#quite literally shaking with fury as i type this out

[singsweetmelodies]

2023 truly is the year of ugly people

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

Getting into an argument with Robb Stark and making up would include...

what and how you argue with robb most definitely depends on how long you've known him and what your status is

but the general theme would almost always be robb wanting to protect you and you thinking he's overreacting

like if you didn't know him that well and were of lower status, of course you would be much less likely to speak your mind

he was king of the north of course, from the stark family, there was protocol to follow

protocol being: keep your mouth shut and do as your told

but overtime as you became closer and more comfortable with him (or if you were childhood friends) you best believe this man would get an earfull

because yes this man is great in battle but my god can he make some daft decisions

the first time you raise your voice at him he literally takes a good 30 seconds to process it

it was after he'd run into a battle and attempted to sacrifice himself in his usual stark way

and he is so used to you being all sweet and gentle and now you're glaring at him with the fury of a thousand suns

'well? do not just stand there and gawk at me! what do you have to say for yourself!'

'did you just call me a fool?'

'yes and do not make me repeat myself'

'i'm just more shocked at the use of the word 'fool' that's all'

'would you prefer fucking idiot then?'

after the shock finally seeps away he straightens up and fires straight back at you

because he is robb stark of winterfell and he will choose to do what he pleases when he pleases

and then he sees the way your tears well up and your voice cracks when you admit you can't bare to lose him

and he knows he should concede and apologise but he just can't do it

and by the time he realises his error you're out the door in tears and it's too late

you manage to avoid him for a good few weeks after that

which robb secretly finds quite impressive

until eventually he bribes one of your friends to tell him where you are

and when he finally corners you he can see you're preparing yourself for round 2

but the anger seeps from you immediately when he brings out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back

and a soft confession that he's completely in love with you doesn't hurt to achieve your forgiveness

and once you're together or married your fights are quite infrequent

there's the occasional squabble or lighthearted snapping if you're both grumpy

and you don't hesitate to tell him to pull his head in when you can tell he's jealous

which happens more often than you would think

'seven hells robb he didn't do anything!'

'i didn't like the way he looked at you'

'he was probably looking at the direwolf sitting at my lap'

robb has the tendency to pout too

which is not something most people would expect

if you know it was your fault, it doesn't take much to break him out of it

a pout of your bottom lip and the biggest baby eyes you can muster as you crawl onto his lap usually does the trick

because it is impossible for this man to stay mad at you for long

if he's done something stupid, like be jealous, some flowers or breakfast in bed is usually all it takes for your resolve to crumble

and he knows the second it does because you shake your head as a smile starts to spread across your lips

which makes him grin as he jumps on top of you and begins to pepper your face with kisses

'you're a fucking idiot robb stark'

'i know'

the big blow ups between you usually involve something to do with his family or whatever political war is going on

and they can get ugly because both of you have a temper and a damn strong will

like to the point the guards outside your chambers will exchange glances because your shouts are echoing through the castle

and it's always about one of you wanting to do something brave and stupid

but god can it lead to great angry sex

like bed breaking, cup and dish shattering when robb shoves everything off his desk type of good

and then the guards are glancing at eachother again because your growls and moans are bouncing off the walls

you both have learnt that sweating your rage out in this way is both satisfying and productive

and then you inevitably lie in bed, panting and tangled in each others arms, realising how stupid your fight had been

i love yous and i'm sorrys are whispered and loving kisses are exchanged

and then passionate and loving make up sex always follows

no matter what you fight about, it never lasts long

you both know that you are stronger together

a united front, a force to be reckoned with

an unbreakable bond

saying all that though... do you occasionally do things to make him jealous?

maybe....

but hey, you would to if you'd had sex with a jealous robb stark before

[sohin-ace]

※ A walk with the Jojos

Inspired by a 'A walk with BTS' meme scenario I found somewhere.

Gender neutral and Aromantics friendly :)

-----

Jotaro: Puts his coat over your shoulders when it gets cold.

A gust of cold wind flew past you and Jotaro as you both strolled down the streets of his hometown peacefully. A sharp shudder coursed through you, goosebumps almost painful on your sensitive skin.

Oh how you wished you brought a jacket or at least your school uniform cardigan with you. The early days of spring had started sunny and trustworthy, but of course, the temperature had to drop on you on that very special day.

Your incessant rubbing of your arms and duck of your head didn't go unnoticed by Jotaro next to you. He was aware of the cold and could see from the corner of his eyes how flushed your fingers were and how you winced with every blow of the unforviging wind.

The boy didn't think twice and sighed, proceeding to shake his long gakuran off of his broad shoulders.

You didn't even notice he was disrobing until you felt heavy and warm fabric suddenly weight down on your shoulders, enveloping you, the loud clanking of chains accompanying the movement.

You looked up at the tall male, pleasantly surprised yet also confused, and he only grumbled in response, looking straight forward.

"Yare yare daze... You could have just asked you know."

You never dared. You couldn't dare. After all, it was your problem that you forgot your jacket at home. It surely wasn't Jotaro's job to fix your mistakes, you thought. You wouldn't bother him for such a trivial matter, no matter how close you were. Of course, Jotaro did not share that mindset at all.

You always wondered how he managed to notice every little changes about you and every single reactions while also acting so nonchalant and careless. Behind his rough appearance and act, you loved Jotaro for his selflessness and his unmatched kindness.

You sighed in bliss as you hugged his jacket closer, so warm and soft around you. What a relief it was for your cold skin, it felt like his very own rare embrace.

It smelled just like him, too. You usually weren't a fan of the smell of nicotine and would often tease him for it, but when it was so deliciously mixed with his foreign cologne and his natural scent, it felt like something close to heaven to you. Something comforting, safe, and incredibly gentle.

His jacket was gigantic compared to you and you were sure you looked like a fool wearing this unfitting blanket, swallowing you and making you look even smaller and ridiculous than you already were next to him.

"Thank you Jotaro." You grinned, appreciative towards this kind giant, who you were grateful to always have your back whenever you needed, without even having to ask him.

He responded with a subtle nod before grabbing your shoulder and keeping his strides forward, seemingly satisfied with his good deed and with your smile.

Joseph: Accidentally trips you when he turns to talk to you.

It wasn't unusual for Joseph to blabber on his bizarre adventures. With all the things he had lived, he always had something to recount.

You'd always tell him to write a book about all his plights, but then you'd remember the guy barely had enough braincells to even put two and two together and instantly drop the idea.

Today was just a normal day in New York City, you had been strolling around with the behemoth, listening intently, or rather, tiredly as he rambled ceaselessly.

You were stuck between loving all his crazy stories and being annoyed at his obnoxious and theatrical, 'Jojo-fied', as you liked to call it, storytelling.

"And then he said 'You'll never touch the ground ever again Joseph Joestar!' but look who's in outer space now, huh?!" He yelled out, making a few heads turn with his exaggerated hand gestures and booming voice.

You nodded your head and responded with very basic 'Uh huh's and 'Oh's, as well as 'That's cool' and whatnot. Not like you didn't care for what he was saying, but you just couldn't figure what to tell him. Also, the unnecessary attention you were getting was quite flustering too.

"GASP! Y/N I ALMOST FORGOT!! I DIDN'T EVEN TELL YOU THE BEST PART YET!!!"

Before you could even process what was happening, Joseph forcefully turned towards you, gasping loudly and intenting to grab your already very well-gripped attention.

But the brute was so clumsy about it, he kicked his unreasonably thick leg in front of your much smaller feet, not warning you as you kept walking, only to trip over him with a yelp that you'd never forget.

"YEEEK-!"

"WOAAH-!!"

With an even louder scream, Joseph tried his best to grab you before you could kiss New York City's piss tainted ground, yanking you to your feet as best as he could, which was more than enough with the strength the man had.

He eventually held you against his chest firmly, his arms belted more than securely around your shoulders and back, shocked and scared that if he loosened his grip even the slightest, you'd either fly away or just collapse.

You panted with adrenaline after regaining your  balance and barely left him any time to laugh at your demise or even react at all.

"JOJO YOU FREAKING DUMBASS!!!" You hollered all your fury, pushing yourself off of him, "I ALMOST DIED HERE!!!!"

Joseph cowered in fear as you proceeded your attacks on his poor arms, chest and face. He yelped in pain, desperately putting his arms up in front of him in hopes to shield himself from your unstoppable slapping. For someone with such small hands, you sure hit hard.

"Ow ow ow stop please! This is abuse!! I'm sorry-Ow! Please, n-not there~ ACK- OKAY FINE I'LL STOP!!!"

Josuke: Notices your shoe lace in untied and ties it for you.

In the small, crazy, noisy and bizarre town that was Morioh, there was a famous legend running.

"That if your boyfriend kneels down to tie your shoelaces for you, they'll never come undone ever again! Do you believe that?" You chuckled, barely paying any attention to your surroundings.

Josuke strolled mindlessly next to you, half listening, half not. You were well aware that boys like him often had a hard time paying attention for more than a minute unless it was about sports, video games, or a very big pair of boobs.

"Hmmh, yeah. Crazy stuff..." He mumbled, looking blankly forward, his eyes catching passing cars and boutiques but his ears catching none of your words.

"Hey... Are you even listening?" You glared suspiciously at him, frustrated already. This boy could never concentrate.

"Oh tell me about it." He replied, not even knowing what he was even responding to. Eye twitching, you tested him one last time.

"Rohan has a really nice ass and I'm much better at Smash Bros than you'll ever be."

"Oh, absolutely. You know it!" He nodded, much to your great offense.

"Hey.. Josuke...!" You growled, ready to give him a good slap of reality, "Higashikata!!"

As if on cue, Josuke glanced down and noticed that your shoelaces were untied as you walked.

Without even thinking twice about it, Josuke moved his hands from where they were resting behind his neck and instantly brought one to your chest, stopping you dead in your tracks.

You shot him a puzzled look at his sudden behavior and he immediately bent over, getting down on one knee, on the floor, in front of you, without a care in the world, right in the middle of the street.

You looked down at him and gasped as you noticed he started tying up your poorly secured shoelaces that you didn't bother knotting properly in the morning.

"Oi-! Josuke, what are you doing?! Get up, it's fine I'll do it mysel-"

"Oh shush." He cut you off, handling the chords into cute and safe little bows on your shoes, like a knight, or a prince, happy to fulfill his duty.

You couldn't hold back your blush at the embarassing and impromptu situation. Your heart raced as you tried to get him to stand up, but he was adamant on helping you whether you were embarassed or not.

The boy was completely nonchalant about the ordeal, never caring about the weird looks you both were getting and the many whispers of 'how cute' and 'what an adorabe couple' people were gushing out.

You couldn't reciprocate the indifference. You knew Josuke was the serving type, and this was normal for him. To make your life easy, to treat you, to protect you.

And to fix you.

"... Are you sure you haven't been listening to me? I feel like you're hitting on me right now Jojo." You raised an eyebrow as he got up, proud of his handiwork.

His expression soon fell into a shocked one and he visibly stiffened, "Huh? What? No I'm not?!"

"You literally tied my shoelaces right after I told you that's a boyfriend thing to do!" You shot back and he blushed deep red, gasping at yout sudden assumptions.

"What??! It's not though!! I'm not- I wasn't even paying attention!"

"You're hitting on me, I'm telling Mr. Jotaro."

"NO DON'T TELL HIM!!!"

Jonathan: Carves his and your initials into a tree.

Jonathan had invited you to join him one afternoon in the usual place you both loved to hang out.

You two talked and walked around a path that you could call your little escape route. One you've used so much, you were pretty sure to be responsible for green-less trail that longed the riverside.

Very suddenly, Jonathan stopped dead in his tracks, without saying anything, effectively grabbing your attention.

"What's wrong, Jojo?" You asked, looking back at him.

Without a warning, he took out a small object from his pocket, smiling coyly at you. You were confused but your expression soon shifted when he pressed on a small mechanism that swiftly revealed a sharp, shiny blade.

You flinched and gasped, bringing a hand to your mouth in shock. "Jojo!! Why are you walking around with a pocket knife?! Are you crazy??!!"

He panicked at your reaction and got flustered, agitating his hands around, a dangerous gesture to make for someone holding a knife.

"N-no no no! Wait, Y/N! It's just- I mean, it's useful sometimes... I mean..." He blabbered, not knowing how to breathe between words anymore, "I don't use it... Or- well... I don't do weird things with it it's just-... I would never-... "

He stuttered anxiously, trying to justify himself, getting more and more stressed with your lack of response. Oh no, God, he didn't want to scare you off or lose you over something like this!

He would never forgive himself if you ever thought he were a dangerous man, or a delinquent, or worse, that he'd ever hurt you, and in such a cowardly way too.

He stopped panicking when you suddenly chuckled.

"Ooouh~ Oh my~" You sang teasingly, before pointing at him in playful accusation "Am I hanging out with a baaaad boy~? Jojo you nasty man!"

"S-... STOP IT!!" He cried out as you laughed your heart out, scared that somebody might hear you and take it the wrong way. "Just... Hold on..."

With the knife in his hand, he turned his back to you and started carving something in the tree trunk. You approached and tried to look over his shoulder, wondering what kind of nonsense he could be drawing in there.

"What is this?" You gently tapped his busy arm and he tried to hide his work from your nosy eyes.

"Wait! It's a surprise! I'm almost done... Just... A little bit..." He grunted a bit as he finished carving the blunt surface, "Aaannd.... Done!"

He stepped back, wiping his brow and leaning his hand on the tree, letting you enough space to admire his little work of art. Proud yet also a bit anxious about your reaction.

You got closer to the little heart he drew on the tree. Heart with both your initials in it. For the sake of discretion, he rathered write your initials over your names, which made it all the more adorable, in your eyes.

You gasped lightly, not able to contain your giddy smile. "Jonathan! That's so cheesy! Who taught you that? Have you been reading those weird romance novels?"

"Yes- I mean, NO! No! I don't read that! I'm a man! Only girls read those!" He spat back, flushing a shade of red you wished you could paint.

"Hmmmmm yeah, right!"

He could only chase you around to hopefully make you stop teasing him. He knew he'd never hear the end of it.

Johnny: Grabs your hand and places it around his arm.

"I gotta say..." You started, happily sipping on your drink, "The best thing about your handicap is how we can skip the line for everything!"

You grinned behind Johnny as you pushed his wheelchair forward, walking around the city for the short time you were in Kansas.

"I know. You'll owe me one by the way." He blankly jested, his tone not matching his humour. You've known him long enough to catch on the little perks of his speech, making you chuckle again.

You balanced your cup with one hand to get a better grip on the chair's handles and got back to pushing him. Johnny was quick to realise you were slowing down every once in a while to drink up.

"Stop." He ordered and you obliged, surprised by the sudden request.

"Huh?" You bent over slightly to try to look at him. "Are you okay? Did you need something?"

"This won't do..."

You walked around to get next to him. You were used to him having his foot falling from the footrest and putting it back before it could hurt him, or needing to reajust his back seat from time to time.

Nothing out of the ordinary, you thought. You would have never expected his next request.

Johnny looked over at you, no words shared, and offered his arm out to you, like the perfect gentleman he was.

"...Jojo?"

"I can move by myself. Drink your tea in peace." He blushed and looked away, sighing to himself.

You couldn't help your smile and endeared look. Your Johnny was always such a kind soul behind what he let show. He was observant and selfless. That's why he wanted to free you the burden of pushing his wheelchair, at least so you could enjoy your drink for a moment.

However it was obvious to you that he wanted you to hold him, so dearly, and had found an excuse for you to do so without asking you such an embarassing question.

You couldn't pass on the cute opportunity, but at the same time, you wanted him to make the first move.

You tilted your head, shooting him a faux confused and oblivious look, letting him know you needed him to be clearer in his request.

He huffed and held back on face palming, cheeks becoming redder by the second. Why were you always doing this to him? Teasing him to no end.

He abruptly grabbed you hand, softening his grip immediately after measuring his strength, and placed it around his arm.

You happily followed his lead and gently grabbed his arm, much sturdier than it looked, and gave him enough space to roll the wheels in pace with you.

"Thank you Johnny~" You chimed happily and he let out the ghost of a smile in response, smile that you sadly missed.

Giorno: Makes you dance with him when you walk past a busker.

You passed along a bay in Naples with Giorno, both of you exceptionnally finishing school early due to the surprising absence of your math teacher.

You both talked and suddenly heard the distant sound of accordion, getting louder and louder the more you walked.

You paused, much more intrigued by the musician  on the paved pedestrian street, playing a beautiful song for all to listen to. He was a sweet-looking old man, playing a traditionnal Tarantella, the iconic sound of Italy.

Giorno stopped with you, wanting to hear more of what this busker had to offer. You smiled, appreciating the sweet melody and calculated movements of the instrumentalist.

Giorno suddenly walked up in front of you, bending down at the waist to offer his hand out to you, his intense green eyes inviting you and snatching you out of your rêverie.

"Would you care to honor me with a dance, Y/N?"

You gasped silently and felt your cheeks burn at his words, his voice like velvet.

"W-... What? Right here, right now...?" You hesitated, but still gently laid your hand over his soft one, seeking reassurance in his hold.

Giorno was always a charming and extremely well-mannered boy despite the lack of proper education he had received. You would always tell him how princely he looked and acted, and he never failed to impress you by his eloquence, his broad mind, and his gestures.

But you surely did not expect him to propose you a dance, out in public. The sole idea was making you self-conscious, but also excited.

He ever-so-slightly closed his fingers around yours, expecting your consent with a soft smile. You were always at ease with Giorno, for the years you've known each other. Why would you ever refuse anything he asks you?

Like he had read through your heart, Giorno swiftly pulled you towards him, placing his hand right at the small of your back, keeping you up close and personal.

You giggled at the cheesy and intimate position, placing your free hand on his shoulder and ready to mess up the pace.

"I'll step on your toes!" You playfully warned him and he chuckled, endeared.

"Don't worry, Y/N. Just follow my lead."

The busker, noticing you two, smiled and finished up his song, immediately starting up a waltz, the nicest and sweetest of his repertoire.

Giorno confidently started in graceful and fluid movements. You followed him, guided by his assured poise. You tried not to stare down at your feet, which was easy task once you got captivated by his strong gaze.

You focused on your rhythm and his steps. You always wondered why he had randomly decided to teach you to waltz, but now you were grateful that he did, because you truly felt like royalty, and this feeling was priceless.

Pedestrians gathered, watching, amused by the splendid show before them. Two adorable teenagers dancing and living their youth, accompanying the busker.

You laughed, both from nervousness and happiness, knowing well Giorno would hold up the skies just to see you smile like this.

After stepping on Giorno's poor toes more than often enough, and after almost crashing down on him, you two decided it was time to go.

Giorno made sure to tip the gifted old man handsomely, much more than conventionnal, making him wonder how such a young boy could have so much money to spare.

Jolyne: Shares her headphones with you.

You walked side by side with Jolyne. You had planned on having a nice walk alongside the beach together, but the weather had seemed to betray you two, with unusually cloudy grey skies and cold breezes.

And thus, you were prompted to walk through town instead. You were happy either way, as long as you were with Jolyne, your most favourite girl in the world, it didn't really matter where you went or what you did.

The entire walk was silent and, as much as you knew Jolyne wasn't necessarily the most talkative type, the fact that she hasn't removed her earphones at all from the moment you both joined earlier really threw you off.

You guessed she wasn't in the mood for talking. You could absolutely understand that, but the way she seemed to completely ignore you and cross you out of conversing with her at all saddened you.

Maybe she didn't want to go out at all and she just didn't have the heart to cancel on you.

