say outright that they want to take away people’s local public libraries. Shame the bastards, Belle!”

“Better still, you could get Leopold White to back the thing,” added Leroy. “If you have an MP on side then it’s gonna get more attention, isn’t it?”

“Plus he’s the Opposition,” said Merida. “He’ll want to give Sutherland a bloody nose, won’t he?”

“I don’t want to give him a bloody nose, I just want…” Belle cut off with a sigh, running her hands over her face. “I don’t know what I want. I want him to care, I guess.”

“Great big fuck-off petition should make him care,” said Merida, gesturing with her pint glass and making the beer slosh dangerously close to the rim. “How many new Twitter followers did you say you got after you yelled at him on TV?”

“I don’t know. Thousands, I suppose.” Belle rested her chin on her hand, feeling glum. “Mind you, some of them were trolls and there were more than a few creepy weirdos, remember?”

“Yeah, but you blocked them,” said Leroy. “The rest must be regular people who were interested in what you were saying.”

“I suppose…”

“So start the petition, launch it on Twitter, and sit back and see what happens.” Merida sat back, a satisfied smile on her face. “It’s a brilliant plan.”

Belle thought it over. A petition would get the attention that her cause needed, and increased library funding was a problem nationwide. Perhaps it was worth a shot.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll draft something and set it up tomorrow.”

“You never know,” added Leroy. “Could get the news talking about it again.” 

She smiled, feeling a little better, and sat up.

“I’ll do it,” she said, and raised her glass. “Here’s to causing a stink.”

“To giving Sutherland a headache,” added Merida, and clinked her glass against Belle’s.

-

Sutherland pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly as he tried to clear eyes grainy with tiredness. He scrawled his signature on the documents in front of him, closing the leather folder and sitting back in his chair. 

“I’ll take those.”

He wasn’t sure where Anna got her energy from. She had been awake as long as he, and on her feet running between offices for most of the day, but she looked full of energy, while he felt as though he’d been hit by a truck. She scooped up the folder, tucking it under her arm.

“Give them to one of the aides,” he said. “What else is there?”

“Nothing,” she said briskly. “I cancelled your nine o’clock. Sir Frederick still hasn’t finished speaking to the Treasury, so it can wait until morning. Drink?”

“What would I do without you?” he asked wearily, and she chuckled.

“That’s a yes, then. Whisky?”

“Make it a large one.”

“Is there any other kind?”

He sat back, taking off his glasses and rubbing his hands over his face as he listened to the clink of glasses and the glug of liquid. 

“Come on, get out from behind that desk,” she said sternly. “It's Friday night. You’re taking a break.”

He got up obediently, rounding the desk to sit on the couch, and she handed him a glass of whisky before sitting down next to him.

“Did you speak to Ella this evening?” he asked, and she nodded.

“She’s emailed all the consultation participants to tell them the news. Nothing back as yet, but there again it’s late. Probably won't get any response until Monday.”

“Right.” He took a sip of his whisky. “She alright about it?”

“I think she was hoping to raise her own profile off the back of that policy,” she said, “so she’s a little disappointed, of course, but she understands the reasons.”

“She’ll get her opportunity at some point.”

“She said to remind you of that, so I’m glad you said it.”

He grunted in amusement, turning the glass between his fingers. Anna nudged him gently.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

“You mean aside from the economic meltdown we’re heading towards and the contracts that need re-tendering and our ratings—”

“Yes, aside from that,” she said impatiently. “That’s the third time today you’ve asked me about the Shaping a Stronger Society consultation.”

“We made a pledge, remember?”

“Yes, and we now have a crisis to deal with that means we can’t fulfil that pledge right now,” she said. “It’s not the first time that’s happened, and I doubt it’ll be the last.”

“I know.” He took another drink, enjoying the mellow heat of the whisky and the taste of peat and smoke at the back of his mouth. 

“You had some hard choices to make, and you made them,” she added. “That’s your job.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I know I made the right call.”

“So what’s bothering you?” asked Anna, and he shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Usually when I make the right decision, there’s a sense of - of certainty there. This time, I feel - bad.”

“And you’re sure this has nothing to do with a certain librarian?” she asked, with a grin. Sutherland turned back to his whisky.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

“Oh, merely the fact that Belle French is extremely pretty and clever and capable and has no qualms about telling you to fuck off to your face.”

“No, I’m—” Sutherland frowned. “She never specifically told me to fuck off.”

“Not using those words, perhaps.”

“And I never noticed whether she’s pretty or not.”

Anna snorted.

“Liar.”

He ignored that, because it was true, and took another sip of his whisky.

“I’m half expecting her to turn up on the doorstep to yell at me,” he admitted. 

“I think you’d quite enjoy that.”

Sutherland chuckled.

“I get yelled at enough, thank you.”

Anna settled back a little, crossing her legs. 

“Well, she may not have to come to London to do it,” she said. “If things look bad with the Arendelle contract, I’m going to suggest you make another visit to Avonleigh to reassure the constituents. Including Belle. She seems to be the heart of that town, in many ways. You’ll need her on your side.”

Sutherland sighed, letting his head fall back against the cushions.

“Our last visit didn’t exactly cover me in glory.”

“No, but you two have worked together now.” She took a sip of her drink. “I’d like to think your relationship is more civil.”

“Try telling Miss French that.”

“I think you should tell her yourself,” she said. “We both know how persuasive you can be. I might even say charming.”

Sutherland let out a humourless laugh, raising his glass.

“Something tells me she’s not easily charmed.”

“Something tells me you haven’t tried.”

“Because she’d cut my bollocks off if I did,” he insisted.

“Oh, so we’ve completely bypassed apathy and gone straight to dramatic overreaction, have we?”

He took another sip of his whisky, relishing the burn on his tongue, and let his head roll to the side to meet her eyes.

“Alright, fine,” he said wearily. “If you think I need to, I’ll go to Avonleigh. But I’m not meeting her in public until we know what sort of reception I’ll get.”

“Good,” she said briskly. “It’s the right decision.”

“I hope so,” he said. “If I have to come face-to-face with Miss French, I’d prefer it to be pleasant.”

Anna gave him a satisfied smirk, raising her glass.

“If you can both behave yourselves, I’ve no doubt it will be.”

[runtedfiction]

nothing

day 6: abnormality @zelinkweek2021

ao3

AN: inspired by this lovely artwork from @eerna. it's so good that it's seared into my personal canon. (also, day 7 will be egregiously late, so i'll prob post it as its own thing)

* * *

The aftermath of the Spring of Power.

* * *

“What’s wrong with me?”

When she asks it, she doesn’t expect to hear anything, just like always. But still, she can’t help but stare into the stupid statue’s eyes and hope for something to happen. She stares and stares until the water begins to feel almost warm. Until Link appears in the periphery of her vision.

“Princess, your fingers are purple.”

When he helps her out of the spring, she isn’t shivering--she’s cried so hard that she doesn't have energy for anything else. He wraps a cloak around her, his brow the most furrowed she’s ever seen. She barely has the energy to thank him, let alone walk. After she nearly trips for the third time on the way back to their campsite, he stops.

“Can--” he stumbles over his words. Even lifting her head to look at him makes her tired. “Can I carry you?”

“Yes. Please.” She just wants to be somewhere warm. The chill is coming back, and this time it’s deeper than it’s ever been.

He places one arm beneath her legs, and one behind her back.

Perhaps in another life, she would have blushed while her handsome knight carried her, bridal style, to their lodgings for the night. In another life, she would’ve taken this opportunity to loop her arms around his neck and bury her face in his neck.

In this one, as soon as her body doesn’t have to work to move, she passes out.

* * *

She wakes up shortly after he places her down to the sound of the kettle whistling. She couldn’t have been asleep for more than twenty minutes, and she would fall back asleep instantly if her dress weren’t still so cold. Link’s moved her bedroll as close as it can be to the fire. She closes her eyes to soak in the heat on her cheeks.

“I’m making tea,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“You should change.”

“Ok.” She closes her eyes for a bit more. It isn’t so bad now that her face is warm. She can almost ignore the fact that the rest of her body feels like the Biron Snowshelf, and if she focuses on the fire and its crackle it sounds so soothing, and—

“Princess,” he says gently. “You should change.”

Zelda rubs her eyes and sits up. “You’re right.”

In the tent, she shivers as she peels off her dress. Link also laid out a towel, and she runs it over her body as quickly as she can considering her hands hurt like hell. She focuses on getting her Rito set as quickly as possible.

When she walks out to sit next to him, he has a mug of tea and a second cloak ready.

“Here.” He drapes it over her shoulders, and hands her the steaming mug. She estimates she’s feeling one tenth of how hot the metal actually is as she wraps her hands around it.

“Thank you.”

Slowly, the unbearable chill defrosts. She takes a sip of the tea.

“Mm,” she says to break the silence. Now that the fog in her brain is also clearing, it’s easy to remember that she cried in front of him for the better part of an hour. She’s too tired to be embarrassed, but still. “This is good. What is it?”

He doesn’t look up from polishing his sword. “Oolong. Decaf.”

“Fancy,” she says.

He nods.

“Did you know,” she says, after a beat, “that oolong is one of the most difficult teas to produce? Some say it’s similar to making fine wine.”

He doesn’t say anything; it seems like there’s a spot of rust or monster gunk that’s particularly to get off. But she’s used to his silence by this point--if anything, now that she’s gotten him to open up, it’s strange when he does respond. It’s easy to keep talking.

“Excluding external factors like the mountain you’re on and that year’s weather conditions, there are millions of small things you can do to vary the flavor. You need to choose a specific variety to grow, how long you want it to oxidize for, and in the case of decaf, you need to expose the moistened tea leaves to pressurized carbon dioxide.”

She looks into the fire. “But, there’s one thing all oolong producers need to do--you need to let it wilt in the sun. Once you pick the plant, this living thing that you’ve cultivated and cherished and killed, you need to find a day with strong sun. You need to let it wilt.”

She doesn’t know exactly where she’s going with this (just that it fills her with rage when she thinks about how her father couldn’t care less if she froze to death today), so she stops.

“Mm,” he says after an inappropriately long amount of time. “Interesting.”

She almost smiles. “You’re lying.”

He looks at her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while more. When he puts in the last of the firewood, he speaks first.

“Are you ok?”

“What?”

He looks at her. His brow is furrowed again. “Are you ok?”

The question is so simple, so genuine, that it stabs at her.

“Sorry,” she says, wiping at her cheeks when the tears come. “Sorry, I’ll stop.”

“It’s ok.”

He looks back into the fire again, and waits patiently.

“To be honest,” she says with a sigh once she’s done composing herself. “I don’t think things are going too well.”

“We have time.”

He looks so calm, despite the fact that there’s only one more spring and time is running out. And sure, they have the Champions and the Divine Beasts and the Guardians, but Zelda knows that their odds of survival would increase exponentially with her.

“Yes,” she agrees, “but it isn’t enough. And this isn’t--this can’t be normal.”

“What can’t be?”

