#thanks for the unintentional writing prompt

[technical---difficulties]

It is of great importance to always make sure to carefully check your trenchcoats for before putting them on, as the large, dark clothes are a common hiding place for many a wild or wayward kobold. While the common methods to check are either by vigorously shaking the coat or by rifling through with your hand, these are heavily advised against. The former option may cause harm to any kobolds inside, and the latter may scare them, often resulting in bitten hands. 

Instead, it is recommended try coaxing them to come out by offering a treat of some sort. Bacon and sweet deserts have proven the most effective, but other meats or baked goods have also been shown to work quite well. In addition, the kobold(s) that receive this treat will often give a gift later as thanks.

Some kobolds may even choose to stay with their gift-giver indefinitely. Well over 70,000 people have adopted kobolds in this way, and roughly 92.47% of those people have said that their life has seen drastic improvement ever since. However, taking care of a kobold is a lot of responsibility. For a guide on the needs of your new scaly friend, please view chapters six through nineteen of “Kobolds: A Guide to Draconic Companionship.”

[Excerpt from “More than a Pest: Kobolds and You” by Doctor Volo Tucker, PhD]

While three kobolds in a trenchcoat is the most common number, there can be anywhere from zero to hundreds of kobolds in any given trenchcoat.

[satoruhour]

geto reaction to you wearing only his shirt

OVERSIZED NEVER LOOKED THIS GOOD

a/n: lore. a lot of lore. i always cannot help but write backstories. ure gonna have to bear w/ me SORRY !!!! based off of this drawing that i wanted to write sum about but then i thought why not combine it w/ this prompt. i went a little insane on this mb / tagging @papersirens @crysugu @getousex @hyomagiri @slttygeto, who else r geto fuckers

wc: 2.9k

warnings: roommate!geto, soft dom!geto, mutual pining, reader steals one of geto’s shirts, geto is also a little bit of a pervert, mentions of panty sniffing but geto doesn’t do it, m! and f! masturbation, fingering, clit stimulation, oral / cunnilingus, slight nipple play, spitting (on ur pussy), finger sucking, p -> v sex, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

geto was a sweet roommate.

he’s always topping up on supplies when you needed things, pushing away your hand whenever you wanted to pay. where he got all his money, you weren’t even sure. geto cleaned the house, he cooked dinner, hell, it was like you two were married at this point. even gojo had asked if he would get together with someone who wasn’t you (and of course, in classic gojo way, he was skilled in asking it in a roundabout way), geto’s firm and abrupt “no” was enough to make gojo grin from ear to ear.

even he wasn’t sure when it all started — you were always friends with the three of them, gojo and shoko and himself, participating in their antics and getting in trouble in high school. there was hardly any dull times between the four, looking at you through the lens of a friend. but when those lens started to turn blurry and black, seeing you in a new light of tighter outfits and a sweet smile that looked like it contained something hidden, suguru genuinely hoped it would all go away.

it’s not like he thought he was unattractive, but you wouldn’t go for a guy like him, someone hidden behind gojo’s bright personality or shoko’s satirical, cool demeanour. he was oh so oblivious, however, turning an unintentional blind eye when you’re hanging with gojo for the day but only because you wanted to know what birthday present would be best for him, or having a movie night with shoko only to disregard cher horowitz on the television just to ask if geto would like your new nails and hair.

the two of you were so dense when either of you were hanging with them, going on for so long even after taking a gap year for shoko’s overseas med school attachment. they assumed the two of you would’ve done something then, but it was stagnant, dry, that gojo almost wants to take matters into his own hands; so when you’re begging geto if you could room with him, since he lived near the university you were all attending together,

“suguru, pleasee— i wouldn’t wanna travel for hours on end just for like a two hour lecture.”

shoko smiles, gojo laughs, slinging an arm around you, “help your poor friend out, suguru.”

gojo torments him to no end. he doesn’t regret it one bit when your arms are thrown around his neck in a bear hug in thanks, feeling himself get hard just from the way your breasts press against his chest.

“yeah,” it’s said breathily, softly, “it’s no problem.”

suguru thanked god you hadn’t wanted to move in that very same day, cause all that could be heard throughout the small apartment was him pumping his cock to a polaroid picture of you, calling out your name softly as he came all over the photo of your bright smile. he didn’t need the fan that night, the guilt was enough to burn him alive. and after, he acted like nothing happened, except the many, many times he’d think of taking you on every surface of the house, suffering silently for an entire year as the two of you fell into routine day by day.

today might change, however, when geto hangs the last piece of clothing, something that was hardly a difficult task, but it proved to be the hardest thing to date when he’d spot the bras and underwear lying at the bottom of the basket each time he prepared to do laundry. geto wills himself to wash, hang it, and get out but he cannot tear his eyes away from the unmistakable dark spot at the centre of your panties before it’s thrown in, taunting him to just pick it up to breathe in your scent, to do something to defile it, to let his desires take over. but he wasn’t gojo, no, he’d wait all the time in the world for the right time, even if it was at the expense of a throbbing cock and flushed cheeks.

“(y/n), ’m going to the store, you want…” his voice trails off when the drawer before him shows only one clean shirt left, sighing when his favourite shirt has gone missing, again. he knows it simply by the missing tag on the top, cut off terribly by your hands on a drunk movie night. he was thankful you missed his skin by an inch, but he cherishes that shirt and night dearly. geto simply brushes off the mishap, grabbing a sweatshirt instead.

there’s a rap on your door that quells all movement from your side, fabric clutched tightly between your fingers that it hurt just a little.

“(y/n)? love? you okay?”

“y— yeah, i’m fine sugu. what did you say earlier?”

“i’m going to the store. it’s grocery day so i’ll be there for a while — need to stock the fridge up for the week. you want anything?”

geto wishes so desperately to see your face now, asking if you could go and holding a reusable bag by your side, but strangely you don’t even make a move to open the door.

“no it’s fine, and okay! i’m— uh, busy with something,” you look towards the door and back to the article of clothing in your hand, “so i’m sorry i can’t help today.”

geto’s disappointment is brief, but he recovers as soon as he hears your apology, in that sweet, honeyed voice you love to use on him, as oblivious as you were of its effect.

“’s fine, see you later!” there’s a weird and panicky bout of feeling geto gets, but he’s satisfied with the hum you sound through the door. and once the door clicks behind him, you’re unlocking your own door softly, ensuring your surroundings are safe.

geto wasn’t the only one. between your fingers were his favourite shirt, straight from the dirty laundry of last week’s load; it’s been a reoccuring thing these few weeks after realising you maybe want geto to fuck you silly. you’re sneaking around undetected with it, holding it to your nose, breathing in his natural musk. it was the one shirt you liked on him — always put on when with you — it’s like your secret little joke from that night. and it was so sinful, the way your breath hitches from just his scent, the way your panties pool with arousal.

what would it be like to actually wear it?

the thought crosses your mind and leaves just as fast, heart pounding in your chest when you realise you’ve never tried that before.

peeling off your top, you slip it on carefully, swallowing from how much larger he is than you. the sleeves extend past your elbows by a little, so much cloth on you that you’re a little lightheaded by the possibility of being geto’s, belonging to geto.

“oh god…” you sigh, feeling your pussy throb at the thought, and your hands are shy when they creep in between your thighs. they rub at your clit gently, imagining geto was doing the work instead. he’d be so gentle with his hands, cupping your thighs, spreading your legs.

you’re whining when your fingers find your way into your cunt, nose filled with the scent of geto and head filling with the repeated runnings of his tongue on you, his cock in you, his whole person devoted to you. it’s cute how you don’t know that’s already the case. your fingers are lacklustre as you pump them in and out while your other hand is busy with your clit and you look like a goddess: spread out on your bed in nothing but your roommate’s shirt, a soft, slow melody playing from your phone.

you’re so entranced by the sensations you don’t hear the front door opening and the rustle of the plastic bags (he forgot the reusable bags) containing your groceries, distracted by the phone call he’s having with gojo who teases him through the line. his best friend says stupid crap like she’s definitely into you, too. what her panties smell like? have you guys fucked yet?

the last two was enough for geto to whisper a soft satoru!, clearly displeased with the way he was asking about you, about you both that he only rolls his eyes, muttering an annoyed “i’m hanging up, you pervert. i’ll talk to you later—”

setting down the bags, he frowns again upon seeing the closed door, although not as closed you thought you left it.