You looked down, with all these questions plaguing your mind, wondering if you had done something to make her distant.

Before you could drown in more self-doubt, she nudged your arm and grabbed your attention. She was smiling at you with her cute green lips.

You looked at her confused, like you had been dreaming it all about her being upset with you. She looked so excited, suddenly.

She pulled out her green iPod, one that she had decorated with tacky semi-permanent tattoos from an infamous bubblegum brand, and immediately gave you one of her earbuds.

"Girl, you have to listen to this. It's Jimi Hendrix playing, listen, listen!" You obliged and put the earbud on, listening to her song intently, "This man's crazy, what the fuck? And they say lefties can't play guitar..."

You kept on listening, the song in one ear, Jolyne's comments in the other. She was lost in the music, playing air guitar and singing bits of the song. It was absolutely endearing to see her so happy about such a little thing.

"So? So? Did you like it?" She turned to you with a big grin as the song ended, her eyes wide and starry with hope of your validation, "I love this song sooo much, I had to make you listen! How was it? Be honest!"

You chuckled, overwhelmed by her enthusiasm and adorable giddiness, "It was really cool Jolyne, you have nice tastes. Send it to me next time."

"Yess!!!" She cheered, pumping her fist in the air in victory. "Alright, let's get some bagels now, I'm starving."

She wrapped a strong arm around your shoulder, tired of the distance separating you. "My treat! Oh! And you have to show me that new group you told me about the other day. Even Hermes is talking about them now."

You couldn't bite back your growing smile as she squeezed you close. Not because of the very appealing call of bagels, even though you were more than looking forward to that, but because of how sweet Jolyne was to you despite what she appeared.

Showing her deepest interests to you when she wasn't much of a sharer was her own love language.

[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Part 3

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn warnings: lots of swear words, tsukki being a a closet softie wc: 7.3k (Ill just stop apologizing for this long chapter updates at this point)

[a/n]

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist uwu

AO3

Part 2 || Part 4 || masterlist

���Remind me again why are we here.” Tsukishima tells you as soon as he steps foot inside your room. 

He scans the room and immediately notices the mess that it is, particularly the top bunk of the bed which he doesn’t doubt must be your share of it.

On the wall on the left side of the room are posters of seascapes and sea animals of different varieties while the desk bolted under it are framed photos of Sendai Frogs. He recognizes them all;, one was taken from the first win of the team on the first year you joined as the manager. The second is a photo of the team at the gym with the new members that year, including Kyoutani who had just recently joined. The last one is a selfie of you on the bus doing a peace sign and winking at  the camera while everyone was sleeping.

He kinda feels bad for your roommate now. You’re practically hogging the whole room.

You put down your bag on the floor and shoot him a confused look. “To do our project?” 

When you told him to meet in your dorm, he agreed because he thought you meant the common area. After all, he had no reason to think you’d invite him to your room. You two may have disregarded the club incident, tucking it away as a sordid memory from a night of insanity, but that doesn’t mean it is forgotten. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case with you as you appear to genuinely find nothing wrong with the current situation. 

You seat yourself at your table, taking out your laptop and notes from the trip last time.

“Go sit, Tsukishima,” you say without even looking at him as you spread out your notes on the table’s surface as your laptop boots up. 

“We could’ve just done this in the library, or at least in the lobby,” he says as a matter-of-factly.

“True, but I also don’t see any problem with doing it here,” you answer passively, still occupied with arranging your papers. 

He was right. It really does not bother you at all. So, he shouldn’t be bothered with it either. This way, at least, no one would see you and him together. You’re a person he doesn’t want to be associated with hanging around with anyways. 

“Do you always invite your groupmates to your room?” He asks out of curiosity since it didn’t seem like anything for you to just invite him in, as if you didn’t care much about your privacy. 

“Hmm. Depends,” you answer. 

He takes out his own laptop, but still eyes you as he prods further. “On what?”

The curve of your lips tugs up slightly as you sit up straight and lift your gaze away from the notes you took out and finally turn your attention to him.

“I welcome those who won’t get handsy with me.”

“Even if you’re the one who’d get handsy with them?” he boldly counters.

You cock your head to the side with hints of amusement playing across your features, which vexes him. The question was supposed to tear your composure, not entertain you. 

“Alright, let’s get the fucking elephant out of the room since it bothers you so much,” you announce with levity. 

If you’re going to be honest, the kiss still finds its way to your mind sometimes. You just keep pushing it off so that you won’t get stressed out by it. What you find interesting is that he still keeps shoving that fact that you kissed him as if you wanted to do so.

Well, you literally did kiss him, but it’s not like you sought for it prior to the incident. 

It just … happened.

“I’ll come clean, good sir, if you’ll allow me,” you declare sarcastically before setting a more serious tone. “I admit it. It was one hell of a mistake to kiss you. But I didn’t mean to. As ridiculous as it sounds, I really didn’t. It was just one of those stupid, off-the-cuff things people do.” 

Your voice takes an accusatory note when you ask, “And why do you sound like I harassed you or something? Hmm? ‘Cause if I remember correctly.”

You cross your arms and look up, pretending to be deep in thought before facing him again with a fraudulent shock. “Oh right!” you exclaim exaggeratedly. “You kissed me back,” you add in almost a sing-song manner.

You put an elbow on the table and rest your cheek on your palm as you hold his glare with a snide grin. “How about that?” 

He continues shooting daggers at you but you don’t falter. Quite soon enough, he lets up and returns to the passive, apathetic face he usually wears, which signals your victory for the argument. “Like you said, it was one of those dumb on the spot whims.”

You nod agreeably. “Alright, great. Now that that has been established, let me reassure you. It’s never ever gonna happen again. Ever.”  

Your eyes are devoid of any humor while your words drip with firm resolve. Yet, he finds it off that you’re not asking him to do the same given that you both just agreed that you are equally accountable for that imprudent act. He is almost just as guilty. 

“Aren’t you going to ask the same from me?”

Your somber expression breaks into a humored one as a laugh rumbles from your throat. You shake your head in comical delight while you look at him. “No, I won’t. Actually...” you drift off as you scoot closer to him until you’re right beside him. “Give it your best shot.”

You close your eyes and tilt your chin up. Did you really just dare him to kiss you? Kiss those stupid lips and have a repeat of that appalling night? 

Should he?

He would do it just to erase the smug off your face, just to prove you wrong. But similar to that night, he can’t bring himself to do it. He hates the idea of instigating such a thing. 

Even more so now that he’s already had a taste of those lips. Those lips that felt too exquisite that it infuriated him. Those lips that took away his logical thinking. With you offering those lips to him so generously, you make him hate them even more. That pretty face and that playful smile of yours do nothing but add to his fury. 

“Can you get your face away from me?” 

You peek one eye open before bursting into laughter, making his displeasure towards you skyrocket. Why the fuck is he always your laughing stock?

“See? This is why I don’t mind you coming over, Tsukishima. I bet if I strip naked right now, you’d walk out in a heartbeat.”

His scowl deepens. The mental image of your unclad body is very much unwelcome and unappreciated. “Bring that up again and I really will leave,” he snaps. 

Even with your smile intact, your humored expression dissolves a bit and is replaced by a curious guise.

“You know, everyone likes me except you,” you say with no shred of diffidence.  

You really are full of yourself. You might be ‘likeable’ for a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean every single person you meet actually likes you. He’s certain there are people who you rub off the wrong way -- people like him. 

“Isn’t that a bit too conceited, even for you?”

You shrug your shoulders indifferently. “Maybe so. But you’re the only person who shoves your blatant dislike on my face.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it for the past three years,” he replies as he flips his laptop open and boots it up so he can turn his attention somewhere other than you. 

“I didn’t need to work with you like this for the past three years.”

He doesn’t know where you’re going with the conversation so he doesn’t respond anymore. He’s certain you know why he finds you a pain in the neck. You constantly get on his grill with every opportunity you get. Maybe if you didn’t, he could actually tolerate your topsy turvy persona. But it’s as if it’s your personal mission to aggravate him.

“I’m putting the deal I offered during the trip,” you announce.

“What deal?” he asks as he starts typing bullet points of what should be done today so he can go home already.

“Forget I’m the annoying manager when it’s just us two. And I won’t deliberately piss you off.”

He types the last bullet point before returning his attention on you. “Then what? I suddenly become nice to you?”

“Hell no! I’m not asking for a fucking miracle. It’s not like you’re ever nice to anybody. Geez!” you explain derisively. “I just want us to have a conversation where you’re not giving me death glares.”

You give him a smile, one that lacks your usual haughtiness. Still, he can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’ll actually manage to hold the deal you’re proposing. Truth be told, he wants it. He can’t handle you being your usual if you two have to meet beyond training hours and, even worse, in private. 

If this keeps up, he might end up cursing this subject by the end of the semester, which would be a waste because likes this subject way too much for you to taint it with your idiocy.

“Deliver your end of the bargain. Then you’ll have mine.”

Your eyes twinkle with glee at his semi-approval. “We have a deal then.” 

You go back to where you’re seated a while ago and proceed to start discussing at hand.

--

With the start of the game season, training has become more intense. Coach Mira had the team work on the weak points she identified with the help of  the data you tallied from last season’s games.

“Kyoutani! Do not lower those arms just yet. Keep those elbows up when you block,” Coach yells at him, as Kogane spiked from the other side of the court.

She looks over at the other players practicing their jump serves. She furrows her brows at something. Following her line of sight, you see that it falls on Tsukishima. 

On his next serve, the ball spins ferociously but is of low height that it hits the middle of the night. 

“Y/n,” Coach calls out. She didn’t have to say anything else as she cocks her head to Tsukishima’s direction with a telling expression on her face. She’s asking you to handle him, and you know exactly why. 

Before he can toss the ball for another jump serve, you yell out merrily which you know will definitely catch his ears, “ Tsukki!! ” and jog to where he is. His blank expression turns into a scowl when you reach him. 

“Can you stop calling me that?”

“You’re so mean. Aren’t we close enough for me to call you ‘ Tsukki ’?.” You ask with a dramatic pout and exaggerated false woes that he visibly cringes after hearing it. 

He doesn’t respond to your pretentious act. “Why are you here?”

You instantly lose the cheeky act and get to what Coach Mira wants to let him know. You’re just going to twist the words a bit to his ‘liking.’ 

This is the problem you noticed with Tsukishima, one worse than his rotten way of interacting with the team. He can be incredibly unmotivated at times, and when he is, he only gives the bare minimum amount of effort. 

It’s the one thing you can say you truly dislike about him because he’s a professional athlete for crying out loud. It doesn’t matter if he’s unmotivated, uninspired, or doesn’t feel like trying. He should be disciplined enough to push himself to put as much work as he usually does when training.

“You’re not going to get those serves in with that half-assed attitude of yours,” you say sternly while you eye him with a threatening stare. 

His face scrunches in utter displeasure. He’s well aware that he’s not feeling his best today and he’d rather do blocking drills for the whole raining than do ten consecutive jump serves. 

“Since enthusiasm is the answer to everything else, why don’t you try it?” He bites back, which you obviously weren’t expecting. He’s always irritated when you point out his mistakes, but thus far he has always stayed silent. 

Maybe the amount of time you’re spending together outside the gymnasium has made him reach the limit of his patience… which isn’t even a lot to begin with.

“Are you serious?” you ask incredulously.

Of course he wasn’t. You might have some sort of experience with volleyball (although he doesn’t know to which extent), but jump serves are difficult. The coordination of the toss and the run up to hit it at the right angle is aggravatingly hard to pull off, especially for him since jump serves need tons of practice.

He detests the practice for it; he needs to run, jump, and swing his arm over and over. It is boring and tiring for him because it is purely based on physical prowess, compared to practicing blocking where he’s actually thinking. 

He thought you’d leave him alone when you stepped away. Instead, you come back with a ball in your hand. You dribble it off the floor with unbendable focus as if you’re trying to recall something.

“Are you serious?” he’s the one who asks this time. He was just fucking around. He didn’t expect you’d actually respond to his provocation.

“Yep,” you answer with your full concentration on the ball in your hand as you spin it vertically. Some of the players notice what you’re up to and briefly stop what they’re doing to watch.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You bat them open with burning determination before you toss the ball. 

Instead of watching the ball, he watches your form. There’s no trace of awkwardness in your movements, almost like you’ve done this frequently before. The three-step approach is nearly perfect as you propel yourself up to jump. 

The sharp sound of the ball hitting your hand causes the rest of the gym to look at you. The ball spins ferociously at a height he’s not sure is sufficient to get over the other side of the court. He wishes it won’t. That would be the second worst thing you could ever do to him, the first one being that certain occurrence he’d rather not think about again. 

You falter on your feet when you descend from your leap but you immediately look up to see if your serve makes it. Everyone else, including him, is on the edge as they watch whether the ball will get in or not.

It roughly scrapes the edge of the net, effectively thwarting its velocity. Still, it bounces off and lands inside the opposing court, causing the rest of the team to cheer you on as the ball hits the floor.

You seem to forget for a short while that you did it to spite him as your face beams with inexplicable joy while his contorts with ire. 

Even if the momentum of the ball was broken, you still managed to get it over - the one thing he hadn’t been able to do from his last eight attempts. Meanwhile, you did it on your first. 

You definitely had a lot of experience in high school. No beginner can manage to do a jump serve like that, even if it was flawed.

‘Shit,’ he silently curses when you face him with a cocky grin disguised as a pleasant one. 

“Who knew that my experience being an outside hitter and captain of my high school team would still be useful as your manager?” you ask as you slowly walk towards him.

He doesn’ expect that your knowledge about the sport came from first-hand experience. He thought you’re manager of another team previously or just a crazy volleyball enthusiast.

You pick up another ball and softly push it against his rib as you look up to him with contempt. “Don’t tell me I can do better than you,” you spur him on with squinted eyes.

He snatches the ball away from your hands and steps back from the serving line. He spins the ball one time and tosses it high. Instead of a three-step approach, he makes it a four to increase his vertical jump. He tosses it high enough and channels all his rage for you at the ball. 

With how high he jumped, the ball easily goes over the net. Its trajectory curves when it crosses over and hits a spot a little bit just beyond the end line.

He clenches his fist at his another failed attempt despite exerting more than necessary effort for that shot. He avoids looking at you for he’d be put in an even worse mood if sees that taunting grin of yours. 

But of course you had to make yourself seen and intentionally go in front of him with an impressed look in your face instead of a condescending one. 

“That was great! Holy shit. It was just a smidge out. Wow.” You applaud him earnestly, and as much as he despises it, it makes him a little less bad about that missed shot. 

“Can you leave me alone now?” He drives you away to fend off the stupid feeling. He’d rather you just walk away and don’t say anything. “Not like that serve mattered,” he mutters in annoyance.

“What are you talking about? It was awesome!” you yell out with your eyes shining with flagrant admiration, which annoyingly strokes his ego. 

“Just a bit less and it would have been in a spot difficult to return,” you remark as you pat his shoulders approvingly before heeding his request to leave and go back to where Coach is. 

“Sorry, Coach. I distracted everyone else,” you scratch your head with an apologetic smile when you return. 

“I’d tell you off, but everyone seems more motivated now, so good work I guess,” she commends you with a satisfactory tone.

“He looks really pissed though,” Coach Mira adds as she glances at the blonde middle blocker.

“More than you know, Coach,” you reply with a wide smile as he serves another ball and gets it in this time. 

--

Prior to your meeting with Tsukishima today, you proposed to finish the project as soon as possible so you can both focus on other other uni subjects on top of training hours. He immediately agreed, which didn’t surprise you because even though it’s not game season, you’re pretty sure he can’t wait to stop having to see you.

The project’s deadline is in three months, but you believe you can finish it in less than two if you meet up at least twice a week to work on it.

It should be okay, given that you both agreed to have a truce of some sort from the usual dynamic of your relationship. You actually think that it’s not going to work out smoothly, but you still suggested it with the hopes of decreasing his animosity towards you. Yes, it’s fun and amusing most of the time, but outside the gym where you’re just a classmate and not his manager, it’s kinda draining to deal with it. 

“Won’t your roommate mind if there’s a stranger in your room?” he asks as he sits down and rummages through his bag. 

“Oh.” You thought he already figured it out because he didn’t ask about it on his first visit. “Didn’t I tell you before? I don’t have a roommate.” 

His eyes immediately go to your bunk bed that you didn’t bother getting replaced because it’s convenient when you’re too tired. You usually just mindlessly throw your stuff at the top bunk for a later clean-up.

“Wanted the whole room to myself,” you add.

“Spoiled, little rich brat, aren’t you?” He really doesn’t have much basis for his statement. He just wants to say something nasty and sneer at you because he wants to get back at how you called him out during training the other day.

When he meets your gaze, you raise an eyebrow at him, reminding him about your agreement while working on the project. He purses his lips to the side and returns to his passive expression without saying anything. You roll your eyes in response.

“Well if being a scholar while working as your manager is being a spoiled rich brat, then by all means. Do consider me one,” you answer before looking back on your screen. 

He would have never thought you were a university scholar. You don’t look like the type. You’re way too carefree and all over the place. He would’ve thought it was a joke, if not for the tiny offended glint he caught when he said you’re a spoiled brat.

That’s exactly the reaction he wants to get from you, yet it didn’t feel satisfactory. On the contrary, it’s making him feel like a prick. He is being one, but he doesn’t expect to feel like one, especially towards you who does nothing but get on his skin. 

Still, hell would freeze over before he apologizes. Instead, he prods on the topic.

“Why would you even work as a manager if you’re already a scholar?”

It doesn’t make sense to him. You don’t need the work if your university fees are already waived. It will just pile on to the academic requirements you will need to maintain. 

Your hand stops scrolling on your mouse as your eyes soften, still  remaining on your laptop. “Cause I love it,” you utter like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

The look in your eyes is instantly replaced by mockery when you lift them to meet his. 

“Someone’s being inquisitive today.”

He gets his headphones out and plugs it to his laptop. He really is curious why you chose you to be their manager, but you just had to be an obnoxious bitch and break the agreement you offered to him just the other day. 

He knows you’re too much of a chaos to actually pull it off, so instead of wasting his energy by being irritated by you for the day, he’d rather pretend you’re not there.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” you say loudly with a wide smile, yet he can see the sincerity of the apology through the slight panic in your orbs. You must have realized he’s had enough of your shit. “My bad. Old habits hard.” You laugh nervously. 

You speak again when he puts down his headphones on the table. “I may have quit the sport, but I still love it. I love taking care of players like you guys who have the same passion for it.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’s worth it,” he comments with unheld honesty. You could have a lot of time off of your hands if you quit being their manager. You don’t even need the job.

You plant your hands on the floor and lean back as your gaze drifts to the photos of the team displayed on your desk.

“You might be right. A marine science student dedicating her time on sports even though she’s not an athlete? It does sound impractical. But,” you revert your eyes back to him as you continue on, “it makes me happy. That alone makes it worth it. Even if I don’t get paid, I’d still do it.”

Your face glows with pride and joy with your last statement, completely undeterred by his earlier cynicism. If anything, you look even more convinced that you’re doing the right thing. 

He can’t tell if he finds it admirable or disturbing. Probably the latter.

“There’s more to life than just sleep, study, and survive, don’t you think?” 

It was a rhetorical question that he would’ve still refuted if someone told him that years ago. Back in his freshman year in high school, he thought overzealous passion was stupid. Unless an individual is some sort of prodigy, it wouldn’t get them anywhere even if they keep trying to death.

Still, he put in a lot of work -- more than he should -- when he was playing in Karasuno. What was just a club became entirely something else for him, which, up until now, he still hasn’t put quite a finger on. 

