#stuff like ear twitches and flicks are like. it tracks

[impossible-rat-babies]

I don’t realize it sometimes, but eyrie’s tail is like. chunky

[mediumgayitalian]

“Thought you might like this.”

Nico turns the thin plastic casing over in his hands. It catches the limited light from the one open window, refracting a burst of rainbow across the shadowy ceiling.

“What…is it?”

“Mixtape.” Will rocks back on his heels, hands swinging slightly at his sides. He hums idly, flicking his gaze across the room faster than Nico can track. Distracted. “Songs ‘n stuff.”

Contrary to popular belief, Nico knows what a mixtape is. CDs as well, for that matter. In fact he distinctly remembers when they came out — the transition from cassette to CD was a triumphant one. Way easier for him to save his game processes and transfer to new machines as they came. (He wonders, idly, what happened to his stack of CDs left at the Lotus. Are they still there, standing alone in his half of the room? Next to his dresser, across from Bianca’s coin and token collection? Is there enough dust in that standstill place to cover the entire living space in a thick blanket of forgotten memory?)

“I can see that, Solace. I meant — why.”

“Because!” Solace gestures grandly, hands fluttering in some particular way that means nothing, really; just accentuates his wide grin, his twinkling eyes. The rocking he’s constantly doing, back and forth, back and forth, the twitching of his fingers. Electrons on a wire. “It’s been a while since you’ve had a radio or anything, right? Figured you might have a couple years to catch up on. Might be fun.”

Nico turns the CD case over again in his hand, peripherally aware of the shifting rainbows, still, reflecting off Will’s hair now, dying it redgreengold. There’s sharpie scrawled across the surface, completely illegible except for the plethora of exclamation points, the doodle of a cat, and the chain of flowers drawn carefully around the edge.

Will is smiling so, so brightly.

“Thank you,” Nico says quietly. He clears his throat, looking away. “I’ll, um. I’ll listen to it. Tonight.”

“Great!” Will chirps. “I got lots more, I’ll stop by after my shift and you can tell me what you liked. That way you can have more input on karaoke night.”

“Oh, I’m not gonna —”

“See you tomorrow! Write down what you think!”

“— do that.”

Nico returns his parting wave helplessly, watching as he sprints down the stairs and then, for no discernible reason, cartwheels three times on his way across the common. Immediately upon righting himself he walks into a (thankfully unlit) brazier and goes sprawling, calling out, to no one, I’m okay! and bounding back off.

“How are you alive,” Nico mutters to himself. He turns back to the CD case, running his thumb across the edges. He notices, for the first time, the hearts that have been drawn along the clasps. A smile pushes its way across his face no matter how hard he tries to fight it back.

When he plays it that night, lying on his bed with his headphones tucked over his ears and his Walkman resting on his stomach, the first song is Walking on Sunshine.

He can’t fight back a smile then, either.

[arsenysworld]

The “Movie Night” Situation

Troy, Annie, and Abed were all huddled on the couch, snacks scattered everywhere, eyes glued to whatever random film Abed had picked that week. The movie was a low-budget, totally weird sci-fi flick, and honestly, none of them were really paying attention. The real entertainment was about to come from down the hall.

As the film’s dialogue droned on, a loud, unmistakable moan echoed from Y/N's room, followed by a breathy voice.

Britta (from down the hall): “YES! YES! DON’T STOP! YESS!!”

Troy froze. His hand was still halfway to his mouth, and his eyes widened like he’d just seen a ghost. Annie immediately threw her hands over her ears, looking like she was about to crawl into the couch and die of secondhand embarrassment. Abed, meanwhile, didn’t budge, keeping his focus on the screen as if nothing in the world was happening.

Troy: (eye twitching) “Dude. What... what the hell was that?!”

Annie: (flipping out) “OH MY GOD! I can’t— I can’t— I... why is this happening?!” She buried her face into a cushion like it was her only escape.

Troy: “This isn’t normal. This is, like, next-level.” He shot a look at Abed. “Yo, Abed, tell me you’re not into this weird stuff.”

Abed didn’t even blink, completely unfazed. He pulled out his phone, tapping away as if he were tracking data on a boring science experiment.

Abed: (calmly) “It’s been two hours, forty-five minutes, and twenty seconds.”

Annie: “What’s been two hours?” She squinted at him, completely baffled.

Abed: (matter-of-factly) “The time since they started. I’ve been timing it.” He adjusted his glasses. “They're very punctual. In fact, it’s almost like they're in sync with the movie's pacing.”

Troy and Annie exchanged wide-eyed looks.

Troy: (gritting his teeth) “How do you even know that? You’re, like, some kind of robot. I can’t deal with this. You need to do something about it.”

Annie: (staring at Abed) “Seriously, Abed, do something. We can't just sit here listening to them!”

Abed was unmoved, completely absorbed in his phone. “I’m just observing the dynamics. It’s a very textbook sitcom trope. But if you want to stop the show, you could always knock and ask them to turn it down.”

Troy: “You seriously want me to knock on their door and be like, ‘Hey, can you turn down the passion?’” He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Not gonna happen, bro.”

Just as Annie was about to say something else, another loud moan from Y/N's room echoed through the apartment.

Britta (from down the hall): “Ohhh, yeah! Don’t stop... YES!”

Troy dramatically flopped back on the couch, hands over his face in disbelief.

Troy: “This is a nightmare. I can’t unhear that!”

Annie: (frantically) “I swear, if I hear ‘YES!’ one more time, I’m going to lose it!”

Abed sighed and glanced at his watch.

Abed: “They’ve been going at it for 2 hours, 46 minutes, and 15 seconds. I’ve got at least another 10 minutes before the movie reaches its climax.”

Troy and Annie both stared at him in horror.

Troy: “Abed, please— Just turn up the volume on the movie. It’s the only way we survive this.”

Abed looked down at his phone and nodded. “Alright, fine. But I’m keeping track. This is... sociologically fascinating.”

As the sound from Y/N’s room tapered off, they all sat in stunned silence for a moment. Finally, Troy sat up, trying to shake off the discomfort.

Troy: “Man, I need a drink. And not from the kitchen.”

Annie: (shrugging) “Yeah, I don’t think any amount of drinks will fix this.”

Abed: “I think we’ll be fine. But if you’re really bothered, you could always start a podcast about ‘Things We Learned from Y/N’s Bedroom Sounds.’ It could be a hit.”

Troy slapped a hand to his face, groaning dramatically.

Troy: “I’ll never be able to un-know any of this.”

And with that, the movie carried on, but no one was really watching it anymore. At least until Britta finally called it quits and the apartment returned to its usual (less weird) rhythm.

After what seemed like an eternity, the moaning finally stopped, and the apartment grew eerily quiet. The trio sat there in awkward silence, eyes darting between each other, unsure of how to proceed after what they'd just... experienced. The movie? Yeah, that was now the least interesting thing in the room.

Suddenly, the door to Y/N’s room creaked open, and out he came, wearing that signature comfy smile like nothing had happened. He stretched his arms above his head, totally oblivious to the three pairs of eyes burning holes into him.

Y/N: (cheerfully) "Morning, guys! What’s up? You guys still watching that lame movie?"

He walked into the kitchen, completely unfazed, and opened the fridge. He grabbed the milk, poured himself a glass, and took a long sip like he was just having a normal Tuesday.

Meanwhile, Troy, Annie, and Abed sat frozen, eyes wide, their minds clearly struggling to adjust to reality.

Troy: (low voice) “I can’t— I just— Did he just… come out like nothing happened?”

Annie: (wide-eyed, whispering) “He doesn’t even know what we just heard, does he?”

Abed: (calmly) “He does. I’ve been timing it. Two hours, fifty-five minutes and fifteen seconds. He’s probably just pretending it didn’t happen.”

Y/N finally turned around with his glass of milk, catching the awkward, intense stares from his friends. He blinked, confused.

Y/N: (with a guilty chuckle) “Uh, hey, guys… about that. Sorry for the, uh, unexpected sounds?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish but still with that smile like he’d just been through a regular day.

Troy: (shaking his head) “Bro, you’re killing me. You seriously don’t get it, huh?”

Annie: (awkwardly) “I… I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to look at pancakes the same way again.”

Y/N took a sip of his milk, still not getting the gravity of the situation. He glanced at his friends, realizing the uncomfortable tension in the room.

Y/N: “I mean, it was just... you know, Britta and me, getting all, uh... cozy, but—”

At that moment, the sound of Britta’s voice rang out from down the hall, teasing and clearly enjoying herself.

Britta (from Y/N’s room): “Y/N! Get your cute ass back in here! Don’t leave me hanging!”

Y/N’s face instantly turned red, and he froze mid-sip, staring down at his glass of milk as if it would somehow save him. His friends, meanwhile, looked like they’d just witnessed a car crash.

Troy: (groaning) “Oh man, it’s like you guys are in a real live sitcom. This is unbelievable.”

Annie: (covering her face) “I— I don’t even know what to do with myself right now. This is... not normal.”

Abed: (nodding) “Technically, this is a sitcom trope, so it’s actually very normal in this setting.”

Y/N cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to salvage the situation. He awkwardly glanced at his friends before apologizing again, his voice laced with embarrassment.

Y/N: “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know you guys would, like... hear all of that. I didn’t even think it was that loud.”

As if on cue, Britta’s voice rang through the apartment again, louder this time, but with a playful, teasing tone.

Britta (from the room): “Y/N! I’m still waiting! You better hurry up before I... I don’t know... get into trouble without you!”

Y/N sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. He turned to his friends, smiling weakly.

Y/N: “Alright, alright, I’m going. Sorry again. I’ll, uh... I’ll be in my room, trying to recover from this.”

Britta’s voice came again, this time almost singing his name like a command.

Britta (sing-songy): “Y/N! Where’d you go, baby?”

Y/N’s face went crimson as he quickly backed away from the kitchen, holding the milk like a shield.

Y/N: “I’ll see you guys later. You know, if you need anything. I’m... I’m just gonna go... chill in my room. Totally, uh, normal stuff.”

As Y/N scrambled down the hall, Troy, Annie, and Abed sat there in stunned silence.

Troy: (with a deadpan look) “Well, I guess that’s one way to make movie night interesting.”

Annie: (groaning) “I’m traumatized. I can’t un-know that, Troy.”

Abed: (shrugging) “It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. You want to look away, but... you can’t.”

And so, as Y/N disappeared into his room, the trio sat there, contemplating the strange, uncomfortable reality they’d just witnessed. And as for Y/N? He had a whole other kind of “movie night” to attend to—one where the only soundtrack was Britta’s teasing calls.

[headsincloud9]

This is somthing I wrote after being inspired by @zestys-stuff oc and @tiredmamaissy writing its the first story I've written in a while so I hope everyone enjoys. Feedback is much appreciated!! Note: the only oc that is mine is Kílsyí

Summary: kílsyí Te Zäewí nayä'ite a half omaticaya half metkayina girl always out of place never knowing much of her mother and the precious gem to her father. When forced to leave the only home she ever knew, she somehow returned home; her mother's home. Kílsyí now struggles to find her place amongst her mothers people while feeling ever disconnected from her father and omatikaya roots. In her search for her balance of identity, she has found someone else.

Chapter 1: Last Song 

Next chapter

Kilsyi woke up from the hammock she had stored in the trees of the forest away from home despite the relocation of her fathers clan to the mountains she still spent days out in the forest. She grabbed her bow and jumped down the beads in her hair clack and clicking from the movement she walked through the brush admiring all eywa had to offer tail swaying lightly as the forest teamed with life. This is why she came out. She felt a peace out here she remembers her father bringing her out here all the time just the two of them. Sometimes he's turned it into practice training with her bow or tracking....his way of showing despite her failures and setbacks he'd always be proud and love her. Or the rare times he'd beg her to sing for him, bribing her with sweet treats and fruits and swimming in the river or even taking her to fly on his ikran. Her heart ached a little she missed him dearly when was the last time she went to speak with him at the tree of voices. In her mind she heard him waving and dismissing her apologies saying she was enjoying life and he was happy watching her. And then sneak in a request for her to sing. "Please ‘itetsyìp sing for me".

Her mind came into focus seeing fruit and she smiled, her tail swaying softly as she put her bow across her body and began to climb,  picking her fill and placing them in the pouch she carried with her. She jumps down and takes her time eating. She wanted to find a place to swim before coming back. She knew if she didn't return soon her adopted father Jake sully would come looking. She still couldn't believe he was the leader and very much stern she Remembers him as the very out of place sky person trying to see and learn but that was 14 or so years ago it’s she was 7 at the time her father was still alive and well things were different now it was twice as dangerous. She sighs, saving the rest for later walking until she hears a rustle in the woods. Her ears flicked as she turned her head instantly, pulling her bow and following the sound. 

Kílsyí heard voices, her tail flicked in anticipation and until she heard the vices again recognition on her face. Lo'ak, kiri, spider, and tuk?! Seriously, tuk was there. She hisses more so to herself as they were idiots for being out here but now she had to figure out why they were here and be as lo'ak said unfun and rat them out. She climbed into the trees following them picking up bits and pieces hearing shack and sky people. She even heard them use her as an alibi if they were caught. Kílsyí rolled her eyes and she would personally smack Lo'ak for that. She turned on the communication device on her neck, her ears twitching as she heard it turn on. She was about to rat them out over frequency until ahe heard noises; other voices not her family...definitely English. She hid in a split of a trunk peaking out she was about to call in to Jake and stop whatever Lo’ak had in his head, but that came to a halt. Her ears flicked hearing rusting and several Navi dressed in sky people clothing came into view they had guns and didn’t look at all from their home, so sky people in Navi bodies like Jake. They surrounded the shack and a broken machine. A shiver went down her spine as the forest went quiet it was subtle but even she could sense that they didn’t belong here. 

Kílsyí swallowed back a hiss that would have given herself away thankfully it was Lo’ak’s voice that brought her back into focus. “It’s me, spider, Kirk, and tuk too” he says with shame and slight fear in his voice. She pressed the button on her neck and spoke softly “I’m here too Jake in the trees I was on my way home…Tiri there are a lot I don’t think i can do it alone.” She confessed slipping from her spot gaining another better position out of sight. “Try to get hidden do not engage them” Jake said. Kílsyí knew he was speaking about the all but she was the oldest she would not let them be alone “dad I will make sure they are safe I promise” she murmurs her eyes trained on her siblings. She aimed her arrow ready to do something reckless if she had to. It was too late they had been spotted they converged on them asking to see their hands. She saw Tuk look at her and Kílsyí shook her head putting a finger to her lips and slid behind the tree, waiting praying to Eywa that their parents made it in time.

Day turned to night and rain poured Kílsyí stalked the men holding her siblings hostage. She needed to make a move darkness was her ally. She pulled back ready to aim and kill until she heard a call…..her ears flicked, again the call was close, her heart swelled she knew that call, tiri she was here. She opened her mouth making her own call moving, she saw Jake as well taking down a dreamwalker. She saw his hand signal and she moved into action letting tiri attack first. She drew her bow back and let an arrow fly hitting another one hear his scream as he fell to the ground dead. She quickly scrambled up  the tree a bit higher. “Is that you Ms. Sully” Kílsyí tilted her head confused did he fight her before? “ i recognize your-“ Kílsyí in her confusion had exposed herself. “ oh you are new” he chuckled. She hisses feeling a hand grab he arm and yank her away. She sigh in relief that it was tiri. She hugs her and nearly cries “go ma ite get your siblings and get out of here NOW! “ she hisses Kílsyí didn’t hesitate she ran calling out for her siblings hearing the all in the commotion. Her ear twitched as she heard something fly the air and she slammed her back behind a tree covering her ears. The ground shook and she looks around trying to find the way out. “HEY lysi im here im here focus with me” she heard Jake’s voice and she nods quickly running with him soon meeting with her family and she hugs them all until Kiri cried in despair Spider was gone.

Kílsyí paced outside their home hearing Jake and tiri argue about them leaving her tail swished with anxiety “YOU CAN NOT ASK THIS OF US…..Kílsyí’s father is here the only connection to her father is here” Tiri pleads to Jake. She felt greatful that she vouched for her in the name of her father before Neytiri became her mother she was like a sister to her she followed her around all the time as a kid as her father and and Neytiri’s were close. “She told me he saw her thinking she was you he had our kids under his knife he saw lsyi, we need to go to save and help the people." He pleads Kílsyí left she made quick work to the tree of voices she needed to see her father one last time if she was going to leave her home. She was a bit worried of where they would go. She quickly made her way and she sat in the center of the tree she made tsahelyu and she came up to the clearing her father and her would frequent, he was there he looked like he was setting out fruit

“ma ‘itetsyip im glad to see you you have grown so much so beautiful” he chuckles and reaches out to her. Tears welled in her eyes and she sits by her father smiling and she takes a shaky breath trying not to break down. She felt hands on her face and her tears being wiped away “ what has you so sad, is there a boy that has broken your heart “ he teases despite his serious nature he was always soft and sweet with his little girl. 

Kílsyí laughs and looks at him “no sempul im still unmated but that’s not why im sad, I have to leave home leave you and I didn’t come see you as much as i should have and no it ill be even harder.” She cries into his chest. Her father sighs rubbing her back “ I am always with you within your heart within Eywa and no matter where you go I will be there” he reassures and rubs her back letting her cry until she felt comfort. “Ma paysyul will you sing for me i wish to hear your voice” he says softly. Kílsyí smiles and nods “ I will sing as many songs as you like” she says. 

Kílsyí felt a hand on her shoulder and she looked up seeing Jake and she looks up “hey babygirl ” he says sadly . She looks up with tears still in her eyes and she gives a sad smile “ so i'm guessing you heard” he said sadly. She nodded and disconnected her kuru with a soft movement of her wrist. “I already spoke to him he trusts your judgment its ehy he went to war with you” she says Jake stared at this girl she remembers her when she was just a child one of the only ones that seemed to like him he realized that she had just as much trouble as him what it came to her training. She was the first to also tell Neytiri that he would not betray the people. “Are you going to be okay?” He asks and she looks back at him “ dad are you?” She asked it was rare she called him dad she never spoke it in Navi that was reserved for her father and he never pushed the issue, so it was still shocking to hear. “As long as our family is safe yes” he said solemnly. 'What a liar'.

Kílsyí flew on Zewzu as they left the forest she looked over her shoulder her hair whipping around her face and she turns her head looking to her family as they had the same or similar looks sorrow, sadness, the missing of home. The flight was going to be long and draining but they would find someplace right Jake had a saying called small world but that couldn’t apply here on Pandora right? Rain became sun became eclipse became morning and she saw the ocean. Something inside her soared like she did when she took the first flight on her ikran; the ocean, the ocean, the ocean. Zewzu roared and she rubs his neck “Mawey zewzu” she murmurs as they fly to what looks like another clan, they land with many surrounding them and she slid from Zewzu’s back her heart racing wondering what would happen now.

[devilmeows]

day 7: first meeting - ryden and ana

[prompt list]

It was strangely cold for the middle of June. The sky was bright blue without a single cloud to be seen, but the wind gave him goosebumps. Granted, the reason he was cold may have been because he was in a tunnel. The slightly humid stone walls surrounding him did not make the air any warmer. Maybe it was also because he’d forgotten to take his trusty coat with him and was wearing clothes that hardly kept him warm, even though he’d known he’d be sitting here for a while. Sometimes, he made stupid decisions.

But those weren’t the reasons why it was cold. Because for everyone else, it was a perfectly season-appropriate temperature. He was the only one who was cold. And he was cold because someone was coming.