“Not hearing anything. Not feeling anything, even when all I do is pray.” She hopes she doesn’t sound too bitter.

He looks back into the fire. “Nothing���s wrong with you.”

Again, for someone who normally says nothing, it’s impressive how his words cut into her like a knife. This time she swallows the lump in her throat. She can’t cry in front of him for a third time.

“Oh,” she says, in her worst impression of casualness, “so you were listening earlier?”

“Sorry.”

She smiles a little to try and put him at ease. It doesn’t look like it’s working, especially since he’s still avoiding eye contact. “You mean to tell me you aren’t listening all the time?”

“Well this one,” he says, then pauses. She wonders if he’s also remembering how broken her voice was (“What’s wrong with me?”). “This one sounded a bit different.”

“It was,” she says, choosing to not say, “I fear I will cause the apocalypse.”

He looks over at her. She doesn’t know if she wants him to tell her if everything will be ok, or if she just wants a hug.

It’s her turn to stumble over her words. “Can--can I put my head on your shoulder?”

He looks surprised, but who is a knight to refuse his princess? (And secretly, she has a feeling he’d go to the ends of the world for her.) “Sure.”

Very gingerly, she places her head on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. They watch the fire die down to glowing embers.

* * *

It’s hard for her to fall asleep, even when the fire is out and she’s so toasty it’s easy to forget what she felt like just a few hours ago.

She keeps playing his words over and over in her head. Nothing’s wrong with you.

Link is solid and warm and an anchor. A reminder that underneath the legends and lifetimes and lore, there’s another story here. It involves a boy and a girl, a princess and her knight.

The princess knows that she’s in love with her knight. She knows she might end the world.

“I’m sorry,” Zelda whispers.

Link shakes his head. “Don’t be.”

[softzhongli]

summary: even the cupid can fall in love, right? word count: 2,039 warnings: a little angsty? sorry i can’t stop asdfghjkl links: masterlist // ao3 requestes: open  posted: 14/02/2022 a/n: happy valentine’s day y’all 🖤 have a little sth from yours truly to sweeten the day (there’s probably a shitton of mistakes but i’m too tired to check #NoBetaWeDieLikeRexLapis lmao)

You’d think, being the Cupid would make falling in love a lot easier, right? The whole purpose of being the deity of love is to take care and make sure people, right for each other, are falling in love.

Yeah, the right people, that’s the catch.

For someone responsible for love, you weren’t doing the best job when it came to your own love life. How pathetic would it sound to people if they knew you were in an unrequited love? And not on the receiving end? Cupid suffering from a crush. Even you had to laugh just thinking about it.

To be completely honest, you weren’t one hundred percent sure Diluc wasn’t reciprocating your feelings. It’s not like you were ever brave enough to confess. He also never took the first step but you knew it would take a miracle for Diluc to make a move if he even felt something for you. Also, he had no idea you were the Cupid so not only didn’t he know you were in love with him but also he had no idea who you really are. And it was eating you alive. You wanted to tell him so bad but revealing that you’re not even a human being somehow scared you more than telling him about your feelings and it scared you like hell.

It was now a little over a year since you met Diluc for the first time, when you quite literally fell from the sky and he was the one who found you near the Monstadt gates hours later. You were literally out of this world and all those clichés made you internally roll your eyes more times than you could count at this point. To this day you’re not sure if it was a blessing or a curse that your wings retracted before Diluc stumbled upon you. Maybe it would’ve been easier if he knew right away who you are.

After all the time you spent here with Diluc it’s funny now how you disliked him at first. It might be due to being in a completely new environment among total strangers. Diluc had several changes in the way he treated you throughout the time you’ve known him. When he saw you at first he was very kind and worried, making sure you’re okay and unharmed then doing a complete one-eighty and being suspicious and wary of you, to eventually getting to know you and making you feel welcomed and safe in his presence. Not to mention completely stealing your heart somewhere along the way.

“Y/n, you’re staring.” Diluc said without even looking your way. 

“Well, you’re pretty, how could I not?” You teased.

Contrary to talking about your actual feelings, flirting was like a second nature to you. It was easy. Most of the time just telling people what they wanted to hear, stroking their ego a little. You especially liked to test your skills on Diluc, because the way he looked when he would immediately blush was your absolutely favourite sight to see. He never flirted back or at least you don’t think he did and definitely not in the way you were used to but it never stopped you before. And Diluc clearly didn’t mind that much as he never directly told you to stop.

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“And you’re beautiful.” You winked at him and tried to stifle a laugh when Diluc nearly dropped a bottle of wine.

“Do you have an off button?”

“You should know the answer to that question by now.”

You wanted to tease him even more but the door to the tawern opened and in walked a beautiful blond haired girl. She didn’t waste any time and came straight to the bar and when she stopped right next to you you were almost knocked out by how powerful her lever of traction was. It was something you could always pick up on if the potential match was near a person. Even without your ability you’d be able to see she had her eyes on Diluc both figuratively and literally.

The problem was Diluc because even after more than a year you were yet to feel even the slightest form of attraction or affection on him. It was strange. Normally it’s the first you pick up on but with him it was impossible, at least for now.

After only a few seconds you had to excuse yourself. The atmosphere was suffocating, your heart clenched uncomfortably and it started to get hard to breath. You had to clear your head.

The easiest way would be to materialize your bow and a pair of arrows and just shoot them both in the hearts but with Diluc still being unreadable you couldn’t risk it. It might like fun and games to pair people and watch them fall in love but if you ever miss a match you’d basically sentenced both of them for a life of heartbreak and the thought of Diluc hurting like that was unbearable. There was no space for mistakes.

As soon as you were outside it was like you emerged from underwater, taking deep breaths to calm you shaking hands and beating heart. Was it just because of that girl? Or did the jealousy suddenly kicked in? You honestly didn’t want to know.

You were grateful that the sun was long gone from the sky and no one was around because as soon as your breath evened out your wings appeared without you even knowing. And when you did finally notice them it was too late to do anything about it because Diluc was behind you and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he turned into stone.

“Y/n?” His brows high up, creating wrinkles on his forehead. Eyes widened more than you’ve ever seen.

“Shit.” You mumbled to yourself and yet you didn’t hide the wings because some part of you was so relieved that the secret was out. It was out of your hands now and you could only see how it’d play out. “Hi, Diluc.”

“You have wings.” He said like he was informing you, like you didn’t know the wings were on your back. It was quite cute in a way.

“Yes.” You simply confirmed his discovery.

“Real wings.” You weren’t sure if he was asking or telling you this so you just nodded, staying quiet instead. Waiting for anything he wanted to add. “What?”

“Do you want to touch them?” You asked cautiously. You knew there were things you should probably explain but little steps seemed like the best solution in the moment and offering him to touch the wings and confirm for himself that yes, they indeed are real was the best you could offer.

At first Diluc just stared at you for a long moment. His mind probably racing right now. Eventually he took a step closer then another until he was much closer than it was necessary but you decided not to comment on that, instead bringing the wings from behind you, to occupy the space between the two of you.

“Wow.” Diluc chuckled, a little breathless while his hand was gently gliding on various places on your wings. It was the first time he was touching you this way and you had to fight your own body to not close your eyes from how good it felt.

“There’s no hiding now.” You sighed which made Diluc look at your face and before he could say anything you decided to lay it all ot before the courage disappear. “I know it’ll most likely sound crazy but here we go. As you can tell from the wings, I’m not really human.” You tried to joke to make it all at least a little bit less awkward. “I’m actually the deity of love. Most people call me Cupid.” You said simply and to prove your words, you moved your wings away, already missing Diluc’s touch, to reveal the black bow and red arrows in your hands.

Diluc’s hand reach out in your direction. It must’ve been completely unconscious because he stopped halfway and looked you in the eyes, waiting for you to give him permission and when it was granted his hand landed on the bow, tracing it shapes before moving on to the arrows. He took one and brought it closer to his face examining it with curious eyes.

“So you’re the Cupid. You make people fall in love.” He said slowly, probably still processing everything that just happened. You didn’t now if he believed you but at the same time you didn’t want to ask. “Did you use it on me?” He asked shaking the arrow in his hand a little.

“No! Of course not!” You were quick to reassure him. Maybe to quick because Diluc seemed surprised by your answer. “I promise I didn’t use it on you.”

“Why?” 

“What do you mean?” It was now your turn to be surprised.

“Why didn’t you? Use the arrow on me, I mean.”

“I’d have shoot both at you and your potential partner but I can’t quite figure you out. And if I’m not sure it might do more harm than good.” There was no point in hiding the truth. You already started exposing your secrets. Might as well do it all in one go.

“Would I be able to use it?” You only nodded, not sure where he was going with it. “And does it have to be shot from the bow?”

“No. As long as the arrow pierces the heart it will work but why are you ask-”

“Do it.” He pointed at the arrow in your hand while still holding one in his own.

“What? I told you I have to shoot two people. And most importantly that I have to be sure. Diluc right now I’m anything but sure.” You tried to reason with him but the determination you saw in his eyes was not going away.

“I am.” He stated and again practically closed the distance between you two. The confusion on your face melting into realization as soon as he pointed the arrow in his hand to your heart.

“Diluc.” Your voice cracked. “If you’re wrong it’ll be like living with a broken heart for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t mind as long as you’re the one breaking it.” He shrugged and your eyes blurred with tears.

It was what you dreamt of all this time. It wasn’t just one-sided crush. The feelings were real an he felt it too. But you were scared. All the worse case scenarios flooding your mind preventing you from feeling the happiness ypu should be feeling in that moment. But as soon as you felt his hand guiding yours until the arrow touched his chest you couldn’t think about anything else but him.

“I am sure, Y/n.” He repeated. “Come on Cupid, give me my happy ending.” You knew he tried to joke for your sake. To somehow make you feel better. “How does it feel when it’s right?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never experienced it.”

“Then we’ll have to see for ourselves.”

You weren’t even sure if your own arrows could work on you. You’ve never considered the possibility. Yet there you were, head full with worry, doubting everything but your feelings for Diluc. You both took a deep breath and when you shook your head yes you pushed the arrow into Diluc’s chest with a trembling hand just as he did the same.

The warmth you that invaded your entire body made your breath catch in your throat. Your eyes filled with tears immediately because you knew it was right and the look on Diluc’s face told you he was feeling the same thing. The arrows dissapeared suddenly, but the warm feeling was still there and next thing you knew you and Diluc were pressed chest to chest and your lips crashed into a messy kiss but there was too many emotions to care.

“I love you.” Diluc whispered against your lips but didn’t give you enough time to say anything before yet again placing his lips on yours. So instead of words you poured all your love into the kiss.