When he graduated from Karasuno, he wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to continue playing, but there was a nagging feeling behind his head that he shouldn’t. He thought that that part of his life was already over and while it was good while it lasted, it was time to move one. 

Yet, when he was handed out an application form for the university’s college team, he found himself grabbing the sheet of paper. 

He didn’t have any reason to pursue it beyond high school. He knows he’s good, but he’s not that good. He was at university already. It was time to focus on his future and ignore the itch to hold the ball with five other players on his side of the court.

What’s even more absurd was the next day, he submitted the application form and tried out for the team. He said to himself it wouldn’t hurt to go on playing until he has finally had enough. He’d just ride it out until he got tired of it. 

In his sophomore year, he was scouted by Sendai Frogs and that’s when he knew that the unreasonable passion he has for volleyball is not going to go away. Even now in his graduating semester, he’s still not ready to give it up.

He won’t admit it in your face, but, in a way, he can agree with what you just said. Life is more than just getting by and surviving. That’s the only reason he can think of to justify his choice to continue volleyball: so that he wouldn’t have this constant dissonance that pursuing the sport is a vacuous path he’s treading on. 

“Anyways, back to work now, yeah?”

You smile briefly at him and return to the research you’re tasked to do. He puts his headphones back in his bag and gets back to his own task as well.

He thought all is well and you won’t pester him until you both finish what you’re supposed to accomplish for the day. Unfortunately, he thought wrong. 

You suddenly close your laptop and start whining. 

“Tsukki.”

As usual, he does his best to not acknowledge your existence. 

“Tsukkiii, ” you whine louder. 

For the love of God, you sound the most annoying when you use his nickname. Even though you’ve used it several times now, he’s still not used to it. In fact, he does not believe he will ever get used to it. Shimizu and Yachi not even once called him that, and they were more respectable managers than you are. Sort of. It doesn’t matter that you’re more active and hands on when managing the team.

“Tsuuuk -”

“What?!” You successfully manage to get his eyes off the screen.

“I’m bored,” you pout. 

He glares at you unbelievably. What are you, a five-year-old? 

“And that is my problem, how?” he asks with disdain. 

“Aren’t you getting tired?” you ask back, unfazed by his blatant irritation. But then again, you never are. 

He is getting tired too, but he’d rather drag his brains and eyes out than rest and extend the time he’s going to spend with you. 

“Let’s take a break, please, ” you cry out with pleading eyes. 

“I don’t care what you do. Just leave me out of it.” He puts his attention back on his laptop and looks for the journal article he found significant among the other tabs he opened. 

“I’ll feel guilty if I see you still at it while I goof around,” you admit. 

He really couldn’t care any less. None of what you’re blabbering about is any of his concern. If you keep at it, he’ll just take out his headphones again to drown out your childish whining. 

“I know!” You suddenly perk up. “Let’s review for our quiz,” you suggest eagerly. “We have one tomorrow, right?”

He almost smirks at your suggestion, but he manages to suppress it. He’d rather not let you see that he’s pleasantly amused with your suggestion. 

He didn’t expect that that was your idea of taking a break. He thought you were going to propose something completely absurd like watch stupid videos online because that’s something he could totally see you doing on your free time. 

But yeah, he can definitely use a review. It would be a productive break from the strenuous researching and writing you two have been doing. 

Even though he still hasn’t verbally agreed, you continue on. “To make it interesting, there’s a penalty for every wrong answer.”

He sits up straight, pushing his glasses closer to his face as you successfully gain his full attention. “What penalty?”

Your smile widens when you realize that he’s finally acknowledging your idea of taking a break. 

“Okay, okay.” You rub your hands together in excitement before you clasp them together. “For every wrong answer you get, you need to say something nice about me. And of course vice versa.”

He scowls at the idea. “I prefer the opposite. Get the answer wrong and you get insulted. That sounds more of a punishment.”

You shake your head with your lips pressed into a thin line from disapproval. “Nope. If I get even one wrong answer. I’m sure you’ll get into a litany of rude shit you piled up against me over the years. And I’ll just sit here uncaringly receiving your fury. Does that excite you?”

Hell no. It will infuriate him even more if he throws something at you and you just take it apathetically. But he still doesn’t agree with your initial mechanics. It’s not fair to him.

“No, it doesn’t. But the consequence of a wrong answer is too easy for you.”

You place a palm on your chest and gape at him. “Me? Too easy for me ?” 

You break into a boisterous laugh while still maintaining eye contact with him. He just stares back at you stupefied with no idea what you found so hilarious.

“Tsukishima,” you say after recovering from your disparaging hoots of laughter. “I can think of literally one nice thing about you. Maybe two if I tried hard enough,” you explain with your face still crinkled with the laughter you’re trying hard to contain. 

If you’re trying to provok him to take on your challenge, you definitely succeeding. “Fine,” he hisses. 

Your laughter is completely thwarted when your eyes widen with delight as he succumbs to your plan. 

“Great! Okay, two more rules. One, objective questions only. Two, we can’t say anything that involves Volleyball. For example, you can’t tell me that I’m a great manager, because I’m very much aware of that already, okay?”

His frown only deepens from your conceitedness, only to realize that that’s the only aspect of you he’d consider complimenting you about. 

“But there is nothing else nice about you other than that,” he says without any trace of sarcasm or ridicule, only stating what he considers the truth. 

But you don’t take any offense in his statement. You’re expecting as much. That’s why you added two more rules to push the both of you to take the review seriously.

“Better not get anything wrong then,” you counter easily because it’s as simple as that. It’s a review just for a quiz after all. He shouldn’t be that worried.

“Thirty minutes to review. Then let’s start the quiz?”

You take that he’s fine with it since he closes his laptop and gets his set of notes from his bag.

You get your phone and set a thirty minute timer. You do just as he does and focus on your own notes, skimming over the last two chapters covered during lectures. You concentrate on your learning materials but the alarm sets off after what seemed like ten minutes to you.

You frantically check your phone to see if you put the wrong time, but you didn’t. Thirty minute have indeed passed. 

When you glance at Tsukishima, he’s already looking at you with crossed arms and a self-satisfied smirk. He must have finished before the timer went off. He wouldn’t have that smug expression if not. 

Even though you haven’t fully gone over the last parts of the lesson covered, you can’t help but be enlivened at how competitive he is. He must really hate losing. 

You notice it too with the way he plays volleyball. He might look calm on the surface, but you know he wants to crush his opponents. And right now, that opponent is you. 

His muted excitement affects you. Even though you’re not totally prepared, you’re confident with your own wits. 

“Ladies first, so go ahead, Tsukishima.”

He clicks his tongue, his usual habit when he’s irked with something, but this one was forced to make it appear as if he didn’t like what you said. But you can tell that he doesn’t give a shit about that and he actually can’t wait to ask away just to so you can get it wrong.

Unfortunately for him though, you two are just exchanging questions when your mini game starts. He answers your questions without hesitation and you do just the same since most of his questions are in your own list that’s supposed to be for him.

“What’s the movable membrane found on the eyes of amphibians?” It’s his sixth question that has you racking your brain for the correct answer. When you don’t respond immediately, he sniggers like he’s already won. 

But you do know the answer, or at least the first letter of it. It's the letter N. N-something membrane.

“Nictaling membrane,” you answer unsurely. 

The spread of his wicked smile immediately tells you you’re wrong. “It’s nictating,” he corrects you. 

“Oh come on! I’m just one letter off,” you strongly reason out.

“Yeah, and that would still be marked wrong in the actual quiz,” he refutes.

Damn it. He’s right. That one letter makes a whole lot of difference your professor will definitely not let go.

He places one elbow on the table and rests his chin at the back of his hand, keeping his eyes trained on you as he silently anticipates for you to pay the price of your penalty.

You bite your lip disquietly when you realize the rule you set was a double-edged sword for you can’t also think of anything nice to say about him. There’s that terrible attitude of his which is usually your source of fun, but not exactly something you can call nice. 

You have something in your mind, but your pride won’t let you voice it out. 

He starts tapping the table with his fingers. “You’re wasting both our time, y/n.”

You accept your defeat and tell him anyway. “Fine. I think you’re smarter than me,” you confess. 

You expect him to agree unanimously, but instead he looks at you stupefied, blinking a few times without saying anything. 

“But you’re a scholar,” he remarks. You’re not sure if he just disagreed with you or he’s just putting that fact out in the open. 

“Well, yeah. But I’m just really good at studying and have good time management. You’re actually smart. You’re critical with stuff,” you explain. 

You cheated a bit with your answer since most of your basis is from volleyball games. Although your trip last time is also proof of that. He provided really good input on how you should go about with the project. 

“Okay! Moving on,” you proceed before he can comment further on what you just said and milk it to his benefit.

You ask another question, which he also knows that correct answer to. Originally, you just wanted a fun but effective way of reviewing, but now you kind of want him to get at least one question wrong so you can get even. 

“What do you call the structure the lower vertebrae of anurans is fused into?” he asks another difficult question. 

You rub your palms on your face, your frustration clouding your mind from recalling what it could possibly be. You push your hair back and sigh when you realize that you’re not getting this one either. 

“I don’t know,” you surrender. 

His current expression is the most lively one you’ve ever seen from him outside volleyball games, but it isn't a pleasant one. He looks like a villain whose evil master plan is coming to fruition. 

Maybe you should’ve just agreed with his earlier suggestion to get insulted when you get it incorrectly. You would’ve just sit it out and brush it off afterwards, not make your brain hurt even more from thinking about non-existent good traits from the guy across your table. 

You look around as you desperately try to think of something remotely nice about him.

“Oh,” your eyes meet his right the moment you recall that instance, and form a genuine smile as you remember it once more. 

“It was real nice of you to let me lean on you on the way back to Miyagi last week.”

He removes his elbow from the table and fixes his posture, losing the lax and confident aura he had two questions ago. 

“You would have woken up face down on the bus floor if I didn’t,” he says defensively as if what he did needs that explanation for it to be acceptable. 

You honestly thought he’d rather let you fall flat on the floor. You’re about to ask him back then if he was sure, but you just accepted his angry, yet generous offer which you didn’t expect to come from him.

“I know. I just didn’t think you’d let me rest on your shoulder, so thanks,” you say earnestly, not a trace of your usual cheekiness present. 

“It felt nice and comfortable” you add reservedly. You’ve been wanting to thank him but you didn’t know how to bring it up without being awkward for you’re only used to dealing with grouchy Tsukishima.

It’s only then you realize that despite his palpable dislike towards you, he’s not a complete asshole and still cared enough for your welfare that time.

He remains expressionless with his eyes drifting down to his notes, avoiding your gaze as he does so. “The answer is coccyx, also called urostyle,” he ushers back to the question you got wrong, dismissing what you just divulged, which you’re thankful for because you feel like fidgeting with what just dawned on you.

“My turn again then!” you said too loudly as you try to shake off the feeling and put your focus back on the review.

You read the only item left in your list, still hoping that he gets it wrong since this is the last. 

“What part of the amphibian nervous system regulates heart and respiratory rates?”

Unlike previous questions, he doesn’t answer off the bat this time.

“You’re wasting both our time, Tsukishima,” you repeat what he said to you earlier even though it's only been seconds after you uttered your question. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I know the answer,” he declares with reassured confidence. “It’s the cerebrum.”

You decide to hold his gaze for two second before you burst his bubble. “Fucking finally!” you rejoice in his defeat. 

“Close enough, Tsukishima. It’s the cerebellum,” you announce all too cheerfully.

He hurriedly gets his notes and cross checks if you’re actually telling the truth. You just watch him scramble with a very pleased smile on your face as he goes rigid. 

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. He must have seen that you were telling the truth.

You start squirming in your seat. Oh man, you’re way too excited to hear what he has to say about you. You want to egg him on, to tell him to hurry up but that might affect what he’s going to say so you force yourself to shut up. 

He raises his gaze at you while you make sure you’re not smiling too wide to annoy him even though you’re reeling from anticipation. 

He still doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s thinking based on the way he’s studying your face. 

“You have a slightly above average face.”

You run that by again in your head, not understanding what he meant by it at first. 

Above average face? Did he just say you’re pretty if translated from a socially incapacitated person’s language? Is that why he was staring so hard at you?

Of all the things he could choose to say something about, he decides to compliment your appearance? You know that you're a bit good-looking, but you don’t think he notices it. He doesn’t seem to be the type to care about that stuff.

Even when you first met, he just looked at you with a vacant expression and greeted you blandly out of courtesy while the rest of the team ogled at you. His apathetic eyes eventually turned scornful over time because of how often you pick on him, and despite that, he does acknowledge that you are pretty.

You’re used to being showered with admiration because of your face so you’ve developed a natural response to it: a gleeful smile with a spritely ‘aww, thanks!’

But with Tsukishima, it doesn’t kick in. Instead, you avert your gaze away from the unwanted fluttering in your chest. You can’t even look him in the eye as you try to collect yourself and think how you’ll respond to that without looking flustered. 

What the heck is wrong with you? That could hardly be called a compliment. Now that you think about it, it actually sounded sort of like a product review with its lack of any fondness. 

With that in mind, you manage to regain some of your composure and offer him a faint. “Um, thanks.”  

Tsukishima looks at his two remaining questions he listed and even though he’s winning the game, he doesn’t feel victorious at all. Your confessions did nothing to make him feel good about himself. They were too sincere that they made him uneasy.

He also doesn’t like that he had to admit you’re pretty. He expected you’re gonna make a fuss about it. He actually would’ve preferred that than you being uncharacteristically embarrassed about it.

Something weird is definitely going on. You’re not acting like yourself and neither is he. There had been too many opportunities to badger you, but he just let them pass by. Same with you. You could have easily teased him about letting you know he finds you attractive.

“I’m out of questions,” he lies to end the damn review. 

“Me too, actually,” you say with an apprehensive laugh.

So it’s not just him. You also feel the change in the atmosphere between you two. Your smile is uncertain and you look like you don't know what to do to remedy the situation -- that is, if you even know what’s wrong with it because he sure as hell doesn’t. 

But even if he has no idea what’s going on, fortunately, he knows how to end it.

“I’m tired. I’m calling it a day,” he says as he starts packing up his stuff. 

You seem to agree since you don’t say anything and just watch him collect his things. You only react when he stands up. 

“Oh yeah. Sure!” You stand up as well.

“I can see my way out on my own,” he stops you when you start to head for the door.  

You freeze on the spot then nod timidly. “Okay.”

As soon as he steps out and closes the door, you plop yourself back to where you were sitting. You grasp the edges of your table as you softly bang your head against it, gasping a heavy breath of relief when the air becomes undoubtedly lighter after he is gone.

“What the fuck was that?” you mumble with your cheek against the wooden surface. 

Part 2 || Part 4 || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai  @babythotshq @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @berna-dette @just4readingfics @suteorra @xxekitten69xx @simp4tsukkii @music-is-all-i-need @keshinslittlegirl @raspberrysunshinebby @iminlovewhaikyuu @pdiddy11 @lightyagamami @sailorscout1902 @lovershaikyuu  @expectonothinfromme @mitzuya @yamigoop​

[novelconcepts]

hey! i love your work - i've been reading every single one of your fics on ao3 since the blessed day i found you here <3 I know it might seem a bit out of character but what do you think jealousy would look like for Dani and Jamie?

It’s not jealousy, exactly. Jealousy is an ugly word, prompted by the belief that your person is, in fact, drifting--or that you are, in fact, not all there to hold their focus.

Which, admittedly, Dani isn’t. All there. Not all the time. But she still wouldn’t call this jealousy. Jealousy was Eddie’s arm tightening around her shoulders at the movie theater. Jealousy was her mother’s eyes darkening whenever a woman was too polite to her father as he ordered drinks. Jealousy was whatever kept Peter Quint locked to the Bly grounds, his fists tight around Rebecca Jessel’s desire to be better, even in death. 

Jealousy is ugly. This is not jealousy. This is...

Casual amusement. 

“So,” Jamie is saying, leaning against the counter and pointing to a brochure. “These are the most popular options for a wedding arrangement. You said you don’t want roses?”

“Tacky,” the bride says, her nose wrinkled. She’s probably in her early twenties, Dani gauges, and seems tailor-made for big, sprawling events like a wedding. Even the way she walks is orderly, her heels clacking, her body following a straight line from flower to counter and back as she speaks. 

The bride isn’t really the person Dani has been watching, all things considered. The bride knows exactly where she is, what she wants, how she’d like them to fall in line for her special day. 

It’s the other one. The maid of honor, who appears by all indication--jawline, hair color, similar smile--to be the bride’s sister. Maybe twenty-five, maybe a little older. Pretty, as these things go, though not exactly Dani’s type. 

Dani doesn’t seem to be her type, either, from the way her eyes drag up Jamie’s frame and linger around her lips. 

If Jamie has noticed any of this--the way this woman is quite literally attempting to phase through the counter to where Jamie is standing--she’s doing a remarkable job of not showing it. Her eyes sweep from bride to book and back again as she keeps up a steady stream of conversation primarily intended to keep the customer talking. Jamie’s method of finding exactly what a person is looking for is very similar to her method of living with Dani: coax them into talking about themselves, about their day, about what they like and don’t like, and piece the rest quietly together. 

She’s so busy listening, she seems to miss altogether the way the maid of honor reaches across the counter and drifts a hand close to Jamie’s. “What would you pick, for your big day?”

Jamie smiles, and though her gaze does not cut to Dani, there’s something about the way she leans back and bumps Dani’s ankle with the heel of one boot that says it all. “Haven’t really thought about it, if I’m honest. Not really the white-wedding type.”

“What type are you?” the woman asks hopefully. Dani swallows a snort. Jamie only smiles. 

“Quiet, I think. Private.”

The woman chews this over, letting her fingers sneak closer to Jamie’s hand. Jamie, politely, retrieves her own fingers before contact can be made, her attention sliding seamlessly back to the task at hand.

“So. You’re thinking how many smaller arrangements, for the tables?”

Dani is not watching the maid of honor out of true jealousy, so much as curious interest. The world is changing around them a little more every year, celebrities beginning to come out as politicians bat around the legality of love they don’t understand, and things are...improving. Cautiously, she suspects things will continue to improve, that there might one day be a time where she’ll be able to take Jamie’s hand in a public restaurant. Kiss Jamie in a movie theater. Love Jamie in some way resembling acceptable for the eyes of strangers. 

Even then, even in a world where no one cares, she can't imagine the bravado of this woman. The sheer strength of will it takes for a strange woman to meet Jamie as she steps around the counter to show them out, her hand sliding up Jamie’s arm in a fashion not remotely professional. Her voice is soft as she leans in toward Jamie’s ear, her smile predatory. 

Dani watches with curious interest, and if there is something small--a ghost of anger, a ghost of sudden sharp heat in her stomach like a fist tightening--it is nothing. It is irrelevant. Jamie is her own person, is completely welcome to whatever interactions come her way. Jamie, she reminds that part of her which sometimes feels nothing like her at all, loves her. 

Loves you, that little part murmurs, but can’t have you. Not all of you. Not the way this woman gets her husband, forever, with a ring, and a party, and a white dress--

Jamie is stepping away from the woman, a slow roll back to match the tense smile on her lips. The woman’s face is darkening, something unpleasant in her gaze when it swings to find Dani. Jamie raises a hand, waves goodbye, allows them to round the corner before she flips the sign and latches the door.

“Unbelievable,” she mutters. “Did you see that?”