I really should tweak that part of the spellwork, Ryden mused as he tapped the tip of his tail against the wall, the clicking echoing in the tunnel. Like, make me feel cold or hot but only when the person’s five minutes away from here. Hm. No, not five minutes, but like, an hour. An hour sounds good. It’s better than sitting here all day. He probably looked cool and all, sitting on this stone block in a dark tunnel, just far enough from the exit that he was cloaked in semi-darkness, but it got boring after a while. And he was still cold. He really should’ve taken his coat instead of rushing out of his room like an impatient idiot. 

His ears twitched. He picked up the very familiar sound of footsteps on the train tracks that led inside the tunnel, the same tracks that were only visible to a handful of people. Maybe he wouldn’t have to wait for much longer. Amazing, he thought, stretching himself then hopping off the block and unfolding his wings for bonus cool points. Sometimes, if you want something to happen, all you have to do is complain about it! 

Except his relief didn’t last for long, because he recognised the silhouette headed towards him. He hardly managed to stop himself from groaning.

“Nice to see you too, Ryden,” the man snorted. As he stepped into the shadows, Ryden noticed he’d already taken off his contacts: his eyes gleamed yellow and red in the shade of the tunnel. He eyed the demon as he took a small golden watch out of his pocket. “Someone coming?”

“Yep,” Ryden replied, letting himself dramatically fall back on the stone block, spreading his wings and bringing a hand to his forehead. “I am freezing, I am slightly hungry and most important of all, I was kicking Jade’s ass at Mario Kart before duty called. Truly, the universe hates me. Please tell me you saw someone walking around looking lost on your way here.” 

The man snorted. “I did not.” He unhooked a plastic bag from his shoulder with one hand, then extracted a packet of biscuits from it and tossed it at Ryden. “Here, that should solve at least one of your problems.”

“Oh, Dad, you are my saviour,” the demon said, enthusiastically tearing the packet open and flicking the strips of cardboard away. His father grunted, eyeing the trash pointedly. In response, Ryden simply shrugged and snapped his fingers, making it disappear in a puff of smoke. “So, how was work, Louvain Forna the completely normal human?”

Louvain set down his bag then leaned against the wall opposite of his child. “Uneventful, as per usual.” The werewolf worked a boring office job that Ryden knew little about. Partly because Louvain didn’t talk about it that much, partly because Ryden didn’t want to know about it. 

“Allow me to reiterate that I can just make the things we need appear,” he said, taking out the plastic container and tearing it with a newly-formed claw. “You don’t need to go out there and subject yourself to pointless human stuff when you could just…not.”

“It’s not as boring as I make it sound,” the werewolf replied. His tone was somewhat flat, in a way that had now become familiar, after having the same conversation so many times. “Watching humans bicker is actually quite entertaining.”

Ryden hummed noncommittally. He fished a biscuit out of the packet and took a bite out of it as he looked away. I’m worried about your safety, idiot. Louvain knew this. Ryden had told him exactly that when his father had told him he’d gotten a job in the city. He hadn’t believed it at first. It had been soon, far too soon after he had died. Louvain, of all people, should’ve been the one to want to stay away from the outside world after that. He knew how dangerous it was for people like them: after all, the Haven had been created for that exact reason. Having a werewolf running around, exposing himself to human as well as non-human threats was far from safe. 

Don’t worry about me, Ryden, Louvain had said. I can handle myself. I’ve survived worse than an office full of petty humans.

But I can’t lose you.

Ryden shook his head, snapping out of his thoughts before his brain went places he didn’t want to explore. Dad’s a big boy. He’ll be fine. The next sentence in his train of thought had a voice that was slightly different from his own. He shut it out.

“I bought some new fairy lights,” the werewolf said; changing the subject and taking out a mess of strings from his plastic bag. “Arwin said a few people wanted some.”

“Oh yeah, he did mention that. Ironically, I think it was one of the fairies who asked for them.”

Louvain snorted. “Of course. Well, I hope they-”

He cut himself off, frowning, and sniffed the air right as a violent shiver shook Ryden’s body. Oop, there we go, he thought, making the biscuits in his hand vanish. He pushed himself away from the wall, stretched his wings and straightened up. Didn’t even take that long, in the end. He didn’t even need to shift his ears to pick up the sounds of footsteps. This time, unlike Louvain’s, they were slightly hesitant and uncertain, despite how steady their thumping sounded. This person knew where they were going, but they weren’t entirely sure it was truly happening. Louvain and Ryden shared a look, and the demon nodded. Their gazes then turned to the train tracks, where an unfamiliar silhouette finally appeared. They looked tall and strong, certainly rivalling Louvain in terms of size. They had fiery red hair, and he couldn’t tell for sure from this distance, but their clothes looked worn and torn. 

And then he saw the wings.

Ryden instinctively took a step back, holding back a hiss. 

What the hell was an angel doing here?

His gaze darted to Louvain, who clearly didn’t look as alarmed as Ryden was feeling. He hadn’t even started to shift as he usually did when a threat appeared: instead, he simply stared at the angel with wide, surprised eyes. Neither of them moved as the newcomer stopped a few metres away from them, at the entrance of the tunnel, where the sunlight still touched them.

“Greetings,” their voice was husky, as if they hadn’t spoken in a long time. “My name is Anathema. I come seeking shelter.” 

The angel’s face was a perfect mask of neutrality. Their lilac eyes betrayed no emotion, and their wings only shivered with the breeze. They simply stood there, neither menacing nor scared. Ryden squinted. Under his breath, he muttered the same spell he always used to probe the intentions of anyone suspicious. Louvain’s ear twitched almost imperceptibly as he did so. He waited, waited for the sour taste in his mouth that would indicate ill intent, but nothing came. Instead, he only scented a spring breeze and felt as if he were wrapped in the warmth of thick blankets: a silent plea for help and comfort. Ryden didn't move. For a moment, he thought he'd cast the spell wrong, so he did it again. And he got the same results, except stronger. How could this angel look so unbothered, so bored and yet be in such need of their help?

But magic never lied. Magic had no sense of morality: it simply obeyed its wielder and brought them what it found, regardless of whether they'd like it or not. Even if one begged magic to not give them a certain answer, it would not be swayed. One could not corrupt magic, or make it take a side, no matter how much people could try to do that. Magic had no mind of its own, it simply existed when it was needed. Ryden knew that: his magic had been a part of him his entire life, and he'd worked harder than anyone to understand it in its entirety, and that lesson was the most important one he'd ever learnt. Magic could not lie.

Besides, for this angel to have found them, they would've had to meet the requirements of the Haven's protective spells: the need for shelter, for protection from a world that wanted you dead, with no will to harm those who also needed protection. If they hadn't fit that bill, they would not have felt the existence of this place, would not have seen the train tracks leading to where he'd been waiting, would not have been standing there in front of them right now.

Admittedly, that meant the spells Ryden had just cast had been unnecessary.

His magic had spoken, so Ryden had to yield. This angel needed the Haven.

"Well, hi there, Anathema," the demon said, breaking out one of his charming smiles to try and dissipate the tension. "Mind if I call you Ana?"

The angel blinked. "I suppose not."

"Great! Well, Ana, I'm happy to announce that you've come to the right place!" He twirled, spread his wings and dramatically gestured towards the shadows of the tunnel. "Welcome to the Haven, where every monster on this planet can live without fear."

Ana still didn't react. Ryden was used to seeing people slump in relief, or seeing their knees buckle, or even crying at the news that they'd finally made it here, but a complete lack of reaction was new to him. Strange. 

But what was even stranger was that he was intrigued by it. Drawn to it. He wasn't frustrated or bothered. He wanted to know more, to scratch the surface of that person who wasn't even supposed to be here due to the very nature of who they were. 

Incredible that in only a few minutes, he'd gone from feeling hostile to curious towards this angel. 

"Well, we're not going to stand here all day, are we?" Ryden said, clapping his hands and turning on his heel. "Follow me!" 

He started walking towards the shadows, his ears twitching when he heard two sets of footsteps follow him. He lifted one hand, the air humming with magic in its wake, and as he traced an oval shape in the space in front of him, a purple light flashed. The shadows distorted, then split into a portal. He turned to look at Ana, smiling, but there was still no change to their expression.

"After you."

They blinked at him, then looked at the portal. They stood there in silence for a moment, staring at it, before deciding to step through it. Ryden watched them disappear, but before he followed them, he turned to Louvain.

"They're a banished angel," the werewolf answered his question before he could even ask it. 

[sztefa001]

YES!! IT'S ONE OF THE BEST PARTS OF BRAINSTORMING IDEAS

AND I WENT A BIT OFF THE RAILS SO LEMME PUT THE RAMBLINGS UNDER READ MORE

Revving engines as growling. Making engine vibrate as purring. Letting out steam or sth as hissing. Honking as howling or screaming. Clamping armor like gators clap their jaws as being ready to fight. Do you think they could salute this way too? Yes, sir, my armor's tight and won't let any bullets through?

Beeps and other vocalizations like meowing with your cat back and forth. Or just as stimming. Clicking/ moving some parts as stimming. Broken fax noises to annoy siblings because why not. Make them chirp in Morse code.

Biolights shining brighter as blushing or flickering/dimming as being afraid. Lights very bright as a warming or hyper on drugs, very dim as being sick/ depressed.

Rotors doing a lil spin or air vents going quicker as equivalent of feeling butterflies. Or just spinning rotors / venting faster as anger. Together with a growling engine, warming up the parts before a possible fight. Synchronized flights or rides as dancing / mating rituals or just having fun.

Wing flaps twitching/flicking. Small movable parts moving like cat's/horse's ears to indicate mood. Same with wings / doorwings /whatever's on the back. Or indicating mood in a way not perceivable to us. By sounds we can't hear or lights we can't see or vibes we can't sense. Like we can't hear most of a cat's vocalization and can hear only their baby talk for kittens or warning signs for predators.

Speaking of baby - there's so many different ways a tf can come to be. What if eggs. Not necessarily egg-shaped. Created next to an adult's spark or somewhere in a titan or Cybertron's ground or lab-grown. And it s their altmode till they evolve or grow or get upgrades or scan sth to transform into.

What if like in some dragon legends such egg can hibernate and "hatch" only under certain circumstances? Only when it absorbs enough of a certain type of energy like heat one radiation or sth? Charging batteries through solar panels by laying in sun like geckos.

Sleeping by hanging on a wall/ceiling like bats because after manufacturing they were stored that way to save space. Being able to hibernate for centuries if not millennia. Being able to "digest" various types of fuel, getting energy from energon or radiation or solar power or nuclear power or or or….

Weird legs' And arms and wings! Or other limbs! Make them use tracks or wheels in feet as wheelies. Feet/boots changing depending on the surface, like having claws/prongs that pop out when it's slippery. Specialized servos with inflatable small cushions on their fingertips for extra gripping on fragile things.

Weird faces! A mask. Mouth being in a different place than the mask indicates. Separate mouth for a vocalizer(s) and separate for fuel intake. Do they even need a mouth? Do they just have a speaker in one place and fuel intake somewhere on their arm or chest or leg?

You know how snakes yawn and get their jaws off the hinges? Make tfs stretch their whole frames like that. Weird fucked-up sort of mid-transformation mess. With the variety of frames and alt modes they could freak out each other and not only humans.

Weird nose-like or crest-like things that are sensors. And antennae. To take in all sorts of information. Looking like whiskers. Like horns. Like ears, nose or tail. Used for measuring wind or radiation or certain wavelengths or whatever.

3 eyes. Single eye. None at all. All there are. Optics resembling in looks/function eyes of an eagle, crab, spider, goat or a dragonfly. Seeing shrimp colors. Or seeing no colors but having x-ray vision or seeing UV or infra red. Having telescopes or microscopes for eyes. Various tfs having various modes of vision. Of hearing. Of feeling / orienting themselves in the sapce they occupy.

The whole spark and em field stuff. Another sense. Their helms suggest rather narrow field of optic vision but also no need for a wider scope. Is it sensing the EM field? Do they have ocelli-like cameras or sensors on their backs?

Brain to brain communication. Spark to spark. Vibe to vibe. To us it's a higher dimension. Talking by holding hands. Talking by blinking biolights. By Morse code. By bluetooth. Talking by ultra or infra sounds, not audible to us. Possibly not audible to other models of tfs or audible only when on the same wavelength.

Primus, just imagine their music and art. Looking and sounding different depending on your perception settings and changing as you change or upgrade your settings.

Behavior resulting from a mix of how they were built/ programmed, how were they raised, what upgrades/ training they got, where and when they lived, what they went through... Mix all the cultures and philosophies with all the cool stuff we know about plants and animals and technology. There is just so much we can do.

Make them learn human languages faster than expected because they often have to ad just to each others' ways of communication. I mean imagine communicating primarily with lights and meeting someone who uses sth like morse code. And with a different slang at that because they're from an aquatic community while you're from a mining one.

On top of that cultural whiplash because you're from different sides of the universe and were taught/programmed in different schools/philosophies and also the whole set of behaviors is different. Cat and dog. Wave tail as annoyance, wave tail as happiness.

For this wall of text I blame this post and @president-alpine (we rambled about our ocs). Also an animal that came to my mind that doesn't always fluff up when threatened was this owl:

It does fluff up but it also goes creepy skinny. Now this is obviously showing off either "I'm bigger than you, no point in attacking me" or "I'm a fucked up freak, you better stay away" but we put our own spin on these.

"Fluffing up," making armor stand out of the frame more can be used in general arguing, possibly as increasing ventilation to cool down in advance to prepare for more heat from the effort of the possible fight.

Clamping the armor close to the frame could happen when a tf gets spooked and tenses up or "fluffs up" and then loudly clamps down (maybe even repeatedly) to express anger and an attack warning (crocks smacking their jaws, big buff guys cracking knuckles or punching a fist into their other hand).

There would also be quiet clamping and keeping the armor clamped close - for those who don't mess around and mean business. Add to it the cold, focused and unblinking stare. You're being analyzed intensely for your smallest move and their armor is tight around their frame already at attention. You better apologize for whatever you did or said to make them like this. Or just run

And how one expresses their fear/anger/seriousness depends on who they are and how were they brought up.

Naturally stealth tfs are generally quiet by nature and won't do much loud clamping (unless raised in a loud environment or just having a different personality). Quiet warnings / fight preparations may also indicate they re not necessarily from a stealth background but had a certain military training (fluffing up = leaving yourself open = not ideal).

Shy tfs ( stealthy or not) may also opt for the quiet version. Better be careful, you never know when their scared "making myself smaller" pose changes to their ready to attack "armor close and protecting me well" pose. It can just be in the eye contact: maintaining = observing for movement, turning optics away = pls don't attack, I can't even see you clearly.

If a shy one fluffs up to argue with you it's a friendly banter and they trust you enough to relax.

Also if there's a hot-headed loudmouth ofc they're gonna go naturally for fluffing up and loud repeated clamping (alongside with engine revving and other displays like that). This can mean two things: they're either playing and showing off 'cuz they know you won't attack or they don't treat you seriously and even if this turns into a fight they can defeat you easily without much effort.

And if one like that goes for the quiet clamp and stare it can also be two things: either they got scared and are bracing themselves or they got pissed enough to to kick your ass properly.

My biggest pet peeve in Transformers media and fanfiction sometimes is that Transformers aren't treated as aliens. They are referred to as aliens, they obviously are aliens, but they never feel like they are aliens because they are always written or seen as having all human mannerisms or features usually. Human posture, human noses, human mannerisms, humanoids...

What about TFA's cat noses or TFP's helm noses? One of the reasons I think those two shows have peak designs is because they have this lack of uncanniness to humans design wise. I'm not looking at a human being as a robot, I'm looking at an alien robot, ones that have claws, ones that have different body types that blend with their vehicle modes, ones with horrific mutilations and designs impossible by human standards. I love seeing that type of stuff in Transformers because to me, it makes them feel alien without completely changing the premises of similarities to where we can't compare their culture or likeness to humans. The films (mostly 1 and 2) showed off this as well.

Another thing I really would like to see in Transformers media is non-human interactive qualities. What do I mean by that? One thing I've noticed is aside from techno-organic species, regular Cybertronians do have a few qualities found in animals. Engine humming I believe was once used as a form of purring in the films and in some of the cartoons. Humans can't purr; cats can, and that small detail is always interesting to come across because it's like "wow, they have this feature that shows off a trait found in Cybertronians. That is so cool." You have them with multiple voice boxes for mechanical, natural, and human-like tones which is also an animal trait. Bumblebee is self-explanatory in most universes being able to still make sounds yet not talk. They have sensors across their body that don't act like the basic human receptors. Most animals can do more than just feel through certain points of their bodies. They can taste, smell, or even hear a hundred times better than a human being throughout various body parts, and Transformers have been hinted to have this ability too, especially through their servos. It's stuff like this that expands upon their existence as aliens.

They have extreme durability, their body morphs to extremes and can also double as a moving weapon (most obvious of course), some of them can make ungodly roars and creature-like noises to warn or show their threatening demeanor (Megatron's dinosaur-like growling), some can have two rows of teeth (a flat base in front and fangs hidden behind), and some of them have mimicking animal-like features (Starscream's bird-shaped feet with visible expansion the same as organic foot padding with similar distributive weight physics in a few universes) despite having no beast mode. There's probably more I can't think of on the top of my head in canon, but all those things are not heavily used as they should be to make them feel alien. They can still hold some relation to the humans they interact with, but I think a lot of Transformers are more than just metal "humans", you know?

Depending on the universe in fanfiction and who you encounter who writes it or not, you have several things that are always cool to see. They have to sparkbond (merging of hearts) above everything else to create a sparkling's life force with interface as just the extra for physical coding features. I've seen people use the non-canon heat cycles which are, of course, our fandom way of making a type of breeding euphemism akin to an animal's cycle. You have the common phrasing of nuzzling, heightened senses, armor and certain parts of the helm acting like fur or ears where it raises and flattens per their mood, and some Transformers have limb dissonance where if necessary, they can convert between bipedal and quadrupedal stances (best example is Bulkhead and Lugnut from TFA who have long arms but short legs and they have the bulky structure where they could possibly run like an animal briefly and the physics of it would work).

So, you have all these different things a common Cybertron most likely would be able to do or have but a human couldn't, and it's never utilized to their full potential. I would like to see people address the nature of Cybertronians as alien and not be afraid to make them alien. I think that's the biggest flaw in our franchise is that everyone is scared of making the Transformers not the humanoid "norm" and getting ridiculed for it. Like, they're aliens, you can make them act however animal-like or completely batshit insane as you want them. You can give them powers, animal-based senses, and behaviors hidden among a human thought process. And technically, you wouldn't be wrong to what they could be as a living creature in the universe by doing so. They aren't humans; they look humanoid, but they aren't us. Why should they have to be in every regard?

Thank you for reading my TED Talk.

[cdroloisms]

uhhhh ,, , hi ??

i feel bad bc i havent been here in. LITERALLY forever lmao - hope you guys r all doing good!! ive been working on some stuff but it’s been pretty slow going, and school is also A Thing, so i definitely havent been writing as much as i’d like. 

as an apology, have this? really self-indulgent feel-good syndicate + c!dream centric oneshot bc i felt like writing this so u know. why not. 

tws: implied torture, abuse, self-harm, disordered eating, starvation mentions, prison arc themes - overall everything’s just blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mentions, not too much angst here for once! c!sam and c!quackity critical, sorry guys but we r still in the prison arc and they still r on their “fuck human rights” arcs. 

Dream leaves.

 It’s a surprise - or maybe it isn’t one, Niki isn’t quite sure. She’d never grown to quite trust the man, she knows, and she can’t really tell if the bitter twist of emotion that swells up her chest when Phil comes to her city with the news is betrayal or resignation - what can she say. She’s gotten more than her fair share of broken promises. They don’t exactly faze her anymore. 