[grasslandgirl]

1-4 fic writing asks!!

xoxoxoxoxo mary ILYYY sorry im belated answering this! brain broke <3

1: Which of your fics would you keep the basic plot of but rewrite completely?

a toss up between my eldonado fake dating/tatbilb fic (x) or my d20 bb figayda hmc au (x); i have complicated and similar feelings for both, they were both the longest thing i'd written or posted at the time of finishing them, but looking back i feel like the execution leaves a lot to be desired, the ending on both of them feels rushed to me, and i don't often go back and reread either of them because i can't not think about how i would do it differently now. which, i mean, i guess that's part of growing and improving in any artistic endeavor, you leave behind the things you did before and have to look back on them with both gratitude and a healthy dose of "eugh" but like. yeah. i think i would either rework my eldonado tatbilb, or expand further on my d20bb fic in a way i didn't have the support or the time to do last year

2: Anything that you'd like to write but feel like you're unable to?

mmmmmmm. idk. nothing specific comes to mind at the moment. there aren't a lot of things i really want to write that i don't/can't. like sometimes i'll have ideas that are really complicated and involved and i know from conception i prob won't write them fully out, but they're fun to kind of plot point and consider and think about, even if they never leave a planning doc. and there are a lot of wips i start and then lose interest/inspiration in and end up leaving in a folder somewhere gathering digital dust; and sometimes i remember and come back to them, and sometimes i dont! most of the things i dont think i'd be able to write are also things that i don't have a ton of interest in writing? really heavy graphic violence and angst, porn, etc- mostly when i have an idea for a new swing at something i want to try writing, i talk to my friends and bounce ideas and i try to read things that are similiar in tone/style to what i want to attempt and work from there!

3: How would you describe your writing style?

uhhhh. meandering. too many lists. excessive use of commas and italics. heartwrenching pining and loyalty and dedication and affection. internal monologues and detailed sensory scene setting. uhh? yeah

4: Do you have any OCs? Do you have a story for them?

uhhhuhhh kind of????? a lot of people have prob seen me blog about dna/leah/adam- which are like. pseudo oc's in my mind (though casey will probably argue they're full ocs lmao <3). leah and adam (and a whole additional host of characters that go along with them) started as characters in a very unknown british play (DNA by dennis kelley) and have since, in the seven years since i ran the show, have grown and evolved into sort of original characters? it's hard to tell where the line in the sand is between character inspired by a play and character so far divorced from the original source material it's an oc, you know?

so long story short: i sort of have OC's. i have SOOO many stories (seven years worth) about them. oh my god. (you don't want to see little 16 y/o sav's dna fic though. you don't.)

ask me fic writer's questions from this list!! (my ao3 is also @ grasslandgirl and is linked in my bio <3)

[anarcoqueer1994]

So I wrote this and I'm pretty proud it. Some pre-serum 1930s Stucky, period accurate homophobia. If you like it I linked my ao3 for the other two chapters. Am I cringy? Probs but whateves

It is probably one of the coldest winters Bucky could remember. He was thankful that the end of the day was finally here. The biting temperatures were amplified by the air off of the cold water. More importantly though, going home meant he could go check on Steve, his tenement mate, and long-time best friend. Steve have come down with a bout of pneumonia a couple weeks back. He is still fighting to get his strength back, still breaking out in coughing fits and struggling to get around. His weak immune system made sure that it was not going to be easy to get over this. Honestly, Bucky hated that he had to leave him alone all day to work, but they needed the money to afford the rent, even if their tenement was too small and the heat wasn’t the best. So Bucky just spent the day going through the worse possible scenarios in his head. What if Steve got worse while he was away? What if Steve fell somewhere in the apartment because he is too stubborn to stay in bed, and now couldn’t get up? Was he laying their freezing not able to get back to his bed? What if he…dies because I am not there to help him? But now he could get home and check on Steve.

“James!’ Bucky turned around to hear Bill calling after, as he walking away for the day. Bill was another one of the grunt workers at dock. Nice enough guy, kind of rough. Probably his closest “work friend.” Bucky waits for him to catch up.

“Yea?” he says casually, trying not to show the impatience in his voice for the man that is unknowingly delaying him from getting to Steve.

“Want to go get a drink with some of the guys? Maybe we’ll run into some dames desperate enough for a good time to give your ugly mug a chance?” He wiggles his eye brows jokingly.

“No thanks, I’m good, actually.” Bucky replies, turning to leave.

“Oh come on, you never come out. Let loose a little, pal.” Bill pushes.

“I just need to get home…” Bucky responds, a little annoyed at this point because of the hold up.

“What’s the rush?”

“It’s just Steve is at home and he’s expecting me.” Bucky lies. Steve wouldn’t care if he went out. He would tell Bucky he deserves it. In actuality, he was too worried to go out and have fun, not when Steve was at home, miserable.

“Come on then, invite him out too. You guys can meet us at the bar.” Bill offers.

“Maybe another night, Steve is pretty sick. Getting over pneumonia.” Bucky goes to turn away again.

“Then why are you in a rush?” He laughs. “If he’s sick, he’s probably just laying down in bed. No need to babysit.”

Bucky ignores he question and just repeats, “Like I said, maybe another night.”

Bill lets out a little amused huff. “Interesting.”

His tone of voice gets the better of Bucky. “Interesting? What is that supposed to mean?” Bucky interrogates.

“Nothing, man. Forget about it.” Bill half-heartedly replies.

Bucky of course will not forget about it. “No, what did you mean?” His voice a little more irritated sounding then he intended.

Bill shakes his head and lets out a sigh. “It’s just some of the guys…”

“Some of the guys, what?” Bucky urges.

“Some of the guys say you’re a little funny, you know.” Many of the guys on the crew have grown up in the same neighborhood as Steve and Bucky and as such have known them, or at least seen them for a long time.

Bucky feels a sudden weight on his chest but does not let it show. “Funny how, Bill?” though he is terrified that he know what he means.

“You know, you and that roommate are pretty close and have been for a long time. Sometimes it just appears…” he hesitates, thinking about how to say it. “It appears like you treat him how you would treat a dame you were into. It just seems a little queer.” From behind Bill, he could see some of the guys eavesdropping. Some are smirking, and a few other are snickering. Some even are shooting disgusted looks at Bucky.

Bucky stops his face from faltering from the apathetic look he has put on. He replies loud enough for those assholes who are listening in to hear. “Well, I can assure you Bill, that Steve is my best friend, and that’s all, okay?” In reality, his heart is beating through his chest. Had it been that obvious that he liked Steve? How long have they been passing stories about this.

Bill cracks a smile and slaps Bucky on the shoulder. “Yeah, okay. I knew those guys had to wrong about you. Come out and join us later if you change your mind.” Bill gives Bucky the name of the bar they’ll be at, as he politely listens, not intending on changing his mind. As he leaves, he can tell a lot of the guys do not seem to believe him.

Walking home, Bucky was stuck in his head. He didn’t think people could tell how he felt about Steve. Did he act more like Steve’s fella than his friend? How could they tell? To be fair, he hadn’t been lying about Steve just being his friend. Just because Bucky was a little “light in the loafers”, did not mean that he feelings for Steve were requited. Steve was such a good guy and a model Catholic. No way was Steve into him the same way.

Probably for the best since guys liking other guys that way wasn’t looked on very favorably. The anti-sodomy laws made that clear. Plus, he didn’t particularly like the idea of having to get into fist fight with guys who may make a remark at him…or god forbid Steve.

He shakes his, getting himself out of his own thoughts. He didn’t want to think about these what ifs anymore. Maybe he would try harder to act less like a boyfriend to Steve and more like his super manly, non-homosexual, best friend. Its’s not like he didn’t like women, he just preferred Steve more. But he could be less doting. He didn’t need to babysit his best friend. Bill was right, Steve was probably just sleeping and didn’t need him. Maybe he would just stop at home, check in momentarily, and then take them up on his offer to drink with the guys. He hypes himself up in his head as he reaches the steps leading up to his door. These thoughts left his head as soon as he opened the door.

He could hear a pretty bad coughing fit from the bedroom. The place was freezing. The shitty radiator must be on the fritz. It was warmer than outside but not by much. It couldn’t be more than 40 degrees in that house, the paper-thin walls doing little to keep the heat in. Bucky makes his way to the little gas stove. The tenement was only 3 rooms, the front room that consisted of a little seating area and a modest kitchen (if you van call it that. It was a little sink and gas stove, with one cupboard), the bathroom (the only room with a door), and their share bedroom. He turns on the oven, and leaves it open so the heat could radiate through out the place. He discards his shoes and jacket in the front room. Then he quietly makes his way to the back bedroom, not knowing if the previous coughing fit indicated if he was a wake or not. If Steve was asleep, he didn’t want to wake him.

When he walks through the doorway to bedroom, his friend is huddled under some the blankets. He notices that Steve is still covered in his own blanket, as well Bucky’s blanket that he had laid on top of him this morning when he left for work. Steve’s face sticks out slightly even though he pulled the blanket over his head. He is definitely not feeling great. He is awake but kind of staring off in the distance. His usual pale features somehow look paler when punctuated with the dark circles under his eyes. Of course, he hasn’t slept well in a while, constantly being woken up in fits of coughing and wheezing. He hasn’t noticed that Bucky has walked in. There is no way Bucky can leave and go to the bar though after seeing this.

“Hey Stevie.” Bucky puts on a smile, knowing that Steve hates when Bucky stares at him like some pathetic sick thing. Steve looks up and for a moment it looks like a light entered his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago. Bucky likes to think he did not imagine it and Steve genuinely lights up because of him. Probably wishful thinking but it’s a nice though.

“Hey Buck!” He tries to sound stronger than he felt. He hated making Bucky worry but he knew his friend, He inevitably is. He pushes himself up lamely to rest his back against the wall behind his mattress. He is still wrapped up in the blankets, still shivering faintly. “So how was work?” Steve asks, just kind of wanting to talk to Bucky. He would never admit it to Bucky, but he hated feeling alone all day while the other man was at work.

Bucky makes his way across the room, sitting on the little wooden stool by Steve’s bed so he could face his friend. His smile had disappeared momentarily when Bucky thought back to conversation he had right before leaving. But he recovers quicky to reply. “Nothing special. Cold as hell though. And this damn apartment is freezing, not making it any better.”

“Yea, I think the radiator is busted. Tried to tell the sup, but I couldn’t get out of bed. I’m sorry Buck.” He gives a sad smile. Times like this made Steve feel so useless, couldn’t even make sure the heat was working so Bucky was cold after working outside all day.

“No problem, pal. Tomorrow’s my day off. I’ll handle it.” Bucky smiles before realizing how sad Steve still looks. He leans over and puts his hand on Steve’s blanket covered shoulder. “Buddy, I promise it is not a big deal, you cannot help that you are sick.”

Steve sighs miserably. “Doesn’t mean, it doesn’t make me feel pretty worthless. For god sakes, look how pathetic I am. I have both blankets and am still shivering like some babe.” He averts his eyes to his lap, avoiding Bucky’s gaze.

This breaks Bucky’s heart, to hear how little Steve thinks about himself. Steve Rogers had the biggest heart out of everyone he knows. He has gotten into so many fights (that he could not win) just because he saw some in justice. Steve was the best person he has ever met so hearing this from him is difficult. “Stevie…” the familiar nickname instinctively causes Steve to look back at Bucky. “I hate to tell you this, bud, but you are wrong. You are pretty great and all this stuff about being worthless or pathetic, is bullshit.”