“suguru— f-fuck, right there—” geto chokes on his saliva at the moans coming from behind the door, careful not to step on the wrong floorboard below him as he lines up with your room door — a terrifying feat rewarded by your needy whines begging for him. he can hear the wetness of his roommate’s cunt, and he wants to take a peak so bad; so he does just that and stiflies a groan at the sight.

your hair is splayed out all around you, pussy facing the entrance of the door just perfectly and his shirt draped over your body. it sends him into a frenzy, head reeling at seeing his shirt so oversized and so perfect over your body that he swears he cums a little at the display. your cute face scrunched up in pure pleasure, your toes curling around the bedsheets he changed for you.

oh, shit.

and geto panics when your head shoots up, eyes meeting his and your hands halting.

fuck, did i say that out loud?

you’re speechless although your reflexes cause you to close your legs immediately, scooting up the bed like you’ve just got cornered by a predator. it was similar — geto with his big, brooding self, moving slowly into the room with both hands up and a dazed look behind his eyes, you, exposed in the eyes of a hungry man who’s craved you for so many months. you like it.

“you’re— you’re wearing my shirt,” geto gulps, causing you to let out a nervous laugh.

“yea— yeah…”

geto thinks that maybe this is it. this was the moment he’s been holding back on for so long, and so he crosses that boundary into your space, stopping right at the footboard of the bed. you follow suit, going onto your hands and knees and crawling to him that he tilts his head back. everything you do drives him crazy.

suguru’s words is heavy, “you think you’re cute, hm? stealing my shirt and then moaning out my name and fingering your pussy like that…”

your breath shakes, ascending to your knees so you’d reach his height, but not quite. he tugs you closer to him.

“yeah.” it’s so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it, “been wanting you for a long time.”

your roommate hums, lips hovering over yours just by an inch. you’d probably pass out if not for your racing heart and pulsating core.

“yeah?”

you’re finished with words, resorting only to a shy nod before geto crashes his lips onto yours, wrapping the other arm around you as yours go around his neck. it’s messy, filled with drool, devouring you on the spot for teasing him for so long, mouths moving in sync with each other. there’s a soft moan that escapes your mouth when you feel him manhandle you with ease, picking you off the bed to set you down on your back gently.

“c’mon, let’s see the mess you made,” you mewl at the words but your legs are stubborn, still in disbelief at the way suguru treats you, but you let him pry your legs apart after some gentle praises. you stifle a smile when you see how geto exhales at how beautiful your pussy is, leaking from your hole while your puffy clit is begging to be touched.

“oh, she’s so fuckin’ pretty…” your roommate mumbles, intoxicated on your scent as he bends down, giving your cunt one last loving look before he looks to you with a small grin. it’s clear he cannot wait, but he pauses for the words he wants to hear.

“wan’ you to eat me out, sugu,” you’re mumbling and suguru thinks it’s so cute, only responding by giving you a peck on your inner thigh, a soft yeah? before he goes down on you.

geto’s tongue on you is slow and cautious, drawing languid circles around your clit as he plays with your thighs, moaning softly into your core.

“s’damn sweet,” you can feel the stretch of a smile before he resumes, drawing you in slowly with each lick, each suck. geto doesn’t let your arousal go to waste, using a finger to scoop up your juices before he rubs the area around your hole and then the first push into your pussy makes you let out a loud, wanton moan.

“oh— your fingers, sugu, they’re—” they’re so much thicker and longer, everything that you couldn’t feel before now feels too much and yet your cunt gives him his answer by clenching around his longer finger.

“better than yours?” he asks with a lopsided smile.

you huff in indignance — not your fault you had shorter fingers, “yeah.”

“i’ll make full use of ’em, baby,” geto gasps softly when he pushes his finger right to the hilt, obsessed with the way your hand closes around his wrist. “too much?”

you shake your head, “n-no, just— feels too good.”

your roommate laughs softly, “princess is just too sensitive.”

he’s tempted to chuckle again when he sees how the pet names affect you, but soon he’s adding a second finger and pushes in, moving at a slow speed. and then when he adds his mouth into the mix, you’re begging for him to hurry; his eyes flutter close, getting lost in everything that you dish out.

geto’s pace is routine like his life, but it’s not any less pleasurable as he curls his fingers upwards, stretching you out and hitting your spot repeatedly. he continually flicks his tongue and sucks and slurps, tasting your essence once and needing a second, third, fourth, umpteenth taste, bringing out the most delicious moans to fall from your lips. it’s like hearing aphrodite sing, and yet you cross her by miles both in beauty and voice. surely, he shouldn’t mention that out loud, but eros can’t possibly help the arrow puncturing his heart, and looking at his psyche now, he thinks you look absolutely flawless.

“f-feel so good, mmh— so deep, suguru—!” his eyes snap open to look at you with hooded lids, sending you a cheeky wink before he starts to suck on your bundle of nerves, keeping his mouth latched around it as his fingers speed up. the noises of your cunt sucking him in paired with your whines just sound so good, and the scent of his shirt is dizzying, pulling it higher and higher till it pools around your chest. you watch as geto pulls away for a second, gathering saliva in his throat before he spits on your pussy, and the action is so lewd your jaw drops and your hips start to hump against him. 

“ya like that? filthy girl,” geto smiles, rubbing his thumb into your clit and there’s that distinctive build-up in your stomach, coiling and burning until lays his tongue flat onto your cunt, pressing it deep along with the fingers that curl up in your pussy.

“su—” you don’t even have time to tell him, cumming all over his fingers and soaking the sheets, flustered at the in-awe look geto has on his face at how the shirt had ridden up, at how your hands cup your tits and play with your nipples, at how your cunt gushes so sweetly for him. he continues to pump his fingers to let you ride out your orgasm, relishing in the whine you let out when he removes his fingers.

“patience, sweetheart,” geto moves up to reach you, fingers waiting inches away from your lips. you’re taking his fingers into your mouth, keeping eye contact as you wrap your tongue around them and sucking your cum off of him, swearing lowly when you grab his wrist and shove them deeper. “but then again, we’ve been dancing around each other for too long, now.”

you smile at his allusion to the many times that the what-ifs could’ve come true, and yet now you’re tangled up like this in his shirt.

once geto’s underwear comes off, you’re gaping at the cock that he pumps, clearly looking intimidating enough that geto has a hand to your knee and kisses it gently. “we’ll make it fit, alright?”

you nod a little timidly, taking his hand off and twining your fingers, “yeah, i trust you to take care of me.” you make a quick move to remove his shirt but he stops you, saying something embarrassing about wanting to see how cute and small you look in his shirt. you’re scoffing and pushing at him later, you’re just too tall.

he takes care of you perfectly fine — when geto fully sheathes himself in you, he can only focus on your gummy walls that wrap around him fully, his eyes are rolling to the back of his head and you’re grasping at his hands that grab your hips so hard. your roommate fucks you so well, your body limp and your pussy begging to milk him dry that it spills out so much — geto groans into your neck with reddened cheeks at that later.

you’re receiving a noise warning the very next day, alongside a QR code that takes you to a link for soundproof foam, and all you can do is laugh at each other. like routine, geto is already gathering the ingredients for an apology cake, beside him right in that little kitchen in another shirt of his that starts to smell more and more like you—

as his roommate and maybe now, something more.

part two ♡

[moonstruckme]

hi mae, how you've been? if your request are open could i make one? if they're not, please ignore this ^^

could you write remus with (gn) reader that struggles with english? (as a language fjdndnd). for example, they could be an exchange student and finds difficult to find the words to communicate, but can completely understand a whole conversation, like its just hard for them to express themselves? idk if you get what i mean, sorry for the nonsense 😭😭😭

you write beautifully, i can't wait to read the next thawing out chapter!!!!! xoxoxo

Thank for requesting angel <3

cw: hints of maybe some social anxiety (?) around language learning

Remus Lupin x gn!reader ♡ 1k words

In group settings, you’ve become an unintentional wallflower. The conversations among this group, specifically, are too rapid-fire for your tentative tongue to keep up with, so you find yourself tracking it and letting your own thoughts pass unvoiced. At least at Sirius’ Christmas party, you’re not the only wallflower in the mix. 

Remus acts much like you, sometimes. He sits back, listens, smiles to himself at his friends’ antics. Sometimes James or Sirius will prompt him with a question, like they’re used to having to drag him into their two-man show, but for the most part he seems content to enjoy being around everyone in quietude. Until, at least, he leans over to speak to you. 

“You alright?” he asks in a low voice, underneath the story James is telling about Christmas shopping with his mum. 

You blink, surprised. “Yes.” 

“You seem a bit quiet.” Remus looks curious, but he doesn’t push. There’s a tiny fluttering in your stomach at being noticed. You’ve talked with Remus on a couple of occasions—and it’s true, you did have more to say then than you do now, in this bantery group—but you wouldn’t have expected him to note the change. “How’s your drink?” 

He’s looking at your cup, nearly full despite the hour you’ve been nursing it. 

“It’s…” You don’t know the polite way to say what you want to say. Maybe there is none. 

Remus smiles. “You aren’t in love with it, then?” 