 None of them seem all that surprised, save Techno, who entirely fails to hide the worry that flickers over his face when he calls the Syndicate meeting to officially inform them of what’s going on. She shares quick, careful glances with the other members when his back is turned - despite how many times he’s been burned, Techno still seems so adamant at holding onto every thread, trusting all too easily those who would use and leave him behind without a second glance. He can handle himself, she knows. Still, that’s not going to stop her from slapping Dream upside the head for being yet another worthless person to betray her friend’s forgiving nature. 

 Nothing much changes in the next few weeks. Niki has to admit, it’s strange without Dream around - he’d not been an ally, much less a friend before dipping completely, but he had been some sort of constant - and Niki is self aware enough to know that she misses him, a little, the same sort of way you might miss an old routine once it’s gone, if only for the familiarity. She still visits Techno and Phil with various baked goods, knowing that Phil would have his hands full just keeping Techno from running himself ragged - makes sure to check on Ranboo, whose nerves have inevitably returned with Dream’s disappearance. To be honest, she doesn’t worry as much as he does - ally or not, she’s spent enough time with the Dream that had left prison to expect that he won’t exactly be able to get himself very far should he come for the four of them, and doesn’t particularly care about he might pull with the rest of the server - if things get bad, she’s sure Phil and Techno will have it handled. She asks Phil, once, what happened, and he shrugs. 

 “I don’t know, mate,” he heaves a chest to the side, pulling out a stack of stone blocks that Niki gladly holds for him. “One day we woke up and he was just- gone. Everything. Was like he wasn’t ever there at all.” 

 Niki hums. “Why’d you think he’d do something like that?” 

 “If I could understand half of why Dream does what he does, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?” He smiles at her from behind a crate. “Shall we bring these things upstairs and start on dinner?” 

 Niki laughs, knowing that the conversation about Dream is over. “Of course, Phil.” 

Dinner is a welcome distraction; all of them have gotten better at cooking in recent months, between her baking and the veritable library of recipes Phil knows that she’s never even heard of, but Phil is still the only one she really trusts to hold his own behind the stove - Ranboo is still a little too nervous around water, and fire, and much of everything, and though Techno can be a perfectly capable cook, he’s been distracted as of late. She has a strong feeling that left to his own devices, he’d just grab a stack of steak and disappear for another few weeks, searching the server for information. 

 Honestly, she’s a little thrown off by his behavior - he’d not done anything like this with Tommy, if she remembers right, and had hardly seemed affected by Wilbur’s betrayal on the Sixteenth at all (then again, she was a little too lost in her own head to notice if he was.) She tosses her head over to ask Phil, who’s leaning over a few carrots he’s slicing to throw into the stew he’s making, and the man pauses, frowns. 

 “From what I know,” he starts, words slow, careful, “they’d spent three months in there together, and the conditions weren’t exactly- stellar. According to what Techno said, I’d assumed they had come to some sort of understanding.” He goes back to the carrots, expression dipping into shadow and out of sight. “Guess I was wrong.” 

 Niki hums. She can see it, sort of - spending months together with someone, no matter how insufferable, probably would end with some degree of attachment - she thinks back to plotting through sleepless nights with Jack, anger and grief leaving them simmering, crabs in the same pot of boiling water, remembers looking into his dead-eyed gaze and seeing her own stare back - and feels a brief pang of guilt. Besides, Techno is Techno. She’d never met someone so willing to forgive, understand, reach out despite everything that’s happened - for Dream to take advantage of that feels almost too obvious. Of course he would - what were they all thinking?

 “He’s Dream,” she says as if that explains everything, flipping open the oven door and feeling a wave of heat blast her face. Phil hums lowly, understanding. “I hope Techno will be alright.” 

 “He’s tough,” Phil cracks a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “And he has us on his side. He’ll get through.” 

 Niki opens her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the front door slamming open. Outside their quaint little cottage, the wind howls - it sounds like the beginning of a blizzard out there, flurries painting the world in a thick blanket of white. In the door, Techno strides into the entrance with loud, decisive movements, shutting the door loud enough to make the walls shake. Inadvertently, Niki finds her eyes drawn to the small pile of snow that he’s tracked into the house - Techno’s usually so careful to kick it all off on the porch, never liked it much when there was a pile of melting ice and snow dampening the floorboards and soaking into his shoes. He huffs harshly, stripping off a snow-dusted scarf from his face - a long, multicolored abomination that had been the product of her attempting to teach Ranboo how to knit. Phil has reached his side, hands splayed over his upper arms, eyes soft in the corners from concern. 

 “Techno, mate-” his tone is chiding but his movements gentle as he brushes snow off of Techno’s signature cloak, “you’ve gotten snow everywhere. What were you doing, dueling a blizzard?” 

 Techno shakes his head, not meeting Phil’s banter as usual, fur sticking up from the snow melted into it. His voice is gruff and holds little humor - unconsciously, Niki feels her shoulders tense. 

 “Phil, call a Syndicate meeting.”

 ---

 Phil, per usual, is unrelenting, so it’s not until a quick dinner and some hurried messages to their final member later that the Syndicate is gathered in their meeting room, Techno pacing the length of the room as they wait in their respective seats. He looks less frazzled than he did when he first entered the house, in part due to Phil’s sitting him down to eat and picking through his fur to smooth it out of its windblown spikes and tangles - Techno had grumbled at him to stop preening him, but looked a lot more relaxed by the time they were all finished with their food. Still, his ear flicks periodically, twitching toward ssome sound that Niki can’t hear, movements tighter and jerkier than she is used to. He’d always been a little flightier after the prison, but not quite like this - everything here feels like that but dialed up to eleven. Inexplicably, it reminds her of Dream. 

 “Techno?” Phil gestures towards his seat, prompting, and he settles into it with an obliging huff. 

 “Y’know, Phil, the code names are kinda pointless if we never use ‘em,” he says, words carrying no real heat - he looks back at the rest of them, lips thinning into a line. “Anyway. I called this meeting because I found a couple leads on Dream.” 

 “O-oh,” Ranboo stutters, tail lashing behind him. 

 “You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, mate,” Phil reminds him gently, a sentiment that Niki affirms with a determined nod. 

 “There’ve been some reports- rumors, really,” Techno says, calling their attention again, and they all turn towards him, “of increased activity around the prison again. The Warden spending more time on its grounds, movement seen around the walls and around the portal- so I decided to go check it out for myself.” 

 Niki frowns, and watches as Phil does the same beside her - Techno had seemed to avoid the prison if he could help it, save for when he went on the initial mission to break Dream out. It was no secret to them that he didn’t exactly like the place. 

 “We could’ve helped if you asked,” Phil reminds him, and Techno shakes his head. 

 “I know, Phil. It’s just- that place is bad news. I’d rather keep you guys away from there if I can-” his hand goes to his head with a poorly hidden wince. “Sorry, Chat’s a little- worked up, at the minute.” 

 “Sorry, we’ll stop interrupting you,” Niki says, cutting off Phil before he says anything else. “So you went to the prison?” 

 Techno takes a second to gather his thoughts, mumbling quietly in the way that usually means he’s telling off Chat. “Right- I decided to stake out the portal. The rumors were right- Sam has been hanging around there, entered and left the prison four times yesterday. And today-” he hesitates, expression visibly darkening. “This morning, about an hour after the Warden arrived, Quackity came to the prison and went through the portal. He left the grounds about six hours later.” 

 “Quackity?” Niki frowns, eyes flicking over to how Phil has stilled in his seat. “What is Quackity doing at the prison?” 

 Phil ignores her question, reaching towards Techno, something indiscernible in his gaze. “Mate…”

 “He smelled of blood when he left,” Techno says, words sharp, and Niki feels her heart skip a beat. “Warden left about half an hour after, and I came back here.” 

 Ranboo clears his throat, sounding tentative. “Okay,” he drums his hand on the table when they turn towards him, eyebrows drawn, “but what, exactly, does this have to do with, uh, Dream?” 

 Techno and Phil trade glances, one of their bouts of unspoken conversation that Niki’s grown extremely used to. They seem strangely hesitant, she notes internally, Phil looking towards Techno with a question written clearly in the planes of his face. Techno sighs, a long puff of air through his lips as he closes his eyes and turns his face towards the table. 

 “You know how Dream was- injured,” he starts slowly, looking back up at them. Niki shifts uncomfortably - of course she noticed, it was impossible not to - if not the bandages that peeked under his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants, then how skinny he’d been, all skin and bones curled up uncomfortably in a pile at the corner of Techno’s couch. She’d not know the extent, by any means, and had always assumed that they’d been self-inflicted - she’d been in a bad enough place on her own before to know how your head can make you want to hurt, sometimes, how eating food can feel like choking on sawdust and the world could feel so much smaller when focused into delicate pricks of pain. Phil’s eyes are trained on Techno - on his face, then on the pinkish raised skin of a still-healing scar along his forearm, and she feels understanding settle like a rock in her gut. 

 “The Warden had apparently been lettin’ Quackity into the cell to torture Dream for the revive book,” Techno trails off, eyes narrowed and seemingly fixed on a random point of the opposite wall. “By the time I go there, it’d been goin’ on for months.”

 “But wait,” Ranboo’s tail moves even more erratically behind him, “You mean you think he’s back- there? How?” 

 “He has to be back in the prison,” Techno points out. “I can’t imagine anyone besides him that the two of them are goin’ to just start torturin’- Sam had been iffy about the whole thing when Quackity started in on me. It has to be Dream in there again.” 

 “But how did he get in there, then?” Ranboo asks, visibly confused. “Last time it took the entire server to lock him up!”

 “There were no signs of a struggle,” Niki points out, matter of fact. “I believe you, Techno, but I don’t really know how they managed to drag him back so easily. I can’t imagine he was jumping at the chance to go back in there.” 

 Techno shakes his head with an uneasy sigh. 

 “I have a feelin’ of what might’ve happened,” he says quietly. “And I really hope that I’m wrong and he’s less of an idiot than I think he is.” 

 ---

 They set out to investigate - and maybe attack - the next day, Techno and Phil taking on the bulk of preparations as Ranboo stays behind. He’d been understandably uneasy about the whole mission, so they’d left him back by the Syndicate room to set off their pearls in case anything went wrong. (“By the end of the day,” Techno had said, giving Phil a look with the corner of his lip quirked upwards, “don’t be like Phil here and think I meant the end of the month, alright?”) They’d all be supplied with armor and weapons, thanks to Phil, but she’d been handed the bulk of their potions, arranged neatly in her inventory by type in case they’d be needed. She lingers in the back of the room as Phil and Techno chat amiably over the sound of making last minute repairs on their armor, listens to Techno’s ceaseless reminders for Phil to be careful, watches as they make sure that their stasis chambers are properly prepared should they need them.

 (She watches as Phil nudges Techno’s shoulder when he lingers behind a certain chair, empty as long as she’s been part of the Syndicate, the fountain behind it bubbling quietly without a pearl inside. Techno sighs, expression strange. 

 “Should’ve set him up with one,” he says, quiet, and Phil pats him on the back. 

 “You couldn’t have known, mate. We wanted to wait a little before telling him about the Syndicate, remember?” 

 Techno hums, noncommittal. “Still.”)

 They Nether travel to the site of Techno’s lookout, which ends up being a little shambling thing with dirt walls dug into a small hill looking towards the prison portal, having hardly enough space to fit the three of them. Phil looks at it with no small amount of apprehension, and Techno shrugs lightly, wearing an expression that makes Phil turn to him with a look that makes Niki break into giggles. Techno crosses his arms- “in my defense-” and Phil looks up at the dirt ceiling with a long-suffering sigh. 

 “You couldn’t have made this a little roomier, mate?” Phil asks, voice dry as kindling, and Techno raises his hands by his head. 

 “Hey hey, it’s discreet, it gets the job done, it’s perfectly structurally sound-” the sound of the leftmost wall crumbling, along with the cloud of dust that puffs from it and fills their tiny space, undermines the tail end of his statement and leaves him sputtering, Niki falling into another fit of quiet giggles. Underneath it all, Phil sighs again, raising his wings behind him. 

 “...these are going to take so long to clean out.” 

 To his credit, Techno looks sheepish. “Sorry, Phil.”

 They sober up quickly; Techno turns around to the opposite side of the hill, where he’s hidden some peepholes inside the dirt - Niki settles herself by one, leaning forwards to put her eye to it and catch a glimpse of the prison looming over the water. It’s been repaired since the breakout, she notes, the gaping hole in the roof completely gone and replaced with obsidian, as intimidating and undamaged as it had been before, if not more so. Phil makes a considering sound from behind her.

 “Same plan as last time?” He asks, and Techno shakes his head. 

 “They’ve probably reinforced it, and Dream’s blueprints won’t include anything new the Warden’s added. I wouldn’t be surprised if they moved Dream to a different location completely. We don’t want to draw too much attention, either, we were cutting it pretty close during the breakout.” He narrows his eyes. “I was thinking we’d try something a little stealthier, this time. “ 

 He gestures at Niki, who blinks back at him with wide eyes. 

 “You got a couple of invis potions for us?”

 She distributes the potions among them all, one regular and two splash potions of invisibility each, and Techno points towards the prison once she’s done. 

 “The most important thing is to get through the portal,” he says with a grim expression. “Worst comes to worst, once we’re inside we can always blast our way through - but gettin’ through that portal is our first priority.” 

 Phil narrows his eyes at him. “The portal is locked, though. We’ll need to follow someone else inside- and I’m pretty sure Sam uses pearls, so he’s out.” 

 Techno nods. “Which is why I’m bankin’ on the prison gettin’ another visitor today. We’ll just have to wait.” 

 Niki swallows. “Do you mean-”

 “Quackity?” Techno turns away, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m not totally sure, but he’s not exactly the type to just give up on his goals. He’s pretty predictable- an empire needs an emperor, always needs something new to rule- you know the type,” he says, tipping his head towards Phil. “He’ll be mad at Dream for disappearin’ on him and won’t miss the opportunity to prove he has the upper hand again. I’m not sure that he’s going to come today-”

 “-but you wouldn’t really be surprised, either,” Phil finishes for him, eyes steely with cold determination. “I trust your judgement, mate. Just stay safe- from what I’ve heard, Quackity has been...erratic.” 

 “When is he not,” Techno huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine, Phil. Just be careful, both of you. Don’t get too close. And if things get messy- which is what we’re tryin’ to avoid, by the way- then don’t do anything too risky. Our priority is gettin’ in and out alive.” 

 “We can handle ourselves, Techno,” Niki reminds him with a small smile. “And Ranboo is there in case anything goes wrong.” 

 “Alright, then. Here’s the plan.” 

 ---

 It takes quite a long time for Quackity to arrive, long minutes that Niki spends fidgeting in the corner of the room, brushing her hands over seams of the netherite plates that Phil had shoved into her hands, back at the Syndicate room. The set is inexplicably light - not weightless, by any means, as it is still netherite, but not nearly as bulky as any set of netherite armor she’s owned or seen in the past. The runes are precise, lines thin and exact, written with graceful strokes of lapis. 

 “Phil’s the best metalworker I’ve ever met,” Techno tells her with a small grin, catching her in the middle of tracing what she can make out as an Unbreaking rune along the metal strapped to her forearm. “But then again, he’s had the time to practice.” 

 “Are you calling me old again?” Phil huffs, and Techno flashes a smile her direction before looking at Phil with a slight grin. 

 “Well, Chat is,” he says, lips twitching when Phil glares back. 

 “You can’t just blame Chat every time you insult me, you little shit,” Phil groans, and Techno only grins wider. 

 “Phil, my ad revenue,” he complains, a dramatic lilt to his voice that has Niki stifling a snort, and Phil’s glare only grows deadlier. 

 “You’ll have more than your ad revenue to worry about if you keep this up,” he mumbles, going back to keep watch at one of the peepholes and stilling as he does. “Shit- Techno, Quackity’s here.” 

 Techno straightens up, hindered slightly by the low ceiling of their room. “Alright- we all know the plan, right?” 

 Niki nods in the affirmative, pulling out a splash invis and letting it settle in her hand, the glass cool beneath her fingertips. She reaches into her inventory and lets her armor fade into it, takes a deep breath and watches as the two across from her do the same. She doesn’t wear armor often, but so close to the prison, feeling mining fatigue settling deep into her bones - she’s never missed the security it offers more. Techno keeps watch, waiting- drops his arm in a signal. Now. 

 Niki throws the potion at their feet, flinching back at the sound of shattering glass and feeling its effects seep into her skin. When she opens her eyes, she can’t see anything but the inside of the room that they’d holed themselves in and the faintest of wisps rising from where their feet must be, curling around the grass. 

 (Please let this work, she begs to no one in particular as they walk towards the prison. And if you can hear me- please keep us all safe.)

 She hardly breathes as they follow Quackity across the path, holding someone’s hand in her own - Phil’s, by the feel of it - careful to muffle her footsteps in the grass and stand still whenever Quackity’s eyes come a little too close. Thankfully for them, he seems focused, hardly stopping or looking around at all as he walks towards the prison’s portal, movements stiff as he walks forward. He punches the button on the wall particularly harshly, and Sam’s voice comes crackling through a speaker a second later. 

 “I’m here for my visit,” Quackity says, punctuating the sentence with a snort of laughter that doesn’t sound particularly sincere. Niki hasn’t seen him in a long while, not after everything that happened in Pogtopia, and she feels a chill worm down her spine - this man looks nothing like the one that had laughed and danced and sung at her birthday party what feels like an eternity ago. What happened? 

 Sam sighs, the sound turning into a sharp burst of static through the speakers. “Hello Quackity,” he says, voice deep and tired. “Please step into the portal after I tell you to and then wait on the other side.” 

 “I know the drill, Sam,” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Just because the bastard was gone for a few weeks doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how this damn place works.” 

 “Just going through protocol, Quackity,” Sam replies, and something about this response has Quackity exploding into a brief fit of laughter, the sound grating against Niki’s ears. She feels her grip tighten on Phil’s hand, air caught in her throat. 

 “Protocol- ha. Whatever you wanna tell yourself, pal.” Quackity smiles, cold and cruel, and Niki tries not to think about how she’d seen that same grin on Wilbur, eyes sparkling from the light of the lanterns hung from the bridges and walls of their ravine, remember how she’d looked into them and realized her old friend wasn’t there, anymore. Quackity disappears into the portal, and after a second, the hand around her own pulls her inside of it too.

 On the other side, Quackity taps his foot impatiently, crossing his arms and waiting- Sam’s voice comes through the speakers again, words clipped. 

 “Go through the portal,” he says, and Quackity does- once again, they wait for a second for his body to disappear, then go within it themselves, pressed close enough together within its frame for Niki to feel the warmth of a wing wrap around her shoulders for a quick second before they’re out of the hot, stifling air of the Nether and into a large, neatly made lobby of blackstone and quartz. They duck into a corner, watching as Quackity moves towards the front counter, the Warden waiting there with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks- tired. His movements are slow, footsteps loud against the floor, shoulders tense and back hunched. He walks around the counter, sword strapped to his belt, and Niki feels her breath hitch at the sight of dried blood still stuck to the blade in patches and splatters.

 “He ready?” Quackity asks, holding his hands out - Niki catches a flash of metal as Sam drops something into them, watches as Quackity raises what ends up being a pair of shears, dangerous-looking and gleaming with enchants, to the light. 

 “Yes,” Sam says, side-eyeing Quackity with a small glare. “You know, it’s supposed to be your job to clean those things off when you’re done with them.”

 “I told you, busy day back in Las Nevadas yesterday,” Quackity waves a hand- “I’ll do it, alright? Don’t get all pissy now. What happened to being partners?” 