Steve lets out a nervous huff before quietly whispering “Thanks, Buck…”

“Anytime.” Bucky smiles back at him.

“But, umm hey Bucky…”

“Yeah?”

“Here...” Steve starts to shimmy out the outer blanket belonging to the slightly older man.

“Hey no…” Bucky puts up his hands to signal to stop. “You need that, it is freezing in here and you are sick.”

“Yea but we can’t have you getting sick, either Buck. You may not have my immune system but you can get still get sick.

“Steve.” Bucky says firmly. “I will not take that blanket from you.”

Steve sighs, sometimes Bucky can be as stubborn as he is. “Fine but I can’t have you freezing to death. Come up here. We can share the blanket,” Steve says it so matter-of-factly, like nothing he said was weird. And I guess it wasn’t it is not like they haven’t shared a bed before. Except, in light the conversation at work Bucky can’t help but to start to over think it. Luckily for him, Steve clears his throat to get Bucky’s attention when he notices him staring off. “Hey Buck…did you hear me? Come on, get up here.”

Bucky wants to get up there, god knows he does. To Steve it seemed to be a very practical thing, cold apartment, limited blankets, two bodies make more heat than one, etc. But to Bucky, it felt like so much more. He loved being that close to Steve. And that was his problem. Thinking fast he says “I should start supper. I’m going to heat up the stew for us that Mrs. Andrews dropped off yesterday.” Mrs. Andrews being the nice widow from upstairs.

“Oh…” Steve says before letting a smile come back to his face. If Bucky didn’t know any better, he would say Steve almost sounded disappointed. He did not allow himself to dwell on it too long. Instead, he quickly stands up and makes his way to the kitchen. He throws the small pot of stew on the stoves so he can warm it up.

After a few minutes, he hears Steve shuffle into the room. It really was much warmer in that since the oven, and now the stove, have been on. Steve takes a quiet seat at their modest table.

“You didn’t have to come out. I would have brought you dinner, Stevie.” Bucky says, eyes on the pot in front of him.

“S’okay, I needed to stretch my legs…” No sooner did he say that, did another coughing fit came on. It sounded almost painful, and Bucky could only imagine how raw Steve’s throat must feel. He made his was to his friend, carrying a handkerchief to help with the mess of snot and flem coming from the other man. He stops in front of his friend, crouching down to be on his level. Bucky patiently waits for it to pass before handing his friend the little piece of cloth.

“Thanks Buck…” Steve said almost like he was embarrassed. Bucky instinctively squeezes Steve’s knee reassuringly, before smiling softly and getting back up. He walks back to the pot on the stove. Okay, he thinks to himself. I may be a little too doting. What Bucky did not see when he turned around was Steve smiling at him.

The rest of dinner is uneventful, give or take a few coughs and shivers. When they finished eating, Bucky has to turn off the oven He doesn’t want to leave it on all night, doesn’t want to risk a fire. It is still pretty early in the evening, only about 7:30 but he can see Steve is exhausted.

Steve stands up, but momentarily loses his balance. Bucky, overreacting, stands up and catches Steve before the smaller man can even try to catch himself. They find themselves in a precarious situation. Steve is leaning is weight against Bucky’s chest, as Bucky’s arm is wrapped around the skinnier man’s waist. Bucky’s cheeks turn red as Steve stares curiously at him.

After what felt like years of silence, Bucky lets go of Steve, realizing his friend must be confused. “Uh sorry, thought you were going to fall.” Bucky nervously rubs the back of his neck.

Steve yawns and says “Thanks, I almost did.” He actually flashes bucky a warm smile that honest to god gave the brunette butterflies. Get it together, Barnes. He thinks to hisself, as he watches Steve walk away to their room. He follows noting the apartment temperature going down again.

When Bucky gets to the room, he finds that Steve has set his blanket on his bed. “I told you Stevie, you need this more than me.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Steve says between shivers under his own blanket. “Can’t have you getting sick too. And you are being weird.”

“What do you mean by weird?” Bucky cocks his head to the side.

“Well, it would make more sense to share a bed, two blankets and two bodies would be warmer, and we have done it a thousand times. But ever since you got home from work, you seem off. So take your blanket, punk.” Steve stares at his bewildered friend.

Bucky hates that Steve is so observant. He hadn’t meant to be weird. But now his stubborn friend was going to freeze tonight because he refused to not let Bucky have a blanket. He lets out an exasperated sigh, plays up the drama of course. “Fine. You win. Sharing a bed it is.”

Steve beams at him. Bucky should of know Steve would win this out. With Bucky, Steve could have anything he wanted. He had to face it, he was wrapped around the younger man’s finger.

Bucky makes his way to a pile of books on the ground, grabbing his copy of The Hobbit, before stepping out of his pants, leaving him in a shirt and briefs. He takes the book and his blanket over to Steve’s bed. He scoots into bed with Steve, both men adjusting so that the blankets now cover of them, their bodies inevitably touching on the small, twin size bed. Bucky sets his book on the nightstand, knowing Steve will fall asleep first and he’ll probably do some reading.

Bucky suddenly freezes when he feels Steve lie his head on Bucky’s chest, his arm thrown over the other man’s abdomen. Bucky’s arms are currently under his own head. This is new. Usually, they only got in this position through accidental readjusting while they are sleeping. Stuff that Bucky could just brush off. But now an awake Steve Roger’s is cuddling with an awake Bucky Barnes. He hopes that Steve cannot feel his heart racing in his chest. He continues to look up at the ceiling, hoping to nullify the blush creeping up his face.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice the other man’s reaction, or if he does, he hides it well. He whispers “Is this okay? I’m really cold and I guess I am trying to steal your body heat.” Steve���s voice sounds shy, almost embarrassed.

Of course, when Steve puts it like that, how can Bucky say no? He internally scolds himself for reading more into it. He tries to let out a casual laugh, though it sounded way more choked then intended. He lamely jokes. “That’s why you were trying to get me into bed. To use me?” He finally looks down at his chest, trying to see if his friend laughs. Instead, he is met with questioning blue eyes, genuinely concerned if this was alright. Even with only the dim light of a small bedside lamp, he can’t help but notice how those eyes sparkle. Bucky lets out a small, controlled, sigh and quietly whispers, “Steal away, buddy.”

“Buck?” Steve’s voice sounding even smaller this time. Bucky can’t remember Steve sounding so nervous about anything. He begins to panic internally even as he tries to stay cool externally.

“Yea Stevie?”

“You can say no, okay?” Steve whispers nervously.

“Steve what is it?” His voice more audibly concerned this time.

“Will put your arms around me? I feel like I just can’t get warm.” The way Steve asks is heartbreaking to Bucky, like he was worried Bucky would be upset.

For the first time, Bucky notices that Steve is still shivering. He had been so wrapped up by the way he felt having the smaller man so physically intimate with him, that he didn’t realize that the cold really was getting to Steve. He can tell by the way Steve was acting, he was embarrassed to make these requests. He knows Steve could be a proud man and to be in the position where he had to be so vulnerable was probably hard for him. So Bucky didn’t want to make it a thing, where Steve would feel obligated to have to say more. This was obviously tough enough. So without a word, he wrapped one arm around Steve, as the other fell over his own chest so that he cook connected his hands, locking Steve in, and trying to pull him as close as possible, trying his hardest to warm his sick friend.