“The part where she was eating you alive for an hour, or the part where she tried to mount you right at the door?” Dani says dryly. That little kicking drumbeat in her chest is still pounding away, the squeezing fist rapping out a message she can’t ignore. Even if it were legal. Even if they all understood. Even then, you wouldn’t be able to do it. 

“Don’t think her sister didn’t notice, either,” Jamie says, rumpling her hair with one hand. “Think she’ll have some explaining to do this evening--hey, you all right?”

“Sure,” Dani says, too brightly. Can’t have all of you, and doesn’t she deserve better? Doesn't she deserve someone who is always steady, always the same from dawn to dusk, who never looks into a mirror and sees--

“Dani.” Jamie’s hands are on her shoulders, Jamie’s face much closer than she realized. She starts, nearly stumbles, relieved when Jamie’s grip tightens just enough to keep her upright. “You look like you’ve seen a--”

“Just...” Dani shakes her head. How to put this? How to explain it? “Just...something about that didn’t...sit right, I guess.”

“No,” Jamie agrees, “I’d think not. Handsy, wasn’t she? But I hope you don’t think--hope I’ve never given you cause to worry--’cuz, Dani, honest to God, I’ve never--”

She looks so nervous, it’s almost like the years have rolled back to a sunny day in this very shop, to a single moonflower and Jamie’s hopeful smile. All at once, that grip of fear in her gut loosens, Dani’s breath returning to her in a long sweep. 

“Jamie. Breathe.” 

“No, I only--I know how it probably looked, but she was trying to give me her number, and I--”

“Told her she’d have to get in line?” Dani teases. Jamie looks about ready to swallow her own tongue. 

“Told her I'd never met someone half as in love as me, and she should be lucky to find the same someday.”

“Oh my god, Jamie, she’s never going to come back.” She’s laughing, unable to stop herself. Jamie, not looking even the least bit ashamed, tucks her hands into her pockets and shrugs. 

“I didn’t like the way you were looking at her, is all.”

“What, like I was going to escort her out in a fury and blame it on my low-key possession?” 

“No.” Jamie is not smiling. There is an earnest quality to her face, even as she reaches up and touches Dani’s cheek. “Like she was making you sad. Haven’t seen you like that since we left England. Dani, honestly, you know I’d never want...anything but this. Ever.”

It isn’t a question. It is maybe the truest thing Jamie has ever said, and it pulls at Dani’s heart harder for that. 

“I trust you,” she says quietly. “It wasn’t that. Wasn’t even her. Just...it’s enough? Even knowing we don’t know...even knowing there could only be--”

“It’s enough,” Jamie says, cupping her face in both hands, pressing her forehead to Dani’s with enough force to make them both laugh a little. “It’s always enough.”

She kisses Dani once, twice, and Dani lets herself linger in the moment. Lets herself forget about windows and strangers and tempting hands striving to coax Jamie off the path. None of it matters. None of it matters if Jamie is truly happy here, if Jamie is truly home here. 

“I’m only saying,” she says when Jamie breaks, glances back over her shoulder, begins guiding Dani backwards toward the supply room. “You have options, for when I’m too old or too boring. What was she, the seventh one to try to slip you a phone number?”

Jamie groans. “What is it about me? Do I have emotionally available stamped on my forehead? This never used to happen in England.”

“You scowl much less now,” Dani points out, breathless when Jamie sweeps an arm around her waist and dips her toward the couch. “And you wear all those suspenders--”

“Could tell them,” Jamie teases, following her down. “Could greet each and every woman at the door with, ‘Welcome to The Leafling, purveyors of fine floral arrangements, my name is Jamie and this perfect specimen is the love of my--’”

She’s kissing Dani, all jokes forgotten, and Dani finds herself dreaming--not for the first time--of wild possibilities. Of a sunset wedding, of friends gathered close, of Jamie kissing her just like this in front of anyone who matters even a little bit. Of what it would be like, to look at Jamie and know how real they are, even in the moments Dani doesn’t feel real at all. 

Doesn’t take a wedding for that, she thinks, as Jamie’s lips trail down flushed skin. Doesn’t take anything except for her...and me...and...

There’s a ring she’s been looking at. A simple thing, gold, heart-hands-crown. No one would know. No one would need to know. All that matters is...all that matters is...

She can’t have all of you, that horrible awareness of time mutters. Dani closes her eyes, grips tighter to Jamie as she vanishes into the kiss. 

She gets everything that counts, she decides here and now. She gets it until there’s nothing left to give. 

[exyrpf]

best stucky fic recs pwease

Okay, disclaimer, these are all like five+ years old (which is the best Stucky era, imo) and definitely not the only ones I enjoy; these are just a few in my bookmarks on ao3.

In no particular order besides the order I bookmarked them and under a read more because there's a shit ton of them (really, it's a lot):

- hold me until we crumble; Not Rated, 23k

“Sam told me you were watching Antiques Roadshow,” Natasha says, shaking out her hair. “I assumed it was a national emergency.”

- despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained); Explicit, 72k

“They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips.

Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions—

“Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.”

Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”

- family means no one gets left behind or forgotten; Teen, 11k

“Why did you think I wouldn’t like you for being gay?” Steve asks gently.

“You’re Captain America.” Eli’s got his teeth clenched and is resolutely looking ahead. “You stand for truth and justice and the American way. You stand for American morals. You stand for…” he shrugs awkwardly. “Not people like me.”

Steve blows the air out of his cheeks slowly, trying to figure out how to keep the anger out of his voice so Eli doesn’t think it’s at him.

Or, Steve comes to terms with his new world, and gains some children in the process.

- Mistake on the Part of Nature; Teen, 1.3k

Steve takes in Bucky's betrayed look and Sam's confusion, follows Sam's gaze to the pile of mangled fruit in the trash can. Sudden comprehension fills his face.

"Oh," he says. "Bucky found out about bananas."

In which an American icon is mourned. But probably not the one you're thinking of.

- Swear Jar; Teen, 1.5k

Bucky isn't the only troll in the future.

OR

Steve has a Swear Jar and he makes the Avengers pay up every time they cuss.

- Barnes & Rogers and the Goddamn Truth; Not Rated, 19k

There are three well-known facts at Shield High:

1. The history teacher Mr. Barnes is a stone-cold terror, and it’s not even because he only has one arm. 2. The other history teacher, Mr. Rogers, is a mysterious enigma, and it’s something to do with the body of a Greek God and contradicting stories of his past. (They’re all rumours, anyway.) 3. Mr Barnes and Mr Rogers hate each other.

Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

- perfectly right wrong number; Teen, 32k

It all starts because Steve is too dumb to handle his smartphone.

A wrong number AU in which Bucky Barnes doesn't enter Steve's life (meaning: Bucky wasn't born until the eighties, but Steve is still Captain America) until Steve accidentally dials the wrong number. Wherein there is a lot of texting, some advice via Natasha and Darcy, a bit of pining, and a first date in an amusement park. Oh, and on top of being a disabled veteran, Bucky is a professional catwalker. Literally.

- The power of the right shirt (a.k.a. God bless America); Teen, 1.2k

"He just…" Phil trails off, mouth gaping. He is staring at the field outside the house, eyes glazed.

Clint sighs. "Yeah, he just ripped a log in two with his bare hands."

- To fill it up with something; Teen, 21k

A fateful encounter with Dr. Strange leaves the Winter Soldier transformed, and Bucky Barnes reunites with Steve Rogers in a most unexpected way.

“Steve brings the puppy inside, into the apartment that doesn't quite feel like home no matter how much he's been trying. He isn't used to being alone. Before the war, he always had Bucky, and his mother until her death. During the war, Bucky was there, too—and the rest of the Howlers, of course—but Bucky always meant home. (And well, maybe Steve's already got a name for the puppy in mind)."

- build it bigger than the sun; Teen, 10k

“Yeah, because nothing says heteronormative like living in Dupont Circle for two years and wearing skin-tight shirts to hit on hot airmen when you go running in the morning.”

“Look, I know you’re being sarcastic but I really don’t get how no one picked up on that.”

Steve and Bucky try to work out their relationship. The Avengers keep getting in the way.

- Memories Circle (Like Birds of Prey), Teen, 32k

Everything seems to be going right, Steve's fighting with his Commandos, they've saving lives-- until Steve falls from a train, is taken prisoner, and turned into the Winter Soldier. Meanwhile, Bucky takes up Steve's mantle as Captain America, and thanks to Zola's experiments, he gets dropped into a whole new time, only to cross paths with a Steve who doesn't know who he is anymore.

Essentially, the events of CA:TFA, mild mentioning of Avengers, and CA:TWS but with Steve as the Winter Soldier and Bucky as Captain America

- The Gentleness That Comes; Mature, 9k

Steve Rogers never really views the things he had to do to get by before the War with any sort of shame or embarrassment. People ask him for his opinions on modern issues in interviews, but Steve has gotten good at talking around those types of questions. Fury insists that there's no way to answer them without casting a shadow of controversy across the reputation of the Avengers, and that's the last thing Steve wants.

But then a sex tape is released featuring Tony Stark in bed with another man, and Steve can't stay quiet any longer.

- salt for the sea; Mature, 7.5k

Natasha comes home with intel regarding the fate of the Winter Soldier; Steve leaves to go and avenge Bucky Barnes.

“It's a list of everyone who was involved in his death, and a rough timeline of everything that happened beforehand,” she tells him.

“And the notebook?”

“I explained what they did,” Natasha says, “The blank pages are for you to explain what you do to them.”

- Lone Cat and Samurai; Teen, 8.4k

"We lost Kitten America sir!" Junior Agent blurted out. Then turned an unlovely shade of purple. "I mean, Captain America. Who’s a kitten. Because magic. Sir."

- Waiting To Prove You're Not Alone; Explicit, 41k

Months after he woke up on the banks of the Potomac, when a reporter mistakenly assumes Steve would disapprove of homosexuality being as accepted as it is in the modern day, Steve accidentally snaps and unleashes his real opinion on the matter... and with that, a secret he's hidden for over eighty years.

When that secret comes looking for him in New York, Steve can only hope that he can get a second chance at saving his best friend, even if it means keeping his heart in check.

“Yeah, back in my day it wasn't tolerated, and because of that I knew from the minute I figured it out, that I’d never get to tell my best friend that I loved him, and sure enough, he died without knowing that I’d been in love with him for a decade."

- I'm Not Sick (But I'm Not Well); Mature, 30k

Steve Rogers doesn’t meet Bucky Barnes in the 1930’s. Instead, Steve meets him April 17th, 2012.

Well…sort of meets him.

In actuality, Bucky had almost hit him with his truck.

Or: The fic where millennial Bucky Barnes nearly runs over a freshly thawed national treasure, and what Steve Rogers did to adjust to modern NYC during those two weeks before the events of The Avengers.

- pure as the driven slush; Explicit, 11k

He should have worked it out sooner. But then, Steve always was a sneaky little bastard—had to have been, just to survive this long.

For the SteveBucky Fest prompt, "Steve is quite experienced while Bucky's never gone beyond second base with anyone".

- Let's Be Exposed and Unprotected, Explicit, 5k

Bucky’s pretty sure he should be into getting fucked through the floor while walls explode around him like in that Mr and Mrs Smith movie that Clint loves. But he likes it like this. He likes being on his back with Steve looming above him, big and naked, blocking out the rest of the world.

- Man of Steel; Explicit, 6.7k

It’s like Steve looked at his metal arm and thought ‘Challenge Accepted.’

- 5 Times Steve Got Arrested and 1 Time They All Did; Teen, 4.9k

What it says, 5 times Steve Rogers ended up in jail (with and without Bucky) + 1 time all of the Avengers got arrested with him.

- the best of you; Teen, 16k

Bucky is on a mission when he gets the call.

They tell him that Steve has been compromised.

[The story wherein Hydra captures Steve to create a new weapon. Bucky, alongside the rest of the Avengers, come together and work through the fallout.]

- pull apart the dark; Teen, 79k

Steve's unending faith in his best friend was beginning to look less like hope and more like fantasy. When they'd caught the Soldier – in a fire fight that still gave Sam nightmares – the only thing the man seemed to recall was how to hit exactly where it hurt.

Four months later, Barnes still refused to speak English. Refused to heed anything but Steve's voice.

So, all in all, it was not a great time for Hydra to attack New York. All in all, Sam really wished they'd just killed him, instead of turning Captain America into a baby.

- Not Another Supersoldier Fantasy; Explicit, 8.9k

Bucky finds a popular sex toy modeled on Captain America's own anatomy. Well, isn't this just perfect? Because even after all this time, he still hasn’t seen Steve’s supersoldier cock. But apparently in this day and age anyone with $29.95 can get a decent replica. The unfairness of this is of galactic proportions.

- the blood of the covenant; Teen, 7.5k

Steve has a "thing" for hot water.

Or, Sam Wilson adopts Steve Rogers.

- Mighty like Love, Mighty like Sorrow; Teen, 19k

After freeing himself from the Russians' mind control, Bucky is left at loose ends, drifting through the decades. Still, he's in no hurry to take up Nick Fury's offer to once again fight the good fight -- especially not when Fury has the nerve to put some imposter in his best friend's old suit and send him out to fight against Chitauri.

- Read Me Like a Book; Gen, 1.5k

In which Bucky accidentally becomes a book collector, because when the universe gives you a million biographies about your boyfriend, you go bookcase shopping. And then he finds out about The Grenade Incident, and the boys actually talk about it like actual adults. (Somewhere, Sam sheds a proud tear.)

- the broadest stroke of color; Gen, 16k

Sarah Rogers always loved Steve's hands.

"Your hands will do a lifetime's work," she'd say. "Remember to do the work you can for those you love."

Almost a century later, Steve does just that.

[The story wherein Steve draws comics for Bucky to help him recover his memory. Through a series of events, the issues are leaked, and Steve finds himself reviving the Captain America comics. He still isn't sure how that happened.]

- If You're Loved By Someone (You're Never Rejected); Teen, 9.4k

You’re fifteen when you realize why you stare at Bucky’s lips more than normal when he laughs and when he says your name. You lean into his shoulder when you walk next to him and when you’re sick you don’t fight off his soft hands. You tease him, he teases back and being around him is so easy you forget what it was like to live without him. You can’t remember life pre-Bucky and it scares you.

- Unusual Weather; Explicit, 8.7k

Bucky’s been at the Avengers Tower for three weeks before he finally gives in to Steve’s gentle coaxing and Stark’s cheerful waving of fistfuls of circuits, and lets them scan the arm.

It doesn’t go well.

- this city bleeds its aching heart; Explicit, 35k

The one where Steve and Bucky pose as a happily married couple while on a mission for SHIELD, to catch an international arms dealer hiding in a suburban neighbourhood.

- Good Boy; Explicit, 13k

Bucky is still adjusting to life with the Avengers, and Steve is willing to do whatever it takes to make him feel comfortable. Increasingly, though, what seems to make him comfortable is strangely intimate.

Surprise, Steve! You're a gentle dom and Bucky wants to be your pretty pet!

- Brooklyn; Teen, 8.8k

"Captain America, what's your stance on gay marriage?"

Everyone knows that, by now. Everyone but Bucky.

[cozy-the-overlord]

For the Lobster of Loki

Summary: Exposure to terrigen mist during a mission-gone-wrong results in you developing some newfound aquatic abilities. Unfortunately, this opens the door for your Avengers teammates to make use of the bane of your existence: fish puns. 

Word Count: 2,850

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader (first person)

A/N: I can’t believe I actually wrote this.

For those of you wondering what the hell this is: a few weeks ago, I had autocorrect change the word "love" to "lobster" while writing a fic. I found this hilarious and made a joke about it on Tumblr and it kind of turned into a meme on my blog. A couple of my friends told me I needed to turn this into a story and so now I present to you the stupidest thing I have ever spent precious time creating. Also, I usually don't like writing in first person at all, but my go-to third person limited just did not feel right with this nonsense, so I decided to experiment with a different style

Thanks for reading! :)

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

I was going to murder Tony Stark. I was going to murder all of them, but I was going to murder him first because he was the one who started this nonsense and now it had been going on for two weeks and I was one fucking smirk away from scalping myself.

It all started when I woke up with gills. Waking up with gills is a strange experience. Don’t get me wrong—I realize all things considered, I had it pretty good. I’ve heard about some really horrific transformations since I experienced my own— people who came out of the midst having lost their eyes or their limbs or their minds. There have been people who came out of the mist looking, sounding, and feeling like completely different creatures than when they went in. And there have been people who don’t come out at all.

No, I know damn well I was lucky to come out of the experience with nothing more than a pair of gills stuck in my neck. Still, it was an odd feeling—there was a heightened awareness every time I breathed in, pinprick chills trickling across the newfound ridges as I exhaled. It didn’t feel right, but it didn’t feel wrong either—it was a stiff feeling, a bit like putting on a new pair of shoes for the first time, if that makes sense. I didn’t know what to make of it.

When I woke up, there was about a hundred doctors hovering around me, each with some new sterile terminology to throw my way about my condition, none of which made anything close to sense. I was losing my mind until Bruce showed up. He was able to put it simply: during the mission, I had been exposed to terrigen mist. Instead of killing me, it triggered a transformation in my DNA. I was inhuman.

My inhuman gift, it seemed was the magical blessing from the Black Lagoon. I had gills now—that was the most immediate realization—but there was also the fleshy webbing between my fingers and a weird film over my eyes that I didn’t notice until I tried to rub them with the heel of my palm. All of these wondrously fishy attributes added up to one glorious result: I could swim like a fish.

That was the first thing they tested. As soon as the doctors said I was good to go, SHIELD dumped me in a pool and told me to have fun. And I did. I had never been a fantastic swimmer or anything—the extent of my swimming knowledge came from the lessons my mother had forced me to take as a kindergartener because she was afraid I’d fall into the pond at the park down the street from our house and just die, which … fair. I still hated those classes. But now, now—oh, it was a completely different experience! I cut through that water like a knife, like Michael Phelps who? I was a bullet, shooting back and forth across the pool and just hanging water for as long as I liked.

Because I could breathe underwater now. That’s what gills are for, I guess, although it doesn’t really feel like breathing. Like, I’m not inhaling water while I swim. I’m just … I don’t know, my lungs are still filling with air, my chest is still going up and down, but it’s not through my nose. I don’t know how to explain it, it’s weird. But it’s really fucking awesome.

The team was very supportive of everything. I had only been living at the Tower for a little while, so I had still felt like something of an outsider—I didn’t have powers, and I certainly didn’t have the years long rapport that they had with each other. But they were really cool! Tony designed me a sleek new suit that was able to move well in water while still offering protection, and everyone had the time of their life trying to think up a pithy new code name for my newfound superhero status (we still haven’t quite decided, but I’m leaning towards Torpedo, because isn’t that the coolest thing you’ve ever heard?). Everything was great.

Well, almost everything. There was one thing that was kind of bothering me. Loki hadn’t talked to me since I got hit with the mist. That might sound like a weird thing to get hung up on—oh no, the psychotic extraterrestrial terrorist is ignoring me!— but Loki’s not really like that. He doesn’t really talk about the whole New York thing much, but he’s said enough to make it clear that it’s not something he did of his own volition. If you saw it you’d understand what I meant, the way he tenses up whenever someone brings up the Chitauri and his eyes go all glassy like he’s not really there behind them. You can just tell that whatever had been waiting for him on the other side of that portal, it wasn’t good.

We never talked about New York, but we talked about other things. I’m not really sure how that happened. He does this thing where he acts all annoyed with everyone, like he’s just so over everything, and it irritates everyone so much that they all avoid him like the plague, which of course is what he wants. I guess I just didn’t avoid him when I arrived—I was too busy avoiding all the other superheroes who made me nervous to bother trying with him—and he grew to tolerate my presence.