You think you might go still, just the phrase in love sending heat to your cheeks. “It’s not very bad,” you try to laugh. “It’s…what’s the word…heavy?”

His brows furrow for a second, but then he realizes. “Oh, is it very strong?” 

You nod, relieved. “Yes.” 

He laughs. “Well, that’s what happens when Sirius makes them. Sorry, we ought to have warned you.” He glances over his shoulder at his friend, as though checking whether he’s been overheard; you don’t get the impression he would care much if he had. When his eyes return to you, you have the impression of staring into a fireplace; a steady, comforting warmth. “Come with me,” he says. 

Remus leads you to the kitchen. To the scene of the crime, where your first drink was concocted. Sirius is nothing if not well prepared; the counter is stocked with rows of alcohol and mixers, plus canned drinks and non-alcoholic options. Remus finds you a new cup. 

“What do you like?” 

You can see a bottle of what you want on the counter, but the name eludes you. You’re not close enough to try and read the label. “Anything.” 

Remus’ eyebrow twitches. “Really, anything?” He looks at you. It feels like being peeled like a tangerine, like he’s somehow seeing your squishy insides. “You don’t have any preference?”

You gnaw the inside of your cheek. “I, uh…” You reach past him, picking up the bottle. “This, please. Sorry, I don’t have the name…” 

“That’s alright,” Remus says easily. He gives you a gentle smile as he takes the bottle from you, and your heart does something awful behind your ribs. “You don’t need to know it. Whatever works, right?” 

“Right,” you echo embarrassedly. 

He asks you to pick a mixer, and when you point again starts to pour. “So,” he says, “is there a reason you’re not talking to us?” 

You blink at him. “What?” 

“You’ve just been keeping more to yourself tonight.” There’s a hint of something you can’t identify in Remus’ tone, but you can’t seek clues in his face when he’s looking down at your drink. “Is it something we did?” 

“No. I’m not…no.” You shake your head fervently. “I like you.” You take Remus’ wrist, and he looks up, surprised. “I like you.” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” His voice softens at the distress in your expression. “I was only joking, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” 

Relief seeps into you. You feel your posture ease, your face clearing, but Remus only melts further. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He wraps an arm around your shoulders, drawing you into a hug. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I didn’t really think you were angry with us.” Your arms come around him too, on instinct, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s just that you’ve been so quiet and I wanted to ask why, but I was only teasing.”

“It’s okay.” You laugh a little, giddy on physical contact. “It’s not you.” 

Remus hums, still apologetic. “What’s going on, then?”

“Nothing’s going on.” You search the far corners of your mind, reaching for the words. “I’m quiet because…because I’m slow. It’s more difficult with many people.” 

Remus pulls back a bit, frowning. “You’re not slow, sweetheart.” 

“My English is slow,” you clarify.

“That’s…no.” He shakes his head. “I’m sure it does take longer to find the right words, but you don’t have to stay quiet because of that. We can wait.” 

“It’s okay,” you try to explain. “Sometimes, people need to talk fast, but, for me…it takes time.” 

“That’s fine,” says Remus. “We get it. Or, actually, we don’t, which is probably the more important part. You speak more than one language. That’s not something any of the rest of us can say—well, except Sirius, but his parents were twats, and he’s more of a twat for it, honestly.” His eyes widen a fraction. “Not that knowing more than one language makes you a twat—Sirius is, but you aren’t. I’m not trying to call you a twat.” 

You shake your head, smiling. 

“I’m trying,” Remus laughs, “to say that you’re very smart, much smarter than any of us in there who only grew up speaking English and haven’t aspired to anything more since. So if you need to speak a bit slower to get your point across, that’s perfectly alright. Is that…did that come across right?” 

“Yes,” you laugh, warmth in your cheeks. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me.” Remus gives you another hug, briefer. “Just don’t be quiet, yeah? How’s this?” 

You take a tentative sip of your drink, trying to wrangle your smile. “It’s good,” you assure him. 

“Good. Let’s go.” He starts leading the way back to the party. “You had something to say when Lily was talking about her botched muffins last week, I could see it on your face. I want to hear all about it.”

[clarkeybabey]

❝ wish you were sober ❞

# prompt; "I got you flowers" "what's the occasion?" "uh... just because?"

# playlist; wish you were sober, conan gray, bubble gum, clairo

# word count; 999 (i wish i was kidding)

# note; sorry i've been mia guys, i had nooo inspiration or ideas for a few days:(. definitely send some requests my way id love to write anything for you guys.

Although today was your free day with no filming or other commitments, some of your friends asked if you'd like to hang out. You decided it would be better to catch up on all the laundry that had been piling up from the past month of traveling. The messy bun you put your hair in had sagged its way down to the nape of your neck evidence of your many half-assed attempts

During your search for straggling socks for the laundry, an unexpected knock on the front door echoes through the empty flat. Not expecting visitors at this hour, you wonder if it might be your roommate who has forgotten her key.

Another brief knock on the door grabs your attention, followed by the sound of your name being called. That's definitely not your flatmate, hurriedly, you gather the scattered clothes around you, tossing them into the hamper with a sense of urgency. Speed-walking to greet the unexpected visitor.

When you reach for the doorknob you step up onto your toes looking through the peephole, you feel the beat of your heart thump against your ribs as you realize the visitor is none other than your long-time friend, Arthur Fredrick. Taking a deep breath and mustering up courage, you turn the lock, opening the door, excitement bubbling up inside of you.

Nearly immediately you notice how unsteady he is on his feet and to your surprise he's holding a bouquet of flowers out to you, "Got these-" he's interrupted by a hiccup, his free hand coming up to his chest, his face reddens making you smile, "Sorry, got these for you," despite knowing how intoxicated he is, you feel warm all over at the gesture.

He grins cheekily, although he can't help but stumble slightly due to his intoxicated state. Through his inebriated haze, he notices your nervous demeanor at the sight of him not even trying to hide his amusement, "Thank you," another hiccup from him makes you pause whilst he composes himself again, 'For what exactly?"

Curiosity is laced in your voice as you carefully accept the flowers from his wobbly hands, gesturing inward with a nod of your head. "Come inside, it's bloody freezing out here," you say, concerned when you notice his lack of coat and the shorts he's wearing.

Steadying himself against your door frame, he clumsily maneuvers his way inside, fumbling with his trainers and setting them down on the shoe rack where he always does.

He grabs onto the rack to stand up, "I was on my way back from filming platform roulette, and I saw these at a shop," he slurs, gesturing towards the bouquet of flowers. he pauses momentarily, using all his brain power to follow you into your kitchen, "Then I remembered you lived pretty close, so I thought I'd stop by."

You hum in acknowledgment as you stoop down the find a vase from the lower cabinet, carefully setting it in the sink to fill with water, "'s really sweet of you, I love them, thank you," A smile plays at the corners of your lips as you turn on the faucet.

You hear him shuffling around behind you but he comes up just next to you, leaning against the counter. His presence fills the small kitchen, and you catch a pleasant whiff of his cologne, mixing with the faint odor of alcohol

"I'm glad you like them," he murmurs, his voice has the slightest rasp to it which has your mind bussing in a way you can't exactly understand. As you turn with the vase of flowers in hand, his gaze is unwavering as his eyes roam over your face making your breath hitch at the unintentional proximity.

The space between you is electrified, the world outside forgotten as his warm expression draws you in heightening the tension that hangs between you both.

"Sorry," you exhale softly, he smells your toothpaste on your breath as you sidestep around him in the small kitchen, the bouquet still clutched in your hand. You carefully place the flowers in the vase on the island, then rummage through the cabinets to find a glass. You fill it with fresh, cool water from the fridge, setting it in front of him.

"Drink this we'll get you sobered up a bit. If you're feeling up for it, we can watch a movie," you suggest with a friendly smile, although a hint of awkwardness seeps through as you await his response.

He flashes a knowing smile, watching you anxiously pick at your nails. There's a brief moment of silence before he gives a firm nod, his eyes holding another thing you can't seem to pinpoint. "I'd like that," he murmurs, the words carrying a hint of vulnerability.

The air hangs still, filled with the weight of so many unspoken things.

He obeys your instructions, finishing the water while you slip off to your room to change into pajamas. When you re-emerge you find him sitting on the couch, his phone in hand, and his empty glass on a coaster, Upon noticing your return he drops his phone onto the table patting the spot next to him.

He has already chosen the first Harry Potter movie, which elicits a genuine smile from you. As the opening credits roll, he turns to you, his voice sincere:

"Thank you for letting me stay for a bit," he says, lacing your fingers together and you give his hand a squeeze instead of verbally replying, The atmosphere is intimate, the soft glow of the screen casting shadows over his features as the movie unfolds. The silence between you is comfortable, and the shared familiarity of the film creates a cozy bubble where only the two of you matter at this moment.