Steve didn’t say a word, just flashed a tiny appreciative smile. They laid there in silence for a while before he finally heard Steve’s breath steady in a way that indicated that sleep finally overtook him. Bucky frowned because even in his sleep, the other man’s breaths seemed labored and congested. He hated that this was Steve’s life, that he couldn’t fix this for him. But at least he could help him for tonight. Bucky would be content spending the rest of his life as Steve’s best friend, even if it broke his heart know he could never be with Steve the way he wanted to be. This could be enough.

~~~~

A few hours pass by. Bucky had fallen asleep a little bit ago, still with his arms wrapped around the blonde. It is around 1 am when Bucky is disturbed from his sleep. He had become alarmed when he realized that Steve was no longer beside him. He sits up and desperately looks around the dark room, unsuccessfully scanning for his friend. That’s when he spots the soft glow of candlelight through the doorway coming from the front room. He notices both blankets are still in bed with him, so he worries about the offending temperature in the other room where Steve must be.

He makes his way out of bed, wrapping one of the blankets over his shoulders, and walks to the front room. Luckily, he found when he got in there, that Steve had turned one the oven filling the tiny front room with warmth. He spotted Steve sitting on their tiny old couch, kind of staring off. Bucky clears his throat, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice, still lost in his thoughts.

So, Bucky steps a little closer, stopping when he is a few feet away from his friend. A candle sits on the little crate they use as side table, the dim light barely illuminating his friend’s face. “Hey, bud. Couldn’t sleep?” Bucky says softly.

Steve doesn’t bother looking up, just keeps staring a head. He mumbles. “Was woken…up by something. You can go back to bed.” Steve looks visibly shaken and Bucky was absolutely not going to be able to just go back to bed.

Bucky instead takes a seat next to his rigid friend. Something was definitely not right. The way that Steve was sitting so stiffly, his face was distorted into a broken frown. At this level, Bucky can also tell his friend had been crying, blood shot eyes lit a glow from the candle. “Steve…buddy what’s wrong?” Bucky instinctively goes to rest his hand on the other man’s boney knees. To his surprise, Steve pulls his knee away, repulsed, still not looking at him.

Fear flashed through Bucky’s head. Had he done something? Had something happened while they were sleeping. Had Steve realized the way Bucky looked at him was wrong. He was trying to panic but that seemed fruitless. “Stevie…did I do something wrong?” Bucky didn’t recognize the voice that came out of his mouth. It seemed so broken and pathetic.

Steve let out a pained sigh, before momentarily pressing the palms of his hands over his eyes, like he was forcing back tears. Finally, he turned and looked at Bucky. He sounded frail; his voice laced with sadness. “No Buck…never. You could never do anything wrong. Its me…I am the something wrong here.”

Bucky immediately got defensive, worry coating his words. “What are you talking about? You didn’t do anything wrong? Please tell me why you would say something like that?” He may have been a little louder than he intended, as he felt terrible as he watched Steve recoil at his tone. He lowers his voice before softly placing his hand back on Steve’s knee, this time the younger man letting it rest there. “I’m…I’m sorry for yelling, Stevie. Can you please just tell me what happened. I am sure you didn’t do anything wrong.”

He watches as a tear starts to well up in Steve’s eye again, as he obviously tries to will it to stop before it falls defiantly down his cheek. The dam is broken and Bucky watches helplessly as his best friend falls apart in front of him. Without thinking, he throws his arms around Steve pulls him into a hug. Steve buries his head in Bucky’s shoulder, repeatedly whispering “I’m sorry.” Bucky quietly shushes him, while running his hand over the back of Steve’s neck, trying to sooth his friend.

After what seemed like an eternity, Steve pulls away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Bucky’s eyes are still riddled with worry, his eyebrows scrunched together trying to figure out what could be wrong. Steve whispers “I might as well show you; you will see eventually anyways.”

Bucky feels his chest tighten. What could be so bad that Steve would be this freaked out. He tentatively nods his head, preparing for whatever it could be.

“Buck?” Steve questions.

“Yea, buddy?” He replies automatically.

“Thank you for being my friend and …” There was a sad hesitation in his voice before he continues. “And I get it if you don’t want to be my friend anymore after tonight.”

That thought breaks Bucky’s heart in two. A choked breath escapes him. “Trust me…that’s not going to happen. “

Steve can only give a disbelieving, sad smile in reply. Bucky is now terrified at what could have caused this all.

Without saying a word, Steve picks up the candle and walks to the door that leads outside of their tenement. Bucky gets the idea that he should be following him. When Bucky catches up with him, he notices Steve’s hand shaking as he reaches for the doorknob. Bucky does not rush him, knowing that whatever this was, it was hard. Before long though, Steve opens the door and steps outside. Bucky follows close behind. For as cold as it was inside, the outside was colder. Steve didn’t even seem bothered though, too consumed with grief about something to care.

Steve stopped a few feet away from their door and turned back around to face it. For a moment, he thought he was turned around to face Bucky. Bucky starts “Why…why are we out here, Stevie? It is freezing.” Bucky still only in a shirt, underwear and a blanket. Steve had been a little better dress but not sufficiently enough. The only thing that left Steve’s mouth was. , “Look.” As he pointed behind Bucky at their door.

Bucky turned around and he felt like he got punched in the stomach. On the ground around him were a few broken glass bottles, but that wasn’t the issue. The pale light from the candle illuminated 7 angry red letters, painted sloppily in red on their door. Bucky reads the word out loud, simultaneously deflating with each syllable. “FAGGOTS.” He feels like his world is spinning. Did someone know…about him? Was this the guys at his job? Had to be, after the way they looked at him earlier, knowing he was lying. Worse yet, they are throwing Steve into this. Steve didn’t deserve to be taken down with him.

He was broken out of his thought by the weak voice coming from the man slightly behind him. “I…I was woken up by the sound of these guys laughing outside. They sounded drunk…and you know how much of a light sleeper I am. I thought they were going away but then it sounded like they were at the front door. They were still laughing and I heard glass breaking. You were out.” Bucky silently curses that he was such a heavy sleeper as he continues listening, eyes still fixed on the door. “So, I got out of bed to see what was going on. By the time I get to the door, they are running off, and one called me…this before disappearing down the steps. I tried to go after them.”

“Of course, you did…” Bucky replies, not processing it all.

“Yea, well it was too icy and I am too sick, so I couldn’t catch up to them. When I turned to go back inside, I seen this. And…and I am so sorry Buck.” Steve’s voice crumbles, sounding pathetic and sad, and full of hurt.

That’s when Bucky finally turns to face Steve. “Sorry? Sorry for what? None of this is your fault.” His voice is soft, only focusing on his hurting friend, ignoring his own hurt and panic.

Steve lets out a sniffle, Bucky unsure if from the cold or from fresh tears. “That’s where you are wrong. They did this because of me…”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky stares in confusion.

“These guys…they must have found out…found out that I …I am one.” Steve looks to the ground, terrified of Bucky’s reaction. Tears falling to the frozen ground, his skinny body shaking.

Bucky is overwhelmed with emotions. The most prominent of these emotions though was sadness for his hurting friend. Understanding the irony, he was still heartbroken that Steve thought he had to keep this his dirty little secret. This is why Steve thought they wouldn’t be friend anymore. He was lost for words but needed Steve to know that He was there for the long haul and this wasn’t going to change anything. For the second time this evening, he found himself pulling the younger man into a hug, the candle dropping, putting itself out. “s’okay Stevie…it’s okay. I promise…” He keeps repeating as his arms threaten to never let go of Steve again.

After a few moments though, he noticed the blonde shivering. It was still the middle of winter after all. Without saying another word, Bucky pulled away from the hug(reluctantly) before grabbing his hand and dragging him inside. He drags him to the bedroom where the warm bed wait, Steve not putting up much of a fight. When they get to the room though, Steve pulls his hand away and quickly makes his way to his bed. When Bucky makes his way to Steve’s bed, Steve puts up his hands to make the other man stop in his tracks.

“Buck, thank you for not kicking my ass.” Bucky puts on a hurt look, not believing that Steve actually thought he would. Steve explains himself. “Most guys would have knocked someone out if they found out their best friend was a fairy. So, um, thank you for not doing that.” Steve nervously puts his hand on the back of his neck before continuing. “But you don’t have to lay with me anymore. I get that can be weird now knowing…” Steve still refuses to meet his eyes.

Bucky lets out a huff. He can’t let Steve sit here and feel like he is alone. After what Steve confessed, he thought it was only fair. Ignoring, Steve’s protests, Bucky walks to the bed and sits on the edge, facing Steve. The streetlight out the window dully lighting their faces. He rests his hands on his own thighs, suddenly clammy despite the freezing temperatures. He says “I know…” He stutters “I know… who did this.”

“Who?” Steve sounds surprised despite himself.

“Some guys from the job.” Bucky says sadly.

“Why would they do that?” The smaller man responded, confused.

“Today…they asked me if I was that way you know? They thought that I treated you differently then how a guy should treat his friend.”

“Oh…” is all that escapes Steve’s mouth, Bucky watching an “O” form on the other’s lips.

“I…um of course…told them they were wrong but I guess they didn’t believe me. I’m sorry Steve. I guess…um…” Bucky stops, unsure if he wanted to finish.

“You guess what?” Steve asks, curiosity getting the best of him as he finally locks eyes with Bucky.

“I guess I was too obvious, Stevie. Look, I…I don’t know if I am that way. All I know is that I only got eyes for one person and that person is a fella.” Bucky’s face turning pink with the admission.

Steve stares, visibly confused, unsure exactly what Bucky is getting at. He dumbly asks “Who?”

Bucky gives an uncomfortable laugh, obviously apprehensive. “Are you that oblivious, pal? You…Stevie.” As the other man’s name slips from his mouth, he finds himself trying to look anywhere to avoid the gaze of the blue eyes staring into him.

All Steve manages to choke out is “Really?” His voice sound apprehensive and shy But to Bucky’s surprise, it also sounded hopeful. Yea, he already knew Steve was queer but that did not mean that he automatically like Bucky back. But maybe…he did?

It was this hopefulness that gave Bucky the courage to look back at Steve, his own light eyes staring into Steve’s. He can tell his friend was blushing hard, It was adorable, and pretty impressive for someone who was so pale moments ago. Without thinking about it, Bucky reaches his hand across the bed, and rests it on Steve’s shoulder, still safe in the platonic zone if they wanted to turn back. He whispers almost too quietly for Steve to hear. “Yea…really. You know how much I love you, Stevie, Always have. And for a long time, I thought that love was just because you were my best friend, you know? But overtime, I came to accept that the love I felt for you went way beyond that of a friend, even a close friend.” He looks down before looking back up, sporting a small mischievous grin. “Plus, I think you are really fucking hot.”

Steve somehow manages to blush eve harder, Though he was blushing, Steve was never one to back down from something he wanted. With the knowledge that his best friend was just as into him as he is to him, He scoops forward down the bed, so he very close to Bucky. Bucky’s hand had made its way off Steve’s shoulder, to now gently rest on his hip. He moves his head close to Bucky’s. The older man could feel Steve’s breathe on his face as he replies with a nervous smile “Good, because I’ve had eyes for you since were teenagers. I always got jealous when I seen you with a random skirt instead of me.”

Now Bucky was turning as pink as Steve, red hues covering his face and ears. He made Steve jealous?! He couldn’t believe it. Steve really wanted him. He takes his free hand and moves it to the back of Steve’s neck, wanting so bad to kiss him. He whispers “Can I kiss you?” It sounds so silly coming out of his mouth but he doesn’t want to push Steve.

Unfortunately, to his dismay, Steve says “No, Buck…”

Bucky looks down, suddenly feeling defeated. Had he read the signs wrong. Was Steve admitting he loved him too but did not want to pursue such a risky relationship. His head began to spin as he pulled away. “Oh, I/m sorry.”

Steve lets out a little laugh, grabbing his hand as he went to pull away. “I said no because I am still sick, jerk. Trust me I want to kiss you.” Bucky can’t help but laugh at himself too. Steve continues, “But I would like you to stay in bed with me tonight, if that is still okay."