We started talking about stuff one day, random shit like the purpose of nutritional facts on the side of poptart boxes and the boiling point of water on Earth vs on Asgard because apparently that’s different. And then we’d do things like make fun of the way Steve talks because he’s just so easy to make fun of, and Steve would overhear and tell us to knock it off and that would just make the whole thing funnier and Loki would mimic his voice and say something stupid like “I can feel the righteousness surging!” and Steve would just shake his head and walk away while we laughed like idiots. So yeah. We were friends. Or at least, I thought of him as a friend.

But I was starting to think that maybe he didn’t see me in the same way. We had been partners on the mission where I got hit with the terrigen mist, but he didn’t even come to visit me while I was still in the hospital. And literally everyone came to visit me. Friggin’ Director Fury came to visit me, although I’m pretty sure that was more because he wanted to see what my transformation had entailed and not because he had any particular interest in my wellbeing, but still. And then when I got out, he never said a word to me and everyone else wanted to talk to me so I didn’t say anything to him, but I was worried about him just the same. He was avoiding me too—he wouldn’t ever look at me when I was looking at him, and a lot of times he’d get up and leave the room if I came in. And I didn’t know what was going on.

I probably should’ve asked, but I don’t know … I was afraid, I guess. Like, what if he was really mad at me for something, and just me trying to talk with him would make him upset? So I just didn’t say anything—went through my day pretending everything was normal and ignoring the ache in my chest constantly reminding me that it had been weeks since I got my powers and Loki still hadn’t asked me if I was okay.

But I kind of forgot about all that when Tony started this bullshit. Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t start it sooner, because it was the type of low hanging fruit that had his name written all over it, but once he started it there was no going back.

He started it one day when we were in the kitchen. I had been making a sandwich (tuna fish, because I’m a cannibal) and Tony was leaning over the counter watching me, and we were just talking about my general fishiness.

“I’m jealous, really,” he was saying. “It’s definitely something that would come in handy. You need to get something underwater, you just dive down—no tanks, no masks, no suits. Very sophisticated.” His eyes lit up, which is never a good thing. “Sofishticated!”

I groaned. “Stop it.”

But Tony was cackling. “Sofishticated! That’s rather gilliant, if I do say so myself.”

“Tony …”

“It doesn’t get any betta than this!”

I waved the bread knife in his face. “I will throw this at you.”

“Alright, alright.” Even as he held his hands up in surrender, he was giggling like a child. “I’ll stop.”

He did not stop.

The next morning, it was fish puns. Everywhere you turned, it was fish puns.

“Can you get that report back to me soon, or do you need more time to mullet over?”

“Just let minnow when you’re ready to try on the new suit.”

“Don’t trout your abilities, we all know you’re fintastic.”

It was only breakfast and I was inches away from crushing my face against the china cabinet.

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “What the hell have I walked into?”

Tony grinned. “It’s fish puns!” he said. “Because, you know—” he gestured vaguely in my general direction. “It’s her brand.”

I moaned, face in my hands. “Just kill me now.”

Clint perked up. “Don’t you mean krill me now?”

Laughing, Tony gave him a high five over my head as I writhed in pain. “That’s the spirit.”

I don’t know how he did it, but in the matter of hours Tony had the whole damn tower on the pun train. Natasha was joking about how she was having a whale of a time with this new game. Clint was telling me to clam down and enjoy the fun. Steve asked me if I could get kraken on my o-fish-al business. Even Bruce—Bruce, who always made a point of staying out of Tony’s nonsense—even he was coming up to me with shit like “Cod you come help me with somefin in the lab?”

I glared at him. “Why would you ask me that?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Well …” Bruce inhaled. “Salmon had to.”

I stormed off as Tony roared with laughter from behind the corner.

It was inescapable. Wherever I went there was someone armed with some new fishy atrocity. You’d be surprised at how many fucking fish-related words exist in the English language. JARVIS was so overloaded with the amount of Internet searches for “fish puns” that he started bookmarking lists for easy access. It was an absolute nightmare.

“Don’t play koi, sweetheart,” Tony teased one night while we were waiting for Clint to choose a movie. “We know you lobster it.”

“Lobster?” I scoffed. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

“You just don’t appreciate my ingenui-sea.”

“OH MY—”

“Ignore them, my lady.” Thor smiled gallantly “They are only jesting. You should just relaks.” He grinned, stepping back as he waited for a reaction. We all just blinked at him. He frowned. “You understand, yes? Re-laks? Laks? That’s a fish!”

“Lak is not native to Midgard,” Loki interjected without looking up from the book he was reading. I jumped. He had been so quiet I had forgotten he was in here too. “Their oceans are too warm.”

Thor was surprised. “Truly? But I thought we’ve tasted lak since we’ve been here!”

Loki rolled his eyes, still without looking up. “That’s salmon. It tastes similar, but it’s much smaller.” He turned the page, muttering something that I didn’t quite catch. I was suddenly struck by the fact that it was the closest we had come to talking since before the mist, and that ache came back, gnawing at the edges of my heart. He didn’t look at me. I didn’t say anything.

About a week later, it was my birthday. I don’t really like birthdays in general, but I had really been bracing myself for this one all week because there was no way in hell these morons weren’t going to something infuriatingly stupid to mark the occasion. I guess I didn’t do enough bracing, because when I walked into my bathroom that morning to find a big fat lobster scuttling around in my sink I nearly had a fucking heart attack.

Across the mirror, someone had scrawled a message in red lipstick.

Sending you birthday fishes and lots of lobster!

And that was the moment I decided I was going to murder Tony Stark.

I stormed out into the hallway with no weapon, no plan of action, nothing except the pajamas on my back and the lobster in my hand. Additionally, this was the moment I decided that I hated lobsters more than any other creature on this earth. This thing looked like something from outer space, with its antenna and its bulging eyes and its spindly spider legs—that what it was, an overgrown spider in a slimy red shell. It was disgusting.

I was on my way to Tony’s floor, so engrossed with this half-baked notion of busting down his door and throwing this extraterrestrial arachnid on his face while he snored in bed, that I didn’t even see the Asgardian prince until I walked right into him.

Luckily, Loki grabbed me before I stumbled backwards, because I recoiled so quickly I probably would’ve gone flying. He raised his eyebrows as he took in the sight.

“I assume there’s a reason for the crustacean?” he asked.

There was something ever so slightly condescending about his tone, and I bristled. “They left this thing in my room! I swear, I’ve had it up to here with this fish bullshit—”

He hushed me, pulling the lobster from my grasp. With a wave of his hand, it was gone.

I inhaled. “You didn’t kill it, did you?”

“Oh no. I merely moved it to a more preferable location.” He frowned at the moisture left on his palm, conjuring a handkerchief to wipe it off with. “You know,” he said slowly. “The more visibly upset you allow yourself to become over this, the more encouraged they’ll feel to continue.”

“I know, I know. I just—” I sighed. “It’s so annoying. It’s been going nonstop, for two damn weeks! Puns are the absolute lowest form of humor, it’s just obnoxious.”

Loki only nodded as he turned to make his way down the hall. “I’ll take your word for it.”

And just like that, it was back to ignoring me. I watched his retreating form, the ache in my chest quickly bursting in to flames.

“Why are you avoiding me?” I snapped.

He froze, slowly turning around. “Pardon?”

“Why are you avoiding me?” I repeated. “You won’t talk to me anymore, you barely even look at me— did I do something wrong?” Maybe the fish jokes really had fried my brain, because I was dangerously close to tears. “I don’t get it Loki, I thought we were cool and now you just hate me!”

“I don’t hate you!” he said. “I just—”

“Just what? What is going on with you?”

“You could’ve died!” Loki yelled. I had never heard him speak that loudly before, and guess I was shocked into silence. “With the mist, on the mission. It was only pure chance that you didn’t.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“I was supposed to cover you. I should’ve realized sooner that they were using terrigen crystals. Instead I miscalculated and you nearly died.” He let out a shaky breath. “I thought you were dead. When I found you, enveloped in that shell …” His voice trailed off and I realized with a start that his eyes were glistening with tears.

“Loki …” My gills tingled on my neck as I reached out for him. Is that what this was all about? Guilt? “Loki, you can’t blame yourself for that. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. And besides, I’m fine now. It all worked out in the end.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand. You didn’t see yourself. You were gone, I was certain you were gone—”

I griped his hand. “I’m here now though. I’m here and I’m fine. Stop beating yourself up about it. I want to be friends again. I—” For a moment, the words caught in my throat. “I missed you.”

He gulped. “Truly?”

“Of course! Besides, I need your help getting back at these idiots.”

He smirked. “Oh, I’ve already started on that.”

A high-pitched scream broke out across the floor. “How did the fucking lobster get in my shower?” Tony bellowed from his bedroom.

We exploded into laughter.

“Oh,” I wheezed. “That was fucking perfect!”

Loki grinned, squeezing my hand. “Only the best for you, my lobster.”

[todorokibois]

Broken Promises - Eren X Reader

Song Fic - Based off of Cancer by My Chemical Romance (I highly suggest listening to this as you read)

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Eren X Reader

Words: 1,586

A/n: Listening to this song the other night made me think up this little scenario since I have recently rewatched all of AoT. Hope you like it! As always, the characters are aged up in my stories. Feedback is greatly appreciated, enjoy!

Pain. 

That’s all your body and mind can register as your consciousness starts to come back to you. Every little bump and jolt of the wagon sends a shock through your system, causing a groan to slip passed your lips. 

“They’re waking up,” a voice you think belongs to Mikasa, says to your left.

A groan is all they receive from you as you come to. Half of your body feels numb, and you can’t move your right arm or your left leg. You attempt to sit up, only for your body to not respond, leaving you laying in the cart you’re in. You open your eyes.

“What happened?” Your voice comes out scratchy and hoarse, blinking a few times to clear your blurry vision.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Mikasa says, guiding her horse away from the cart to give you and the other person in the cart with you some privacy. She can already tell what is about to happen, but he’ll need the solitude more that he knows.

Eren can only give a curt nod in thanks, not even bothering to watch her leave. Instead, he looks down at you with sorrowful eyes, a pain of his own shining behind them. A pain you cannot place.

“There was a herd of abnormals that attacked your squad while we were out,” he tells you. “You’re the only one who survived; we’re heading back to the wall now.”

You nod slowly in understanding, finding enough strength in you to lift your head to inspect your injuries. Just as you thought, your left leg from your knee down is missing, having been tied off at the thigh with a belt in attempts to help stop the bleeding, along with your right arm completely gone from the shoulder down. There was apparently some attempt to bandage you, but the gauze has already soaked through with blood.

It takes a few seconds for your thoughts to push pass the pain and remember what had happened to you. Indeed a herd of abnormals had attacked your squad. You had been riding through a small town when the first one quite literally jumped out of nowhere and had taken down two in your rear flank. You had managed to take out two of the five abnormals with the three of your remaining squad before losing them to the last three in attempts to take them down. The last thing you remember is seeing another squad ride into town while being held between two of the abnormals before passing out from the pain of being torn apart.

From just one look, you already know you’re not going to make it back to the wall alive. You’ve lost too much blood. In fact, you’re surprised you’ve managed to live this long despite how much blood you’ve lost, but you know it’s only a matter of time now. You can feel death creeping in slowly, almost as if it’s giving you a chance to say what you need to before you go.

Once more, you attempt to sit up before Eren is stopping you.

“You shouldn’t move around too much,” he says, voice soft as he gently pushes you back down using your good shoulder. “Here, let me get you some water.”

There’s an unspoken tension between the two of you as he turns to grab the pack beside him. Ever so slowly, he helps you tilt your head up to take a sip of water. It helps to soothe your dry throat, making it easier for you to speak now.

“Thanks,” you mumble as he puts the lid back on once you’re done. 

You see him nod once in response, “you’re going to be okay.”

“Eren,” you sigh, but you can already tell he’s zoned out and is now in his own little world.

“Once we get back, we’ll take you to a doctor-“

“Eren,” your voice comes out a little stronger, but his eyes are still glazed over, not registering the call of his name.

“It’s not too bad; it’s not too late to save you-“

“Eren,” this time, the firm tone of your voice snaps him back to reality, his eyes now locked on your own, panic and fear swirling in his teal orbs. “It’s okay. I’m not going to make it.”

“Don’t say that.” His voice comes out in a rush, brows furrowing in worry. “You will make it, and you will be okay.”

“No, Eren,” you shake your head slightly as you come to terms with what you’ve already realized: you are going to die. “I’ve already lost too much blood, it’s too late for me now. It’s only a matter of time before-“

“Don’t say that!” He repeats, tears now lining his eyes as he looks down at you. There’s a type of fury burning there now, most likely at this world for taking another person he cares about away from him. If only he had gotten there sooner, then maybe he could have saved you, and none of this would be happening right now. If only he were stronger.

“We both know it’s true,” you whisper, and you’re beginning to feel the numbness again, spreading throughout your body slowly, starting from your one remaining leg and creeping upwards. “It’s okay, though. Everything will be okay.”

“How can you say that?” His fists clench in his lap, fingernails biting into the skin of his palm as anger courses through his veins. “You’re leaving me. I don’t want you to leave me.” His voice is small now, and you can tell he’s doing his best to hold back the sobs that want to escape his throat. “You promised.”

You take in a low breath, closing your eyes briefly as you recall those words the two of you spoke all those months ago. You had been his first real friend in the scouts when he had first arrived, having been the only one besides Hange whom was greatly intrigued by his titan shifter abilities. You treated him like an equal right from the start, and only ever wanted to be his friend. He admired you for your honesty and bravery, and the two of you grew close in a matter of weeks.

It had been the night before his first scouting mission outside the walls; the fated female titan attack, as you came to refer to it as. You couldn’t sleep so you made your way up to the roof of the old castle, only to find Eren already there gazing up at the stars. It was then that the two of you made a promise to each other. A promise to always come back alive, no matter what.

“I’m sorry, Eren,” your expression holds nothing but sorrow, “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep that promise any longer.”

“I don’t want you to die,” a single tear escapes his eye, rolling down his cheek before falling onto the skin of your left hand.

“It’ll be okay, I promise,” you smile at him faintly, finding enough strength left in you to raise your arm up and cup his cheek with your hand. Immediately, he leans into your touch, “but I want you to promise me something in return.”

“Anything,” comes his response, eyes locked on yours with a new determination shining behind them, alongside the grief and anger.

“I want you to promise me that you’ll keep on living and fighting. Not just for me, but for Mikasa and Armin, too,” you begin. “Live a good life Eren, and remember, no matter what anyone thinks, I will always believe in you. I swear that I’ll never truly be leaving you, and that I’ll always be with you,” you pause, moving your hand to rest over his heart, “in here.”

He nods, swallowing the dryness in his throat, “I promise.”

“Good,” you nod, only causing you to start coughing in response, blood now filling your mouth. It’s getting harder to breathe, and you know you have mere moments before your time is up. “Hey Eren?”

“Yes?” He brings your hand back up to his cheek, allowing for you to stroke it gently with your thumb. He can no longer hold back the flow of tears as he watches the person he loves most take their final breaths, blood trickling down the side of their lips.

“I love you,” 

His breath hitches in his throat as he sees your chest stop moving. At least you died with a smile on your face. 

A broken sob escapes his lips as nothing but pure pain and panic courses through his veins. He lets your limp arm fall to the side as he pulls your body into his lap, a roar of anguish escaping his lips as your blood soaks his clothes. He sobs into your chest, begging, pleading for you to come back to him. How can he save humanity from the titans if he can’t even save you.

White hot anger begins coursing through his veins. Angry at himself for not getting to you in time, but also anger at the world for taking you away from him. He’s already lost so much, so why did he have to lose you, too? 

It’s then that he makes a promise to himself. Something only he believes he can do, as he whispers his final words to you. He only wishes you were still alive to hear them.

“I love you, too.”

[comm-caribou]

9,10,25 for Juliette/Digger

Why did I do this to myself? I love them together just as much as I love her with Fury! 😭😭

9. Have they made each other cry? Juliette does not like to be reminded of the fact that clones were made to fight and die for the Republic. She understands that not all her friends are going to make it to the end of the war, but she doesn’t like how some will just casually bring it up. Well… one of her pilot friends gets killed and Digger was not quite aware of the “we don’t talk about dying” rule (they weren’t a couple yet) and she starts sobbing. He couldn’t comfort her and had to call Cosmos, and calm and collective Cosmos ripped him a new one for making his best friend cry like that.

10. Write a ~300 word argument scene for them:

Digger chased after her through the brightly lit Coruscant walkways, and caught her arm.

“No.” She attempted shaking him off.

“Please?” Digger pulled her to the side, “not in public.”

Juliette sighed, following him while shooting a nosy Gotal a glare.

Digger leaned against the wall beside her, “Juliette, I was just being friendly.”

“Uh huh,” she rolled her eyes.

“You don’t like dancing,” Digger pointed out. “You said you don’t care.”

“I lied,” Juliette turned her head, “you’re suppose to be dancing with me.”

Digger covered his helmet’s face, chuckling.

“Shut up.” Juliette stomped her foot.

“I never took you for the jealous type,” Digger flipped his helmet off, “you want me all to yourself.”

“I don’t want you all to myself,” Juliette mumbled.

“Uh huh,” Digger walked in front of her, “you’re jealous.”

“Am not.” Juliette crossed her arms.

Digger leaned in, “you are.”

“I’m not,” she looked away.

“Then why are you pouting?” He teased.

Juliette blushed, looking anywhere else but him.

Digger kissed her cheek, “I’m sorry, Angel. I’ll dance with only you and the boys.”

She turned back to him, “Digger!”

“My brothers,” Digger laughed, “I’m talking about my brothers, my jealous Angel.”

“I’m not jeal-“

He covered her mouth, “how about we just stop going to 79’s for date nights?”

She nodded her head.

“Good,” he kissed her nose, “now come with me, Angel.”

25. What moves do they know work on the other? Before I get into this, I just want to say he’s her first and he was pretty much taught her the ropes (not literal ropes! Digger’s not into that!). Juliette learned pretty quick that Digger really likes closeness and skin-to-skin contact, all she’s got to do is pull him a little closer and he’s putty in her hands. As for what Digger can do to Juliette, there’s two that come to mind. The first is anything with her neck, the minute he touches her neck he has her full attention. The other is when he pins her to a wall, she thinks it’s hot when he does that.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

When A Bird Dies

Pair: Alcina/Mia

Summary: After Mother Miranda’s death, Alcina feels lost. She uses wine to cope and Mia tries to help her find a purpose.

AN: This one shot was inspired by Rosegarden Funeral Party’s Once In A While. It’s my first time writing Mia so apologies if it’s somewhat OOC. Ngl I was kind of just typing here and hoping for the best xD

Sometimes when she gets insecure, she gets drunk. And the lady is a woefully sloppy and unrefined drunk. Sometimes she drinks when she is sad. Mia doesn’t understand why she does this, the drinks only heighten her sorrow and leave her a sobbing mess.

On these nights, Mia wishes that she could carry the lady to bed. Lift her right off her feet and tuck her in. Perhaps rub her back until she comes back to herself. Her poised and fierce self. Back to the Alcina who speaks of skinning men alive and tasting their delectable blood.

But sometimes, the woman curled up and sobbing on the floor isn’t of any intrigue to Mia. She is a pitiful thing. And sometimes a disgusting sniveling thing. Really, Mia thinks that she ought to take the woman’s wine from her. Sometimes she grows tired of what it can reduce Dimitrescu to.