Your mind screams at you to say so many things at once, but you simply bite your tongue and continue staring at the TV. All you can think is how different things would be if he weren't drunk.

[sun-snatcher]

could you write "i know i'm a monster, but you treat me like a man." from your prompts with shay cormac/f! reader? I discovered your profile recently and been loving your writing🫶🏻

( all credits to @bankaizen for this delicious gifset! )

✠ | of monsters & men ; shay cormac

summ. Your secret is revealed. The Captain of the Morrigan doesn't seem to mind. w.count. 2k. a/n.  f!reader , but reader is pretending to be a man , james kidd who? , slow-burn , mutual pining , friends-to-lovers , just reader & Shay being love-struck idiots . (I also understand that traditional sloop-of-war’s much like the Morrigan wouldn’t’ve had a crow’s nest due to her size, but for the sake of the fic, allow me to wave a magic wand over canon!)

       ST. ANTHONY’S RECEIVES the Morrigan with loving arms. 

With the ship lain to, and half the crew offboard, the Northern squalls billowing downwind into the dank, creaky port does little to stifle the riots of songs livening taverns and inns. All this, yet—

“Birdie!” calls a voice, floating high somewhere by where the topsails have been furled secure. “Haven’t frozen y’toes off there, have you, lad? Be a shame if I lost the finest Navigator the seas have yet to offer.”

Sitting slouched in the crow’s nest, you let out a snort. “Aye, lost ‘em all to scurvy just yesterday, I fear,” you lament, voice timbre. "Go away!"

Shay’s delighted laugh fills the air—

And you quickly tamp down that flutter you feel in your chest before it could get too treacherous.

“Also,” you note, once he hauls himself from the mainmast and lands with a perfect perch at the nest’s guardrails, “I’m the finest Navigator the seas will ever offer you, Captain, thank you very much.”

“Aye, that y’are. Dare I say the finest Mariner there is—”

“Oh-ho?”

“—right after me, ofcourse—”

“Little Irish bastard,” you scowl, failing miserably at hiding your grin, and swatting childishly at him when he scoots to settle into a comfortable seat next to you. “So. St. Anthony’s women not t’your fancy? What’re you doing all the way up here, Captain?”

“Funny that. Was going to ask y’the same thing after I saw y'run off. An’ Christ, call me Shay. I’m beginning to forget my name after all these months sailin’.” 

“Well, I was drawing, Captain,” you deflect, easily. Better than confessing you don’t want to be stuck in a stuffy room brushing shoulders with rowdy drunkards, and feeling your own heart bleed out watching pretty ladies bat their lashes and sidle up freely next to Shay.

Your answer is hardly a lie, anyway. The only reason the crew had taken to calling you Birdie in the first place is because you bide your time up in the nest scratching away in your papers (or dozing off one too many times, as Gist so likes to point out). That, and the fact it proves easier with your slightly build to pull your weight in the lines or riggings up above.

“Rum?” he offers, and sets it by you. It feels alot like a peace offering, even if it's unintentional.

Shay’s gaze falls on your tattered, leatherbound journal. A curious trinket; he’s never seen you an arm’s length from it, nor the pencil you keep tucked on your ear. He’s seen you sketching away into its water-logged pages more oft than not, cheeks stained with graphite and a furrow between your brows. “S’that your woman, birdie?” he says, glimpsing the unfinished markings of a face. “Now I see why you're not tasting the local cuisine. She’s a beauty.”

You can't help but break into a knowing, private smile. “Aye… Something like that.”

"How mysterious."

"She's my sister," you lie, if only to chase him off your scent.

"Oh? Well, does she have a man?"

"Fuck off," you bite, though without heat. The chance compliment settles nicely in your cheeks. "She’ll only be a trouble t’you. She's not your type, anyway, Shay.“

"Isn't she?" he hums cannily, but doesn’t broach the topic further. He’d never dared to ask to look in the book— isn’t exactly his business, after all— but you shrug and trade it for his drink. “Y’sure, birdie? I don't pry.”

“Go on, then, 'fore I change my mind.” There isn’t anything damning written about you in there; You know better than to risk that.

“So?” you take a swig, just as Shay begins parsing hrough the pages. "What is it? Surely you didn't climb up here t'keep warm. Come t'bother me?"

“Is it a crime for a Captain to want to spend time alone with his good friend?” he muses, distracted by the drawings— nay, Masterpieces, these are masterpieces, birdie. Y’ve a future in this, y’know?— of intricate horizons, coasts, constellations and isles on the weathered pages. 

Shay recognises them all: Asian archipelagos and spits of the lesser Antilles or the Caribbean reefs you’ve both voyaged to, dated and signed; alongside notes of headings and longitudes penciled under stipplings of navigational celestials like the North Star, the Dipper. 

“If the Captain is you, Shay,” you answer, “Then any man with sense.”

“Oh, I mean the Morrigan, birdie,” he teases, only to earn a sharp smack at his knee. 

“Ha-ha. I reckon all your good friends are women, aye?”

“So it seems,” he agrees absent-mindedly, and you wonder if the sideways glance at you had been your imagination.

Shay turns to the still-lifes. Breaching humpback whales and dolphin pods arcing over whitecaps; a bird’s-eye-perspective of the crew on a sunny day aboard the Morrigan, and countless, bustling ports across the world you’ve visited. There are portraits of the crew too: of deckhands, gunners, or of Gist, and even a stern profile of Haytham Kenway looking portside in the distance. 

And in-between it all—

Him. Captain Shay Cormac. Immortalised in blink-and-you-miss-it moments: manning the steer while holding conversation, or perched at the bow afore the setting sun, or peering through his spyglass from the sail riggings. “I ought to commission’ you. These are bloody incredible.” He traces a finger over one of the more detailed portraits of him, looking serene despite the menacing scar splitting his face. “Y’ve done me a justice, lass.”

You choke on the rum.

“—Aye,” you cough, willfully ignoring his mistake. Or had you misheard? “Perhaps, ah, one day.”

(Regardless. He couldn’t possibly know, surely. You’ve been careful for this long.) 

You clear your throat. Shake your head. “You haven’t properly answered my question, Captain.” 

“Right,” he relents, and closed the journal before handing it back to you. “I was just curious—”

You steel yourself for the worst.

“—why’ve y’stuck around for so long?”

Oh. “You mean, aboard the Morrigan? With you?”

“Aye,” he nods, levelling your curious, critical look. “I’m sure y’ve heard rumors an’ chatter about me, birdie. Isn’t hard t’miss. Master Kenway, Gist, an’ I’s line’a work, that is. I’m here to confess it isn’t all hearsay, that what I do isn’t a pretty thing.”

“Didn’t fancy you the type t'care about what other people think, Shay.” No one needs to earwig that to know it’s true. It’s quite known that Captain Cormac is an unflappable creature who’s earned his place in the world both on and off-land, to toe the thin line between confidence and arrogance wherever he goes. Though you suppose he’s just a man, at the end of the day, if he’s this consumed over a little mud-slinging to his reputation. 

“I don’t,” he agrees, truthfully. “But I do care what you think.”

Something soft curls in your heart. Damn you, Shay Cormac, you curse. You handsome, quick-witted—

“I know it isn’t pretty. And fortunately for you, I’m no priest, and we’re not in a confessional, so,” you sniff. “Doesn’t change a damn thing.”

He huffs out a polite laugh. “Well said.”

“Listen,” you sigh, more serious now. “Other men may have come and gone with the tide, but I’ve voyaged with you the longest because I wanted t'stay, Captain.”

“Exactly. You’ve seen what I can do. I know I’m a monster, birdie, but y’treat me like a man, an’ noble men don’t— do what I do.”

Ah. So there’s the root to all of this banter, then. A crisis in faith, somewhere. “Shay,” you narrow. “I’ve never met someone who’s a stout heart as you; Kept every word like bond, and never traded honour for prestige. Now, most monsters are men, and it’s all the same to the likes of me—”

(To the likes of me, Shay catches the slip.)

“—but I think you need to ask yourself: do you kill without cause?”

“No,” he says, affronted. “I fight for the people.”

“Then you’re twice the noblest man any could ever dream to be.”

A beat. 

Shay drops his head back to the mast with a glittering look in his eyes you can only describe as fond. (Perhaps, if you dared to indulge, affectionate—) “You’re a bloody gem, birdie, y’know that?”

The cuff of his sleeves brush against your pinky, and you can feel the toe of his boot against your own. You try not to focus on either of it, try not to focus on the proximity. “Aye, most women call me a diamond in the rough.”

He doesn’t laugh and take the bait this time, much to your surprise. “My Da once told me, birdie: It’s not enough to give people what they need to survive, you need to give them what they need to live.”