“Of course, it is...anything for you.” He beams.

A few minutes later, they were laying down, Steve’s head on Bucky’s chest like earlier. Except it wasn’t just like earlier. The action was the same but the feelings were different. Earlier, there was tense atmosphere of secrets they were both hiding. But now it felt like it should have always been like this. Like they were complete more complete. Something that had always been there could thrive. Bucky lazily runs his fingers through Steve’s hair as they begin to drift back to sleep. “Buck?” Steve sleepily asks.

“Yea?”

“So you are my best fella now, right?”

Bucky chuckles to himself that Steve would even worry enough to ask. “Right, Stevie.” only getting a soft okay in response. Bucky lays there, waiting for Steve to fall asleep first. Thoughts run through his head, uncertainties about what to do tomorrow about those asshole, and how this is all going to work. But the one thing he doesn’t worry about is the fact that Steve is his and he is Steve’s

Other two chapters, poorly written smut in the second half of chapter 3.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30749381/chapters/75892694#workskin

[jackiebrackettt]

Rules for my prompts/requests thing found here: link - i'll also link this one in my pinned so you guys can find it easy

-i'll accept prompts from anyone tbh bc i don't want to force ppl off anon and i can't verify who's followed and who's not. but! ppl who i can verify are followed will get priority

-i'll write kt stuff preferably ran pov but i'm able to manage jackie's a bit better now i think. and also benchtrio (any duo combo) but keep in mind here's my order of comfort wrt povs: tubbo, ranboo, tommy. writing tommy is hard for me sorry lol

-pls include what kinda vibe ur looking for. as in: light hearted, angst, jokey, etc. and also which character you'd prefer for a pov (keeping in mind prev paragraph)

-nothing nsfw obvi but i'd also like to ask that anything with heavier themes isn't requested (feel free to ask if something ur thinking of might be too much but ur not sure). and absolutely no irl prompts. characters only.

-word count is probably going to be somewhere between 500-1000words! so basically pls don't send anything too complex. i can do au stuff but yeah like. just keep in mind it's gotta be 1000words max

-if i hit 200 followers at any point in the process i'll give more info on that part of the whole thing then

-last note i will post these on my ao3 as well so if you have an ao3 account include it in the ask and i can gift it to you if you want! if you don't want me to reference ur tumblr account but you didn't go on anon also just lmk bc i'll prob include who requested what in the beginning notes of each one

-hope this is everything and thank you so much guys! ^_^ i'd prefer you don't rb this one and instead rb the post in the link up the top

[zuppizup]

And they were zoom-mates...

Summary: Callum thought being a graphic designer for a large, multi-national company would be a boring, if safe, career choice.

Callum thought wrong.

Threatened with a lawsuit over copyright infringement, he has no choice but to rely on renowned 'Ice Queen' Rayla from legal to get him out of a nightmare scenario.

This is really the last thing he needs in isolation...

Pairing: Rayla/Callum

Rating: Mature

AO3 Link: And they were zoom-mates...

 [Claudia] “Call!”

He looked up to his second screen as his headphones pinged.

Claudia was messaging him on his company’s IM service.

 [Callum] hey

 What up?

 [Claudia] what did you do?!?!?!?!?!

 ;p

Callum frowned at the screen.

 [Callum] what you mean?

 [Claudia] Heard legal going to contact you!

Callum felt his stomach drop. Legal? What on earth would they want with him?

 [Callum] Where you hear that?

 [Claudia] Dad.

Callum bit his lip. Claudia's Dad was relatively high up in the company. People tended to think that’s how she and Soren got their jobs, but they were both pretty good at what they did.

Though, Viren probably did help them get a foot in the door.

 [Callum] No idea why legal would contact me.

 Your dad's probs confused.

 [Claudia] Nope.

 Apparently Rayla’s going to zoom you.

 Not trying to freak you out

 Wanted you to be prepared

Callum took a deep breath.

 [Callum] who Rayla?

 [Claudia] Lawyer.

 Big wig.

 Did you copy any art or anything?

He sighed.

 [Callum] no

 Had some rando DM me on insta a few weeks ago saying I stole his stuff.

 Total crap

 [Claudia] ah

 Probs that

 Got everything backed up?

Callum grimaced. He was not the most organised of people when it came to his files.

 [Callum] Probs?

 Like... somewhere

 [Claudia] lol

 Well, as long as she doesn’t need to get forensic IT involved.

 [Callum] forensic IT?

 [Claudia] they can go through your computer for deleted stuff.

 You DO NOT want forensic it involved ;)

 And apparently she freaks at people who make her call in forensic it.

Callum took a sip from his water bottle. He did not need this first thing on a Monday morning.

 [Callum] well thanks for the heads up.

 I guess.

 Haha

 [Claudia]  :)

 Let me know how it goes!

 I'm so bored!!! I need the goss!

Callum rolled his eyes as he minimised the window and tried to go back to his latest art piece. He noticed an unread mail notification and absent mindedly brought up Outlook.

His blood ran cold when he read the subject heading.

 “Notice of filed copyright infringement”

His eyes flicked to the sender

“Rayla Ghealach”

He could see there was a meeting request attached.

He clicked the message, not wanting to wait any longer.

     “Dear Mr. Prince,  

     I trust this email finds you well in this time.  

     I am writing to you to inform you that a notice of copyright infringement has been lodged against the company regarding some of the recent marketing artwork you designed.  

     Legal proceedings have begun in regards this notice and as a result, we require all files regarding the artwork in question.  

     Would you be free to discuss the matter via teleconference at 10:30 today?  

     Regards,  

     Rayla Ghealach"  

Callum’s blood ran cold.

Read more on AO3

[adamarks]

For the ask game, this passage from the lover walks away in the night- From “I’m a rock; I can’t play anything” to “it’s time to finish Baz.” Thanks!!!💕💕💕

Wow, look at this reasonably sized passage for me to put dvd commentary on. Very sexy of you to not ask me to clog up ppls dashes with an entire fic, Anon.

Read The Lover Walks Away In The Night here on ao3

I’m a rock; I can’t play anything.

As you probs know, bri n I wrote this fic as a back and forth pingpong thing. The whole thing underwent very light editing and was really just a project for the two of us. Our sleep schedules were ass backwards so we’d get to wake up everyday like “what did that lil fucker write. How much r they gonna hurt me.” It was probably one of my favorite fic writing experiences ever.

So, for this line, I think I double checked with them to like. Make sure that was also where they were wanting the story to go. I remember that I wanted this scene to feel like a sort of turning point in both Baz and the audience’s eyes I guess. Bc before this Baz didn’t know that Simon thought of him as a real autonomous being. And it had been implied but not 100% obvious to the audience, I feel, that Simon really just wanted Baz to have freedom and be his own person. Like.... it wasn’t about sex. Even the sex wasnt about sex. It’s “I want you in every way. I want you in any capacity you have to give.”

I stare at the side of his face and toss my book somewhere. I hear it hit something, but I don’t care.

I was really proud of this bit. Made myself giggle.

“Baz,” I say it out loud. Just because I know what he’s thinking doesn’t mean he knows what I’m thinking. “Baz, I—“

It’s about the communication.

What do I say? He is a rock. He’s not just a rock. He—

He’s my sexy rock boyfriend!!! 😫

He—

Y’know while I have u here, I actually had this whole thing planned in my head where The Mage was actually a mob boss and like Simon inherited a shit ton of money from him so he was just this independently wealthy art rat in the 40s fucking a rock. I’m glad this didnt make it in but there u go.

“Next time let’s be birds. We can go wherever we want, then.”

I put this line in specifically to hurt bri. It’s a line for bri. All other casualties of this line are coincidental collateral damage.

I kiss his jaw and turn around so I’m holding him, the best that I can.

I just wanted this bitch face to hold this stupid statue so fucking bad.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. For everything. For the things I can’t give. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

“For the things I can’t give” and then literally he just needs to give him a kiss lmfaoooo. Nah but fr Simon maybe consider that ur enough as is.

I’d give everything I have so you could go where you want and do what you want. It doesn’t matter if I’m with you or not.

The point, u guys, is genuinely wishing for someone else’s happiness, whether you can share in that happiness or not.

-

It’s time to finish Baz.

I think here actually bri was like “yo we gotta move this along” the day before. So like. We be moving shit along. Also this was the perfect time to keep trucking bc. Even tho he only has that subconscious mental link, he realizes that need for ANY autonomy. Like consent in a story that doesn’t leave room for much consent, like Pygmalion, was very important to me. Like I wanted it to be obvious that even if Simon doubted himself, in the moment he, we, and Baz knew he had permission to be getting up to his antics.

[ceealaina]

Title: In My Dreams I Turn You On - Chapter 1 Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square Filled: K4 - Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier Ship: WinterIron Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers Summary: Tony's crushing hard on his new massage therapist, but doesn't want to be a sleazy businessman. Bucky's crushing hard on his latest client, but doesn't want to take advantage of him in a vulnerable position. So they handle it like any sane adults - pretend it's not happening and refuse to discuss it. At least they both have terrible friends to help them through it. Word Count: 4259 Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Tony groaned as he headed into the penthouse, Pepper close behind him. He’d spent the morning tinkering over a design, which had been followed by three meetings in a row in uncomfortable chair after uncomfortable chair. His shoulder blades were tight and aching, and he arched his back, stretching it out as he collapsed onto his extremely comfortable sofa. His back cracked with a series of loud pops, and he groaned again in relief, closing his eyes and rolling his neck, wincing a little at the sick crunching sound his muscles made at the movement. 

When he looked up again, Pepper was staring at him in horror. “Tony, was that your back ?” 

“Um. No?” He offered, doing his best to look innocent. When she didn’t look any more impressed, he offered a faint smile. “It was also my neck?”

Pepper rolled her eyes at him. “JARVIS, please book Tony an appointment with the in-house massage therapist,” she requested pleasantly, before fixing Tony with a dirty look. “This is exactly why we have a therapist on call. Use it.” 

“I did!” Tony insisted. “I mean, I do! I just... got busy.” Pepper wasn’t budging, and he sighed heavily. “Fine. J -- go ahead and book that appointment. I think I can put off that phone update and clear some time tomorrow afternoon.” 

It wasn’t that Tony minded getting massages; quite the opposite actually. He was pretty good about booking his appointment every six weeks (doctor’s orders) and Louise, the staff therapist, was an absolute sweetheart with the uncanny ability to know when he wanted to lie in silence and let himself drift, and when he wanted to be regaled with stories about how she’d spent her weekend with her wife and their three dogs. He’d just been so busy that it had kind of fallen to the very bottom of his todo list. Still, the creaks his body was making were a little concerning, and it would be good to be able to relax for ninety minutes. 

By the next afternoon, Tony was actually really looking forward to the appointment. He’d had a ridiculous morning, and his neck and lower back were killing him, the beginning of a tension headache beginning to crawl up the base of his skull. 

But all those thoughts flew right out of his brain when he walked into the therapy room to be met with a pert ass in perfectly fitting soft, grey pants, bent over the office desk. 

“Um.” Tony blinked, eyes trailing up over a broad back, muscles clearly defined beneath a black, long-sleeved t-shirt. “You’re not Louise.” 

The man bent over the table jumped a little, straightening and turning to face him, and Tony felt his heart skip a beat in the face of bright blue eyes and a wide smile, and long brown hair pulled back in a mostly-professional bun. 

“Hey!” Tall, dark and sexy beamed at him, moving across the room. “You must be Mr. Stark.” 

If he squinted, Tony could hear the slightest trace of a Brooklyn accent in his voice, reminiscent of Steve when he was drunk, or got all worked up about the state of America, or both. Tony couldn’t help feeling endeared at the sound, the low voice rolling over him. “Tony, please,” he managed to get out, toes curling in his dress shoes as his hand was gripped in a warm, firm handshake. 

“Tony,” the therapist repeated dutifully. “Louise is on vacation for the next couple of weeks. My name is James. I just started today, but I’m fully trained and certified, promise.” He gave Tony a broad grin, the kind that looked like it would be accompanied by a wink, if that wouldn’t come off as unprofessional. “I’ll be your therapist for today, if that works for you?” 