“You would do this in front of your daughters?” Mia asks.

“My daughters aren’t here.”

“Yes, they’re off fetching and bedding maidens.” She comments dryly. Sometimes bitterness gets the best of her. Sometimes she finds herself slipping and lapsing into something that she isn’t proud of, not even slightly. Maybe the woman in front of her is wearing off on her. Maybe it is this village infecting her just as swiftly as the mold.

“How dare you?” Lady Dimitrescu growls. She wipes her eyes, smearing mascara and foundation. Her face is twisted into a furious, almost feral snarl. Double so with crimson of blood-wine staining her teeth. “Talk about my daughters like that…” she slurs. “I’ve never said an ill word of that Rose.”

She could slap the woman. She very well should. Dimitrescu knows well that Rose is a subject not to be spoken of. Even years later it still stings to think of having to let the baby go. To think of having to let Ethan go. To have watched them make their way out of the village with only a glance back.

To know that the mold has infected and warped her so beyond repair that she had to let the two of them go and remain here amid the other freaks and monsters. And only this one, this sorry drunk had taken pity on her. Mia supposes that calling her a drunk is a bit of a stretch. She only drinks when she thinks. And lately she has been doing a lot of thinking. She says that she thinks until her head hurts. Undoubtedly she misses Mother Miranda, the wretched beast.

Without Mother Miranda she is both stronger and weaker. She is bolder, freer. Bolder, freer, and sadder. Though sometimes Mia thinks that it is merely a melodrama, that the mutant just wants attention. And with nothing better to do, Mia gives it to the woman. Most of the time she only dimly recalls having received any affection at all.

And maybe it is her maternal side that does the talking and moving. Her maternal side that compels her to help the tall lady to her unsteady feet. “You’re going to have to stop this.” Mia sighs. “You’re a lot stronger than this.”

.oOo.

Alcina shakes her head. These days she doesn’t feel much like that. Between Mother Miranda’s great fall and her own at the hands of Ethan Winters, she has found herself feeling rather inadequate.

Her weakness now runs so deep that she can’t even bring herself to go through with her vengeance. To drive a claw through one end of Mia and out the other and deliver the corpse straight to her husband and his wretched daughter.

Right now her head hurts too much to stand, let alone skewer a woman. And even if she had the ability she is coming to find that she has quite a soft spot for Mia. To think that she has fallen so low that she finds herself fancying a human. She is lucky that her daughters aren’t here to see this. She resents it with a fury, but Mia is right. She needs to get herself together.

“Sit with me?” She pats a spot on her lap. The woman hesitates. “Sit with me.” She still hesitates but climbs into her lap all the same.  “You know that I was thinking of bleeding you out? I was going to chain you to the ceiling just the way I did your husband.” She pauses, trying to detect fear or hatred on the woman’s face. It remains blank. Impassive and unphased. “I was going to taste your blood on my tongue, surely it tastes better than your husband’s. Woman…” she leans closer, hovers her lips over Mia’s exposed neck. “Women taste better. Sweeter, richer. They aren’t so dirty and stale.”

“And how does your blood taste, Lady Dimitrescu?”

She furrows her brows, admittedly, the question has thrown her. “My blood…”

“I don’t bleed.”

“Everyone bleeds, Lady Dimitrescu.” Mia seems to study her face. “You just bleed differently. I imagine that your blood tastes like wine. You drink enough of it.”

Her face colors. It helps her case very little that she is already quite tipsy. Tipsy and absurdly emotional. She understands why Mia isn’t quite so intimidated by her today. “I do not bleed.” She repeats again.

“You would hemorrhage if your daughters died. Mother Miranda died and look at you...you’re bleeding all over the place.” She reaches up and wipes a tear from Alcina’s eye. “It’s depressing and fascinating to watch.” She pauses. “I’ve looked after a mutant before. Eveline. The infected definitely bleed. The hurt and cry just the way we do. You wouldn’t even know that some of them are mutated.”

Alcina cringes, “don’t you dare compare me to…”

“Humans?” Mia asks. “You were human once.”

“That...that was a very long time ago.” And there is not one part of her that wishes to return to that feeble, delicate state. “You’d do well not to bring it up again.” Where did she put the wine bottle? But the words have already well and settled upon her, she doesn’t think that more wine can drive them out this time.

Evidently she isn’t sure what to do. Isn’t sure that she has a purpose at all anymore. Donna has her dolls and Karl has his machines. She never thought that she would find herself near the same level as Salvatore--confused and lost.

She could continue to export her wines, she supposes. But that has lost its charm now that Mother Miranda won’t be around to stop in for a taste. To dully express a fondness for the drinks.

She has her girls but they have their own lives to live and now that the weather is warming, they are out and about more often.

“What shall I do, Mia?” She murmurs.

Mia’s face softens and the woman brings a hand to her cheek. Her hand is somewhat cold but the gesture has a warmth to make up for it. “About what? Your startling bloodlust?”

“What shall I do now that Mother Miranda is gone?”

“First you can put down the bottle.” She takes it right from Alcina’s hands and puts it aside. “And then you can start living your own life again. Your way.”

She isn’t sure that she remembers how.

“You used to enjoy jazz, yes?”

“Quite well.” She nods. And she still enjoys digging out an old record every now and then.

“Well, why don’t you put a record on, we can have dinner, and discuss how to get you back into the music industry.”

“I don’t believe that I fit into the scene anymore.” And she means it most literally.

“That’s what we’ll be talking about. I’d love to get out of this village every now and again. Perhaps you can do the singing and I can do some lip syncing?”

It isn’t such a horrid plan. If nothing else, it gives her something to fantasize about. Something to look forward to. And perhaps if she doesn’t kill the woman or corrode her soul completely--they might make a fine duo.

Mia casts a smile over her shoulder.

Sometimes, Alcina loses herself. At least this time she may  have help finding herself.  

[alyss-spazz-penedo]

Okay, so life has gotten STUPID stressful of late, and these days I have basically no time to indulge happy daydreams AT ALL.

Thus: screw pacing, I'm just gonna toss up this mostly-completed 11th part of the unedited v!Wind fic and then blow through the rest of this fic sometime in the next few weeks, bc I’m not adding any more content to what I’ve already got (or at least not anytime soon).

So yeah, @w1lmutt, expect a larger and more chaotic worddump than usual eventually! (I figure I can worry about proper scenes and editing nonsense if/when I ever move these words over to AO3 ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

<<First Part 10 Final>>

(I made a Masterpost for this!)

They drag the big doors open.

The inside of the cave is poorly lit and offers little in the way of room to stand; a pathway of those monster-built walkways follows the wall around to the back of the cove, but otherwise the space is all open water with an impressive ship bobbing at the center.

Tetra lets out a grunt of approval when she sees it, though she scowls at the massive cage that's been built on its deck. It’s a crude thing, large and runed with ominous symbols meant to contain the imprisoned, but otherwise the ship itself seems surprisingly understated and not-evil for the primary vessel of someone who’d conquered as much of the sea as Phantom had boasted.

At first, things seem fine. Quiet. The ship is untouched, all gangplanks pulled up and cannons pointed out but otherwise unharmed.

Then one of the pirates peeks their head over the railing and spots them.

"Boss! Swabbie! Is that you?" Niko yells, and there's blood all down his side. "Look out! Monsters afoot!"

"Niko!" Tetra calls in alarm, and the pirates who are able to scramble to lay out a plank for them to board. Phantom doesn't bother waiting, yanking his mask on and clearing the side of the ship in a single bound.

"Who did this," he begins, voice distorted by magic and fury.

Then the monsters attack, dropping from the ceiling and rising out of the sea. Every one of them bleeds black.

The heroes fight, of course. The crew has taken a beating, and the gathered Links do their best to defend the exhausted sailors—Phantom most fervently of them all.

It's hard battle. What footing there is is unstable, and their enemies many. Most of them are not suited to aquatic battles, and the waters of the cave are treacherous. They take injuries, all of them.

But when he's standing between their injured and their enemies, when his eyes are clear and sharp and his strikes deadly precise—for the first time, the gathered Links can see the look of a hero about their youngest.

~o0o~

Of course, he proceeds to thoroughly ruin that impression by the time the battle draws to a close.

The monster he's chosen is not a type of creature he recognizes—green, reptilian, fast in the water. Phantom's cut it's legs out from under it, quite literally, and so it writhes on it's elbows and stomach across the wooden deck as it tries to escape him. Outside of their little corner of the ship, the last of its comrades fall to the blades of the traveling heroes.

"Who sent you?" Phantom demands. When he doesn't get a response he likes, he drags his blade through the side of it's belly, long and nonfatal. It squeals in agony.

"You're going to die here," he observes, soft. He stomps on the wound, heedless of the dark blood splashing his sandals. "But it's going to take time. Quite some time, if you so choose. Answer me: who is your master?"

The creature gibbers. Phantom tilts his head, somehow divining meaning from the nonsensical noises of terror.

"A shadow?" he murmurs. "What-?"

Someone steps in. “What are you doing?!”

And it's only because it’s Hyrule—Hyrule who tried to help, Hyrule who’s lightning magic Phantom can still feel painful echoes of in his bones—that Phantom stays his blade. “Get out of my way,” he growls, which is better than the stabbing any of these other interlopers would’ve gotten.

A hand lands on his shoulder. Phantom's sword swings around, action to reaction with no pause for thought in between. The edge stops a hair's breadth away from Tetra's scowl.

"That's enough," she says, and shoots the lizalfos in the head.

Phantom scowls at the dead body, then at her. "I was not finished," he growls.

Tetra yanks on his ear.

"Ow! Hey!" He flails. "Leggo leggo!"

"We have more important things to worry about!" She yells, dragging him around to look at the sorry state of her crew. "Genzo needs a splint! Niko needs stitches and more bandages than we have! Everyone is beat to shit! And only one of us can fly, idiot!"

She lets go of his ear to shove him forward. Phantom stops. He looks.

"Oh," he utters, and he notices for the first time that he has blood dripping down his shield arm. He shakes his head, once, like a dog, and clutches at the wound. He feels very cold. "...Oh."

As though it had merely been waiting for his permission, the lizal corpse finally explodes into dark smoke.

"Right," he breathes. "Right."

~o0o~

"What were those," Phantom demands.

The pirates have been left in the care of the brothers who'd first opened their dojo to the traveling heroes, recuperating from their various injuries. Fortunately, none of the damage seems permanent. A few fairies, some liberally applied first aid, and all the crew should be at least back on their feet within the week.

This, however, has left the group of heroes with nowhere to stay, which led to Phantom reluctantly opening his own home to them. They're packed in there now, sprawled about both floors and generally tending to themselves with experienced hands.

"What do you think?" Legend replies snippily. Phantom scowls at them all, pacing back and forth restlessly in the tight space by the front door.

His glare lands on Four, helping Twilight wrap his wrist—on Wild getting scolded while Legend rests his ice rod on the Champion's ankle—on Hyrule tutting over Sky while Warriors dramatically bemoans his black eye—

He takes in the group's injuries with a dissatisfaction that very, very poorly covers his unease.

"You're not weak," the boy asserts. Time wonders who he's trying to convince. "You wouldn't have beaten me if you were weak. Why was this battle so difficult?"

"You didn't get off lightly yourself," Time points out, nodding to the thick mess of gauze on the boy's arm. At a guess, the boy had tried to block a blow with his shield and forgotten he wasn't wearing one. Fortunate that there's a fairy fountain on the island, or Phantom might've lost strength in that limb.

Phantom waves him off. "I was handicapped," he dismisses, not denying that he wasn't fighting at his best. Time frowns at the excuse. "I'll figure something out to compensate for it, and this won't happen again."

He gets a lot of dubious looks at that; none of them have forgotten that what he's trying to 'compensate for' is the loss of that parasite. Time's almost dreading what the boy might scrounge up to replace that.

Phantom turns away from them sulkily, unable to defend himself and unwilling to look all that suspicion in the face.

"To answer your question," Four starts, with the air of someone steering the conversation back to safer waters, "that's just the kind of journey we're on."

Sky swings his previously-dislocated shoulder in a testing motion that immediately gets him a cease-and-desist look from Hyrule, before he adds, "Those were pretty standard for black-blooded monsters, I'd say."

Twilight, catching the look on Phantom's face, rolls his eyes. "Did you think something the goddess summoned eight heroes to fight would be easy?"

Phantom scoffs, arms crossed. "It took eight of you to fight me," he grumbles, and there's the arrogant little brat they'd met at the start of this. Hopefully that means the kid's feeling better, if he's up to sassing them like that again.

Time rather doubts that—Phantom IS a Link, after all—and so the one-eyed hero makes a mental note to follow up on that later.

[stovetuna]

This is for @bardingbeedle who yelled at me in the tags and then on messenger and ultimately inspired me to write some “lorge soft steve” and tbh who am I to refuse. (also high-key inspired by this masterpiece of fanart I RBed [again] earlier today)

(takes place shortly after the events of Avengers Assemble episode 2x07, aka the best fic none of us ever wrote)

(heed the READ MORE!)

***

Tony is hustling from one meeting to the next, all but literally running into the kitchen for a cup of afternoon coffee, when he spies Steve Rogers bent over the communal living room coffee table. That in and of itself isn’t exactly outside the realm of normal Steve Rogers activities—the man does love a good brood, even if he won’t admit it and doesn’t do it as often as he used to.

But Tony wracks his brain for possible reasons why Steve would be hunched up around the shoulders like he’s expecting a body blow any minute and keeps coming up empty. Not even fresh coffee makes his synapses fire faster. Did they forget his birthday? Impossible. Did someone send Captain America hate mail? Uh, doubly impossible, especially because Tony’s got lawyers screening their mail for that kind of stuff (they’ve got more than enough pressure in their day-to-day lives, time-slip dinosaurs and age regressions notwithstanding).

Maybe Steve found a piece of upsetting news, or some fact of modern history that isn’t sitting well with him? That’s a lot more likely.

Before he can remind himself that Pepper’s waiting in his office to put him on a call with the president of MIT—something about a commencement speech, if memory serves—Tony is sauntering into the living room, nonchalant, tongue already prickling with some smart remark. He’s got it all written out in his head like a perfect line of code up until the moment he’s standing in front of Steve and sees the expression on his face.

“Whoa, who ran over your puppy?”

Tony winces, wishing for the millionth time that his mouth and his brain could work together simultaneously, but no. Worse, Steve doesn’t even answer him—he just frowns harder, if that’s even possible, and folds in on himself like his shoulders alone don’t take up half the length of the massive couch. Tony lowers the hand holding his coffee and blinks.

“Steve?”

“Oh!” Steve jumps upright, and quick as a flash moves something vaguely folder-shaped behind his back. “Tony! I didn’t hear you walk in—don’t you have a meeting right now?”

Something in Tony’s chest squeezes at the sight of that smile and at Steve’s impeccable attention to detail. But really, ever since the incident with the Time Stone, when he’d jolted back into his adult body and come to in Steve’s arms, he’s felt completely knocked off-balance. Now everything about Steve Rogers—the man, not the superhero—is a revelation. Every smile, every word, every look has Tony tripping over his own feet, tongue, thoughts. He may be back in his adult body, but he’s never felt more like a prepubescent teenager with a crush, fidgeting in place under Steve’s gaze.

“It got postponed,” he lies, because whatever has put that pinch between Steve’s eyebrows is way more important right now. “What’s up?”

“Nothing!” Steve replies, too loud and too quickly. Tony gives him a look. Steve flushes, shrinking in on himself even further, like he wants the couch to devour him. “Uh, nothing important. Just an anniversary I forgot about.”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to frown. He likes to think he’s got a solid mental calendar of important dates for all of his teammates memorized at this point—Natasha’s move-in, Bruce’s lab incident, Sam’s SHIELD acceptance, Steve being found in the ice—but none of those are today.

“Got room for one more?” Tony asks, nodding at the scant space next to Steve on the couch when the man gives him a questioning look. Steve’s cheeks immediately go a charming shade of pink, which churns the coffee in Tony’s empty stomach with a vengeance. Steve shifts to press himself against the arm as Tony moves to sit down next to him, almost crushing the folder Steve had hidden earlier in the process. There’s a gasp, and a lightning-quick hand, and then Steve, pale and breathless, is holding a manila folder against his chest like it’s the secret to the Super Soldier Serum.

It’s weird—Tony knows Steve trusts him, and vice versa. They wouldn’t have solved the riddle of the Time Stone if they didn’t trust each other. So to sit next to Steve, who’s gone from morose to terrified in the three minutes since Tony walked into the room and feel a wall between them is jarring. And upsetting. He’s only been nursing this crush for a few days, and Steve’s not that perceptive…is he? Maybe he is. Maybe this is Steve weeding out Tony’s feelings before they’ve even had a chance to grow.

Tony shakes his head at the thought. No, Steve’s a lot of things, but cruel isn’t one of them.

“Care to share with the class?” he asks, gently so he doesn’t spook Steve. It seems to work: Steve relaxes, tension falling from his shoulders as he eases into Tony’s presence. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, but keeps the folder pressed securely against his sternum. Tony tries hard not to steal a glance at the way Steve’s shirt pulls across his broad, thick chest as he breathes.

“It’s nothing.”

“Cap, if it was nothing, you wouldn’t be trying to Honey-I-Shrunk-Myself into the couch right now.”

Steve Rogers in active wear doesn’t cut quite the same figure as Steve Rogers in full Captain America regalia, it’s true, but that doesn’t mean he’s small. Like this, he’s just as large and has just as much presence as he does in uniform; it’s just…more human. Less Captain, more Steve. Both are devastating in their own way, but only Steve—friendly, blushing, awkward, unassuming Steve—makes Tony acutely aware of the distance between their bodies, down to the last electrified hair.

Catching his own breath, Tony puts his full mug on the coffee table and drops his hands into his lap, turning his head to watch Steve chew on whatever words are fighting to come out. Be patient, he tells himself. Whatever this is, Steve’s struggling with it, and Tony can have some tact when he wants to.

Finally, Steve closes his eyes and sighs. When he lowers his hands, the folder goes with them. Tony glances at the cover and almost swallows his tongue.

“Is that—?” Steve makes a noncommittal sound, like a ‘yes’ but softer, uncertain, like he’s not sure Tony’s reaction is a good one. Tony swallows his excitement with a wince. “Is that the Project Rebirth file? I told Fury to give it to you a long time ago, but I wasn’t sure he did.”

Tony is so preoccupied looking at the folder he doesn’t hear Steve’s gasp or notice his eyes lock onto him. “He did,” Steve replies quietly after a pause. “But that’s isn’t…that’s not what this is about.”

That’s kind of a surprise. The sudden appearance of the Project Rebirth file would explain Steve’s face and body language, but if it’s not that…

Steve hands the entire folder over to Tony without another word.

“Uh,” Tony gapes, too awestruck to achieve any kind of higher brain function.

“Look at the date,” Steve says. It’s not an order, just a gentle request, but it doesn’t prevent a shiver from rippling down the length of Tony’s spine. If he was hyperaware of the space between their bodies before, it’s even worse now with Steve leaning every-so-slightly toward him and reaching out a hand to point directly at the date written on the faded label.

22 June 1943

Tony blinks. “It’s the anniversary…of you?” He opens the folder without a second thought, and the first thing he sees is a picture of Steve. There are other things in the file—sheaves of what look like medical reports, heavily redacted memos, and carbon copies of typed letters—but the only thing Tony can focus on is Steven Grant Rogers circa 1943. The Steven Grant Rogers of before.