“Aye,” you nod, after a subdued moment. “I’ve stayed because you’ve given me that, Shay: purpose. Sailing the seas on the Morrigan is the freest I’ve ever been.”

“Y’ought to sail with your true self, birdie.”

You seize. Feel your blood run ice cold. “My… truest self is by your side.”

“Is it?”

“Isn’t it?” you bristle, and you are cutting now, Shay can see, because you’re frightened. “Captain, how much have you had to drink—?”

“I’d make a poor Irishman if half a bottle’a rum is all it takes to end me. Now take it easy, lass—”

You scowl, and move to sit up. “I’m not a—”

“It isn’t a fret to me at all, birdie,” he says, firmly, the back of his hand nudging your shoulders to lean back. “At ease. I’ve known you’re a woman for ages, now.”

This time you can’t school the look on your face.

“How long’ve you known?” you swallow, after you gathered your wits.

Shay cocks his head in thought. The confirmation now only pieces together what he’d always had a sneaking suspicion of, sensed even beyond his own second sight. Your gear, your mild stature, your peculiar mannerisms; nimble-handed at the riggings, fleet-footed in every brawl. But, if he’s to put a time on it—

“Singapore. When y’knocked that Portuguese sap’s teeth right out his head an’ put the heart crossways in him after he fretted the poor barmaid. Looked right personal t’you. I gathered then.”

A pause. Careful calculation. You’re trying to piece your reality back now that it's been shattered: the moonlit hush, the whistle of the winds, the lap of the tide against the Morrigan. Finally:

“Pretty sure he was Peranakan,” you correct, uselessly. Your hackles aren’t raised anymore. Shay would’ve acknowledged the look of defeat in your eyes had he not been so captivated by hearing your voice— real voice— for the first time.

(It’s gentle. Beautiful. If he’d been any more loose-lipped he might’ve pleaded you sing for him.)

“Captain, Singapore was… a long time ago.” It’s a loaded sentence, and had he not known you well enough he might’ve missed it: Why didn't you say anything?

“Aye. Like y’said earlier,” he waves, dismissively, “Doesn’t change a damn thing. Only, what’s your real name, lass?” 

You tell him. It’s been unspoken for so long, that for a moment it sounds near foreign to your own ears when he rolls the syllables back to you in his accented tongue. “Lovely name. I’m guessin’ the woman in your journal is you, aye?”

“To be a dame in a boatful of men is a death sentence, Shay,” you laugh, distant. It isn’t pleasant. “Ill omen to have a woman onboard, you know? Or so they say.”

He knows what you really mean.

“An’ yet here we are, after all these years, alive an’ well,” he challenges, raising his and your shared rum to the pale moon. “Besides, y’know I make my own luck, lass. So don’t think of leavin’ the Morrigan now, aye? Would be a right shame if I lost a sailor fierce as you.”

Another stumble in your heart. You bite your tongue. Shay’s trying to get a laugh out of you, you realise. To lift your spirit.

“Your secret’s safe with me, birdie. The Morrigan doesn’t discriminate, an’ you’ve earned your place on this ship a long time ago. Tell y’what, if anyone lays a hand on my finest Navigator, y’have my word to unman them yourself.”

That does it. Now you do laugh. Bell-like. Bright and sunny and warm—

And it knocks the wind right out of his lungs.

Aye, you'll be trouble indeed, birdie.

[ncity-agere]

could you please write with a little reader who picks their skin for comfort + when they're nervous? preferably with hao, woozi, or dk ( ◠‿◠ ) thank you!!

Yes! As someone who also nervous picks, I like this ask a lot! I chose Hao for the prompt, I hope you like it!!

slight warning: unintentional self-harm. no icky things, just skin picking. if that makes you uncomfortable even a little bit, i advise that you find another drabble of mine to read, little ones! <3

“Babe.” Caregiver!Minghao’s voice was stern and testing, making you look up at him in surprise.

“Hm, Hao? What’s wrong?” You asked unknowingly from the other side of the table.

Minghao leaned over to grab your wrist softly and pull it away from your face. You weren’t even aware that you were picking at the skin there.

“You’re picking again.” He lightly chided, letting go of your hand. Your cheeks blushed faintly and you put your hands both in your lap.

“Sorry, Hao.” You huffed, frowning. To be honest, your mind was wandering and not in a good way.

“Are you feeling little, baby? We can go home if you need to.” Minghao whispered so that nobody could hear. He eyed you with worry but you shrugged it off.

“I’m fine.” You started, fidgeting with your hands on your lap. Admittedly, you were feeling small tonight and the loud sounds and chattering of people in the restaurant were stressing you out, but Minghao didn’t need to know that. You were on a lovely dinner out and could ignore it for his sake until you got home.

You started to look at the people around you nervously, eyeing the most formidable patrons. A both of women with judgmental eyes peered at the two of you and you could have sworn they were talking about you. And you couldn’t prove it -really, there was no logical reason to think so- but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched.

“You’re doing it again, honey.” Minghao all but hissed.

Your hands were picking at the peeling skin on your arm now, leaving Minghao to frown at you.

“Goodness. Why are you so nervous, darling?” He asks, holding both of your hands and resting them on the table. He knew better than anyone how you got around crowds and new people.

“I… I dunno. I just got tummy butterflies again.” You admitted, slinking down lower in your seat. “There’s lots of people here an’ I don’t like it.” You started to feel littler and littler the longer you sat here around all of these people. And you wouldn’t admit it to Minghao right then, but you were somehow convinced that they’re all meanies who hate you.

“Hm.” Minghao thought for a moment, letting your hands go. “Then we can leave. Let’s get dessert and go home and then we can cuddle in a less stressful place. How does that sound?” He asked and you did a little happy wiggle -an adorable thing to see as you were still in your big, formal clothes and coat.

And so, Minghao bought you the bestest, fanciest dessert that you could possibly have! It was your favorite, of course.

The two of you left the restaurant soon after dessert and Minghao was happy to see a little more pep in your step as the two of you found your way onto the desolate, snowy street.

“Hold my hand, love?” He asked. You didn’t argue, holding his hand and smiling when you felt the warmth. You hadn’t realized, but he wanted to hold your hand right to make sure that you didn’t fidget with your jacket and sneak a hand into the sleeve to pick at the skin on your shoulder again.

It was cold outside and the winter wind hit your face as the two of you walked back home. You thought of all of those people in the restaurant and how none of them had to deal with such a bad habit. You thought about their unscarred arms and face and hid your face in one of your hands, suddenly feeling ashamed of yourself. Minghao looked over in surprised, stopping where his feet tracked in the snow and turning to face you.

He crouched down to speak to you, letting go of your other hand to cup your face. “Baby… what’s wrong?”

You sniffled, nose becoming red and bright. “Baba won’ like me ‘cause I got all these stupid, ugly dumb scars on my face.” You pointed at the dots and blemishes left from picking on your cheeks. “An’ my arms an’ my legs too!”

Minghao cooed, cocking his head to the side. “Love, Baba will always like you. Scars are very cool, they mean that you’re brave. Did you know that?” He asked, voice soft and low. You shook your head, not wanting him to see you right now.

He stood up and nuzzled his forehead into yours. “You’re a very brave little one, y/n.”

“Thank you Baba.” You giggled as he leaned down and kissed your fading scars. His long hair tucked your face and neck and after a while, you playfully pushed him away. “Baba! Stop, we gotta get home!” You gasped through giggles.

The corners of Minghao’s mouth quirked up in a smirk. “Alright, alright. I think it’s time to go home, love.”

He took your hands again and you didn’t hide your face as much, the two of you walking back home in the snowy, snowy street.

[justin-chapmanswers]

AAAA THE SILVER SPOON EXIT IS FANTASTIC!!! You guys always do such a good job with the Exit Interviews. They're super fun videos that also add juuust that little extra amount of characterization that makes them even better to watch.

What inspires you guys to add the little mini-stories in each interview? Do you usually have an idea of what direction you want it to go beforehand, or do specific questions give you inspiration?

Thank you so much!!! Had so much fun working on that one. And looooove the question. Partly cause I'm like "idk if anyone cares that I do this, but it's fun, anyway!"

When writing any Exit Interview (I've been sole-writing or co-writing all from Box's-and-on, but might not for Balloon's?), I always want to be writing with some sort of angle. Sometimes it's a story for the contestant (TK, Cabby #1, Paintbrush, Silver) , sometimes for the interviewer (Box, Clover), sometimes both (Goo). Sometimes it allows us to hit on an angle on a character that we haven't already, sometimes it gives us some time to show off how far a character has come. Sometimes something that affects the whole interview, sometimes something that'll pop up towards the end that we can hint at earlier. But we tend to try for at least a little-something! We like presenting new narratives wherever we can. The tale is never quite done with these pals!