“Oh yeah, that definitely works for me,” Tony assured him before wincing a little, because wow Stark, creepy much? Way to keep it classy. 

Fortunately James didn’t seem bothered, huffing out a soft laugh with a twinkle in his eyes. “Glad to hear it,” he said, and it may have been Tony’s imagination, but it seemed like the handshake lasted just a second too long before he released his grip and took a step back. “Uh, right. So we’ll just go over any problem spots you want me to work on, and then I’ll leave you to get as undressed as you’re comfortable with and we can get started.”

Tony was nodding along as James spoke, somehow managing to keep from shivering when he talked about getting undressed. “Sounds good to me.” 

“Uh, one more thing,” James added, doing an adorable little scrunch of his face before lifting his left hand and rolling it awkwardly, and-

“Holy shit!” Tony reached out to catch his wrist, stopping himself just in time. “Is that one of mine? Of course it’s one of mine,” he added before James could answer. “You wouldn’t work here and not get an SI prosthetic. That’s one of the most recent models though, right? How’s it working out for you? Any problems with neural connections? Any pain at the connection sight? How’s the response time?”

“Mr. Stark - Tony.” James interrupted him, laughing again. “We’re here for you, not me. But, uh, off the record?” He did another little twist of his wrist that Tony had a hard time pulling his eyes away from. “The arm works like a dream. Thank you. But I just wanted to let you know that the hand might give you some different sensations than you’re used to. Just let me know if anything doesn’t feel right, and I can always put a glove on if you’d prefer.” 

“Oh no,” Tony assured him quickly. “I’m sure it won’t be an issue.”

James was wholly professional, nodding as Tony told him about his problem areas and clarifying how the session would go. Then he was leaving Tony to change. Tony moved quickly, stripping down to his silky red boxer briefs, folding his clothes neatly on the table; he figured it didn’t hurt to make a good impression, just in case. He was well settled on the table by the time James knocked on the door, blanket pulled up to his shoulders to ward off any chill. 

“Yup,” he called at the sharp tap on the door. He cleared his throat quickly. “Yeah, I’m good.”

James slipped into the room with quiet movements, dimming the light and moving to gather his supplies. Tony took a few deep breaths, letting himself relax as he listened to him move around the space, the quiet, steady beat of his footsteps, 

“I’m going to get started now,” James told him, his voice softer than before. He pulled the sheet down, exposing Tony’s back, and he did his best not to shiver at the cooler air of the room. “Just let me know if anything doesn’t feel right, or if you want the heat up.”  

Tony nodded against the table. “No prob-lem.” His voice hitched on the last word as thick fingers tucked the sheet just under the waistband of his briefs, pushing them down a little in the process. His touch was completely professional, but the quick drag of his fingers over the top of Tony’s ass had a shiver of pleasure running through him in a way that Louise’s touch never did. If James noticed the catch in his voice, he kept it to himself, no hesitation in his efficient movements. 

A minute later, strong fingers were pressing into the skin of Tony’s back, touch light to start and sliding up either side of his spine. Even that little touch was heavenly, and when James’s fingers dug in at the base of his neck, Tony couldn’t help the low moan that slipped out. 

“That feel okay?” James asked, and Tony thought he could hear the slightest hint of a smile in his voice. 

“Feels amazing,” Tony slurred into the sheet. “Thas... really nice.” 

“Is the pressure okay?” James asked. “You can let me know if you need a lighter touch.” 

“No, no it’s good,” Tony mumbled. “Actually. You can go a bit harder.” 

Ridiculously, he felt his neck heat at the unintentional double entendre, and he couldn’t help feeling grateful for the dim light of the room, keeping James from seeing. A minute later strong thumbs were digging circles into his shoulder blades, the touch of his metal hand just slightly cool enough for Tony to register the difference, and he just about melted into the table. 

Tony lost time for a bit, brain floating, hovering somewhere between awake and asleep. He was vaguely aware of James in the room, his hands working steadily over his back, pulling him closer to consciousness as he worked out a few particularly tight knots before Tony would drift away again, equations floating in and out of his head, gone before he could work out what they solved. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when James moved his hands down to his lower back, making a soft noise under his breath. 

“You’re really tight here,” he murmured, and Tony couldn’t help appreciating how his voice was lower and softer now, like he knew Tony wasn’t all there at the moment. “This might be tender for a moment, but it will help you in the long run. Is that alright?”

Tony hummed out something that hopefully passed for an affirmative, doing his best not to tense up as he prepared himself. James’s hands settled on his lower back, either side of his spine, just above the swell of his ass. He pushed down and up, with enough force that Tony’s entire body shifted along the table and -

Oh.

Tony’s eyes popped open, suddenly wide awake. The fact that James had enough strength to move him so easily was super hot, but Tony was having a difficult time focusing on that right now. Apparently he’d been too dreamy to notice before, but he was hard. And not the normal plumping of his cock against his thigh that occasionally happened. He was almost fully hard. James pressed in again, shifting his body on the table and inadvertently grinding Tony’s cock against the table. Tony bit down hard on his lower lip to stifle the moan that threatened to slip out as little sparks of pleasure shot up his spine. 

“Sorry,” James hummed after a moment. “You’re tensing up a little. Is that too much?” 

Tony swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “No,” he managed, clearing his throat when it came out a little squeaky. “No, it’s fine.” He did his best to relax as James continued his ministrations, taking slow, deep breaths, eyes fluttering with each slow grind of his dick against the sheet. His hands, thankfully hidden where the sheet was pulled up to his hips, were clenching and releasing against his thighs as he tried to think about all the paperwork waiting for him and not the fact that he could feel himself getting harder, his arousal growing. 

He breathed a soft sigh of relief when James took a step back from the table, hoping it would come across as just being relaxed from the massage. This was okay; if he didn’t have James forcefully grinding him against the table (which was hotter than it should be even if Tony hadn’t already been rock hard) he could focus on something else, get his body to calm the fuck down. It was absolutely fine. 

He held onto that hope right up until James was pulling the sheet up over his back again and then moving down the table to uncover his right leg. Because right, Tony had mentioned that he had some pain in his hips and glutes. This wasn’t uncommon -- they usually worked on that area when he came in for his regular sessions. But somehow it had never felt so sexual when Louise did it. Tony was certain he made some kind of noise when James tucked the sheet in under the leg of his briefs to hold it in place with quick, professional movements, but if he heard, James thankfully didn’t comment. Then his strong fingers were digging in at the tops of Tony’s thighs and the bottom of his ass and Tony felt his eyes flutter, doing his best not to hold his breath at the touch. 

He’d always been sensitive to this part, but it had never been quite this much of a problem before. He was no longer drifting, hyper aware of the press of each of James’s individual fingers. Tony could feel the back of his neck burning with embarrassment; he was closer to fifty than not, had thought these types of spontaneous erections were well behind him. Poor James was just trying to do his damn job, and here Tony was acting like the worst kind of pervert businessman cliche. He shifted at a particular movement, and winced when he felt the damp spot against his skin, actually leaking precome into his briefs. He might as well just ask for a happy ending while he was at it. Tony was never getting a massage again. 

He managed to stay calm while James worked over his leg, and then moved to the other one, and despite everything he had to admit that his hips did feel a lot more relaxed. When James stepped back again, Tony couldn’t help hoping that the massage was finally over so he could sneak off upstairs and take a very long, hot, loud shower. 

Of course, he wasn’t that lucky. 

Once James had covered him up fully again, he moved back up to the head of the table, standing just to the side of it. Tony tried not to think about the fact that if he just turned his head, James’ cock would be right there. Tried not to imagine sucking him off while he was still propped against the table. 

“Okay,” James said. “I want to do some more work on your neck. You still seem awfully tense. I’m going to lift the sheet a little, and I’ll just get you to roll over onto your back and slide down a bit so your head is fully on the table.” 

“Um. That’s okay, actually,” Tony told the floor. “We... You don’t need to do that. Actually, we can just call it there, if you want. I’m sure you have... things to do.” 

There was a brief moment of hesitation. “Is... Was something wrong?” James asked cautiously. “I didn’t...” Tony caught the faint whirring sound of James rolling his prosthetic wrist. “I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?” 

“No!” Tony said quickly, feeling like a complete asshole. James had just started this job, was probably worried about not making it the week when Tony just couldn’t keep it in his pants. “No,” he said again. “It’s not that at all. It was great. Wonderful, even. One of the best massages I’ve ever had. I really enjoyed it. I just, uh. I really enjoyed it.” 

“Oh!” James said, and Tony had to give him credit, he was quick on the uptake. There was a soft huff that may have been laughter, but Tony didn’t get the impression he was laughing at him. “That’s fine, Tony, honestly. It happens all the time. And I’ll be focusing on your neck, so I’m more than happy to continue the massage as long as you’re comfortable.” 

“Gonna be too comfortable,” Tony grumbled before he could stop himself, and there was definitely a snort of laughter from James that time, although he quickly cut it off, clearing his throat instead. He was waiting patiently, and Tony wasn’t sure how to explain that this wasn’t exactly a half-chub, that he was rock hard and leaking, without it turning into a sexual harassment suit. He sighed softly. He really was still tense, and some masochistic part of him didn’t want this to be over yet. “Okay,” he said.

His voice was little more than a whisper, but James must have heard anyway. He moved again, lifting the sheet by Tony’s head just enough to give him space to shift around. Tony squirmed his way lower first, suddenly hyper conscious of the way his ass must look through the thin fabric. He chewed at his lip as his cock rubbed against the table again, and then, keeping his eyes closed, he rolled over onto his back.

It was a bit of a relief, actually, and his cock thickened further, no longer compressed against the table. He didn’t have to look to know that he was tenting the sheet, and if it wasn’t for the briefs keeping him somewhat contained, he was pretty sure it would have been waving hello. Tony could feel his cheeks flushing darker. There was a moment of silence from James, and Tony didn’t dare open his eyes to see what he was thinking. 

“Okay!” he said suddenly, and there was a note in his voice that Tony couldn’t quite place. “Okay...” He lowered the sheet around Tony’s chest and then moved away from the table. Tony heard the rustle of fabric and risked cracking an eyelid open to find James gathering up the heavier weighted blanket from the corner. They’d forgone it for today, since the room was already quite warm, but he brought it over now, settling it over Tony from his toes to his waist. “Thought that might make you a little more comfortable,” he said softly, like it was a secret outside the professional aspect of their situation. Tony felt his heart lighten with relief and something else, and opened his eyes farther just in time to catch James’ gaze as he straightened back up. 

“Uh, thanks,” Tony murmured, their eyes locked in the dim light of the room. There was a heavy weight to it, like they were the only two people in the world, and then James was smiling at him and moving back behind Tony’s head and the moment was gone. 

Tony let his eyes fall shut again as James started working over his neck and upper chest, doing his best to let himself relax and somehow ignore the hardon that was currently begging his attention. He was half successful, enough that when James finally pulled back completely, he was a little startled by how much time had passed. 

“Okay,” James said, his voice a quiet rumble that sent shivers up Tony’s spine. “We’re done for today. Can I get you a glass of water, or anything?” 

“Nah,” Tony mumbled, still feeling drowsy and hazy. He blinked up at James, catching a faint smile on his face that could almost be described as fond. “Thanks,” he added. “This was... Thanks.”

James’s smile grew. “It was my pleasure,” he assured him. “It was very nice to meet you, Tony. Maybe I’ll see you again.” 

“I’d really like that,” Tony told him, before wincing because that was not a thing you say to your massage therapist. What was wrong with him today?