 “You said we’d be done with this months ago, Quackity,” Sam sighs, and Niki feels a light tug on her arm as Quackity and Sam begin to walk towards the wall to the right of them, breathes in slow and deep as she follows Techno and Phil towards the others. The wall yawns open with the hiss of redstone firing and pistons pulling blocks upwards, opening into a dark hallway that feels like entering the maw of some sort of giant, insatiable beast. They step inside as one, and the door shuts behind them. 

 “We’ll be done soon enough,” Quackity says, and Niki feels hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Trust me.” 

 They stalk forwards through a labyrinth of blackstone, Niki brushing the palms of her hand against her clothes when it goes clammy from adrenaline. Halfway through, she pauses to tip back a second potion of invisibility, careful to keep her movements slow and steady as not to make a sound - the liquid is silvery, cool and light on her tongue, and she lets the effects wash over her with her breath caught in her lungs before moving forward. The tunnels are simpler than she’d expected, bearing little obstacles or checkpoints - Quackity makes a wry comment a second after (“Guard tunnels today, huh? Appreciate the hustle, pal-”) that confirms her suspicions. Despite the potion particles still whirling around their bodies and the sounds of their footsteps, too loud in her own ears, they manage to make it forwards without much trouble, entering a large room with a doorway filled completely with a curtain of lava. 

 “Set your spawn,” Sam says, still stoic, and Quackity rolls his eyes again before doing as told. Niki keeps looking back at the lava flowing past the wall, its heat filling the room and making her already slick palms even worse, and Sam moves to the side to flick a lever, eyes trained on the lava slowly bubbling in front of him. 

 “Give me your tools?” Quackity asks, and Sam sighs before doing so - Niki watches as he hands over a netherite axe, then potions, then a few raw potatoes that Quackity accepts and puts into his inventory. Sam raises an eyebrow once he’s done, hand tight around the handle of his trident. 

 “You bring your own sword, today?” He asks, seeming irritated, and Quackity shrugs. 

 “Sorry pal, I need to make a new one. Guess I’m borrowing yours again.” 

 Sam sighs again, louder, and hands over his sword as well, watching as Quackity swings it a few times experimentally. The blade skims a little too close to her on one swing and she can’t quite help the squeak that escapes her lips as she throws herself out of the way, feels her heart hammer in her ears as she backs up against the wall. Please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that-

 “Quackity, wait.” Sam raises a hand, ear twitching as he looks over in her direction with narrowed eyes. “I think I heard something.”

 Oh fuck.

 “Well, guess show’s up then,” Techno drawls, and both of them whirl towards his voice, giving Niki enough time to pull her armor back on, scrambling to get her sword and shield in her hands as Phil does the same besides her. Pieces of armor appear where Techno is standing, then a bucket of milk- oh, why must her friends be so dramatic- and Techno’s standing there, smiling sharply, with Orphan Obliterator held loosely at his side. “Let’s get this done, then.” 

 As one, Techno and Phil blur into action - Techno moves forward to catch the prongs of Sam’s trident on his blade as Phil parries Quackity’s blows with his own sword- they move fluidly, easily covering each other’s backs as the room devolves into chaos. Niki remembers their guidance as she flits in and out of the fight, scoring quick hits to keep the Warden and Quackity off balance while remaining out of range from their weapons, and it’s not long before both of them have fallen with a spray of items and experience orbs scattered all over the floor. 

 Techno moves over to block off the exposed face of the bed with a block, looking over at the two of them with an uncharacteristically severe expression. “They’ll be back soon- we have to move fast. Niki, you have those fire res, right?” 

 She nods as she reaches into her inventory, finding the potion’s orange-pink glow and smashing it at their feet. They dive into the lava together, Niki scrambling to keep up, her arms struggling to move through the thick lava, loses sight of both until she flails into something directly in front of her and hands are pulling her up out of the lava. 

 “There you go, mate,” Phil smiles down at her as hauls herself to her feet, making a face at the feeling of the lava clinging to her clothes. “Yeah, swimming through lava isn’t exactly fun. You good?” She flashes him a thumbs up, and he laughs- “Niki, you’re still invisible.” She flushes pink- right.

 A few sips of milk later, she gives him a proper thumbs up, and he laughs, loud and bright. She looks past him to where Techno’s crouched over something- someone, she realizes with a start, in the corner. Dream’s back in prison clothes, ragged and ill-fitting, and he’s curled up with his back towards the front of the cell, shaking enough to be obvious even from where she’s standing. Techno speaks lowly, voice barely more than a deep rumble in the air, almost inaudible.

 “You there, Dream?” 

 She watches as Dream turns his head, looking up with wide, bleary eyes. His hair flops in front of his face, and something within her itches to brush it out of the way. “T-Techno?”

 “Yeah nerd, who else?” Techno smiles, and Dream seems to blink awake, drawing himself up with a shuddery breath. 

 “Techno- it’s a trap- what are you doing here?” he hisses, and Techno gives him a look, deadpan.

 “Yeah, yeah, it’s a trap- come on, Dream, we’ve been over this by now, bro. You have to know that their traps aren’t goin’ to do anything to me by now,” Techno rolls his eyes, reaching forward to steady his hands on Dream’s shoulders when the other man sputters and struggles to breathe. “Easy, now. Geez, you wanted to prove me wrong about being homeless bad enough that you came back here? We could’ve just made you a house, you know. You didn’t have to go this far.” 

 “I- they were gonna kill you,” Dream breathes, face twisted up uncomfortably, and his eyes flick past Techno’s face to where Phil and Niki are standing at the opposite wall of the cell. “All of you- they said-”

 “And that’s what I thought you’d say,” Techno groans. “Come on, you idiot, I thought you were smarter than this-” 

 “They were right there, Techno!” Dream fires back, eyes alight. “You- they were right there, what were you thinking, they could’ve-!”

 “And my best friend is a necromancer, remember?” Techno shakes his head. “Come on, Dream- Sam and Quackity? You know we can handle them in a fight, especially when you can just revive us if anything goes wrong. You don’t have to do this whole self-sacrifice thing, bro- there’s only so many times I can break into the same prison, y’know.” 

 “You’re so stupid,” Dream huffs, but he leans in anyway, head just barely settling against Techno’s shoulder. “I- I can’t believe. You’re so dumb.” 

 “Hey, don’t be sayin’ that to the guy that’s breakin’ you out of prison,” Techno laughs, slinging Dream over his shoulder with an easy motion and laughing harder when it makes him yelp. “That’s just bein’ ungrateful. You’re making Chat sad, man, and when they’re sad they don’t subscribe-” 

 “I regret this entirely,” Dream says, voice muffled against Techno’s shirt, tone completely flat. “Put me down- you idiot- I’m staying here. You’re worse than Quackity.” 

 “Rude. Now you’ve really made Chat mad. I demand an apology-” 

 “Boys, boys.” Niki can’t help giggling, watching the way their gazes snap towards her, rolling her eyes as she moves forward with a few potions held loosely in her hand. “Dream, do you want a health pot?” 

 Dream seems to deliberate for a second, before nodding at her, expression slightly strained. “...sure.” 

 “You two can finish your argument after we’ve broken out of the biggest maximum security prison on the server,” Phil drawls from behind her, arms crossed at his chest. “Come on, now, before Sam gets back.” 

 “Isn’t this the only maximum security prison on the server?” Techno asks aloud, an amused expression on his face - one that only gets worse when Phil glares at him with one ice-blue eye. 

 “Shut-” he sighs, shaking his head. “You two are chaotic little shits, you know that?”

 “Don’t compare me to him, Phil,” Techno complains, Dream mirroring his words with muffled protests of his own, and Phil breathes another drawn-out, long-suffering sigh as he rubs at the bridge of his nose. 

 “Niki, give us some fire res please?” 

 She finds the potion bottle between giggles, throwing it to the ground as she tries to choke down the laughter rapidly bubbling up her throat. “Of course, Phil.” 

 She looks back at Techno and Dream before jumping into the lava, the two of them once again lost in some sort of argument, Dream draped over Techno’s shoulder. He’s breathing easier now, she notes, and Techno looks looser too - a little less tense, leaning back with a perpetual quirk to the corner of his lip as they fire insults back and forth. This is familiar, she recognizes with a soft twist in her chest, the same way that Phil and Techno can finish each other’s sentences and look at each other with laughing eyes sharing the same memories of the past, the same way Ranboo watches Techno’s every step as he adjusts his stance and lifts his sword and Techno laughs and calls him a main character in turn, the same way she and Phil will settle together on the porch over cups of tea and sit at each other’s sides for hours. The rhythm between them is one well-established, the road well-worn - she imagines them, huddled in this dingy cell for months together, and breathes in slow and deep. 

 “Come on,” she smiles, making sure to keep it on her face when Dream meets her eyes with wide, startled ones of his own. Dream still isn’t an ally, and isn’t a friend. 

 But - she watches as he smiles back, something inexplicably warm in her chest - maybe, one day, he could be.

[delimeful]

Snapshot: Cleanse

snapshots: a new compilation of mini-fics taking place in the WIBAR universe! this one takes place a few days after Making Adjustments!

warnings: none! Whoops, All Fluff!

-

It was a few days after the Breakfast Ceasefire that Virgil decided enough was enough.

He needed a shower. Badly.

It didn’t matter that he was on an alien ship full of alien stuff, or that showering meant temporarily ditching the comfort of his hoodie, or even that two out of three aliens would probably happily see him dead at any opportunity.

He had picked up what felt like an entire football field’s worth of dirt, mud, and other muck while him and Patton were planet-hopping, and impromptu washcloth (read: a patch torn from the back of his shirt) cleaning sessions had only done so much. They only came across clean water every so often, anyhow. Most of it couldn’t be wasted on washing.

Patton had picked up on his discomfort back then— that or the smell— but the Ampen’s idea of ‘cleaning up’ was very similar to that of chinchillas’ back home on Earth: dust baths. That’s right. More dirt.

(Yes, he’d rolled around in the dirt with his friend. Contrary to popular interstellar belief, he wasn’t a monster.)

Still, it was time to come clean. Literally and metaphorically.

Patton had spent last night cuddled up to him, which meant that he had actually gotten a full eight hours of sleep (good!) and that Roman was probably sulking around (ungood!). The sense of clarity that came with not being quite so horrendously sleep deprived only made him more aware of how dirty he was. It felt like heresy to even touch any of the numerous well-sanitized surfaces in the ship.

“Patton,” he called, once the Ampen had started doing those little antennae twitches that meant he was half-awake. “Can you show me the wash room?”

The response was a little delayed, but eventually Patton startled into full wakefulness with a little chirp-peep that reminded him of a computer startup noise.

From there, he was led down the circular halls to a square room that sort of resembled a locker room shower area, complete with drainage grates in the floor. There was a ledge along one side of the room that led up to a windowbox-like protrusion, and Virgil could see from here that it was full of soft, beige dirt.

Patton paused, visibly turning his head from Virgil to the washbox, as though measuring things out in his mind.

“That’s probably too small for you, huh?”

Virgil stopped him before he could start making plans for a human-sized sandbox. “Uh, actually, Pat, I need water to wash.”

“Oh!” Patton exclaimed, more surprised than disconcerted. “Well, water we doing over here then?”

Virgil couldn’t hide a smile, and Patton crinkle-smiled back at him before waving him over to the opposite end of the room. He pointed up, where there were little circular discs with a grid of tiny holes set into the wall. “Here you go! Roman uses these to help with his slough, or when he gets particularly rough and tumble down on planetside!”

… Great. Odds were borrowing his shower was probably going to make Roman even more homicidal towards him. Virgil decided to worry about that later. For now, he was faced with the biggest challenge of them all: figuring out how a friend’s shower knobs worked.

Surprisingly, it seemed like the panel set into the wall below each disc worked similarly to the other touchscreens he’d seen set into the control room of the ship. Unsurprisingly, they were all labeled with the written form of Common, which meant he had about zero chance of figuring it out on his own.

Patton noticed his blank stare and patted at his knee, and Virgil squatted down easily so the undersized alien could clamber onto his shoulder. He rose up, and Patton’s little claws scrambled for purchase for a moment before he caught his balance, Virgil tense with preparation to twist and catch him if he fell.

“This little icon has the symbol for on, and this is how you get it hot or cold,” he chirped, leaning forwards to point at the screen for emphasis. Virgil obligingly shifted closer, trying to commit the guidance to memory. “You’re a little squisher than Roman, so you should probably change the pressure, too.”

Once he’d shuffled around so he was sure neither of them were about to get slammed by a jet of water, he tapped the power button.

A three-note chime played as a sort of countdown, and water shot out of the disc, at what was probably the appropriate pressure to powerwash muck from under tightly-packed scales. Virgil pushed the slider down until he could put his hand under without feeling any sting from the water’s impact. Then, he cranked the temperature up until it was just short of scalding.

Patton eyed the steam curling up into the air with a concerned fluff to his feathers, but didn’t protest after seeing the small, delighted grin that Virgil made as he held his hand under.

No, this wasn’t dunking his head in cold streams, or dipping his arm in a lukewarm puddle, or the humiliating icy hose downs in captivity. This was warm water. He’d never take it for granted again.

He shrugged out of his hoodie as he walked over to the entrance. “Does this… lock?”

“Any door on the ship can be sealed,” Patton replied, and bonked his head to Virgil’s sympathetically at the shudder that information sent through him. “Nobody’s going to lock anything without your permission, though, okay?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, knowing he sounded less than convinced. “Can you guard the door, still? Just in case,” he added in English, one of the phrases he’d used a lot while they were on the run.

Patton gave him a sad look, more than aware how unsafe he still felt, but nodded firmly and dropped carefully down to the floor, taking up position just outside the door like a tiny sentry. Virgil draped his hoodie over him, and then-- checking that the others weren’t nearby to witness and freak out about it-- he gave him the world’s smallest noogie, ruffling the feathers atop his head with a knuckle.

Having preemptively twitched his antennae out of the way, Patton made one of those bird-like laughs at him, batting his hand away. “Go clean! And make sure you wash out for slippery floors!”

Virgil snorted, and carefully sealed the door behind him, trying not to think about the feeling of being stuck in a tiny square room again. He shook his head, dragging his thoughts back on track.

He had access to a warm shower, his first in literal months (...years?). He was going to stay under that spout until every bit of dirt washed down the drain.

---

Roman was midway through a session of storywriting when he heard Patton’s bright voice coming down the hall, passing by his room and chattering all the while.

His ears flicked back automatically to check in, and he frowned when he realized that he couldn’t hear Logan’s arms clicking alongside the Ampen. No, apart from Patton’s tiny tapping footsteps, there was nothing. Patton had to be talking to the Human, then, since he was the only one who ghosted around the ship silently enough to make Roman feel stalked at every corner.

Well. He’d grown tired of watching his characters make a rather vexing detour from his carefully-plotted main storyline anyhow, and he was loath to leave his smallest friend alone with a Human, regardless of how docile that Human pretended to be.

After a brief cleanup of his writing instruments, he was sweeping down the corridor to the commons after them.

Logan was already in the room when he arrived, which was surprising; even Roman had picked up on the ludicrous lengths the Human went to avoid the Ulgorian, as though Logan of all people was someone to be scared of. The nerd’s poison blood was the most “threatening” thing about him, and the Human had already shown how easily he could shake that off.

Patton was leading the Human by one hand, their size disparity as jarring and terrifying as ever. And the Human…

Roman turned his head to the side to study the scene more intently, and that in itself was strange.

Normally, Virgil was almost preternaturally aware of when he was being watched, according to Logan. It was obvious when he knew: the Human went tense and rigid, practically poised to pounce at any moment.

But now, he was trailing after Patton with a relaxed slope to his shoulders, his steps almost languid. He all but collapsed on the fluffy cushion Patton gestured to, eyes gliding shut as the Ampen climbed up after him.

Roman took a few steps into the room, and the Human cracked one eye open-- not entirely out of it, then. The mild suspicion he was regarded with was almost reassuring.

Upon closer inspection, there were physical changes, too. The human had gone from pale, almost grey-toned to having a pinkish tint to his skin. The grey-brown still clung to the hooded garment he’d draped himself in, creating an even more jarring contrast. Dirt, then? It would certainly explain the smudges he left everywhere he touched much better than some strange Human Residue.

… He wasn’t crossing Human Residue off the list of possibilities, though.

Most striking of all was his head. He had originally stalked around with a matted mess of fur, glinting oily in the light where it wasn’t dull with dirt. Now, the fur was clean and stuck out in little fluffy tufts, creating a much less menacing look overall.

Patton apparently agreed, because he’d scampered up to one shoulder and immediately buried his tiny hands into that fluff. Roman and Logan both startled, exchanging an alarmed-exasperated-fearful look, one that had become exceedingly more common after Patton came home with his new Human cellmate.

Surprisingly, all Virgil did was go even more boneless on the cushion, turning his head to better meet Patton’s touch. Patton closed his eyes happily, apparently completely fine with petting one of the most feared creatures in the galaxy.

That wasn’t surprising at all, actually.

What was surprising was the Human’s apparent tolerance for it.

“I wasn’t aware Humans enjoyed tactile ministrations,” Logan said, tapping his wristplates curiously. “Is Virgil alright?”

The Human in question turned slightly to glance at them, eyes still half-lidded. It was probably the least threatening body language Roman had seen from him since… well, ever. “Mm?”

“You’re just relaxing, aren’t you kiddo?” Patton combed through that mess of fluff some more and Virgil lost what little tension he’d regained. “Virgil spent a lot of time on guard while we were on the run planetside. He deserves all the time in the world to recuperate… and all the head scritches!”

Roman’s tail swished exasperatedly, but even he really couldn’t come up with a reason to begrudge the Human for this, not when Patton was so clearly enjoying having someone else onboard to preen. Even if that someone was a Deathworlder.

He moved to settle onto his own cushion under the guise of supervising, though for once he thought the Human might actually fall asleep in front of him.

And if he was perhaps just slightly curious about what exactly a fluffy Human felt like? Well, that was nobody’s business but his own.

[chockfullofsecrets]

Critical Role: The Opposite of Cuddling

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: And maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, but - “That’s not gonna work,” he says, feeling a little bad as her face falls. “I’m way too ticklish for that.”

Jester’s expression rebounds at lightning speed. “Caduceus! You’re ticklish?”

“Oh. Yeah,” he grins.

Dome cuddles don't quite work out, but the Mighty Nein make do.

Wordcount: 1.8k (it would be short if it wasn’t supposed to be a snippet fic aaa)

A/N: maybe i am just in the mood for cuddly gang tickles. maybe so. 

---

“So,” Jester is proselytizing, brandishing a diagram from her sketchbook into dubious faces, “if we cuddle up around Caduceus just like this it’s going to be super soft and comfy and warm until we get out of this stupid weather! Any questions?”

Caduceus puts his teacup aside and leans down to peer at the sketch. It’s really good, especially the faces. She must have drawn it while watching them sleep last night.

And maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, but - “That’s not gonna work,” he says, feeling a little bad as her face falls. “I’m way too ticklish for that.”

Jester’s expression rebounds at lightning speed. “Caduceus! You’re ticklish?”

“Oh. Yeah,” he grins. It feels good to see her happy, tail flicking as she clutches her sketchbook in clear delight - after two days of nonstop freezing rain, even her forceful cheer has been wavering. “It’s nice, sometimes, but not when we’re, you know. Sleeping.”

“So I could tickle you right now and you wouldn’t be, like, really mad at me?” Jester presses. She’s scooting towards him as she asks, practically trembling with excitement. It’s awfully cute.

Well, it’s been a while, but he can’t say he’s not a little eager for the contact. He ignores the looks from the rest of their group and flops back onto his bedroll, wriggling a little to get comfortable. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

“Um,” Beau says from somewhere behind him, a little strangled. Oh, right.

“We’re not keeping people awake, are we?” he asks, craning his neck to the various edges of the dome people have settled in. “Anyone set on sleeping right now?”