As for how we plan it out, I'll often go into an interview knowing exactly what angle I want to come in with, and how much that angle'll need to weigh on the characters. I knew I wanted to tell a narrative about Paintbrush wrapping up their three-season-journey and expecting a hyper-dramatic interview to express every facet of their emotional experience... only to receive a bunch of nonsense questions that leaves their final wrap-up feeling empty. So I noted to the audience that we'd love silly questions. I knew that for Silver's Exit we were going to explore the anxieties around criticism, so I made sure to write in the question prompt that Silver would love to hear some compliments- so that we could then receive a bunch of complimentary questions for him to appreciate (but not enough to make a deep impact), and inevitably we received some negative too- which I could then use to show how hard one mean comment can hit for the guy.

For Cabby we wanted to prep for her eventual return by sewing in her current troubled state of mind without tying things up to cleanly in a bow. Clover we wanted to flip it around and have her help an interviewer down on his luck. With Bot we needed to let them reflect on what they've been through but also think on some of the elements of their existence that are still feeling complicated. In Yin-Yang's we knew we wanted to make sure we were following through on their tricky feelings regarding their experience Candle, while also demonstrating their growth as a fun lil duo. Etc.

Occasionally I'll need some inspiration, so I'll ask for the questions first and see if that sparks any particular ideas. When we received a bunch of motherly-oriented characters for Tea Kettle I was left to ponder "how would she feel about this?" With Goo's Exit a couple Cheer Factory questions popped up and I started to think about the fun juxtaposition of matching Goo with someone serious who expects Goo to be a legitimate entrepreneur. Since then we've enjoyed leaning into pairing contestants with very different-vibe interviewers when possible.

And the mindset of writing with an angle all stems to working on Inanimate Answers. Not sure how many people have seen that, since the newest ep predates Invitational, but there we had a very very similar format. It's sorta like the unintentional test-run of Exit Interviews, with some personal conflicts for the contestant, and some for Justin. I'd loooove to make more of those, but they were being made at a point in time where I didn't have a non-II full-time job, and II wasn't focused much on episode production. So finding the time has been tough. We did make a mini version for the Inanimate Direct which was fun (although funnily some of my favorite on-camera work I've done for the channel was in that same video but the Patreon-information segment- which no one will ever watch again cause the Patreon no longer exists haha). And I have an old Yin-Yang Inanimate Answers 5 script that would need to be pretty heavily reworked now that season 3 exists for YY, if I were to try at them again. Maybe there's room for IA in the future. Lots to figure out with the channel! But I'm glad we've had Exits to take on the legacy of some bonus viewer-interaction-based-storytelling.

[snzydarling]

ooooo, prompts you say??~

knowing how much I love when someone requests one of my lil guys so I can write them in a fun situation, I'm gonna toss you a f/ukuzawa, aaaaaaand add to it a side of cat allergies +M/ori involvement

do with that as you will, you can choose if the M/ori involvement is minimal, antagonist, helpful, anything you want, just gives you a lil thing to work with~ <3 excited to see what you may cook up if you so choose to!!~

hello !!! you gave me this and i ran with it so hard. thank u for the ask and i def had a lot of fun with this,...... i hope u enjoy it too !!

Nothing Beyond my Grasp

fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs characters: Fukuzawa Yukichi, Mori Ougai cw: sneezing kink !! mess, vouyerism, implied character with kink notes: hi it is 3 am i am so tired goodnight. you guys are lucky imm too tired to be embarrased rn because this is the horniest thing ive written so far !!! its a little kinky. i really like to explore their dynamic in a kind of unconventional way. i dont know if alot of people know about fukuzawas ex-assassin stuff because it was never really directly stated in anything besideds the novel but thats !! why !! hes basically silent throughout this whole thing. in the novel it says he walks compltelty silently most of the time so i think thats such an unconcious habit and it also splays out through most of his life. enjoy. iam going to pass out now gutten night !!!!

Very quickly, Fukuzawa had turned into one of Mori’s favorite people to study. In his unique line of work, he met plenty of unusual people, but none quite like him. Fukuzawa was mysterious- nearly silent, prone to snarling when provoked, and reminded him altogether of a caged wild dog. Really, ‘Silver Wolf’ was the perfect name for him. 

Earlier in the evening, Elise had dragged in a bedraggled-looking stray, and entirely susceptible to her, he allowed her to keep it until she got bored with it. Not that they had much choice, anyway- it had taken to whipping its tail about in the corner and hissing as soon as she released it. Mori found himself glancing at the time more often after that. This was a new chance to study Fukuzawa. How would he react? Would he open his heart to another stray? He already had one. 

Ever habitual, punctual as a means of politeness, Fukuzawa swings the door to his humble office open as soon as the clock strikes 9 p.m. He looked weary, the combination of preparing to open his agency and body guard work clearly taking its toll. Mori liked to see it- it lowered his guard. 

As Fukuzawa moved to his usual spot he passed the spot where the cat had chosen to reside, which took his closeness as a threat and started to hiss and swat. Mori honed in on Fukuzawa’s face, watching the softness in his eyes. He kneels down, palms open, posture soft. 

Mori snorts as Fukuzawa slips a treat from his sleeve, holding it out in offering. He doesn’t expose his hands very often, so Mori studies them closely. Calloused from years of sword fighting, etched with fading scars and an array of scratches. Clearly, this is a hobby of his. 

He watches as one hand slowly stretches the treat forwards as the other one seriously knucks the underside of his nose, pulling at a particularly long scar. Mori wants to know what its from, but he knows better than to ask. He would never receive an answer. Fukuzawa appears to be making some progress, as the cat starts slinking along nervously, gaining confidence, until Fukuawa twitches into himself. It hisses and jumps back, pressing into the wall as he does it again. The movement leaves Mori quirking an tebow. Fukuzawa moves in a way that is meticulous and calculated, and something so unintentional is novel. Is exhaustion getting to him that badly? The thought sends a shiver down his spine. 

Regardless of whatever is weighing him down, Fukuzawa appears to be undeterred. He fully sits down, placing the treat on his lap, and fixes Mori with his usual cold stare. “Where did she come from?” he asks, sounding almost.. Concerned? It's hard to tell with him, and Mori’s not quite familiar enough to parse every micro-intonation, yet. He gives a lazy shrug. “Elise brought it in. Feel free to take it, I dont like dirty things.” He lets the implications hang in the air, relishing the way Fukuzawa’s brow furrows. Always so easy to push. He might not be the only source, he realizes, because he soon scrunches up the bridge of his nose too, and shutters into a raised hand, twice in succession, before sniffing and giving his head a small shake.

Suddenly, Mori realizes what happened the first time. He decides to stay silent, and 

feigns interest in his work while watching Fukuzawa from the corner of his eye. He observes him as he tends to his nose repeatedly, staring off with a hazy kind of expression. He also bears witness to the stray bringing itself to Fukuzawa again, settling in his lap, and makes sure to note down the look of joy. 

He chuckles at the absurdity of the scene in front of him. “Looks like you’ve got quite a way with strays.” he muses. Fukuzawa starts, apparently haven forgotten about him altogether. How irresponsible. “Are you going to manage to keep me safe like that?” He teases, tiring of this silent treatment. Fukuzawa scrubs at his nose again, answering with a curt “I’ll manage.” that’s a bit fuzzy around the edges. He doesn’t bother to bring up what they both know- Mori doesn’t need his protection. 

He finds himself developing a particular interest in Fukuzawa’s nose, which has started to crease, and develop irritated redness around the rims. The abuse is certainly doing him no favors- he watches it be crushed against a palm when it starts to twitch. Fukuzawa even, almost meditative, breathing has started to stutter, just barely visible underneath all of his layers, but Mori knows better than to think he’ll get a show that easily. He’s going to have to work for it. 

“Got a tickle?” Hw pried, not like he needed to confirm it. His response comes in a rough head-shake, and he rests his head in his hand, sighing. “Use your words, Fukuawa.” He chides. The man in question curls his lip, but obeys anyways, a breathy “No.” that catches in his throat. He presses another harsh knuckle to the side of his nose, eyelashes fluttering, and flinches into his hand again. A breath escapes this time, stuffy and unsatisfied, and Mori has to swallow down his delight. Fukuzawa is so easy to manipulate- he can’t help but try his luck. 

“Really? You look awfully itchy, though. What's gotten into you?” Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t get a response, though the more accurate notion is that he can’t, because Fukuzawa jolts into his shoulder again. 

“hH'EHSCHHh-!” it’s greater than any other sneeze Mori has heard out of him, desperate to break free. Fukuzawa’s whole face sparks with irritation, and he pinches the next one between his thumb and forefinger. It squelches with the pressure. 

With another shuddering exhale, he glares at Mori. “Nothings wrong.” he declared, but with congestion thick in his throat, so it came out all wrong. Mori scoffs. “Use a tissue, atleast.” He doesn’t get a response, unless a ticklish, smothered cough counts. 