He’s touching the photo before he can stop himself, being so, so careful as he traces the narrow shape of the man in the photograph while the real, supersized thing sits next to him.

“It’s the first time I’ve really had a chance to sit and think about what it was like, before,” Steve says, unprompted. “Everything happened so fast once I got the serum, I didn’t have time to just…take it all in. And then I went into the ice and—well. You know the rest.”

All skin and bones, this man, back then. But the jut of his jaw is the same; the serum didn’t change that, or the flinty stubbornness in Steve’s eyes, or the proud set of his shoulders, just daring the world to try and fuck with him. Tony smiles—Steve before the serum is like a matchstick, short and thin and always one spark away from bursting into flame. He really didn’t change a bit.

When Tony finally looks up from the photo (not gazing, of course not), he sees Steve’s expression has gone pinched again, his arms now crossed in front of his chest.

“Alright, there’s that face again. Out with it, Cap.”

Steve really shouldn’t bite his lip—it’s bad for Tony’s health. But Tony’s comment does get him to smile a little bit, which is good. “I guess…it’s been over seventy years since I got the serum, but most days I still feel like that skinny guy in the picture.” Tony watches him as he speaks, taking in the faraway look in Steve’s eyes, the shrinking posture, the downward turn of his mouth—who says I can’t be observant, Tony thinks—and wishes he and Steve were the kind of friends who hugged outside of catastrophic cosmic events. God knows it looks like Steve could use one, as wound up and tense as he is right now.

“I’ve broken so many things by accident because I keep forgetting I’m this, now,” he says, gesturing broadly at himself with one hand. Frowning, Steve uses that same hand to brace his forehead, elbow dropping down onto his thigh. The man is the picture of misery, and Tony aches to comfort him. It’s a physical pull in the pit of his stomach, urgent and needy—like if he doesn’t get his arms around Steve Rogers right this second, something important inside him is going to malfunction.

Tony shoves his hands under his thighs and nods. “Dr. Erskine could turn you into a super soldier,” he says softly, “but he couldn’t erase the first 27 years of your life.” He doesn’t speak his next thought aloud—that if there was in fact a way to erase those years, Tony would have signed up for the very first clinical trial. It’s a grim thought, and not something Steve needs to hear right now, but it’s been on Tony’s mind ever since his brief return to adolescence, and it’s a hard one to shake.

But what Steve heard seems to help. He peeks at Tony through his fingers and swallows loud enough even Tony can hear it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, “something like that.”

“What else?”

“What?”

“What else is bugging you? About this?”

Steve lowers his hand and stares at Tony. Stares. It’s such a feeling, being stared at by Steve Rogers, Tony can feel the heat climbing up from underneath his t-shirt. Even the arc reactor feels a bit warmer in his chest.

“How could you tell?”

“You’re still doing your level-best impression of a Shrinky Dink, Cap,” Tony replies. “Kind of hard not to notice.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Steve laughs, a hoarse, dry sound, “but you’re not wrong. I guess…I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words.”

“Try.”

Seriously, when Steve looks at him like that—like he did when Tony soared through the air as Iron Kid, all awe and pride and warmth—Tony feels capable of anything. Anything. He’d bottle that feeling, if he could, just like he’d bottle the color of Steve’s hair in the afternoon light coming in through the living room windows right now, all warm, pale yellows shot through with gold. If the photo in the file were in full color, Tony would bet his fortune Steve’s hair would be the same shade it is now.

Because Steve Rogers has always been perfect. Damn him.

“I still feel small,” Steve says, and any thoughts of hair and perfection derail abruptly. Looking into the middle-distance past his nose, he continues, “I don’t fit in this body. That doesn’t make sense, but—it’s like the super soldier is a mold, and I’m just there rattling around inside it, too small to fit. Does that—does that make any sense?” He looks at Tony imploringly, begging him with his eyes to understand. Tony feels that tug again, worse now, to wrap his arms around Steve and hold him tight. Call it returning the favor for the other day with the Time Stone, call it acting on his crush, whatever.

No one so large has ever looked as small as Steve Rogers does right now.

“It does,” Tony croaks.

“Really?”

“Really. I mean, how do you think I feel inside the suit?”

Steve makes a sound at that—not a whimper, not a gasp, but something hovering between the two that splits Tony’s heart right down the middle. “I never thought of it that way,” he whispers. “But that’s it. That’s exactly it.” Visible relief fills Steve’s lungs and makes his entire body go lax, leaning closer to Tony in the process. Tony, of course, is hyperaware of Steve’s size—everyone except Thor and Hulk is small compared to him—but now he’s equally aware of who’s operating the Cap-suit, so to speak.

“The only difference is, I can take my super-suit off,” Tony says, pinching the underside of his own thigh to cut off a laugh—Steve hasn’t seen The Incredibles yet—and continues, “you can’t. That’s bound to make a guy feel uncomfortable, even you, Mr. ‘I can handle anything you throw at me.’” He elbows Steve a little, good-naturedly, for emphasis, and gets a full, beautiful smile for his efforts.

God. Skinny or huge, Steve Rogers is gorgeous. It really shouldn’t be allowed.

“Yeah, good point.” Face still split by a smile—I put that there, Tony preens—Steve leans against the back of the couch and sighs. “There are things I miss, though. About being small. I didn’t think I did, until…” He glances at Tony, then, and there’s no missing the blush creeping up his neck.

“Until?”

“The other day,” Steve replies. “When you de-aged, and I—when we—” Tony bites his tongue so hard he’s pretty sure he tastes blood. Don’t interrupt. Let him get it out. Steve laughs breathily. “When I hugged you, I was so glad I was in a position to protect you, physically, like that. But later on I kept thinking about how much I miss being the protected one, sometimes. Not always, but. Sometimes.” Steve looks at the photo and sighs. “I keep thinking about what it felt like when ma looked after me when I was sick, or when Bucky put himself between me and the bigger guy because he knew I couldn’t take another hit…sure I resented it a little, being so weak, but I liked…that.”

“You liked being cared for.”

The look Steve levels at Tony could drive away a storm.

“Yeah,” he husks. “I did.”

“And now that you’re—” Tony waves a hand at Steve’s everything, “—this, you think you don’t, what, deserve care?”

“Maybe?” Steve blinks. “I don’t know.”

“Cap—Steve,” Tony says, putting his hands palms-up in his lap so Steve can see all of him. No threat, no judgment. “Everyone wants to feel cared for. It’s human nature. And just because you’re superhuman doesn’t mean you’re inhuman.”

Damn if those therapy sessions Pepper forced him into aren’t paying off big time right now. If the sheen in Steve’s eyes is anything to go by, Tony’s hit the nail right on the head.

“Oh,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” Tony smiles. Butterflies be damned, he moves the project file onto the coffee table next to his now-cold mug and turns toward Steve. Slowly, he opens his arms. “C’mere,” he says, so quiet only Steve would hear if anyone else was around. As it is, they’re alone in the tower, and Steve doesn’t hesitate—one moment Tony’s arms are empty and the next he’s got 240 pounds of solid muscle curling into his chest and Steve’s tucking his big head under Tony’s chin like the world’s neediest Bernese mountain dog.

Thankfully, Tony’s arms are just long enough to fit all the way around Steve’s massive shoulders. And even if they weren’t, he’d find a way to make it work.

Knees knocking together, feet brushing up against each other on the carpet, Steve shifts and adjusts until he can wrap his arms around Tony’s waist. Once he settles in, he sighs right into the notch at the base of Tony’s throat. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Anytime, big guy,” Tony replies, softly with a warm smile he thinks Steve can’t see.

[thefanficmonster]

Kick Some Ghost Ass

”Until Dawn Gang x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing, Sex jokes (excuse my bad humor)

Genre: CRACK, Humor

Summary: It’s one thing when trouble finds this gang, but why don’t we take a look at what happens when they go actively looking for trouble. Needless to say, chaos ensues and no one is spared. Some are more affected than others, and some are dead-ass traumatized, but isn’t that just how life is in general?

Requested by my dearest ever - Until Dawn Anon. Hi lovely! I’ve missed writing your requests and I’m really happy to be back, creating another chaotic fic! I’m sorry it has taken me so long to post it but here it finally is - crazy as ever! I hope you enjoy it! Love you to Blackwood Pines and back baby ❤❤❤

I don’t know how I’ve found myself in this situation but I’m not complaining. If I get to do dumb crazy shenanigans with my crew, I’m ready for just about anything. Not to mention I’m no stranger to ghost hunting. I’m that kid that made DIY Ouija boards and took them to cemeteries with their terrified friends. You should’ve seen us leaving after capturing no ghostly activity - my friends relieved as fuck, and me pissed as fuck.

But today, I’m not expecting nor will I be accepting any disappointment. Especially not with Jess swearing on her Chanel purse that she wasn’t making things up when she said she had a haunted house she wanted us to visit. I must say, I appreciate this group’s enthusiasm when it comes to the paranormal. Never have I had someone who catches my vibe on the subject so well, let alone an entire gang all sharing the same opinion as me - that ghosts, demons and poltergeists are so fucking cool. Sure, Emily took a bit of convincing and Jess is not one to give a shit about the other world creatures invisible to the human eye, but something allegedly happened that changed her mind.

Her a-hundred-and-something-year-old great-grandmother passed away recently and though the death itself didn’t shake Jess up as much as it probably should’ve, the events that followed led to this moment right now - the eleven of us pooling out of two minivans that have pulled up to a terrifying looking house in a wooded are of the suburbs. Jess literally gathered us all on an ‘emergency meeting’ in the courtyard of our college just so she could explain the situation in detail - she doesn’t do well with explaining things in general, let alone when she’s hysterical - so we only understood what she was trying to say when she mentioned the word ‘ghost’. That’s when we all started listening more closely, with the exception of Emily, Beth and Sam but the latter two were intrigued despite trying yo hide it. You can only imagine how excited Josh, Chris and I were, Mike and Matt following a close second behind. Ash was a tiny bit more hesitant but Chris convinced her to give in. And just like that, a week later, here we are.

“I gotta ask, did your great-gran own a VHS player? Or a chest in the attic? Bonus points if there’s a creepy, child-sized doll in there.“ Josh asks as he yanks all the equipment he insisted we bring out of the trunk of the minivan.

“Quit fucking around, Josh! This is serious!“ Jess complains from the spot she’s standing in, shivering in the cold autumn breeze.

“Yeah, Josh! VHS players, creepy dolls, that’s all child’s play.“ I scold him as I pull on my jacket, wrapping it around me more tightly, “Shit gets serious when there’s a secret basement.“

“Y/N!“ Jess shrieks in exasperation. Honesty, how am I supposed to NOT bother her when doing the opposite is so much easier and brings more amusement? “You’re not helping!“

“Wasn’t trying to.“ I wink at her, driving her into a new level of fury that almost leads her to chuck her phone at me. If it weren’t such a prized possession of hers, I’m pretty sure she would’ve chucked it with the intention of knocking me dead. I’m lucky she has the aim of a drunk toddler that spun around fifteen times.

“Hey, quit pissing my girlfriend off, will ya?!“ Mike, who is basically halfway inside the trunk of the other van calls out to us.

I roll my eyes but choose to let it slide. However, someone else doesn’t. Emily does a dramatic turn on her heel, turning to face Mike, or at least the only part of him which is visible. You can imagine how hard it is arguing with an ass like THAT. I don’t know how Emily does it but oh well, I guess I do it too, in a way.

“So it’s girlfriend now, huh? No space between the words?“ Oh that smile she’s flashing him, it could make the Devil himself shiver. I find it kinda hot though - it means shit’s about to go down or hit the fan, either way, the rest of us will be entertained.

Mikey boy straightens up, gracing the rest of us by-standers with his dazzling features. Nah, I’m capping. I honestly think Mike is as attractive as I am patient - very little, almost not at all. It’s surprising how him and Jess are now apparently together since I always pegged her to be the superficial type.

“Got a problem with that, Em?“ He asks, eyebrow raising, head tilting to the side. Oh yeah, it’s on now. But, as someone who’s been quite excited to do some ghost hunting, and also as a representative of the peanut gallery formed of the rest of us who find it amusing and annoying, I feel the need to cut it short before it goes where it shouldn’t. I came to see some exorcist shit, not Keeping Up With The Bitter Exs.

“Jess, I sure hope your grandma is a blood-thirsty ghost cause I can think of at least two people I’d serve to her on a silver platter.“ I snatch the keys the blond has been jingling nervously between her fingers and jog up the stairs to the front door.

Ok I maybe overexaggerated the eeriness of the house. It sure wouldn’t sit right with you if you saw it around sunset or at night, especially not if it’s foggy, but a horror movie house it is most certainly isn’t. It’s pristine and well kept, not a single crack in the walls, the only reason it’s unsettling is because: 1) We’ve all seen a few too many horror movies; 2) There’s been reports of ‘ghostly activity’ - as far as Jess is to be trusted.

While I’m surfing through all the keys, checking each and every single one of them on the door because the real key is unmarked, I can’t help but overhear the conversation going on behind me on the porch.

“Can you believe we got all this in a single day and for a discount on top of all?! Whoever says Craigslist sucks isn’t doing it right.“ Chris’ enthusiasm over the deal him and Josh got on the ghost hunting equipment has been what’s keeping a wide grin on his face this whole time. Though I’m proud of my boys for not getting murdered by the Craigslist seller, I must say I hate that I lost the bet we had - I had to pay them each ten bucks if they didn’t get scammed/kidnapped/murdered and I’m now twenty bucks poorer. I’m not saying I value those twenty bucks more than my friends, though my broke ass needs all the bucks it has and all the dollar bills it could get, but Lord knows I hate losing.

“Yeah, and the guy was only mildly sketchy.“ Josh adds just as excitedly and proudly, “To be honest, Cochise and I were probably the scary looking ones in that parking lot.“

A look over my shoulder shows the twins, Sam, Matt and Ash giving the duo skeptical and somewhat disappointing looks and shakes of their heads. I’ll admit, the equipment is in very good condition and it’s the complete set for ghost-hunting, according to BuzzFeed at least. I’m impressed with the purchase - probably had something to do with how scary Chris and Josh actually look. The all-nighters we’ve all been pulling lately have taken a toll on them worst with the dark circles and bags under their hollow eyes, pale faces and brains turned to mush. I know I’d give them a discount to avoid them pulling out meat cleavers on me.

“That’s all fine and dandy guys, but do you know how to work any of this?“ Sam asks, hesitantly lifting the EMF reader and turning it in her hand, analyzing it with a curious gaze. 

Josh and Chris exchange a look before the former replies, “Just the cameras and voice recorder, the rest falls on them.” He points a finger at me and laughs, “Though they aren’t able to work something as simple as keys, they are more than qualified to be a ghostbuster.”

“You know, Josh, jokes on you, I can work keys! Jess, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be able to work well with organizing things, hence my problem with these keys.“ I hurl the bunch of keys connected my a scarlet keychain at Josh, “Lemme demonstrate my true skills.“ I hop down the flight of stone stairs and approach the pile of equipment the guys have created smack-dab in the middle of the house’s driveway. 

“Oh, I gotta see this!” Mr. Ex-Class-President all but runs over, frowning when we all turn to look at him just as I pick up the spirit box to show off how it works, “Oh that’s what you meant. So you aren’t taking your clothes off?“

Jess and I are alike in one thing - the need we feel to chuck objects at people who piss us off. “You’re girlfriend is, like, right behind you, Munroe. Have some decency!”

“I was gonna enjoy a show as well, but I’m guessing we won’t be getting one.“ The girlfriend in question replies, looking at me quizzically as though that’s gonna convince me into discarding my outfit.

“No, unless you’re a ghost.“ I point the device I’m holding at Mike, “But if your boyfriend here keeps acting up I might turn him into one.“

“That sounds kinda kinky.“ Beth’s comment surprises me. The wink she sends me even more so. “And I kinda like it.“

Ok, ok, ok, hold on. 

Flirting with Munroe is one thing, but Beth is a completely different story. I can be threatening Mike with a knife one moment and cracking sex jokes with him over cold beer the next. While Beth actually has the ability to get me flustered and blushing, and my close relationship with her brother doesn’t help. Mother fucker can just whack me upside the head every time he catches me fussing over my silly crush on his sister.

“Ew, you too! Keep it in your pants or at least get a room.“ Emily doesn’t miss a beat when it comes to being herself. She’s truly a garbage bin full of treasure.

“We’d do the latter if SOMEONE could get the door open.” I glare daggers at Josh who is making hopeless attempts at what I was doing earlier - unlocking that damn door.

“I’d be more than happy to come through for you ladies.“ Mike says, getting in a stance of a runner before a race, his body directly opposite the door.

Oh I can’t wait to see where this is going. I SHOULD RECORD IT.

“Mike, it’s still breaking and entering and it’s still against the law even if the person’s dead.“ Sam points out, entering her mother-like mode, ruining the fun and causing me to pout at her. She gives me a look of disappointment - one worse than I’ve ever seen on my parents - so I just shut my trap before she can also express said disappointment through words and have me feeling guilty for the rest of the day.

A loud crash suddenly echoes causing us to turn our heads to look for the source of the terrifyingly startling sound. One glance is all it takes to put our minds at ease and a second one is enough to provoke different reactions in all of us - the broken window telling the story of where Josh has disappeared.

“What did I just say about breaking and entering?!“ Sam shouts after him while the vast majority of us are cracking up like hyaenas. Jess is just gaping at the broken window next to the front door in disbelief. She obviously can’t decide whether to join in on the fun or serve as back-up to Sam. Josh did technically damage private property that’s partially hers, but if you ask me it serves her right for not marking her keys.

“Sorry, I was too busy breaking the window to hear that part of the conversation!“ Josh’s apologetic smile appears on the other side of glassless frame. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely sorry or holding back laughter but either way, he looks innocent enough for Sam to let him off the hook as long as he doesn’t cause any more trouble - in which case: tough luck. Chris, Josh and I are nothing if not troublemakers, especially when we’re together. Chris tones it down when Ash’s around, and the same goes for Josh with Sam while I’m simply problematic regardless of who’s watching. My chaos is untamable, it’s a blessing and a curse and I love it, even though it’s landed me in hot water more than once. It’s nice to be around people on the same wavelength - chaos resides within this group and not a single one of us can hide it.

“At least we have a way in now.“ Ash offers Josh a helping hand in this argument after she recovers from the overwhelming fit of laughter. “I hope the broken window doesn’t anger your gran, Jess.“

The blond snaps out of her trance briefly, “No, she was a very sweet lady, but damn is Josh creative!” She hurries to correct herself, “Destructively creative.”

I hurry to correct her once again, “Chaotically creative.”

“Guys, do you mind coming in? It’s very creepy standing here alone!“ Josh calls out to us, looking over his shoulder at the interior of the house, “I’m expecting to be snatched and dragged to that secret basement we mentioned.“

“Mention it one more time and I swear to God-!“ Jess screams, fists tightened.

Before her angry wrath could crash atop us, we all make our way into the house through the broken window, carefully avoiding the shards of glass strewn about. One step inside and we’re met with the upmost of horror clichés - a drop in temperature. We’re all wearing thick hoodies because the weather outside is chilly in and of itself, but said hoodies aren’t as efficient at holding the house’s cold at bay and away from out skin.

Chris and Matt make their way in last, carrying the equipment consisting of three cameras, flashlights for everyone, an EMF reader, a spirit voice box, a voice recorder and a motion detector. I help them hand a light to each group member as well as a ghost-hunting device before we venture onward.

“If I were your grandma’s ghost, I’d be ten times more pissed about that window. It looks to me like that lady payed a lot of attention to keeping things in order.“ Matt comments while he examines the expensive looking painting hanging in the hallway.