Beau makes a face. "That's not the weird part, Duceus."

“They can help!” Jester chirps, and then she’s cuddled into his side and wiggling tiny tiefling claws above his belly. “Oh, Ca-du-ceus!”

She’s pitching her voice as deep and scary as it can go. It’s not very far. “Yeah?”

“Where’s your very worst tickle spot?”

He laughs. “Telling you that feels like a bad idea.”

“Then I’ll just have to fi-ind it!” She tugs his shirt up with one quick move, and he barely has time to feel the cold before she’s latching onto his sides and burying her entire face into the downy fur on his belly. “Ooh, you’re so soft and warm! I want to cuddle you forever, Caduceus.”

It tickles, but just a little - honestly, he’s more amused by her. “Can’t say I’ve heard that before,” he chuckles, reaching out to poke gently at her side. “You’re not bad yourself.”

She squeaks, pulling her head up just enough to gasp at him. “Oh my gosh, Caduceus, did you just tickle me back? Guys, you have to come help me!”

“Nah, I’m good,” Beau snorts.

Jester lets out a massive sigh and flops back down onto him, and for a pleasant minute or two it’s just her nuzzling into him as he watches raindrops pelt off the amber dome overhead.

Then there’s a rustle, and some clinking, and before he can do anything more than lazily twitch one of his ears in the direction of the sound Yasha’s upside-down face pushes into his field of view.

“Do you mind if I join?” she asks in her quiet way. “I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

Jester springs upright, grabbing happily for her hands. “Yes! Join us!”

Caduceus echoes her, snorting out a quiet laugh as Jester regains some of her energy and starts to scribble her way up his sides. He doesn't have any quiet siblings - Yasha reminds him a little more of the mourners, so it’s always nice to see her reach out. He's good at appreciating that sort of thing.

Yasha smiles shyly down at the both of them as she pulls his head into her lap and starts to play with his ears. “These are so soft,” she marvels. “Are you ticklish here?”

His ears have always been one of his siblings’ favorite spots to tease him with, and apparently they haven’t gotten any less sensitive in the last ten years. “Yeah,” he gasps. “Heh - just - hehe - a little bit.”

There's a frustrated groan off to his right. “Okay, I’ll bite.” Footsteps track around to his side, fleet and quiet, and he waits patiently for a flash of blue cloth to cross his gaze. “But only ‘cause ears are a fucking weird spot and I want to see if this works on you.”

Beau crouches by his side and curls her fingers loosely. “I’m gonna punch you,” she warns. “Probably not that hard, but don’t tense up.”

He nods as best as he can while tilting his head to better let Yasha worry her fingernails at the backs of his ears - he’s not sure if he could feel more boneless if he tried, right now.

The heel of her fist strikes him right in the middle of his chest, fingers clutching around something intangible - that something scurries its way down every nerve he has, and he coughs out a startled laugh before he can help himself. “What was that?”

“Payback for growing lichen on me back at your house,” she quips, but her eyes are narrowed in clear concentration. “Okay, ears, ears… wrists? And knees? And - fuck, man, your entire back? Really? Jes, let’s flip him over, this is going to be good.”

Well, that’s unexpected.

“Wait - ha!” Caduceus yelps, squirming as fingers start to pry their way underneath him. “Hold on now-”

He’s bigger than both of them by far, but they’re strong and not above tickling the backs of his ribs until he starts to squeal. "You're so thin, Caduceus!" Jester exclaims, hooking a finger into the tender gap between two bones and wriggling it mercilessly - his back arches entirely without his permission, letting Beau pry him another inch off the ground, and he whines defensively. "We have to feed you more!"

They get as far as rolling him onto his side before Beau loses patience and starts prodding smugly at his spine. “Your ki is pretty shivery around here, Duceus,” she teases. “Trying to hide your worst spots, huh? Bet you thought we weren’t gonna take this seriously.”

Caduceus is too busy laughing to deal with - any of that, really, especially when Jester slings herself over him so she can reach his back too. “I’m - ahaha! aaa! - oh, that tickles!”

As if in direct response to his babbling, a small weight bundles into the back of his knees. He curls up reflexively with a strangled shout - it’s Nott, cuddling up to him with a shivery sigh as an invisible hand starts to pinch at his kneecaps. “You’re right,” she crows to Jester. “He is soft.”

It does feel nice, being buried under this many people and tickled till the marrow of every bone in his body shivers, happy and helpless, and when Fjord finally sits in front of him and presses a questioning hand to his shoulder Caduceus doesn’t resist the impulse to clutch his hands and pull him in closer.

Fjord comes easily, huffing in quiet amusement as Caduceus buries his face in him and Yasha and wriggles like a freshly surfaced earthworm. “You alright there?” he drawls. “You sound like they’re trying to kill you.”

Nott snorts from somewhere near his belly. “We should stop, then, we’ve only got the one cleric.”

“Hey!”

Everything abruptly derails as Jester launches herself towards Nott and, from the sound of it, kicks Beau right in the face - there’s wheezing, and then shouting, and then the telltale sugar-sweet scent of Jester’s healing magic.

Caduceus holds very still. "Is everyone okay?"

"Yeah," Beau confirms, mangled. He can practically picture Jester frantically squishing her cheeks around as she checks for damage.

A typical tickle fight, as far as the Clays are concerned, just with a different smell - the Wildmother's healing tends more earthy. Even though they’ve stopped tickling, Caduceus can’t help but laugh.

He’s not sure if he imagines Fjord fluttering light fingers along the insides of his wrists as he catches his breath, but by the time he wheezes out one last fit of giggles and rolls himself back over everyone seems to be keeping a respectful distance, if a good deal closer together than they were at the beginning of the evening. “I think that went pretty well,” he says, pleased.

“...so you’re stupid ticklish,” Beau says dryly, scrubbing a bit of dried blood from her lip. “No cuddling Duceus while he’s trying to be unconscious, message received.”

There’s a chorus of agreement from all but one - Caduceus looks around and spots their final member for the first time since they sat down for dinner, nose buried in a book and ears suspiciously red.

He hasn’t moved an inch all night, even to escape the noise, which leaves him only a few feet away from the rest of them. Caduceus gets the feeling he’s about to regret that. “Oh, I’m sure there are those that have it worse,” he grins. “Right, Mr. Caleb?”

Caleb’s gaze snaps up over the edge of his book. “Ja,” he rushes out, strangled. “I mean - nein - of course I am not - I am just trying to read here-”

Jester doesn’t wait for him to dig his grave any deeper. “Oh my gosh, Cay-leb, are you super ticklish too?”

Caleb stuffs his book back into its holster and holds a hand out preventatively, reaching with panicked precision for a strip of leather tied just above his knee with the other. “No, I am not-”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Fjord rocks backward and reaches out with one broad hand, latching onto Caleb's wrist, and Caleb promptly abandons all spellcasting to kick at him like a startled rabbit.

Despite that, he reels Caleb in gently, scooping him into a neat little ball before he heaves him into the middle of their little circle and squarely on top of Caduceus. “I think we owe you a nice, long thank you for this lovely dome, don’t we?”

There’s a moment of silence as Caleb presumably thinks about how easy it would be to kill them all in this enclosed space. “This,” he says, as severely as he can with his feet in the air and hair in his eyes, “is the opposite of cuddling, and if you do not leave me alone then tomorrow night I am going to make all of you sleep in the rain.”

Even the seasoned homebody in Caduceus knows that’s the exact wrong thing to say to a group of damp and grumpy adventurers - if the mood in the dome was mischievous before, it takes a steep dive into outright evil.

Beau cracks her knuckles. “Yeah? Let’s see what you have to say when we tickle you again tomorrow.”

And if Caduceus laughs as Caleb gives one startled owlish blink and then scrambles to hide as much of himself behind Caduceus as possible - well, that’s not from the tickling at all.

[bestiesenpai]

Study buddy - Choso

Where oh where can I find a Choso-nii to help me with my studies? Where oh wherefore art thou? Femme reader, 2.1k words

Content warnings: incest, that’s it

“I don’t get it!” You whined loudly to yourself, almost to the point of tears as you sit at the dining table, frustration mounting the longer you stare at the screen of your laptop. There’s too many assignments that you need to finish, too many tests you need to study for - it’s all too much.

“What’s wrong?” As you throw your head into your hands, Choso comes around the corner, having heard your small shout. Looking over the table, swamped with textbooks and stacks of papers, his heart breaks a little for you.

“Go away, Choso-nii.” With your forehead pressed against the table, you don’t have the heart to sit up and look at your older brother.

“Not until you look at me, tell me what’s going on.” Smoothing a large hand across your back, he tried to nudge you to turn to him.

“You wouldn’t get it.” He’d never attended university, having gotten a job as soon as he could to help support the family. It wasn’t like you doubted his intellect, but this issue was out of his range.

He pushed and he pulled, but try as he might Choso couldn’t get you to look at him. He could see the angry scribbles on your notebook pages and the way your breathing was slightly laboured as if you were holding back tears. He didn’t want to push you too hard but he didn’t want you to wallow.

“Get up.” He was wrapping his arms around your middle before you could fully comprehend what it is he wanted, and soon you were forced out of your chair and sat back down onto his lap.

“Lemme go.” Your head still hung low, hands covering your face so you wouldn’t have to look at him and his pitying expression. Choso shook his head, resting his own forehead against your shoulder and squeezing you.

“Is it school? Do you want to take a break?”

“No.” You replied immediately, shrugging his head off and grabbing your pencil again. “I can’t, I have a lot to do.” Forcing yourself to scribble down some more words, you ignored the silence and the sigh that followed from Choso.

“But you’re upset, why don’t you-”

“Just stay out of it!” You snapped, clearly not in the mood to be coddled. Choso wasn’t used to you snapping at him like this and it showed in the shocked raise of his brows.

“Baby girl calm down.” Although he said it softly, there was an underlying edge to his tone. Choso shifted you on his lap, drawing you further up his legs and securing you more tightly in his arms.

“M’not a baby.” You mumbled back, instantly regretting how you spoke to him. All Choso ever did was try and help you, try and make your life just a bit easier; it wasn’t fair to him for you to act this way.

“You’re my baby.” Giving you a kiss on the back of your neck, Choso settled his chin on your shoulder. “Now, are you going to take a break?” He expected it when you shook your head no. “Will you let me help you then?”

“I don’t know, nii-chan...this kind of stuff might be too hard for you.” Handing him one of the pages of homework you had, you bit your lip as he read over it. Choso didn’t exactly have the best track record with schooling, often skipping classes to pick up odd jobs or just to sleep the day away.

“We can work on it together.” Putting it back on the table, Choso plucked the pencil out of your hands and started scribbling down what he thought was the right answer.

“Choso-nii, wait! Not like that!”

“Hm, no?” Cracking a smile, he began to tickle your sides as you snatched the pencil back. “Then how should I do it? Like this?”

“S-stop!” You shouted, giggles forcibly rising from your chest. Desperately trying to grab his fingers and hold them away from your sides, you had no choice but to laugh and squirm helplessly.

After a few minutes he relented, handing you back the pencil and letting you catch your breath. A soft smile stayed on his face as he noticed your mood had improved just from him tickling you, the hard crease in your brow and the frown tugging at your lips were gone now.

“Tell me what you’re working on here.” Gesturing toward your laptop, he saw an abundance of open tabs and a slideshow that was barely started.

“That’s one of my finals, I have to make a presentation.” Slumping against Choso’s chest, you huffed indignantly. Humming to himself, Choso clicked through a few of the tabs. He wasn’t familiar with the subject you were presenting on at all, but surely he could help a little bit?

“Let's work on this one first then, it seems to be giving you the most trouble.”

“They’re all giving me trouble.” Pushing your face into the side of his neck, you didn’t try to stop Choso from tidying up your workspace, tucking papers away into folders and pushing unneeded textbooks away.

Just having the table clear of all the daunting assignments was enough to make a slight weight lift off your shoulders. With no visual clutter, things in your mind slowly started to calm down. From your position leant against Choso, you explained the presentation as simply as possible. He flipped through more tabs as you spoke, reading and falling silent except for a few hums.

“I bet we could get a rough draft done by tonight.” He murmured.

“You think so?” His words gave you a little hope, and the reassuring hug he gave your middle even more.

“With a little sister as smart as you? I know so.” Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, he nodded confidently. He smiled when you smiled at the compliment, taking a hand and rubbing up and down your arm. “Let’s get started.”

As the two of you began to work, both diligently reading over the material, Choso’s hands started to wander. Both arms slid from around your waist, one going to rest around your hips as the other settled just under the hem of your shirt.

“What do you think about putting that quote here?” He whispered, pointing to the screen briefly before putting his hand back, letting his fingers creep up a little under your shirt.

“I could try it.” Unaffected by his hand, you typed away on the keyboard. As you breathed, Choso’s hand pushed up under your shirt entirely, hot palm resting on your stomach. Your hands faltered for a moment, but you didn’t say anything.

Silently typing, you tried to ignore Choso’s hand now fully resting just below your breasts. His hand was stopped by the bra you had on, but not for long. Pressing a kiss onto your cheek, he fully tugged down your bra.

“Nii-chan…” A whining protest was on the tip of your tongue, fingers beginning to curl around his wrist and pull his hand away.

“Sshh, don’t worry about what I’m doing. Focus on your work.” Gently twisting your nipple between his fingers, Choso flicked his chin toward the screen. Biting your lip and nodding your head, you did as he said. He was being nice enough to help you with your homework, it was only fair to let him have this.

Lightly massaging your breast, Choso still managed to be helpful and give critiques, aptly splitting his focus between fondling your chest and helping build the presentation. With soft fingers, he worked both nipples to full hardness and watched as they pebbled and peaked under the fabric of your shirt.

“Choso-nii, here too.” Spreading your legs for him, Choso lets you pull his hand from your shirt and down to your bottoms, past the waistband and over your panties. There’s a good amount of slick built up between your legs, seeping into the fabric of your panties and marking them with a large wet patch.

With his other hand taking the spot on your breast, Choso pushes his hand into your panties. Your legs are thrown open wide for him, body completely relaxed against his as you let him do whatever he wants.

Tapping your clit with his middle finger, Choso chuckles under his breath at the reflexive twitches in your legs. He can’t help but do it a few more times until you let out a whine and wiggle your hips for him.

Circling the swollen bud with the tip of his finger, the high moan that leaves your throat is music to his ears and when he presses down on it more firmly, your thighs immediately snap shut on his hand.

“Excited?” Choso teases in your ear, watching as you shamefully reopen your legs. Rubbing your clit with two fingers now, he can feel your hole clenching around nothing. With how much of your juices are on his fingers, it’s easy for them to slip down and press against it.

Steadily pumping his fingers in and out, Choso worked his fingers down to the knuckle, resting his palm snugly against your pelvis and grazing your clit. You’d fully given up on even pretending to still be working, fully laying on Choso as your hands gripped his sleeves.

Drawing his fingers out, Choso began to slowly thrust his fingers in and out, a soft clapping sound of his palm hitting you beginning to sound throughout the room.

“Shit, Choso!” You gasp loudly when his thumb finds your clit, rubbing it in tandem with the motion of his fingers. Your thighs threaten to close in on his hand again, quivering on his lap and fighting to stay open.

Soon your hips are bucking up to meet his fingers, quiet pants falling from your mouth and landing on the side of his face. Clutching your breast tightly in his hand, Choso grinds his thumb on your clit, getting a wave of endorphins himself just from hearing you moan.

You quickly lose the battle of trying to keep your legs spread, nearly fully clamping down on his hand and rendering it immobile. Choso doesn’t mind though, he welcomes whatever reactions you have to him and his touch. All he wants to do is make his little sister happy.

“Are you going to cum?” Swallowing thickly around the words, he breaks out into a silly grin when you nod drunkenly. His wrist and hand are starting to cramp up and the muscles in his arm are beginning to burn, but Choso refuses to slow down even a fraction.

“N-nii-chan, please!” Screwing your eyes closed, you arch your back hard, breath coming out shorter and shorter as your orgasm approaches. It’s unclear to both of you what you’re asking for, but you both know it’s not to stop.

“That’s it baby girl, cum nice and hard for me.” Kissing any part of your face he can reach, Choso’s hand doesn’t stop when you let out a loud moan and your cunt spasms around him. He certainly doesn’t stop as your feet stamp against the floor, the pleasure overwashing your senses almost too much for you to handle. He almost can’t bring himself to stop when your body goes slack and you whine at him to stop, the pleasure turning into pain.

Slipping his hand from your bottoms, Choso stares at his fingers covered in your sticky release. There’s thin strands that spread and break when he pulls apart his fingers and the heady musk that comes from them tastes just as good as it smells.

Slowly fixing your clothes and straightening your back, you fully turn over your shoulder to Choso and kiss him as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth. You can smell and taste a hint of yourself on his lips, his tongue just barely darting out to swipe at yours.

“I think that was a good break, don’t you?” Choso whispers as he breaks the kiss, giving you a quick kiss on the nose before fully pulling away. He takes a mental picture of the blissed out look on your face and the way an easy, dopey smile spreads on your face.

“Yeah.” Nodding, you lean forward and kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks, nii-chan.”

“You’re welcome, baby.” Helping you readjust your position on his lap, Choso feels his heart swell at knowing he helped you relax, made you feel nice and happy as any good caring older brother should. Pulling your laptop closer, Choso reopened the presentation and skimmed the last few words you’d written. “Now, let’s get back to work, alright?”

[dreamerstreamer]

Friendly Figure

Pairing: Fundy x gn!reader (can be read as both romantic & platonic!)

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] While Fundy may have had more than his fair share of poor fatherly figures, he’s more than grateful to have you.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: this was requested by an anon who wanted a story surrounding fundy’s life story within the smp! this ended up being a fun combination of a character study with an actual story, and i loved it. i hope you enjoy, as well!

You waved your arm eagerly as you sank your teeth into another bite of delicious pumpkin pie. “Bye, Niki!” you called out between muffled chews. “Thanks for the pie!”

A few yards away, you saw her wave back, raising a hand to cup her mouth as she yelled back. “You’re welcome! I’ll see you two tomorrow!”

You sent her one last wide grin before turning on your heel, twirling your fork in your hands as you set off down the path once more. Niki really did make the best pie.

You hummed as you watched the sun dip below the horizon, the sky painted with fading streaks of salmon and lavender. Beside you, Fundy grumbled, his ears flicking atop his head in annoyance as he eyed the plate in your hands. “Why did you get an extra slice and I didn’t?”

You raised a brow at him, shooting him an unimpressed look. “Because you didn’t ask, nimrod.” Pointing your fork at him, you scoffed. “If you did, I bet Niki would have handed one over, no questions asked.”

He wrinkled his nose, at you a scowl stretching across his face. “‘Nimrod’?” he parroted. “You’ve been hanging out too much with Karl.”

You stabbed your fork into the pie in your hands, watching as the crust crumbled delectably onto your plate. “What can I say? He’s nice!”

Fundy looked appalled. “And I’m not?”

You stared at him, blinking for a moment, then shrugged, a teasing glint dancing across your eyes. “Eh. You’re alright, I guess.”

He glowered, raising his arms as you took a cautionary step back. “Why, you little—”

“Fundy!”

You and Fundy both stopped dead in your tracks, your fork dropping onto your plate with a clatter. Your eyes met, and a mutual look of discomfort passed between your gazes.

You would recognize that voice anywhere.

Slowly, the two of you turned, your gazes landing on a familiar worn yellow sweater, the cloth fraying at the edges after years of wear. In front of you, you could only stare as Ghostbur jogged up to Fundy, his dark, near-translucent eyes glimmering with hope.

Fundy coughed, trying and failing to hide the discomfort growing on his face as he offered a small wave. “Uh, hi, Ghostbur.”