Mori actually focuses on his work for a couple of minutes, and when he turns his attention back to Fukuzawa, he can’t contain his shock. His condition has considerably worsened. He’s mid sneezing fit, crushing release after release between pinched fingers, and a tear rolls down his cheek. He looks so utterly pathetic, heat starts to pool in Mori’s gut. Fukuzawa manages to quell the fit without a single noise leaking through, a rather impressive feat. He tends to his nose again, now a dark pink. When he angles his face just right, Mori can see wetness threatening to spill over. 

All this abuse seems to do him more harm than good, because not even a minute after his previous attack is he hitching again, canine teeth catching the light, and choking down another volley. He’s not as lucky this time- sound starts to leak out between his fingertips, a preview of what is surely soon to come. Husky gasps and stuttery exhales announce the start and end of each sneeze, only agitating Fukuzawa more. He almost seems to growl as he pants for breath, scrubbing at his nose once again, like it’s offered him any relief thus far. Mori watches the skin crinkle and stretch. He frowns down at Fukuzawa, itchy and irritated and so extremely allergic. What a fool. 

“You really shouldn’t stew in an allergen. Really, Fukuzawa, I thought you were smarter than that.” He bites his cheek, watching how the word alone is enough to make his breath catch again. Oh Fukuzawa, the master of self-control. He’s waging a war against his own nose, fighting tooth and nail to maintain his usual mask of indifference. It makes every quiver so much more noticable. 

When he’s promptly ignored, Mori makes an effort to remove the mangy cat himself, but Fukuzawa quickly shifts back. The sudden movement breaks his concentration on wrestling control over himself, because he tears forward with a “eH'RSCHHh-oo!” What an incredible sound. So desperate and unrestrained. Mori wants to hear it again, wants to watch Fukuzawa hopelessly to himself, wants to pick apart every piece of it. And he’s always been one to make sure he gets what he wants. 

Fukuzawa straightens his spine, face flush with irritation and perhaps a bit of embarrassment. He stares at Mori with a challenge in his expression, like he’s daring Mori to come after him. Mori’s not afraid of him, however, especially not in that state. He just needs to make him crack. 

“I can’t believe you’re so willing to put up with such a tickle for a stray like that. Look at all of the fur, Fukuzawa. It’s all across your robes.” he’s smart enough to know what Mori’s doing, and make sure he knows it, but that means nothing. His breath still stutters. “It’s on your hands, too. You’ve been rubbing it all over your nose.” Mori clicks his tongue, scolding. “How careless.”’hiH-!” Fukuzawa’s eyes flutter closed, hands rising towards his face. The anticipation is almost too much. 

“That must tickle, Fukuzawa. You look awfully itchy, like there’s fur in your nose.” That sends him over the edge. Mori’s stomach twists with anxiety. Fukuzawa takes in a ragged gasp, head tilted back towards the light, and gives Mori a glorious show. 

“eH'RSCHHh-iewh! ‘RSZHHIh-! hiA'ESZHHUh-! hH’RSZHHh-oo!!” With each wretched sneeze, Fukuzawa is thrown further forward, bringing in more dander with every inhale. He’s hopeless to it, hands hovering uselessly, giving Mori a full view of the mess he’s made. 

“e'ETSZHHh-! ‘ESCHHUh-! heH'RSZH-! ‘rRSZHHh-oo! hiH-! hiA'ETSCHh-!” They’re pitchy and vocal, unconstrainable. One particularly sonorus “ ‘RSCHHEUHh-!” sends the cat scampering off, and Mori almost purrs when its bushy tail runs directly under Fukuzawa’s nostrils. Oh, he's helpless. 

“ hI'RSZHHh-! ‘ESCHHh-oo! hH'RSZHHEUHh-! ‘RSZHHih- hH'ESCHHh-oo! ‘DSCHHhih-!” He’s entirely doubled over now, and some small, still human part of Mori worries he might smother himself. He makes no motion to help. He never wants this to  end, each release so pressure inducing. It’s simply too much. 

All good things must come to an end, though, and Fukuzawa manages to wrangle himself under control. Raw, desperate sneezes are replaced by clipped stifles that still rock him forwards, and almost a full minute passes before he emerges, deeming himself out of the woods. Lord, he is wrecked. If Mori were a weaker man, his arousal would’ve been much more obvious. He manages to keep himself under control. 

Fukuzawa’s face is flushed and swollen, his eyes red rimmed and eyelashes heavy with fat tears. Every panting breath he takes in has the slightest wheeze, so Mori takes pity on him and deicides to play his role as doctor. He makes short work of acquiring an anti-histimine, holding it out like a dog treat. 

Fukuzawa doesn’t meet his eyes as he takes it, but hes polite enough to nod his thanks. He swallows it dry, throat clicking, and there’s silence once again until it breaks it with a snarling “‘RSZHHh-oo!” that escapes his clutches. 

“Silver Wolf” was most certainly a fitting name. 

[serensama]

Writing Challenge Weekend

Thank you @thedissonantverses for always being such a dang peach! This was just what I needed to detox from my last piece and get me ready for the next!!!

I chose the following prompt for a quick write about the darling Bellara Lutara ❤️

"But with all my education I can't seem to command it."

A picture of Lil Bell for effect, thanks @turnbaseddave

(I wrote this on my phone and I did not review anything, no edits, we die like men)

———

A loud crash caught Rook off guard, with only a couple of them left at the Lighthouse, she hadn’t expected for there to be such a commotion without Taash running around after Assan, or Emmrich chasing after Manfred who had learned how to summon actual fire. Lucanis had gone ahead of her to get his apartment ready for them to move into and Neve had been called back to Minrathous by the Threads for an urgent matter. The regular sounds of life around the Lighthouse had diminished into silence almost overnight. Rook ran out to the courtyard to investigate the noise, reminding herself that the gods were gone and that they weren’t under attack. She hoped.

A wave of relief washed over her when she saw it had been Bellara clamouring about, only to be replaced by a sense of dread when she realised it was Bellara clamouring about. She was by no means shy or meek, especially around their team, but she was never one to throw her belongings out of her door and into the yard in a fit of anger- the caretaker diligently retrieving any items that fell off the ledge.

Rook dodged a tome about astral projection or projecting atoms or something- the title flashed by her eyes too quickly- and dashed into Bellara’s room, hoping to escape a concussion from her unintentional aerial assault. The girl had wicked aim even when she wasn’t aiming. Rook called out to her but she was too far gone, screaming and crying in such rapid broken Elvhen and Common, it was hard for her to keep up with what she was saying.

“BELLARA!” Rook screamed, startling the her into stopping. “Bell! What is… who… are you okay?!”

Bellara stood in the centre of her room, panting heavily and her shoulders hunched forward. She sniffed and wiped the tears that marred her face on the back of her glove, succumbing to more as the silence dragged on.

“Bellara, take your time. Tell me what’s wrong, you know I’m here to help you.”

The veil jumper made a sound at the back of her throat and nodded sadly, doing her best to smile reassuringly to her friend, the thin watery offering looking more like a wince than anything close to being ‘okay’, let alone ‘happy’.

“I’m.. I’m fine, Rook. Thanks.”

Rook sighed softly and sat on Bellara’s green chaise until her friend was ready to talk. She looked around her normally well organised room and found it littered with loose papers, random tools and pieces of half finished artifacts she had been working on. Whatever was happening to her, it was serious. Bellara never let two active projects too close to each other in case their parts were accidentally interchanged, she would never allow such a breach in her own protocols unless she was going through something earth shattering.

“Is… is it about Cyrian?”

Bellara shook her head and sniffed again, trying to stabilise her hiccups. “No, it’s fine Rook. You have so much on your plate as it is, the last thing you need to do is-“

“-The last thing I need to do, is be a bad friend after all we’ve been through. Talk to me Bell. Big. Small. Normal. Weird. I’m here for it all,” she grinned, hoping to brighten up her spirits.

“It’s… you see the thing is… and then I… the real issue here is… oooooh, I can’t even get my thoughts right to tell you!” she groaned, crumpling her shirt collar in frustration. “Okay. It’s fine. Breathe, Bellara. Breathe.”

Rook smiled at her kindly and continued to wait. She knew that Bellara would be able to tell her what bothered her if given enough time and patience.

Bellara paced the room for a few minutes, her body slowly releasing the tension held in her muscles as she allowed herself the grace to find her words. She pushed away her journal and other notes from her desk and perched herself on it, her leg bouncing upon her stool unconsciously.