I hear Emily scoff, “Unlike some.” but the remark is said so quickly and quietly I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who heard it.

Jess laughs, “She did like things in order, but she was never as strict as you might think. As I said, she was very sweet.“

“So do you just not take after her at all or were you adopted?“ Emily’s remarks are no longer a mumbled jumble of words, “No, nevermind, of course you’re not adopted. Your parents are smart people, they wouldn’t have chosen you if they had the chance.“

Jess laughs again, much more menacingly this time, causing me to exchange a look with Hannah who’s walking beside me. “Twenty bucks says one of them isn’t making it out of here.” It’s just a matter of time, to be honest. If not the lodge, or any party we’ve ever attended as a group, this haunted house is the perfect opportunity for a murder. We could even argue it was a ghost.

Luckily, the two cats clawing at each other’s throats don’t overhear, “No, my parents aren’t stupid, but your boyfriend clearly is. He chooses to date you! Or are you holding him captive or something.“

Ok that’s enough. I can tolerate a lot of things, but people calling one of my best friends stupid is not something I’m about to put up with, “How dare you call one of my hoes stupid?” I sneer at Jess, eyes narrowing.

“I thought I was your hoe too!“ She fights back, looking almost offended.

“Even more reason you shouldn’t have called him that! I don’t tolerate my hoes not respecting each other.“ 

I don’t get to see where this argument goes because Ashley’s shriek echoes throughout the hallway, stealing mine as well as the attention of everyone else. 

“There’s a ghost in here!“ Making it to the doorway of the room she’s in first, I peak my head inside and see the EMF reader she’s holding going nuts as if it’s detected something.

“Don’t worry, Ash, there’s a dead cactus here. That’s not the ghost we’re looking for, is it?“ Chris, my amazingly bright friend says, quirking an eyebrow suggesting that remark was nothing short of dead-ass serious.

“Chris, darling, that’s not how it works. Cactuses are plants.“ I point out as sweetly as I can as to mask my laughter.

“Don’t the same ghostly rules apply?“ The genuine look of confusion he gives me almost makes me lose it.

“Ok children, leave the room, we need to set up a motion detector to be sure.“ Beth says with a tone that suggests she’s more than over our insanity. Jeez, count on her and Sam to start parenting us through our chaos. They are of high authority, must admit - one genuinely feels bad if they don’t comply to whatever these two girls demand.

We all pile out in the hallway while the twins set up this interesting motion detector with green dots. I don’t know what Jess’ granny looked like, but I bet that even the most unattractive of people would look hella good with this lighting. Thankfully the room is dark enough with the shutters closed and the curtains drawn, allowing the dots to be perfectly visible.

We stare at the minimalistic room littered with fluorescent green dots on every surface for maybe a minute or two but not much happens to the disappointment to some and relief to others. However, as if not wanting to let us down, the ghost makes a shy appearance if the shift of the green dots is anything to go by.

“Oh shit, is that a ghost?“ Chris whispers, sounding as amazed as I feel in this moment.

“It better be.“ I mutter in response, refusing to blink and risk missing anything important.

The sudden presence of the obnoxious noise of the spirit voice box makes us all jump. As I turn my head to glare at whoever’s using it, Josh speaks up. “Are you an attractive ghost?”

“Josh, that’s my great-grandmother, you ass!“ Jess barks with disgust in her voice.

In the meantime, I catch glimpse of Mike rolling up his sleeves. Oh shit, this ain’t good.

“I’ve been waiting for this!“ He shouts victoriously, cracking his knuckles.

Knowing this won’t end well, the first thing I do is snatch the camera from Chris’ hands and turn it on.

“Um, Mike, what do you mean?“ Sam’s back to being concerned, turning to the rest of us when Mike doesn’t give her a response, “What’s he gonna do?“

“Fight it.“ I answer as though it’s the most normal thing to ever have been done, “Or, ash he calls it - kick some ghost ass.“

“A freaking ghost?! He’s gonna try to tussle with something he can’t see?“ I can’t tell if Matt’s tone is disbelief, amusement or disappointment, but I believe he isn’t about to try and stop or dear ex-president in his pursuit and that’s all that matters. I ain’t about to let someone stop whatever’s about to go down from going down.

“That’s still my great-grandmother, you dumbass!“ Jess shrieks with something alike terror.

“Don’t worry Jess, I’m sure she’ll go easy on him.“ I say in an attempt to reassure her but I can’t even be bothered really, I’m too laser-focused on the circus that’s about to take place in front of me.

Mike, as if encouraged by my words, charges into the room. Much to his dismay, before he could even reach the ghost, he’s met with a much more vigorous enemy - the carpet. The rascal trips him up and Mr. Munroe falls flat on his face.

The group stays silent, looking at the glorious aftermath of the glorious fall. Told ya these lights could make everything fabulous. Must say, it’s truly an honor for me to have been able to catch all that on tape.

“10/10, would ghost-hunt with Mikey Munroe again.“

[janeykath318]

Prompt Fic: Skinny! Steve (Romanogers)

For @marshunter06

5 times Natasha thought Steve was adorable and one time he was downright irresistible

1.The first time Natasha Romanoff met Steve Rogers was when she was teaching firearm techniques to the group of newbie shield agents, which included the scrawny blonde man. She didn’t expect much from him, but he was very polite and attentive, and quickly picked up in her instructions. A lot of his fellow IT people were quite literally very gunshy and required much patient handling, but surprisingly Steve, who was the nerdiest looking of them all, turned out to be by far the best learner. (His only fault was he said “ma’am” too much.)

The glee on his face when he succeeded in hitting the target was the cutest thing she’d seen all day. Maybe she wouldn’t kill Clint for shoving the training on her.

2. The second time she met Steve was when she and Clint and James were going out to celebrate a very successful mission and James asked if he could bring his good friend and fellow Shield employee along.

“Kid never gets out much. He needs some socializing and a break from his computer screen.”

Clint of course agreed right away, the big softie, and it didn’t take Natasha long to be convinced. She trusted James.

Her eyebrows rose into her hairline when James’s friend turned out to be Steve from Cyber. He looked very out of his element and she wondered if the guy had ever been in a bar before.

“Steve, this is Agent Natasha Romanoff, one of the best in the business,” James introduced. “Natasha, this punk here is Steve Rogers, my best friend and skilled computer geek.”

“We meet again, Steve,” Natasha said, smiling at the flushed looking Steve. She noticed he had very pretty, soulful blue eyes and striking cheekbones in his thin face.

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am,” Steve blurted out awkwardly as he shook her hand. He looked so cute when his face went all red.

3. “Rogers! What happened to you?” Natasha asked in astonishment, seeing a bloody faced Steve being hauled down to medical by an exasperated looking Barnes.

“Yes, tell her, Steve,” Barnes said, earning himself an annoyed look.

“One of the guys from Alpha made a gross sexist comment and I called him out on it,” Steve mumbled through a bloody nose, eyes fixed on the floor.

“And….” Barnes prompted.

“And he wouldn’t apologize, so I punched him,” Steve muttered, giving his friend another glare.

“Oh, Steve, you precious idiot,” she sighed, shaking her head. “He could have snapped you in half. Report him to HR instead. We’d much prefer having you in one piece.”

“I’ve tried that before,” Steve sighed. “They’re always likely to take the big badass agent’s word over hers or mine.”

Now Bucky was frowning as well.

“Sounds like HR needs investigating too,” he said.

“They do,” Natasha confirmed. “I’ll mention it to Hill today. Those guys from Alpha need attitude adjustments.”

Later, when she was watching tape of the incident with Hill, she saw the look of pure rage on Steve’s face as he clocked the offending agent who was twice his size and her heart melted a little inside. He may be reckless, but his heart was in the right place.

4. Natasha returned from a mission in Russia in a very dark place emotionally. All of Clint’s attempts to comfort fell flat and and as soon as the grueling debriefing was over, she high-tailed it to the comfort of her apartment. She’d told Fury she was taking the next few days off and for once he understood.

She’d worked so hard to move beyond her past, but sometimes it smacked her right in the face, bringing back the old traumas she’d hoped she’d left behind years ago. The faces of her targets and trainers swam unendingly through her mind, and not even alcohol was working.

On day two post mission, she collected her mail, noticing it was pretty much all junk, except for a brown manilla envelope that had Rogers in the return address.

Curious, she opened it up and pulled out a thick piece of paper and a smaller one with writing on it.

“Agent Romanoff,

I heard you had a rough mission and thought this might make you smile.

Steve”

The other piece of paper had several very good sketches on it, one of which portrayed Natasha knocking Steve on his ass, above which he’d written, “You and me if we ever sparred.” That DID make her smile.

Another showed a heavily muscled, taller version of Steve beating up Rollins from Alpha and he’d captioned this one: “If Only.”

The Third was a drawing of Natasha, Clint, and James in full gear, ready for a mission.

“Badass Trio” was what Steve had titled it.

The final sketch was Natasha by herself, giving her trademark half smile. Her breath caught at the detail and skill of the art. She’d seen him doodling at his desk before, but had had no idea how good of an artist he really was.

She looked at the sketches for a long time, then picked up her phone to call James and ask for Steve’s number. It was high time she got to know him better.

5. Steve’s first time being in the field for a mission was a momentous occasion. He was going to be decoding and interpreting data that Natasha, Clint, and James were “borrowing” from a probable Hydra cell. Holed up in the back of an inconspicuous van across the street, Steve could hear and communicate with the main team as he worked on his computer.

Tense as the mission was, it went ten times faster than it would have done without Steve there. Natasha overheard him through the comms muttering things like, “Got Ya, Sons of bitches!” and “You’ll rue the day you joined a Nazi group, pal.”

Clint’s eyes raised when he heard it and he whispered to James “Is he always like this?”

James nodded, a fond grin on his face.

“Yep. Don’t let his innocent looks fool ya. Steve is one hundred percent ready to throw down with evildoers at all times. He’s fueled by coffee and rage.”

“Accurate,” Natasha agreed, smiling as Steve swore again over the comms. She’d developed quite a fondness for the feisty fellow and was contemplating asking him out on a date.

+1 “You want to go out with m-me?”

Steve’s blue eyes were round as saucers as he processed the question Natasha had just asked him.

“Yes, Steve, I do,” she told him, lounging against his desk.

“Wow,” he breathed. “You really LIKE me like me?”

“Yes,” she confirmed again. “And I strongly suspect the feeling is mutual.”

Steve blushed bright red and smiled rather shyly.

“I was content to admire from afar,” he admitted. “I’m in this league,” he held his palm very low, “and you’re in this league,” he raised his hand above his head. “So I was pretty happy that you would even be friends with me.”

“The world might see it that way, but, Steve, you are a good man with a big heart who is honest and sincere and hates bullies and Nazis and is an incredibly talented agent. Oh, did I mention your pretty eyes and handsome face?”

Steve’s blush deepened and he was speechless for several moments, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“What do you say, Rogers? Friday night work for you?”

The shyness melted away and A slow grin spread across his face, the type of grin Natasha had never seen on him before, but it DID things to her. Normal Steve’s smile was adorable. Flirty Steve’s smile? Irresistible.

“Abso-freaking-lutely.” He declared.

[feysandfeels]

ACOSF: very long, very spoilery review

No one asked me to do this, but I need to talk, discuss and get it all out there.I am still very much feeling the high of this book, but I thought I would share some of my opinions. These of course might change as time passes and I reread the series and the book. But as of now here is where I stand.

If you did not like the book or had many issues with it, maybe this isn’t the post for you.

For reading purposes I will divide this in different sections that I hope can effectively tackle what I want to talk about. 

When I say it’s a long post... I mean it’s long. 

II. Side Characters // III. Future Books.

I. Plot:

From the get go it became obvious that we would face an ACOMAF type of book, in which the development and advancement of the plot would stem largely from the characters. Where MAF created a more equal ratio between action and character, even if it prioritized character, SF really created a 70-30 ration, 70 would be character and 30 action. 

I’ve been seeing a few reviews where people say that there was no plot just sex and Nesta. I disagree. Nesta’s development was the plot. And it makes a lot of sense, to me, why we did not experience a lot of “action plot”: She is not a working member of the Night Court, at least not in the way the IC is in this book, so therefore she will not get full access into the different things that are at play.  Since Nesta is not a working member it makes sense that she is detached from what is happening, apart from the “please help us find these things”. The most action we get comes from Cassian who is more involved in the politic side of things and even then it was explained that he was needed for #InternationalRelationshipsWithEris, because he is a working member of the court. You can tell that they chose him for that because they literally had no one else: Feyre couldn’t risk people finding out she was pregnant, Mor had her own task and is not going to meet regularly with her abuser, Az and Rhys are fucking overworked and Amren is not a people’s person. I would have loved to see more of his work as a general when they are not at war -that we saw more in WAR- we get mentions of what he does but I wished we had gotten more on that front.

 Nesta: I have never hated Nesta, I simply could not see the logic behind her actions and her behavior. I now do. I understand why she came to be and I value her so much more now. Nesta showed another face mental illness can take, how a deep sense of failure can affect you, the darkest thoughts that you are afraid to voice, she voiced. She moved forward and then made mistakes, showing how healing is not linear. Her journey made a lot of sense to me. Her rage made sense to me, her sexuality made a lot of sense to me. I could empathize with her and for that I will be forever grateful, because sometimes rage that comes from a sense of failure is what you will also find in me. 

Her insecurities concerning Cassian, her feelings of unworthiness regarding Feyre, the guilt she felt when she thought of her father, her lack of control regarding the trauma she went. Nesta took all that and made it rage. And I could hardly judge her for that.

Thanks to the way she talked about the mating bond when Cassian was like “we’re mates” I could understand better why Feyre got so upset that Rhys didn’t tell her. The argument of it being tied to their humanity was very interesting.

Also the way that she relates to her power, having lack of control and understanding of what it is (and according to Amren, respect) and having that power being death. You cannot control death, you cannot fully understand it, and yet you have to walk each day with that presence. She has been marked by so much death and grief that I thought it was very appropriate that her journey is marked by her own fear of death and of that which she cannot control: death that now lives in her. There is so much to unpack in that aspect alone.

I loved that final sequence when she gives up her cauldron based powers because those came from rage. She took them when she was raging (and rightfully so) but those nurtured the fury and death she carried with her. So to have her literally give up her death (rage) powers to give live to the sister that literally gave it all for her was a beautiful poignant crystal clear moment –and hella intense too–. There is a sense of gratitud that I feel having read her story. 

Cassian: He was always God Tier for me. His warmth, openness, support and strength spoke to me on a personal level. He is truly the person you want in your life. And I love that we got to see him flawed and make mistakes and be aware of the role he has been playing (regarding Mor and Az, which I think is quite important to the development of that situation). 

As the person closest to Nesta in her recovery, I think it is very important that he knows the deep failure that Nesta is feeling and the sense of not being useful when they should have been. It makes it more clear why he was the one that could actually help her overcome those feelings and the storm they create in her. Now, the way he was supportive of her seems so realistic to me, the frustration, the anger, the wanting to shake the person: all of it happens in real life. You can have a lot of patience and want what’s best for them but some times to yourself and those who are not the person you are trying to help, you can show the frustration of wanting to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, but needs to. 

Finally I LOVED that there was acknowledgement of how observant and intelligent he is. Being a good general is not an easy task and I’m glad they explicitly said it, because Cass being understood as the dumb jock is done at this point. 

The sex: To me sex in SJM’s books are always more than just the wink wink nudge nudge-read it with a glass of wine-moment. They have always been a mechanism for us to get to know more about the characters and where they are in their journey. Even when they were just having sex, the way Nesta describes how open she is with Cassian is a pretty big tell of the groundwork that is being laid for her to start to understand what she feels for him. I think it is interesting to also see it as a reclaiming of her body and an exploration of her body with someone she trusts, as opposed to the way she was using sex to forget and to try to feel. Also, and I’ve said this before the fuck buddies -> lovers is an interesting dynamic, specially specially when every time they are together you know they both want more but they think the other doesn’t! That’s just *chef’s kiss*

The wider conflict: I think this book in the action-political plot was the ACOTAR of the problems we will face in the next ones. In the next one it will be like “shit what did we unleash” and start a political-spying plot. The characters that we all hope we will explore are more connected to the larger schemes that are taking place so we will see an expansion of that. Because this book was very self-contained. Think Guardians in the MCU, but here we have the clues and the basic groundwork for where the “action” part of the story will take is. I do not think it was lacking because from the get go it was shown that the main focus would be Nesta’s personal journey.

[httpbokuto]

umm sorry if i already submitted this,,,, but could i req tsukki x reader x kuroo (poly ship!) and they go to the amusement park on a date?? ty!!

amusement park date with tsukishima and kuroo

warnings mentions of food genre fluff

loser’s notice... this is my first time writing poly and kuroo so i hope i did justice!!! i also didn’t know if you wanted like drabble or a bulleted listen so i went with the ladder. and thank you for being my first request 🥺🥺

- tbh both kuroo and tsukishima prefer staying in for dates but you had finally gotten them to agree to going the amusement park with you.

- the excitement level for this date went from most to least: you, kuroo and tsukishima.

- when yall first arrived it was around 12 pm and you were determined to ride all of the rides this place had to offer, with minimal breaks.

- you were so excited for this date that you even ranked some of the rides through reviews, marking which ones were the scariest and which were fairly calm.

- tsukishima is quite stoic until you get closer to the last few rides. thought that doesnt mean he didn’t have fun- it just means he wasnt getting scared or shaking. he was actually having such a blast with kuroo and you.

- NOW kuroo on the other hand. he is not afraid of ANYTHING. or so you think. he holds up this facade until yall ride the FURY. during the ride he’s just wildly screaming and don’t even get me started on when yall get off. he’s grabbing at your’s and tsuki’s arms and asking you both to keep him steady bc that was fucking insane. and he feels like his soul left his body.

- you and tsukishima just smirk and you each hook one arm under his so that he’d smushed between you.

- in between all the rides yall hydrate and play fun little games. you win tsukishima a cute little dinosaur plushie and presents it to him with your chest puffed and he just smiles softly.

- kuroo and you end up eating wayy too many sweets. mostly in the form of slushees and cotton candy. tsukishima is smarter than you both and sticks to drinking water and nibbling on popcorn

- kuroo made a cotton candy beard and thought he was the funniest shit. tsukishima got so many pictures. it’s kinda insane how many pics he takes of you and kuroo.

- at one point, kuroo started chasing tsukki and tried to give him a kiss with cotton all around his mouth and lips.

- ngl kuroo sucks at all the games EXCEPT the ones that have some type of sport in them. like the basket ball or the rope climb thingy. he end’s up winning you a cute little cat and tsukki just scoffs

- at the end of the night you all decide to ride the ferris wheel bc u wanted to be romantic and basic✨

- you happily sit between then, frantically looking around at the pretty lights of the amusement park before pecking both of their cheeks and shyly telling them thank you for joining you today.

- they literally loose it, specifically tsukishima bc even though he likes staying home he thinks that your smile and happiness is worth a day out surrounded by people.

- kuroo just doesnt know what to do with the serotonin that you give him by saying those words and he just kisses all over your face before saying “you dont have to thank us, babe” he also gives tsukki a sweet look reaching over and caressing his hand. “in fact i think we should do it again!!”

- tsukishima IMMEDIATELY DISAGREES and you end up laughing and then you ask kuroo if he wants to ride the fury again and his face morphs into one of horror before he quickly “on second thought, date night at tsukki’s ??? yea!!!”