Ghostbur’s pale lips curled into a frown, his brows furrowing. “Why the long face?” He leaned over, gently elbowing Fundy’s side, missing the way his son stiffened at his touch. “Aren’t you excited to see me?”

Fundy lurched back, clutching at where he had been touched. “Not really.”

Ghostbur let out a small whine, his shoulders drooping. “Aw, come on. Why don’t we have some father-son bonding time together?” He sent him a goofy grin, his eyes twinkling with nostalgia. “You know, just like the old days.”

You heart ached at the pain that flickered across Fundy’s face, his ears pressing flat against his head. There were no father-son bonding times when Wilbur was alive—at least not the kind that ended with actual bonding.

Fundy shuffled back a bit, and you instinctively took a step closer to his side. “No thanks,” he muttered softly, averting his eyes to the ground. “I’d rather not.”

Ghostbur’s smile faltered, and something sad flashed through his gaze. “Ah, um, w-well, maybe we could catch up?” A tinge of desperation seeped into his tone, and he lifted a shaky hand toward him. “I haven’t seen you in a whi—“

Fundy raised a hand, and Ghostbur fell silent. “I’m good, thanks.” He offered him a smile, but it was strained and didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I actually think I’m gonna get going now. Bye.”

Before Ghostbur could even think to respond, he dropped his hand, whipping around and striding away. You blinked, your head still reeling with everything that had happened as you watched Fundy walk off. Tightening your grip on your plate, you took a step forward to follow after him when a quiet voice stopped you.

“[Y/N],” Ghostbur said, his voice coming out small.

You stiffened, then turned, swallowing as you sent him a wary glance over your shoulder. “Yes, Ghostbur?”

The moment his name left your lips, you froze, your jaw going slack. The light had left his eyes, and he only stared down at the ground with a vacant gaze, his hands limp at his sides.

You’d never seen Ghostbur look so... sad. So miserable. He looked defeated—broken. Then again, maybe he was.

Did Fundy really affect him so much?

“Please,” he said softly, so quietly that you could have mistaken it for a breeze. “Please tell me.”

He raised his head, and a pang of sorrow ran through your heart as he took a weary step toward you, his hand gripping at the fabric over his heart. “Where did I go wrong? What did I do to make him hate me so much?”

You blinked at him, pondering, then glanced down at the half-eaten slice of pie on your plate. A frown skittered across your face. You didn’t have much of an appetite, anymore. Sucking in a deep breath, you looked back at him.

“Ghostbur,” you said, “just like how there are some things we cannot change, there are some wounds we cannot mend, no matter how much we try. Your relationship with Fundy is one of them.”

He frowned, a sour gleam flashing in his ghostly eyes. “That’s not fair. I don’t want him to hate my like this forever.”

Something bitter rippled through you, and you snapped, “What you did to him wasn’t fair either, Ghostbur, but there’s no fixing that now.”

He flinched at your sudden shift in tone, and you almost wanted to apologize. Almost. Swallowing, he dropped his gaze to the ground, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “Was I really so cruel?”

You stared at him for a few long moments. Then, you opened your mouth, and what came out was tasted like ice on your tongue.

“Yes. You were.”

Before you could feel even a grain of pity for him, you flipped around on your heel, striding off in the direction Fundy had left. How dare he be so upset that his son hated him when he was the one who made it so. You had seen it all, had seen every despicable choice he made as he chose to neglect his son, as he chose to abandon your best friend.

You couldn’t pity him—you would not allow yourself to.

Taking a shaky breath, you squeezed your fork a little tighter as you made your way down the walkway in search of Fundy. You already knew where he was—of course you knew. What kind of best friend would you be if you didn’t?

The sun had long set by now, and above you the stars twinkled like tiny, flickering candles. You trudged along the dark path, accompanied only by the moon’s soft light before you suddenly veered off the trail. Pushing past the low-hanging branches of the forest, you finally stepped up onto the cliffside, spotting Fundy sitting with his back leaning against yours and his favourite tree back from when you were little.

With a small twitch of your lips, you walked up to him, watching as his ears flicked in your direction. You could never surprise him, as much as you may try, so you simply settled into the space next to him, setting your pie down next to you. He was staring out over the forest below, his legs dangling freely off the edge. You tilted your head at him, then spoke.

“Hey, bud,” you said softly, your eyes scanning the somber look on his face. “You doing alright?”

His gaze flit to yours, then back over the cliff once more. “Sort of. Ish. I guess.”

You sent him an unconvinced look, and he paused, then let a loose sigh escape his lips. “No, not really.”

Leaning back, you offered him a weary smile. “Yeah, I figured. That chat with Ghostbur didn’t go over so well.”

Slowly, he pulled back his legs, curling them up to his chest and resting his head atop his knees. “I know he means well, but it just makes me feel sick, the way he talks to me. It’s not his fault, I know, but I...” He swallowed. “I—“

“It’s okay,” you murmured, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. “You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

He sent you a thankful grin, then his smile fell. Scooting back a bit further, he looked up at the stars, his expression thoughtful. “You know,” he said suddenly, “my experiences with dads has been kind of awful.”

You blinked at him, stunned, then blurted, “You just realized?”

He laughed, his ivory grin glinting in the moonlight. “No, but I think talking to Ghostbur today really got me thinking about it more.” His tail flicked behind him. “Growing up, I always felt like I just had to please Wilbur—like I had to be the best for him.” An almost hopeful look overtook his features. “After all, I was his little champion, right?”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “But he never paid any attention to me. He was always focused on fighting wars and becoming president and—“ He sucked in a deep breath. “—and then he died.”

He furrowed his brows, and you could practically hear his train of thought speeding forward. “Looking back, I can hardly remember a single good thing he did for me. I mean, he wasn’t so bad when I was a baby and stuff, but when I needed him most, he was just...” He paused. “...gone.”

Suddenly, he whipped his head up and turned to look at you. “And then don’t even get me started with Eret. You know, I trusted him.” He held up a hand, gesturing wildly as his tail stood up straight. “He was actually nice to me, [Y/N]. He listened to me and gave me good advice, just like a real dad would. Then the papers came and... and... nothing.”

He stopped, his voice dropping to a tiny whisper. “Again.”

For a moment, he was silent. Then, he let out a long, bitter laugh.

“Oh,” he said, his tone growing wistful, “nothing’s changed, has it?” He ran a hand through his messy hair, his eyes growing glossy in the moonlight, “I’m all alone, just like before.”

Just like that, your heart snapped into two, and you opened your mouth. “That’s not true, Fundy.”

The look he sent you was full of nothing but pure anguish. “It is, isn’t it? I’m just the forgotten son—“ He held up two fingers. “—twice over, now. No one wants me, no one at a—“

Before he could finish, he was cut off by you barreling straight into him, knocking him flat onto his back. Your arms caged him in as you panted over him, your eyes vividly scanning his as he stared at you in shock.

“Fundy,” you breathed, desperation soaking your words, “listen to me. You’ve changed. You’re stronger now, more resilient, and I see that.”

Slowly, you snaked a hand up to rest against his face, your palm pressed against this cheek. “I want you, Fundy. I’m here with you—I always have been, and I always will be.”

Your gaze hardened as it bore into his, steadfast and true. “And as long as I’m by your side, you will never be alone.”

He blinked up at you, his lips parted in awe. Then, ever so slowly, a smile, small but sincere, spread across his face. “Thank you, [Y/N],” he whispered.

Crawling back, you reached a hand out toward him, your smile widening as he grasped it in his. “Anytime, buddy.”

With a grunt, you pulled him forward until he was sitting upright once more. “You know what?” he said abruptly as you let go of his hand.

You cocked your head at him, your eyebrows knitting together. “Hm?”

Fundy flashed you a bright grin, lopsided and goofy in all the right ways. “Who needs a father figure when I have you?”

Your eyes widened as you sputtered, “W-What?”

His gaze suddenly grew serious. “You’re all I need. You’re like...” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “...my friendly figure.”

A few seconds passed in silence as you blinked at him. Then, you burst into laughter, not missing the way his tail bristled at the sound. “Fundy,” you wheezed, “that’s a horrible name.”

He shot you an irritable look. “Well, do you have a better one?”

Your laughter slowly came to a halt, and your eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yes,” you said. “A best friend.”

He looked at you for a moment, then smiled back. “I like that one better.”

Suddenly, you turned, reaching out to your side. “You know what’s even better than that, though?”

His ears twitched. “What?”

When you turned, you held a familiar plate in your hands, a giggle threatening to bubble out of your throat as you took in his shocked expression. “Some pie.” You shoved a fork in his face—a new one. “Here, we can finish it together.”

He sent you a quizzical look, disbelief clouding his features. “Since when did you have a second fork?”

Without missing a beat, you stabbed the new fork into the soft, flaky dessert and held it up to his lips. “No questions. Only pie.”

He blinked at you for another moment, then grinned, opening his mouth wide for you to shovel some pie in.

You really were all he needed.

[chanfictions]

May I please request an anko x fem reader drabble? Where they explore bondage and blindfolds and anko being a freaking tease. With orgasm denial and overstimulation? Nsfw please?

*fans face frantically* Hooboy, this one got away from me. We've escalated a bit out of drabble territory here. Woops. You said overstimulation, and I maybe went a little overboard. Enjoy!

Game Night

Anko x fem!Reader

18+ Content! Minors DNI!

Use of toys including a plug, fingering, bondage, rope, blindfolds, edging, teasing, orgasm denial, overstimulation, dacryphilia if you squint, mind games, voyeurism

3.1k

Anko's ears twitched excitedly as she peered over her beer at you, hiding a cheshire grin as you bashfully admitted to the gaggle of giggling women with whom you were drinking that you had always wanted to try something fun involving bondage and blindfolds. She teased and goaded you into giving her more details throughout the course of the night while the two of you enjoyed a girl's night out with a few friends, and the lot of you shared hushed confessions of your dirtiest, secret kinks.

When the night of celebration and mayhem wound down, everyone trickled off and headed to their respective homes. You went back with Anko to her apartment and binge watched one of your shared guilty pleasures in your pajamas together with a bucket of popcorn before falling asleep in a tangle of limbs, snuggled in a pile on her couch like a pair of kittens.

You didn't think much of that conversation again until tonight, because tonight, you had made plans to go out again. However, Anko, with a devious little twinkle in her eye, suggested that the two of you should stay in for a little game night.

It began with Anko coaxing you into her bedroom with that devious smile plastered to her face, wrapping her fingers around your wrist and tugging you along with her to the foot of her bed where she kept her footlocker full of fun. Standing behind you with her arms coiled around your waist and nibbling at your neck, she finally broke the silence. "So, do you still wanna try that thing you brought up last time we were out with the girls?"

Your cheeks flushed as you bit back a little smile, a soft moan escaping from the gap. Anko had a way with setting the mood like this, turning up the heat in your core with little more than a few sultry whispers. "Mmm, which thing?" You inquired coyly.

A sly little chuckle rolled from her throat as her hands wandered up under the hem of your shirt. "Mmm, the thing involving me blindfolding you and tying you up," she replied cheekily, nipping your earlobe as her hands slid under your bra and gave your nipples a playful pinch.

Gasping, you giggled and wiggled your hips against her. "Wouldn't that involve having to go shopping? You don't just keep rope and whatnot lying around or anything, do you?" The question was meant as a playful one. Little did you know, the answer to that was 'oh yes, and much, much more.'

That was how you found yourself in this exciting predicament. A soft wrap of thick, black cloth obscured your vision, and you currently dangled from the ceiling like a rope-wrapped work of art. Your ankles were fixed to a bar that kept your legs spread. Intricate knotwork decorated your torso, constricting your breathing in a surprisingly sensual manner. You adored how the rope felt against your skin. Anko took such care with each knot as she clothed you in lengths of delicately dyed cotton and held you so closely as she adjusted each loop, it was like it's own sensual kind of foreplay. You sank into a surprisingly happy headspace as she fixed the final knot and looped the slack in its length through the ceiling hook.

While you hadn't been dating long, you knew that Anko was kinky. You just didn't know how kinky. This was all exquisitely exciting, leaving you shifting giddily with anticipation in your binds. Without your sense of sight, every sound echoing through the quiet apartment mattered. It was absolutely exhilarating.

The cheerful humming ringing in your ears as Anko circled you now was surprisingly menacing. With a nervous wiggle of your naked hips, you bit your lip, inhaling sharply as a soft touch ghosted one of your nipples, leaving the little bud hardened and standing at attention. You tried to follow the quiet taps of her footsteps as she moved about, but tracking a talented shinobi like Anko by sound was nigh impossible.

You jumped and your breath caught in your throat when you suddenly felt the warmth of her body pressed against your back and the sensation of a hand moved up the center of your chest, navigating the landscape of knots and ropes entrapping your torso. A soft breath in your ear sent delightful shivers up your spine. "You look so damn good in rope," she purred, walking her fingertips lightly across your skin.

Giggling and arching into her feather light touches, you teased her playfully. "You're like a wizard with this stuff. A sexy wizard with really nice tits." Your little remark was met with her warm palms cupping your breasts and giving them a light squeeze, rolling your nipples between her fingers. A gleeful little moan left your parted lips as you tilted your head back into her. Anko truly had magical hands. Heat pooled between your legs as thoughts of her drifted through your mind while she played with your little buds. When the sensation abruptly faded, you whimpered needily.

Anko bit her lip at the delicious sight of you, all tied up with nowhere to run. She had really outdone herself this time. The winding ropes and knots decorating your body formed symmetrical patterns that were just as pleasing to the eyes as they were to the body wearing them. Circling you again and leaving you blindly craving her contact for a few moments before softly trailing her fingertips up your inner thigh, she ever so lightly swiped her fingers through your folds. "Mmm, you bad little girl. I've hardly touched you yet and look at how wet you are." Her body pressed against yours again, leaving you gasping into the mouth that was just out of reach. You didn't need to see to know there was a mischievous smirk plastered across her face. Anko always looked like she was up to no good, and that couldn't be more true right now. Her tongue darted across your lower lip before catching it between her teeth as she gave your clit some much needed attention.

"Anko," you whined under a little giggle, rolling your hips into her touch. "You're always such a tease."

The devious laughter that fanned across your ear sent shivers up your spine as she slipped two fingers into your throbbing core, toying with you as you gasped and tried feebly to gain some friction against her palm. She worked them masterfully, playing against your g-spot as she gave your clit just enough attention to leave you whining and grinding your teeth. The white hot light of an impending orgasm began to build rapidly. That wide, wicked smile curled across her lips as she listened to you moan and felt you tightening around her fingers before casually withdrawing them and flicking her tongue along your cheek. "I know."

A defeated sound of protest squeaked out of your mouth when she just left you hanging on the brink of release. The spreader bar between your ankles kept you from generating any of your own friction, leaving you pouting with an unattended knot of heat still coiled in your belly. "Ankooo-"

Anko grinned triumphantly before capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, catching one of yours between her teeth again while leaving little flutters of touch everywhere but where you needed it most. "Aww, what's the matter? You weren't about to cum, were ya?" She taunted, her hand wandering down to your inner thighs, brushing against your soaked pussy.

"Please, Anko?" You breathed lustfully as her other hand played and pinched at one of your nipples and her tongue flicked across the other. You ached and throbbed. Every teasing touch tightened that needy heat.

"Mmm, how many?" She murmured mischievously in your ear, slowly dragging her fingers back and forth across your throbbing clit while continuing to knead and play with the nipple caught between her nimble fingers.

Teetering so precariously on the edge, logic and reason had completely fallen out of your brain. All of the intermittent input from those delightfully skilled fingers of hers was ruining your ability to reason. You mewled, trying to arch into her hand for more pressure, but she just chuckled lowly as she denied you and waited to hear an answer. "I don't care, just please--" You threw your head back with a pitiful plea.

"Ask, and you shall receive," Anko grinned wickedly, now giving you the friction and pressure you so desperately wanted while eyeing the pile of goodies she had in store for you after successfully goading you into saying exactly that. She had won. You moaned happily as she coaxed the first one out of you, rubbing circles around your clit just the way you liked it and filling you with her fingers. "Mmm, you're so damn hot when you moan for me like that." She left trails of bites and open mouth kisses along your body, pausing to lick and nibble at your nipples as you clenched around her, giggling almost maniacally as she caught one between her teeth.

Sweating and breathing heavily from that delightful release, you arched into her touch, humming quietly and chewing your lip. "Fuck, this is fun," you breathed. The firm circles she drew continued, eliciting a throaty moan as you squirmed under her ministrations.

Anko almost wished that you could see the perverted smirk possessing her face as she leaned in to kiss you and ran her hands firmly over your knotted body, only momentarily giving your dripping pussy a break. "Oh, sweetie, I'm just getting started," she whispered threateningly, that smirk widening as you squeaked nervously. She chuckled darkly in your ear as she stepped away from you and loudly rummaged through the toys she had at her disposal. "Let's see… what do I want to use on you first..." That mischievous grin never left her lips as her palms closed around two particular objects, bringing them over to you. Your nervous, excited breathing made Anko hum and clench her thighs for a moment. Fuck, you were hot like this, all eager and dripping for her to touch you more. She could feel her own panties soaking just at the sight of you.

"Anko… what did you just pick up?" You inquired through a bit lip.

"Oh, just a few toys we've played with before," she mused with that cheshire smirk, trailing the familiar silicone tip of one she knew you loved down your midline to your navel.

"Oh, gods," you whined, now realizing what she was holding as the sensation of it slowly drifted downwards, dragging across your throbbing clit before Anko slowly began teasing your aching hole with it. This was hands down one of your favorites. It stretched you open and pressed on your g-spot in the most delicious way. "How is that going to stay in place?" You gasped as she slowly began working it into you with teasing thrusts.

"I told you this one came with a harness," Anko grinned widely, enjoying your whimpers and squirms as she slowly pushed it into you, occasionally giving your clit playful licks as she fastened the aforementioned device around your legs to keep the toy in place once it was fully seated.

You moaned loudly. Just the stretch of that thing was amazing, let alone what it did when she turned it on. You bucked your hips forward again, feeling the almost painful tease of her tongue lapping at your puffy clit. After adjusting to how full you felt, another question hummed in your head. "Wait… you said toys, as in plural," you squeaked.

Your question was met with more of Anko's devious laughter. "I know." She planned to make you forget your own name by the time she was through with you. With another chuckle, she dragged the next one across your chest, trailing it over your nipples as it hummed softly, leaving you gasping.

Not being able able see what she was doing was the most blissful form of torture. A whimper rattled in your throat as you swallowed hard and dropped your head back. "I-is that the plug?"

"Mmm, of course it is, sweetie," she purred. "You told me how much you liked being completely stuffed, remember?" She smirked tauntingly. All you could do was squeak in response. In truth, you did love that vibrating plug. It was just one of the little kinks you harbored with a bit of embarrassment. Anko, who was never one to be shy about any kink, happily explored that one with you not long ago and eased you into it. "Relax, baby. You know how this one works," she murmured while coating it with a generous quantity of lube and slowly teasing your puckered little hole with the tip. Your cheeks flushed and you gasped out a pathetic little moan of pleasure. Anko caressed your clit with one hand while slowly working the plug into you with the other, sliding it in and backing off if it seemed like it was too much as you slowly got used to it. You whined softly once it was fully in, and Anko gave your clit a few more rewarding rubs. "That's my girl."

"Fuck," you whispered through gaspy breaths, savoring the feeling of complete fullness from having both holes throbbing and stuffed. It was deliciously intense and distracted you from Anko's next move. "Oh gods, the wand too?" You mewled, upon hearing it buzz in her hand when she turned it on.

"Mm hmm," Anko mused, brushing it down across your body. You felt a length of rope lick your ankle as she unfurled a bit.