But James didn’t sound concerned, laughing softly. “Okay, I’m going to head out now. Take your time getting dressed, and try not to stand up too fast,” he said, and when Tony glanced over at him, there was the faintest hint of a smirk on his face. “Wouldn’t want you to get dizzy from low... blood pressure.” 

Tony blinked up at the ceiling for a long minute after the door had shut softly behind James. “Did he just...?” He couldn’t help giggling a little, some of his self consciousness fading away. He blew out a long breath, rubbing a hand absently over his thigh. “Fuck. Stark, I think you might be in trouble.” 

***

The second the door had clicked into place behind him, Bucky had to take a minute to lean against it, exhaling softly. That had been the worst session of his life -- and he had loved every second of it. 

Bucky had always had a bit of a crush on Tony Stark, okay? Bucky loved technology, and the man was an absolute genius. The ideas he came up with never failed to blow his mind. And if he’d spent more than one drunk and lonely night googling images of his butt, that was between him and his search history. So when he’d come out of his massage training, and his old friend Steve had suggested applying to SI while they were catching up over drinks and rock climbing (not in that order), he’d figured, why not? The thought had honestly never occurred to him, and it certainly had never occurred to him that they would actually hire him.  

And it had definitely never occurred to him that he would be working on Tony Stark himself. 

When he’d gotten the appointment booking, he’d nearly had a heart attack. He’d spent the whole day debating calling out sick, but he knew that wouldn’t be a good look in his first week. So Bucky had pulled himself together and told himself to be a goddamn professional. 

And then Mr. “Call Me Tony” Stark had walked in, and Bucky had nearly fallen on the floor. He was even hotter in person, all sparkling eyes and a smile Bucky would melt for. But he was also funnier than Bucky had expected, so easy to talk to and get along with, and not at all the rich asshole that he had been preparing himself for. Bucky was pretty sure he was in love. 

***

“Steeeve.” Tony flopped down in the seat opposite to his best friend, setting his sunglasses on the table. “I think I’m in love.” 

“Oh yeah?” Steve didn’t even look up from the sketch he was working on, which was just rude if you asked Tony. “And who’s the lucky person? Or is it another robot?” He did look up then, looking inordinately proud of himself, and Tony just glared back at him until Steve relented and rolled his eyes. “Alright, I’m sorry. I’m listening.” 

“Well I don’t wanna tell you now,” Tony grumbled at the table. Steve didn’t answer, just waiting him out, and it only took a minute for him to start squirming. “You’re gonna make fun of me.” 

“Bold of you to assume I’m not already,” Steve retorted, brushing an imaginary piece of lint off his shirt. 

Tony rolled his eyes -- the defining trait of their friendship. “Stop trying to talk like a teenager, asshole. You’re not that much younger than me.” 

Steve just smirked back at him before smacking his foot against Tony’s under the table. “Come on, pal. Spill. It can’t be that bad. What? Some 80-year-old scientist? An exotic dancer? A new intern? Oh god, is this like those two weeks when you were convinced that Pepper was your future wife?” He laughed as Tony looked less and less impressed. “Come on, Tony, I’m running out of business man cliches here. What, is it your massage therapist, or—“ The smile dropped off Steve’s face when he saw the way Tony’s eyes widened. “Oh, Tony no.” He looked around, suddenly realizing that they were in an open air cafe where anybody could be listening. “Seriously?” he hissed. 

“I know.” Tony dropped his head to the table, burying it in his arms with a low groan. “I know how it sounds. It’s the worst.” 

There was a beat and then Steve’s hand settled on the top of his head, fingers rubbing briefly over his scalp. Even though he was still mad at him, Tony couldn’t help smiling into his arms, leaning into the comforting touch. 

“Cheer up,” Steve told him, although he didn’t sound totally convinced of what he was saying. “It’s not so bad. Stranger things have happened. How long have you been feeling this way?” 

“Since I met him.” 

“Which was..?” 

Tony hesitated before lifting his head enough to give Steve sheepish eyes. “Yesterday?” 

Steve made a pained noise. “Jesus, Tony.” 

“I know . It’s fucking embarrassing.” 

Steve got his face on and Tony resisted the urge to kick him in the shin. “Look, I get how you could have certain… Feelings from a massage.”

Tony rolled his eyes skyward, and Steve stuck his tongue out at him in return. 

“But you can’t confuse touch with real emotions, Tony.” 

“It’s not like that!” Tony protested. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the touch was nice. Like. really nice--,”

“ Tony .”

“But it was more than that. He just… I don’t know. He was gorgeous, but he was also sweet and funny and he made a dumb joke before he left and… I don’t know,” he said again. “People get so weird, sometimes, but he didn’t even blink when I walked into the room. We just clicked. It felt like he really saw me.” 

Steve blew out his cheeks, mouth twisting up into a sympathetic grimace. “Hey, it could work. Maybe you’ll… Lose all your money and have to fire him, so you’ll be on equal footing?” 

Tony stared at him blankly for a long moment and then groaned loudly, the sound turning to a long, drawn out whine as he draped himself face first on the table. Steve gestured to the server for more coffee and leaned forward to pat Tony on the back. 

“Cheer up, pal. It’ll be okay. Hey, I’m going axe throwing this weekend with my friend from high school. You wanna come along? Might help get your stress out.”

Tony lifted his head long enough to give Steve a baleful glance and then dropped back down with an even louder whine.

@tonystarkbingo

[nightklok]

chickles for 2? or toki for 3 if someone asked for chickles already :3

Fandom Memes [open!] (shout out to firefox for crashing and making me rewrite this like twice-so i continued to add more to this because why not)

When I started shipping them: Oh this is actually a funny story- I can’t quite remember when I started shipping them but according to AO3, I read a chickles fanfic in November 2019 (the only one i didn’t reread because im sure there were others i read too) and that was around when I began starting the show. But around that time, I SWEAR when I looked at Charles wiki, there was some line there that was along the lines of  ‘Charles and Pickles had slept together sometime before Dethklok. while pickles doesn’t remember it, charles does’ I don’t even know if it was possibly a fever dream, mixing up a fanfic as canon, or I just happened to scroll through it when someone threw the line in BUT I CONSIDERED IT CANON and I lowkey waited for that scene as I remembered it on/off and it didn’t take until April 2020 when I finally finished the show to realize that it wasn’t canon D: so thanks to fanfics and probably misreading something in November-december 2019 that’s when I shipped them :D (Also if anyone knows where I may have gotten this from pls link me)

My thoughts: I love them!! They’ve made me happy shipping them and they’re just a good and wholesome ship to me! I think it has everything I could ever want in a ship; the angsty and sad moments but also the happy ones- I don’t know how I can articulate just how much they clicked with me but they really did! They’re like the ultimate band parents,

What makes me happy about them: I think I love how they can bring something in each other that they normally wouldn’t be able to do themselves. I headcanon Pickles as someone with ADHD (and aries because hi im an aries with ADHD) and I think Charles would be able to help calm him down and keep him focused or at least stimulated when he needs to be. Being with Charles can help him be a bit controlled (Though sometimes not by much when he wants to be a tease haha). I love the idea too of Pickles being able to bring Charles to have a more exciting day or just being able to help break routine a bit. Pickles sometimes likes to do things on the spur of the night just to keep himself entertained and Charles prefers to keep things in a schedule. They would find a compromise where Charles clears out a day and Pickles just takes him somewhere random. Is it a concert? Forest? Amusement park? Half the fun’s in not knowing! But Charles enjoys that he can be a bit looser and actually get to laugh and smile and just be having the time of his life with him-

What makes me sad about them: I think Doomstar/Post-doomstar and even the events between season 2 and 3 makes me sad, it breaks my heart in two just thinking about it. Pickles...would be so fucking devastated  when Charles died, especially if we go by if they met during Snakes N’ Barrels and he may have never gotten a chance to confess his feelings (or he did for more sadness) and Post-doomstar? He probably ends up blaming Charles leaving on himself and- though depending on where we’re thinking of the possibility of the timeline of their relationship, Going Downklok may have wrecked their relationship because alternatively, Pickles may not have flirted with Abigail but probably something else caused them to break up or destroy their relationship. There was a lot of tension/build up in that episode so I guess their build up and eventual burst would be feelings having to resurface, possibly Pickles getting too far in his addictions and Charles still revealing nothing about what happened during his absence or why he came back; so then you get  the dinner scene and it was the straw that broke the camel’s back to get him to quit and then all the events unfold and Pickles just blames himself so heavily on it  oh god i need to WRITE THIS

Things done in fanfic that annoys me: I don’t think there’s anything in fanfic that annoys me when people write them- It’s more of being uncomfortable/disturbed?...there were a few fics I came across where Charles was borderline abusive/overly sadistic (and one where I wish I hadn’t read-) that left a bad taste in my mouth after reading it. I just feel like that’s way too OOC and Charles definitely isn’t the type of person to be an abusive asshole and/or would definitely know the boundaries of being sadistic in the bedroom while still making sure his partner is into it/feels safe. But i guess that kinda goes in general for any Charles/character fics- 

Things I look for in fanfic: I think them being in character, an interesting plot line, and just it being well written is all i can ask for haha-I honestly love any Chickles fanfic out there; I think the things I look for in particular are either his reactions to seeing Charles when he comes back or anything post doomstar but also implying that they met during Snakes N Barrels help

My wishlist:

I guess I’m just gonna shove in things I hope to write actually- (screaming at me to write particular fics helps motivate me so go @ it-)

A Star reader AU: this actually would be the one of the first (probs second or third) Chickles fic I had ever written as I had drafted it around ago even though I had initially planned for the Chickles to kinda be hinted at but with what I know now, would make it more prevalent. If anyone has read Blood Red Road by Moira Young you might see where I’m going but basically, there was a character who was able to read the stars and predict the future. (if you’re hoping the novel goes more into that i’m sorry-) So if we make Charles one of those people, then probably adds more depth to why he chose to work with Dethklok right? :D  Secret singer fic: I AM writing that one!! I just got sidetracked but God I’m gonna get back to it as soon as I can!! Basically for anyone else reading this, Charles and his friends put up a bet to see how difficult (or easy) it would be for Charles to become internet famous by having him post covers/original songs under an anonymous name. It becomes a chaotic mess when he gets more than he bargained for and does end up gaining some popularity, someone on the internet spreads the rumor the singer is someone famous, and a particular someone came across those songs and finds the lyrics almost a little too relatable. That fic where instead of Pickles being happy that Charles is back from the dead and they can live happily ever after, he becomes incredibly distressed and heartbroken because he ends up suffering major trauma. because seeing your bf ‘die’ all bloodied and mangled and coming back with only a scar and secrets he won’t tell you? That’s definitely years worth of therapy right there. That is like the only fic of this list even remotely close to finishing but God, definitely one of the most difficult to write- Fics where they met before/during Snakes N’ Barrels. I need to write one or two fics on that because I consider it canon. I’m sure I have mentioned drafting one or two fics like that?? Gotta look through my evernotes-

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: I’m sorry but no my mind refuses to delve further- And i mean I’ve been digging Magnus/Charles lately and we all know how that wouldn’t last either so they’re meant for each other fjkdsfjlk

My happily ever after for them: The boys defeat Salacia, Charles and Pickles reunite and kiss for the first time in such a long time. They’re finally happy together and get to officially date (or continue where they left off). Charles is able to retire as the priest as his work is completed (or he manages to get it more public considering they saved the world so most likely it’d be a recognized religion) They get married, and when Dethklok officially retires, they buy a few houses, maybe even do music projects together or Charles takes over Crystal Mountain Records actually and Pickles helps out by being one of the music producers, they adopt a cat or dog or both, and just be happy with each other :D