"Aaaankoooo, why do you need more rope?" You asked in a breathy moan, the pitch of your voice climbing, struggling to focus with all of the stimulation. Your holes fluttered in anticipation.

Your query was just met with more of that twisted giggling. "Well, I'm still gonna need my hands, so I have to tie this to you," she stated plainly while seating the humming head of it against your pulsing clit and deftly securing the body to your leg.

"Fuuuuuck, you're eeeeviiiiil," you whimpered as your legs began to shake. The vibrations traveling into your swollen clit caused you to tense tightly around the massive toy lodged in your pussy against your g-spot and the plug buried securely in your ass. The sheer magnitude of the compounding sensations left you trembling.

"Aww, poor baby," she taunted with a sly smirk while brushing her fingers against your thighs until she reached the wheel on the vibrator and turned it up a few clicks. The escalating ferocity of the sounds of your panting was music to her ears. She stood in front of you, swallowing your moans in hungry kisses while enjoying a little second hand stimulation from the vibrator that was firmly nestled against your clit. As she felt you nearing another orgasm, she walked behind you, taking both of your nipples between her fingers and pinched hard, relishing your cry as you gushed all over her floor. Your body trembled wildly, unable to produce actual words that weren't just banshee songs. Your legs shook and were hardly able to keep you upright. Your head was swimming as you gasped for air. Your walls clenched feverishly around the objects filling you as she massaged your breasts after she was done torturing them, giving you a splash of relief as she kissed her way up your neck.

Every nerve in your body was set ablaze. The heat between your legs had roared into an inferno as the tightness in your belly only seemed to grow stronger and stronger every time you fell off of that blissful cliff and your overstuffed holes spasmed and fluttered out of control. Your hips bucked reflexively against the vibrating, silicone head that was currently the center of your universe, mewling loudly as Anko laughed menacingly in your ear.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I have to run to the store real quick for some snacks for later. I'll be back in a few. Don't go anywhere, kay?" Anko chirped cheerfully over your pathetic wails. "I'm gonna need you to keep it down though so that no one walks in and finds you like this," she grinned wickedly while popping a gag into your mouth and buckling it behind your head.

You moaned around it hoarsely, drool dripping down your chin and legs trembling violently as another orgasm ripped through your body. You could hardly hear anything over the hum of the vibrator strapped to your pussy and your own screaming. Muffled protests bubbled behind the gag that were soon lost as you cried pitifully when Anko cranked up the intensity on the vibrator to its highest setting. She wouldn't, would she?

"I won't be gone long," she smirked, leaving a playful kiss on your cheek before walking away to the kitchen, opening and closing the door.

Your pleasure-drunk wails intensified as the massive toy inside of you hummed to life and began actively massaging your g-spot. You went weak in the knees, throwing your head back with a muffled, shrieking cry as the knot of heat in your belly broke again and you gushed all over the floor for the second time. Due to the volume of the sound inside of your head, you never heard Anko walk back into the room. She seated herself languidly with a smug smirk as she admired the absolute wreck she had made of you as you dangled only a few feet away - sobbing, drooling, and orgasming uncontrollably. You twisted and squirmed against the silicone head of the vibrator strapped to your throbbing, overstimulated clit as you groaned pathetically, unable to hold back and soaking your legs again.

The sounds of your moans and quivering cries of ecstasy left her biting her lip and sliding a hand down her own pants, working deft fingers through her positively slick folds, just drinking the delicious sight of you. She wasn't going to leave you like that for too long, but she was definitely going to enjoy herself for the time being.

With a content sigh, she sank back into the couch, smirking while pleasuring herself to the sounds and sights of your earth-shattering orgasms. With a happy mewl of her own, she dropped her head back against the couch. "Man, do I love game night."

[morganaspendragonss]

holly's august extravaganza day 4: a friend in me

📍 anon - I don't know but I feel like Carlos and Nancy can have such an awesome best friend dynamic. Maybe something sad/scary regarding Nancy happens where she has to make a report at the precinct and Carlos doesn't tell anyone as she made him promise so he starts to just check on Nancy and they just develop this caring, supportive, beautiful, fun, full of banter friendship to the amusement of TK and the 126.

kept this separate from your original ask because i want to keep those other prompts you sent alongside this one for later 😊

ao3 | 2k | hurt/comfort, brief references to gun violence, mostly just carlos and nancy being besties

Carlos has never seen Nancy look so small.

She’s sitting hunched over in one of the interrogation rooms, shock blanket around her shoulders, hands seemingly moving of their own volition to tear the empty styrofoam cup in front of her to shreds. As soon as Carlos had seen her being escorted into the precinct, shaking like a leaf and clutching her coat like a lifeline, he’d persuaded the officer with her to let him take over the case. His association with the 126 is well known so the officer had been reluctant, but Carlos had managed to wear him down, saying that he doesn’t really know Nancy that well.

And it’s—it’s not exactly a full lie. Through their hangs and TK’s stories, he’s coming to see Nancy as a force of nature, a woman who will let nothing and no-one stand in her way, whether that’s out on the field or during a game of Monopoly. But of her personal life, Carlos knows next to nothing; she mentioned a sister a few weeks ago, and TK delights in teasing her about her growing crush on Marjan, but that’s about it.

He needs to make more of an effort, he decides. When they’re anywhere else but a police station.

Carlos knocks lightly on the door to announce his presence before entering the room, sending her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Nancy visibly relaxes at the sight of him and she drops the remains of her cup, though Carlos doesn’t miss the continuing tremble to her hands.

“Hey Nancy,” he says, sliding into the seat opposite her. “How are you doing?”

Nancy’s lips twitch, the corners barely curving into the beginnings of a wry smile. She breathes out shakily, meeting Carlos’s eyes for the briefest second before staring back down at the table. “I’m not great,” she answers, and for her to admit to that… Well, Carlos suspects it’s not a regular occurrence.

He nods, reluctantly pulling out his notebook and pen, hesitating before flipping to the next blank page. Nancy tracks his movements, resignation clearly etched all over her features. Carlos glances at the two-way mirror—not that it does him any good—then reaches across the table to take Nancy’s hand.

“We don’t have to do this right now,” he murmurs. “If you need more time, just say the word and I’ll leave. Or if you’d prefer to talk to someone you don’t know, we can do that too. Anything you need.”

The sudden tightness of Nancy’s grip is unexpected, as is the flash of panic in her eyes.

“Please, don’t go,” she whispers. “I don’t—” She cuts herself off, shutting her eyes and breathing slowly for a few seconds. Slowly, her hold on Carlos begins to loosen until her hand is slack in his, then she draws both hands into her lap and straightens in her chair. When her eyes reopen, she seems more like the Nancy Carlos knows—strong, confident, assertive—though there’s still clearly an undercurrent of fear underneath it all.

“I’m fine. Let’s do this.”

Carlos bites back an are you sure and settles for clicking his pen, his smile unwavering. “Can you run me through what happened, exactly?” he asks. “Take your time.”

A second or two passes, then Nancy nods, her voice steady when she speaks. “I was restocking the bus at the end of shift. I was alone; Captain Vega was in her office and TK was with the others in the showers—he did try to help but he’d had to go into a fire on our last call to help a patient and the smell of smoke was giving me a headache, so I told him to go.”

Carlos pauses in his note-taking, mentally filing that last piece of information away for follow-up as soon as he sees his boyfriend again. Judging by the amused quirk to Nancy’s eyebrow, she’s fully aware of where his mind has gone, so Carlos clears his throat and motions for her to continue, forcing his thoughts back to the present.

“Like I said, I was alone. I didn’t mind it; it was kind of relaxing, you know? Then this guy appeared from nowhere and pointed a gun at me, saying if I called out or turned on the siren or anything, he’d shoot. I thought—” She inhales sharply, her knuckles going white on the tabletop and her jaw clenching tightly. Her voice sounds different when she next speaks, more controlled, as though forcing each word out. “I thought it was happening again. I thought he was going to take me somewhere, make me his personal pet paramedic, something like that.

“Turns out, he just wanted drugs. I gave him what we had on the rig and he seemed satisfied, so I figured he’d shoot me anyway ‘cause I’d seen his face, right? He didn’t—obviously—but it looked like he was considering it.” Nancy pauses and flicks her gaze up at Carlos, biting her lip. “I think he might have done it,” she admits quietly, “but he got spooked by one of the guys making noise so he just bolted. I’m not sure how long it was between that and TK coming back and finding me. I’m sorry.”

Carlos shakes his head. “It’s okay. We can check the cameras at the station. With luck, that should get us an ID, maybe a license plate if he drove. I think that’s almost everything; just one more question, if that’s okay. Can you tell me what you gave him exactly?”

Nancy nods. “Morphine, Ativan, tramadol… I’d have to check stocks for the exact amounts.”

“We’ll do that, don’t worry about it.” Carlos taps his pen on the pages before flipping his notebook shut and leaning across the table again. “Are you okay?” he asks softly. “Speaking as a friend and not a cop, if there’s anything you need, anything I can help with, let me know.”

She smiles wanly. “I’m okay. I just want to go home and forget all this ever happened.”

“Fair enough. I’ll walk you out to your car.”

Carlos half-expects her to brush him off, but she just nods and allows him to escort her back through the precinct and out to her car. He dithers awkwardly, shuffling his feet as Nancy turns to him, one hand on the door handle.

“Thank you, Carlos. For real. I have the feeling it wasn't a coincidence that you were the one in that room with me.”

The tips of Carlos’s ears go pink as he finds himself caught out. “That, uh… That would not be inaccurate.”

“Well, thanks.” She pulls open the car door and Carlos takes a step back, wanting to wait until she’s safely away to go back inside. Nancy ducks as if to get in, then pauses and straightens again, biting her lip as she looks back at him.

“Hey, Carlos?” she says. “Can you do me a favour and not tell the others? Not even TK. They— They know vaguely what happened, but I’d prefer it if the details and, uh, some of the other stuff I told you could be kept between us.”

He agrees immediately, just grateful that she trusts him enough to handle this for her. “No-one will know any more than they need to,” he promises, which seems to relieve her. She thanks him again, then gets in the car and drives away, Carlos watching after her with one hand raised in farewell.

*

It grows from there.

It’s not intentional exactly, but one text to check up on her soon turns into a steady stream of messages, stories and jokes and even the occasional meme passing back and forth between them. Carlos especially appreciated Nancy's carefully curated collection of dirt on TK, which, as a concerned boyfriend, it is his duty to know. Many a conversation has been spent griping about TK's accident prone ways or sighing over his latest mishap.

Lovingly, of course.

Nancy, 15.48: you’ll never guess what happened this time

Carlos, 16.22: ?

In answer, he receives a picture of a dejected-looking TK sprawled on the floor with Buttercup’s front paws squarely resting on his chest. Buttercup’s tongue is lolling out, a wide grin on his face, and in the background stand the rest of the crew. All of them also seem to have their phones pointed towards TK—probably the reason TK looks so down, as Carlos knows his boyfriend couldn’t be upset with Buttercup to save his life.

Nancy, 16.26: he thought he’d try to teach buttercup some tricks. turns out, dog trainers exist for a reason

Carlos has to stifle a laugh—technically, he is supposed to be working—but his attempt at being subtle is thwarted when his phone repeatedly pings with similar texts and photos from Paul, Marjan, and Mateo. He screenshots the sudden influx of notifications and sends it to Nancy before saving every single photo.

Nancy responds with a laughing emoji and a promise to keep him updated.

*

Not all of their conversations are about TK, naturally.

Carlos, 19.10: I don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her

Nancy, 19.12: i do talk to her. every shift, actually

Carlos, 19.13: Nancy

Nancy, 19.13: carlos

Nancy, 19.14: i don’t even know if she’s into women, alright? it’s not like i can just march up and ask, that’s like waving a banner saying ‘hey, i’m in love with you’ in her face

Carlos, 19.16: Oh, we’re talking about love now, are we?

Nancy, 19.17: can it, reyes

Carlos, 19.20: Noted. Look, take it from someone who’s been navigating gay relationships in Texas his whole life. Sometimes you just have to go for it. Ask her for coffee, test the waters, see where it leads. You never know, it might work out. I mean, look at me

Nancy, 19.24: wow, way to rub your happiness in my face 😑

(Carlos doesn’t find out if she follows his advice, but he does notice her and Marjan showing up to their hangs together)

(Nancy does not appreciate his smugness)

*

Without even realising, they become a formidable team. This fact is highlighted one game night about three months after the incident, when Nancy and Marjan blow into his and TK’s house, a determined glint in both their eyes.

“We’re switching up the teams,” Marjan declares, much to TK’s outrage.

“What? Why?”

“Because,” Nancy continues, “we’re tired of losing to you guys. You’re like, freakishly good at board games and it’s not fair. Plus, we have to watch you both being all lovey all the time when you’re on the same team and it’s exhausting. We want to see you being competitive for once.”

TK pouts, but Carlos just shrugs when he looks to him for backup. “It’ll be fun,” he says, smiling at Nancy and Marjan. TK still looks put out, so he leans in close and half-murmurs, “C’mon babe. How about a prize for the winner?”

TK perks up considerably at the suggestion, and, going by the twin looks of despair on Nancy and Marjan’s faces, they caught both the comment and the innuendo. Marjan groans and Nancy raises her eyes skyward, as if pleading for divine intervention.

“This was a great idea, actually,” TK says, grinning. He quirks an eyebrow at Nancy. “You and me, Nance?”

That seems to shake Nancy out of her silent prayers for strength. “Uh, no. I’m with Carlos.” To emphasise the point, she strides forward and grabs Carlos’s arm, dragging him to the couch. He nudges her gently when they sit, smirking at the disgruntled way she digs into the snack bowl.

“You did say you wanted to see us being competitive.”

“Shut up.”

*

In the end, TK ends up paired with Mateo, and Marjan with Paul. It’s clear from the outset who’s going to win—Nancy and Carlos dominate the board, and not even Paul’s master strategy is enough to catch up with them.

They win by a comfortable margin, fist-bumping in celebration. There’s a general air of bemusement in the room, and when Carlos looks round at the others, he finds four pairs of eyes fixed on them.

“What?”

“Since when have you two been such a good team?” Paul asks, leaning back in his chair and raising an eyebrow.

Carlos shrugs, sharing a smile with Nancy. “Guess we just are.”

[justmaybee]

Feather Sensitive

Summary: Oh, Yamaguchi’s really done it this time. He should just keep his mouth shut from now on. Unfortunately, that’s the exact opposite of what Hinata wants.

A/N: Y’ello! Another off-brand one, but hopefully a fandom peeps recognize. I haven’t seen Haikyuu in a lil, but I love Yamigoops and this has been 90% done for forever so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Based entirely off the second headcanon here, by @ticklishnonsense — absolutely loved it and you can tell cuz I wrote this ages ago for no other reason than having it written down for myself~

A big thank you to OP for letting me use her work as inspiration!!

———

This was a mistake. This was a mistake. This was a mistake.

Yamaguchi can’t will his mind into more elaborate thought, because it’s all just suddenly sunken in.

Hinata’s weight, heavy but not uncomfortable, resting snug on his hips. The loose tank top, just slightly too big on him, stolen out of Kageyama’s stuff at some point during one sleepover or another. And that ridiculously giant feather Hinata’s got poised between his fingers, like it’s a quill and Yamaguchi is a trembling, twitchy sheet of parchment about to be marked up.

When had he told Hinata? Why had he told Hinata?

Tsukki had figured it out, years and years ago; during one of their many one-sided tickle fights, Yamaguchi thinks. It’s been used against him for as long as he can remember, stray fluff from down pillows and blankets brushed over his neck or feet to pull a sudden and squeaky laugh. He’s never, ever told Tsukki just how much it really tickled though, and Tsukki never asked.

So why did he have to go and mention this to a person just as skilled and merciless in tickling people—often Yamaguchi people—into boneless puddles of teary, hysterical laughter?

It’s got to be Hinata’s charm. If Tsukishima has his cold, borderline apathetic, poise to lay base for his killer teasing method, then Hinata’s strength comes in his natural curiosity. Wide eyes, a light voice, and an openness that makes Yamaguchi feel like he can talk to him.

This, apparently, is not the case in a topic involving feathers. Because Yamaguchi will apparently lose all sense of self-preservation and voice his thoughts on how unbearably sensitive he is to a thing most people will flinch at and brush away like nothing.

But of course, it’s too late for him to realize his mistake now. It wasn’t until Hinata came barreling down the hall, shopping bag in hand, to tackle Yamaguchi to the living room carpet that things started rolling into motion.

Now Hinata’s got Yamaguchi pinned, arms under his knees and a big, big smile stretched over his face. It’s so genuine and excited that Yamaguchi finds himself getting a little lost in it, at least until the feather comes back into focus.

“I mean come on, Yamaguchi.” Hinata holds the quill of the feather and traces the soft end up his own arm, dusting it over his collarbone and getting just a hint of a twitch out of his lips before twirling it between his fingers. “I almost think that you’re lying to me.”

But his face must convince Hinata otherwise, because he doesn’t look like he thinks it’s a lie. The tracing of the feather, even along Hinata’s skin has Yamaguchi twitching, breathing funny. Goosebumps rise along his arms, and Hinata is so riled up with energy—so ready to take Yamaguchi apart—that it’s practically impossible for the brunette to even try and stop the wobbly smile making its way onto his face.

Hinata is the one to burst the bubble of anticipation building slowly in Yamaguchi’s gut. He laughs, a delighted little sound, commenting on the cute pink of Yamaguchi’s blush before he goes in for the kill. And Yamaguchi has never been that great at holding back his reactions, especially when he’s already a tense and flustered mess untouched, so the result is pretty immediate.

The first giggle slips hesitantly out of his throat but clears the way for many more as Hinata gently traces the base of his neck, skimming over his collarbones like even a feather could break them if used too harshly.

It’s a little timid, a little reserved, which is a major change of pace from Hinata’s usual quick and dirty way of fighting. He’s always had a ‘take no prisoners’ sort of approach to a tickle fight; either win outright or die trying, but the new method seems to slow him down a bit.

He’s thinking, watching. And luckily, for him and most certainly not Yamaguchi, the change seems to work really well with the soft touch of the feather. Pulling giggle after giggle from his victim and making him sputter at the attention when he realizes how closely he’s being observed.

The plume travels slowly up Yamaguchi’s neck, high enough that he’s able to jerk his head to block out either side as it passes. Unfortunately, that just causes Hinata to speed up the back and forth strokes, attempting to dodge Yamaguchi’s blocks. And it’s effective and so much more ticklish, Yamaguchi chokes on his sudden snort and tosses his head back on impulse, laughter getting louder and more desperate as Hinata takes advantage of the newly exposed skin.

He keeps at it until Yamaguchi feels light-headed, a little delirious with his laughter completely unchecked. The feather strays to flick up over his ear, and the whimpering laugh that comes out keeps Hinata there until Yamaguchi’s shoulder is twitching spastically of its own accord, desperately trying to stop the light, constant brush over his sensitive skin.

He gets a break—thank God—after a few minutes of this. Being dubbed most ticklish in the house (after many, many tests) has left him with pretty high stamina. But somehow a few minutes of Hinata and a feather has him panting for breath like he’d just finished a hundred laps around the gym.

Yamaguchi is so caught up in catching his breath (and trying to calm that tic in his shoulder) that he doesn’t really think about how breaks aren’t much of Hinata’s style either.

His floaty mind comes to bite him when he feels two soft points of contact touch down on his wrists.

His arms jolt on instinct. His elbows move a smidge in either direction but stick firm to the ground. Hinata’s smile takes on a wicked gleam and...oh boy.

If Yamaguchi gets out of this alive, the others will have some real competition for scariest tickler.

The feathers sweep back and forth, back and forth over his arms. They start at the wrist, and would almost feel nice if not for the impending sense of doom that has blood rushing through Yamaguchi’s ears right now.

The swaying movement drifts up, painfully slow. He doesn’t even think it tickles that much right now, but that doesn’t stop him from physically biting his lip to stop the snickers from making their way out.

It’s when the pair reach his inner elbow that first crack appears. Yamaguchi gasps and Hinata perks up, keeping the feathers there a moment longer, letting them sweep side to side a little faster.

From there the cracks spiderweb exponentially.

The gasp ends up turning into a snort. As Himata continues his path upward, it becomes a whine. And when he’s at the faint line where his skin darkens with a tan, from long summer days spent out in a t-shirt, he decides to flick the feathers in an alternating pattern over either arm.

It has Yamaguchi rocking back and forth in a way that he guesses might look kind of funny. Hinata starts laughing anyways. And of course, it’s enough to get Yamaguchi’s lips to loosen and let out the stream of bubbling giggles he’s been suppressing for far too long already.

His arms feel warm, almost as hot as his face, even though their air conditioning has been working pretty decently lately. There’s a faint tingly feeling still left where the feathers had once brushed his skin.

Everything already feels so sensitive, and Hinata isn’t even there yet.

There are butterflies having a—a mosh pit in his stomach right now. He can’t remember the last time he felt so wound up getting tickled. Then again, he can’t remember the last time Hinata put this much...care? Is that the right word for this situation? —into destroying him.

It makes Yamaguchi a little happy, for some reason.

And sometime about that moment seems to be the limit for Hinata’s concentration, because the change from gentle, teasing touches to his usual form of attack is both quick and excruciating.

The moment after, when Yamaguchi suddenly has two feathers sweeping fast little strokes under his arms, his brain completely short circuits.

What leaves his mouth can only be called a shriek and it’s quickly drowned out by the squeaky, panicked laughter that floods the room immediately.

His chest is jerking side to side in vain. There’s hair in his eyes and a little in his mouth from how violently he’s tossing his head around, but he can’t register a thing beyond the millions of wispy, light strands fluttering a fast track over and over and over the soft and sensitive skin beneath his restrained arms.

Hinata gets the bright idea to not try and jam the delicate things towards the floor anymore. He instead tries twirling them in a circular motion in the spaces underneath Yamaguchi’s arms.

Yamaguchi didn’t think his voice was high enough to screech like he used to, but ‘Hey, you learn something new everyday,’ he thinks, entirely delirious.

His back arches off the ground, head tossing back then pressing into his shoulder as if it’ll somehow smother his hysterical laughter.

It’s bright and desperate and so, so loud. Yamaguchi would typically only reach this point when someone’s feeling particularly ruthless with plenty of time to spare, but it could be hours since Hinata first got him pinned down; it sure feels like it.

There are weird little squeaks that pierce the air when he’s got the breath. His limbs are doing this constant squirm that’s got him feeling hot all over. His lashes feel wet and he knows it’s a matter of seconds before the tears start to fall.

But nothing is more prominent than the feeling of soft, soft, so very soft; and it tickles, it tickles, it really tickles.

———

When Yamaguchi’s brain finally starts rebuilding from the mush, hiccuping giggles making their way through his gasps for breath, he feels Hinata still sitting on top of him. Thankfully—mercifully—though, the feathers are nowhere to be seen, and his hands have been let free.

Seeing Hinata’s hand in his peripheral makes him flinch, but he just wipes at Yamaguchi’s cheek, brushing away the leftover moisture.

“I had to stop because you were starting to look like a strawberry,” Hinata grins. His skin is cool against Yamaguchi’s. He leans into the touch.

“So...was that awesome or what?” Hinata continues, voice energetic though he still rubs a soothing motion over Yamaguchi’s cheek.

Yamaguchi takes a second to reflect. On the dreamy tiredness seeping into his bones, the floaty high that fills up his head.

He nods, once or twice. Though from where Hinata’s sitting, it could just be Yamaguchi nuzzling into his hand. That’s fine. Yamaguchi could use the plausible deniability.

Once he’s been declared as officially ‘not a strawberry anymore,’ Hinata helps him up. He only stumbles a little bit, but of course Hinata has to poke fun.

“You know what that means?” Hinata throws out, arm linked with Yamaguchi’s as they make their way to a well-deserved seat on the couch.

Yamaguchi hums in response.

“We’ve gotta start building up your tolerance.”

Yamaguchi’s eyes widen, but he’s pushed onto the couch with a lap full of Hinata before he can say anything. He looks up at Yamaguchi all big eyes and a bigger smile. Yamaguchi swallows.

“We’re doing that again, soon.“

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[jayaury]

Door to Door Demons

Author’s note: Contains fdom, bimbo, seduction, mind control, and naughty uniforms. All characters are eighteen or older. Art by @Moth_Maid

More stuff on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/JayAury

 ~ ~ ~

The silhouettes in the foggy glass made Lukas groan when he got up to answer the doorbell. Great. Jehovah’s Witnesses. He thought about pretending to not be home, but by now they’d have seen his silhouette too, and he couldn’t stand rudeness. With a sigh he opened the door.

Then sucked the breath back in.

True, the pair before him were wearing the familiar uniforms of the group. Those rigid little white and black suits were impossible to mistake.

But those suits were generally not wrapped around such… ample figures.

Nor were they so tight.

And Lukas wasn’t a hundred percent on this, but he was pretty sure no Jehovah’s Witness would ever sport horns, yellow eyes, a spaded tail. Nor would they have skin sultry red or deepest purple.

They could have been twins but for their colouration. The same ample figures. The same beaming smiles and the same flowing blonde hair that framed faces of stunning beauty. The red one flashed a grin with a hint of fang. Her breasts threatened to burst out of her white shirt, her tie attached to a studded collar. “Hi!” she said, stepping closer. “I’m sister Rouge!”

“And I’m sister Violette,” the purple skinned demon said, crowding her partner in the doorway.

“And we were wondering if you’ve heard the good word?” Rouge asked.

Lukas stared, his jaw slack with shock. “Th… the word of… of god?” he asked dumbly.

The pair rolled their eyes, exchanged a glance, and giggled. “Of course not, silly,” Violette said.

“Absolutely not! We’re spreading the word of Beelzebub,” Rouge said.

“Can we come in?”

“Um…”

“We won’t be long.”

“And dearly want to tell you the word.”

“Um… I… ah… O-okay.”

The pair giggled again, pushing inside. “Thank you!” Rouge said, taking his arm, leaning against him, her large breasts squeezed against his chest. “So kind of you.”

“So polite,” Violette added, attaching herself to his other side, sandwiching him between the two sulfuric beauties. So close, Lukas realized that they were about half a head taller than him, threatening to put their busts at eye level. He felt his cheeks flush as the two spun him around, walking him back into the living room. “And what’s our polite young man’s name?”

“L-Lukas.”

“Lukas!” Rouge said. “What a wonderful name.”

“A handsome name,” Violette put in.

“A pretty name for such a pretty boy.”

Lukas cleared his throat, desperate to change the subject. “I uh… w-wait. I um… What exactly is… is the word?” he asked.

“Why, it’s the word of course!” Rouge said.

“The word that will help you live your life without sin,” Violette added.

“W-without sin?” he said. “But… I mean… aren’t you um…”

“Demons?” Rouge said.

“Devils?” Violette added.

“Pretty girls?”

“Lovely girls.”

“Soft girls.”

“Beautiful beauties?”

“How kind of you to say!” Rouge said.

“He really is such a lovely young man,” Violette giggled.

“I um… But, don’t demons like sinning?” Lukas said.

“Oh goodness! Of course we do,” Rouge said.

“But we hate it when humans do it,” Violette added.

“You do?” Lukas said.

“Let us explain,” Rouge said, and gave him a push.

Lukas grunted as he landed back in his easy chair. He realized they’d entered his living room. He also realized that the two beauties had taken a seat on the arms of his chair, leaning against him, smiling down at him with dazzling beauty.

“Sin is so lovely and naughty, but our lord Beelzebub hates it so,” Rouge said.

“He does indeed,” Violette giggled. “Because that means that silly humans are using free will.”

“And that’s so very wrong,” Rouge cooed, her fingers teasing his hair, making his scalp tingle. “It’s just so… naughty…”

“O-Oh,” Lukas gasped, trying to follow them, but finding himself distracted. Their perfume was extremely heavy. Extremely potent. And extremely pleasant. He looked up at the demonic women, feeling small. Feeling uncertain. Feeling… Feeling…

Silly.

“’Oh’ is right!” Rouge giggled. “Well done! And our lord hates people being naughty.”

“People shouldn’t be naughty,” Violette agreed.

“And there’s really only one way to prevent them from sinning.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Th-there is?” Lukas said.

“Absolutely!” the pair chimed. Violette suddenly shifted, sliding from the seat, oozing into his lap. She smiled down at him, her chest pushed out. So big. So soft. The jacket strained around her bust, the neckline plunging, revealing the depth of the valley of her tits. Her weight pressed him down, her smile dazzling him. “Our lord thinks sinning is so very wrong. But there’s only one way to stop it!”

“Just the one,” Rouge crooned, suddenly behind him, her hands on his shoulders, gently massaging.

“Th-there is?” Lukas said, looking between the two, trying to keep track. Trying to suppress the erection that strained his pants with Violette’s firm bottom pressing down on it. His face reddening. Getting him flustered and hot and bothered. God, what was that scent they wore? It was making his head feel so heavy and woolen.

“Oh yes,” Violette said, leaning in closer. “See, sin needs choice. Needs free will. So if we get rid of free will, no one can sin!”

“Isn’t that clever?” Rouge giggled, nipping his ear, making him start.

“C-clever? Oh, uh, I mean… um, I guess so…”

“So glad you agree!” Violette giggled. “But then, how do we do this? How do we prevent people from making silly decisions? How do we keep silly humans from sinning? And then, our lord hit on it!”

“Oh he did!” Rouge said, and Lukas gasped as her soft lips pressed a kiss to his neck.

“Mnnn!” Lukas moaned, her lipstick tingling like ginger.

“Do you wanna know what he realized?” Violette said, leaning in closer, her breasts nearly reaching his face. Her finger rising, teasing those perfect purple orbs, stroking the ample mounds while her dark lashes fluttered, her finger brushing the top button, slipping under it, flicking it open.

Lukas gasped as her breasts bounced, pushing a bit more into the air. A little more revealed. A little more to tease him as he stared at them in awe.

“Do you really wanna know?” Violette cooed, flicking open another button.

“Gotta know,” Rouge cooed, peppering his neck with tingling kisses. “Gotta ask. Gotta know.”

“H-how?” Lukas said, his eyes riveted to her breasts. How they strained, bounced with every button, every one edging her a little closer to freedom. Edging her breasts towards him. Edging him as her hips slowly rolled, slowly rubbed her ass against his bulge until he whimpered.

“Oh my, but it’s so simple,” Violette said. “So very simple. We just gotta take away that free will. Just gotta make all of humanity silly…”

“Mindless…” Rouge cooed.

“Brainless…”

“Eager…”

“Bimbos,” Violette sighed, snapped open the last button, and released her bust into the open air.

They were everything Lukas dreamed. Firm yet soft. Perfect without a hint of sag. Nipples dark points begging for a pair of soft, whimpering lips to wrap around them. They filled his view as they gently bounced, settling. Too perfect for the mortal world.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Rouge said, again licking his ear. “Poor Violette has been so cramped in her jacket all day. Her poor breasts were just aching to be released. Just begging to be let into the open. To be stared at by some nice, silly boy.”

“M-mind?” Lukas stammered, finding it hard to look away. To tear himself from those perfect tits.

“You don’t, do you?” Violette said, wrapping her arms beneath her bust, cradling those perfect orbs and fluttering her lashes at him. “I mean, if you do, I could always put them away again…”

“No!” Lukas said, then, meekly. “Um, I mean, I don’t… um… don’t m-mind at all…”

The two demons exchanged a look. Their smiles widened. “I’m sooo happy to hear that,” Violette said as she moved her arms, let her breasts bounce back into place as she leaned forward again. “Aren’t you, Rouge?”

“So pleased,” Rouge said, her hands moving down Lukas’s chest, her own breasts pressing into the back of his head.

“Because you know, there’s a certain kind of person who just loves to watch my breasts,” Violette giggled, her hips lazily working, rubbing herself against his bulge.

Lukas whimpered, his cock twitching in his pants, his eyes enthralled with those perfect breasts as they were teased back and forth. Back and forth. “Wh-what kind?”

“A pretty boy who knows sinning is so very wrong.”

“So very bad,” Rouge added.

“And staring at my breasts isn’t a sin.”

“Of course not,” Rouge cooed, kissing his neck again, her tongue teasing the sensitive flesh, the vein, tasting the way his pulse hammered under his skin as his face grew nearly as red as hers.

“But… you know… doing other things with them would be,” Violette said.

“Oh such sinful things,” Rouge whispered. “Tell him about them, sister.”

“Like burying his silly head between them?” Violette cooed, giving her naked breasts another bounce. “Or kissing them? Kissing them and licking them and worshipping my big, purple breasts? Oh Rouge, that’d be very naughty. Very sinful.”

“And we can’t have that,” Rouge said. “We’re good girls! We don’t want to sin with anybody.”

“Oh no,” Violette said, even just nodding sending her breasts wobbling. “Can’t do it. Can’t let you bury your silly head between my big, mind melting tits. Can’t let you kiss and lick and love and swoon and beg for more. And I certainly can’t play with your wonderful cock.”

“We can’t?” Rouge gasped.

“Oh no, sister! We could never,” Violette said. “That’d be so very sinful! Riding a poor mortal’s cock? Why, that’d damn them for sure!”

“Oh no!” Rouge said, and Lukas could feel the smile as she kissed him. “What can we do? Because… Oh sister, I think Lukas wants to do all those things!”

“You do?” Violette said, looking down at him, her eyes flashing, her lips curling in a smile.

“Um… um…” Lukas gasped, so red, so confused, so horny and desperate, his pre staining his pants, his eyes locked with those big breasts as they rocked. As they bounced. As her ass rubbed and teased and played with his poor, throbbing cock.

“Be honest now,” Violette cooed. “Good boys are always honest. Polite boys always answer questions from pretty demons. Are you horny, Lukas? Do you want to play with my big breasts?”

“Y-yes,” Lukas whimpered.

“You do! Oh, Lukas. I’m so sorry. But I can’t let you do that. But…” Violette said, looking thoughtful. “Hmm. But… maybe there is a way…”

Lukas looked at her hopefully, panting, drooling, mind swimming in perfume and lust and desire for the two beauties. But especially Violette. Violette’s big breasts. Her big, purple, perfect breasts that filled his world. His mind. His silly little head with desire and need. “H-huh?”

“Why, if you were a brainless bimbo, then you wouldn’t have to use free will! Why, you’d do just anything we told you. You’d be incapable of sinning! Dumb bimbos can’t be held responsible for doing what their mistresses tell them.”

“Oh no. No responsibility at alllll,” Rouge cooed. “Just being a silly bimbo for mistresses.”

“Silly bimbo.”

“Brainless bimbo.”

“Handsome bimbos being played with.”

“Toyed with.”

“Silly bimbos burying their empty heads between big breasts.”

“Between soft thighs.”

“Silly bimbos getting fucked.”

“Getting their bimbo cocks sucked.”

“And fucked.”

“And all you gotta do is convert!”

“It’s so easy,” Violette said, giggling. “Gotta be. Can’t make it too complicated. Boys can be so silly.”

“So dumb,” Rouge cooed, making him shiver and moan as she gently sucked on his earlobe.

“You just gotta kiss my big breasts,” Violette said, leaning in closer. So close. Her breasts so big before him. And looking closely, he could just make out the faintest imprints of other lips on her soft skin. “Can you do that, Lukas? Can you kiss away your mind? Your free will? Can you be a silly bimbo for us?”

“We just want to help you,” Rouge said, her fingers undoing his shift, her hands ghosting across his chest, his ribs, his pounding heart. “We just want to save you. Save your soul from sinning. From freedom. From being anything but what all mortals are born to be. Silly…”

“Mindless…”

“Lovey…”

“Dovey…”

“Bimbos…”

With every word Violette had leaned in closer, her breath warm, scented, perfumed. Lukas moaned softly, her breasts an inch from his lips, wobbling tantalizingly. Teasingly.

“So please. Won’t you hear the word?” Violette said, smiling.

“The word of Beelzebub,” Rouge whispered.

“The word,” Violette said, leaning in a little closer, “is… obey…”

Lukas tried to see the downsides. He wasn’t dumb. Or, maybe he was. Maybe he was always dumb. Because he was feeling it. Feeling so dumb. So eager. So much like a silly, brainless bimbo. Especially with Violette rubbing his poor cock. His silly cock. With his neck tingling with Rouge’s kisses. With his breath panting. His mind spinning.

And those breasts so near.

So perfect.

So begging to be kissed.

To be obeyed.

To make him the perfect.

Wonderful.

Mindless.

Bimbo.

He didn’t even need to think. Because thinking was so far beyond him. All Lukas had to do was lean forward, and press a kiss to those wonderful breasts.

“Mmmmm!” Violette moaned, arching gently as Lukas kissed her breast, his lips tingling, leaving behind the faintest mark among all the others. He knew this, because a second later, Violette’s arms wrapped around his head, and pulling him into the wonderful softness of her tits.

“Good bimbo,” she cooed.

Lukas moaned. He couldn’t answer. He was in heaven. In sweet, perfumed, softest heaven. Her breasts swallowed him up. His lips kissed them.

Loved them.

Adored them as only a mindless, brainless, silly bimbo could.

“Mmmm. Good boy,” Violette moaned as she reached down, her ass lifting just enough for her hand to tease open his pants. To draw out his poor, throbbing cock into the open. “There we are. Now, let’s milk that silly mind right out of you, hm?”

“Yessss,” he moaned, his eyes lost, misty, drowned in obedience. In pleasure.

Rouge giggled. “Silly bimbo. You don’t have to agree. You’re ours now, remember?”

He didn’t remember. But as Violette’s pussy moved down, enveloped his cock, he knew this, at least, he’d never forget.

“Ooooooh,” Lukas moaned into Violette’s wonderful breasts as she bounced on his lap, his sensitive bimbo cock tingling in her tight, hot depths. His moans muffled by her bust. His mind melting as she rode him, panting, gasping.

“Mnnn! What a gooood bimbo. Such a good bimbo. That’s it, baby. Oh yes. Oh hells yessss! Give me that bimbo cock. Let me milk out your silly mind. Oh yes. Yessss! Baby yessss! Cum in me, darling. Cum your silly brain out. Cum in mistress. Yes. Yessss!”

Violette moaned, burying him beneath her breasts. Her pussy. Her ass. Riding him down into the chair. Riding him into oblivion. When at last Lukas came, it was like she was taking in everything from him. All his memories. All his thoughts. All his will. His every bit of self as he came and came and came, pumping all his seed into the hungry depths of the demoness.

And he loved it.

Moaning, kissing, adoring Violette, he gave everything up to his wonderful mistresses. His goddesses. He sank into the chair under her, head empty, filled with pink clouds of perfect submission. Distantly, he heard the two demons giggle.

“How wonderful! Another convert.”

“We’re doing marvellously, Violette.”

“Magnificently, Rouge. But there’s so much more to be done. So many other poor souls needing to hear the word.”

“Too true, sister. But ah, I believe it’s my turn with our new toy?”

“Ah! Silly me. Of course, sister. Here.”

Lukas gasped as the plush purple breasts departed, then moaned as a pair of perfect red ones took their place. Rouge giggled, then moaned as she sheathed herself upon their new slave, her hips lazily bouncing atop him as she buried his whimpering face beneath her perfect breasts. Another eager convert to the church of bimbo.