“I’ve thought about it. Over and over. Did my due diligence and wrote down what I observed. I tried to pick it apart and put it back together, a hundred, no- a thousand ways! I even asked the Nadas Dirthalen and it wasn’t able to help. It’s just another problem that I can’t work out!” she cried, her eyes welling up with tears as her nose started to redden. If she weren’t in such distress, Rook would have squealed at how adorable her friend was. "I’ve disciplined myself. Put limitations on what I could and could not do to see if I could change it, then I stopped that to see if it made any difference- but nothing Rook! No changes! No understanding! I’ve done everything I could viably do, but it still won’t listen to me!”

“What? The Nadas Dirthalen?” Rook asked, confused as she thought she had the archive spirit figured out for the most part, even if it was a sassy little shit half the time.

Bellara frowned and waved her hand. “No, not that. This is much worse. I even asked Emmrich and Neve what to do but they said it was up to me to work it out, but I can’t Rook! That’s the problem! I’m tearing my hair out trying to figure it out so I can handle this on my own, but I can’t! I’ve read everything I could get my hands on, spoken to experts and in my desperation, I prayed for anyone to grant me the knowledge I needed. But with all my education I can't seem to command it."

Rook stared at her friend, completely lost.

“Uh… sure. But um- handle what? Command what, exactly?”

Bellara’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped as she realised that she hadn’t actually explained it properly. She cleared her throat and felt her face flush from her embarrassment, she had been talking a mile a minute again.

“Right. Right. I uh… my heart.”

Rook blinked and paused for a minute, to ensure she heard correctly. Her- heart? Did Bellara have a crush on someone?!

“Ooh! Don’t look at me like that!” Bellara whined, reddening further, playing with the hem of her skirt to avoid looking at Rook. “I just… I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to feel this way-”

“We rarely do, Bell.”

“And I don’t want to cause trouble or make things difficult-”

“Bell, you never do that-”

“I just know that he plans to go travelling and do some really amazing things, but I can’t go just yet, Strife would kill me, and it would be selfish for me to say anything to him and burden him with my feelings and force him to stay if he feels the same - that will mean his dreams will be on hold, Rook, that’s not fair!- but if he doesn’t feel similarly and nothing is going to come about anyways then is there any point in me discussing this with him and-”

“Wa-hey! Slow down there Bellara! Remember. Breathe.”

“Right. Breathe. Gotcha. I can do that. That I can command. Breathing. That’s what I’m doing. Breathing. Cool.”

Rook shook her head in disbelief at the flustered elf, always everyone’s biggest cheerleader when it came to their love lives but oh so anxious when it came to her own. “Bell. Do you… do you like, Davrin?”

She wrung her hands together, jingling the cuff on her wrist. “No! No, of course not! Don’t be ridiculous, it would be preposterous for me to like him. He’s so calm, assured, confident, kind and wonderful. He’s always able to talk me down and listen to me, even when others have long stopped listening to me. Even if he doesn’t always understand what I’m talking about or agree or get as excited as me- he’s always there and listening and being more amazing than I deserve. So no? No. I don’t like him. Wait. No. I do like him. Just not like like him.”

A large grin spread across Rook’s face as she looked upon her friend, understanding dawning on her even as the other elf fidgeted nervously under her gaze.

“Yeah, totally. You don’t like him. Or even like like him. Bellara, you’re in love with him.”

Bellara let out a yelp before hiding her face within her hands, feet stamping on the stool with frustration at herself. She peered out from between her fingers, clear cognac eyes saying everything she needed to say to Rook, without uttering a word.

“Bell, you are wonderful and you need to tell him and give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s your friend first- remember? He will never think your feelings are a burden, even if he doesn’t feel the same way.”

Bellara nodded, knowing that she was probably right. The math was always in Rook’s favour when it came to understanding their little rag tag team. She had been right about her and Cyrian, after all.

“I’m right here for you Bell, always. And Neve will be back by dinner and between us three, we will have you ready to confess to our resident warden in no time! But I need to know… when did you start feeling this way?”

A soft giggle escaped Bellara’s lips as she bounced on the spot, her quill rolling off the table from the abrupt movement. “Okay- so you know how we’ve been going to Arlathan a lot since the gryphons found their home with Uncle Eldrin? Well, we got to talking and…”

Rook watched on as her friend excitedly spoke, the kind elf flushing and biting her lip whenever her giddiness overflowed. She chuckled, shaking her head at her sweet cluelessness. Her heart never had to be commanded, it just wanted to be listened to, and it would be able to speak freely, always knowing the right words.

Just like Bellara. Luckily for her, Davrin was an excellent listener.

[onboardsorasora]

https://www.tumblr.com/overtake/746762194848563200/your-post-about-max-liking-daniels-ig-just-opened could u write something based on this?

I have had this ask for so long, sorry bestie- my brain was doing a thing at the time lol. lol thank you @secretdonderwolk for the unintentional prompt

His phone vibrated in his pocket, three times for three messages. He had an idea about who this was, he hoped it was his sister complaining about something. Or even Seb– even though he sat across from him at lunch. Seb could be annoying like that, but that was also because Daniel had been annoying like that first. 

Putting his phone on the table, he saw the screen light up with notification banners from Instagram. There was the broad one about how many thousand likes his post workout selfie had gotten. But then there was the secondary banners about replies and DMs. A familiar user name peaked up at him; 3_MaxV_3. 

Daniel rolled his eyes then flipped his phone on its screen. That kid, because he was a kid, with his scrawny body posing with a sideways cap in one picture, in a couch with dogs in another. But mostly in a race suit at a karting track. That kid had been messaging him for weeks now. He did the same thing repeatedly; Daniel posted a thirst trap photo (he looks damn good and it shows he’s working out) and then Max would be in the replies sending one thing the 💯emoji– three times of course. 

Daniel never responded to him after the first time, which was an accident, but the kid seemed to have taken that interaction as an open door to send Daniel reels of memes he already saw when he scrolled mindlessly through tiktok. He was surprised that a seventeen year old wasn’t on tiktok and was instead using instagram, but that also didn’t matter to Daniel. One less platform for this kid to find him on.

“Your new boyfriend again?” Seb teased with a snort.

“First of all, ew. He’s like still in diapers, mate.”

“I dunno why you let him annoy you so much. He’s harmless, still like in junior formula or whatever.”

“Don’t they call it like formula 3 now or something?”

“Who the fuck knows anymore. They change the names of this shit every year. Come I’m not allowing you make me be late for engineering.” Seb stood from his seat while Daniel cackled.

“I was one time!”

“One time is more than enough I think.”

— - —

Daniel pressed post on the thumbs up selfie. He’d gotten a podium today and wanted to commemorate after a long day. The first notification came quickly after. 💯💯💯 Daniel had become used to the routine by now, he already assumed that the kid had his post notifications on. It was weird but Daniel didn’t think too closely of it.

He did notice a difference this time. His username was different; maxverstappen_33. Daniel clicked into his profile, not something he did but there was a change in the routine and he was curious about why.

Lots of karting pictures met his eyes, pictures on podiums and in the garage. There were a lot more sponsor logos than before and Daniel couldn’t say he wasn’t impressed. He himself knew how difficult it was to even get sponsors to talk to you in karting, much less to invest. 

While he was scrolling through the rest of the profile, careful not to double tap anything of course, another notification banner from maxverstappen_33 popped up. “You are so beautiful Daniel.”

And well… that was new. Normally he’d get a lion or capybara video by now. MaxV had taken to sending him videos of quokkas recently too. Daniel had never given him the impression that these videos were appreciated or cared for– though he had watched a couple of them– so he didn’t understand this step up to shooting his shot.

Daniel closed out of the profile and then the app. He needed to get some sleep.

— - —

They’d told him to record a video for some kid getting his super license soon. That was new, but maybe Seb had been the one welcome in the new drivers in the program. It was quick with well wishes for some kid named Max. 

Daniel had wondered initially if it was MaxV, or rather Max Verstappen. But Vicky had told him nothing more and MaxV was supposed to be going to formula 2 now anyways. No way Red Bull would be making such a stir over a kid.

When he got out of the sim he had a bitchload of notifications. Red Bull had tagged him in something and people were congratulating him. Ace. He went to his DMs to see a new message from Maxverstappen_33;

‘Thank you for the video. It was lovely Daniel.’

Well, shit.

— - —

It happened slower than he thought it would have. But quickly in the grand scheme of things. Daniel stepped out of his motorhome, zipping up his race suit and thanking the handler to his left for his hat. It was shoot day today with the whole team, including the boys from Torro Rosso.

Daniil slotted in beside him and Daniel dapped him up. This would be their second year as teammates and Daniel was excited for the year to come. 2016 felt like the year maybe, to take the championship fight to Mercedes. The car was quick in the sim and Adrian said the wind tunnel tests have been phenomenal. Daniel was ready.

What he wasn’t ready for, was the guy who stepped right in front of him. Blonde hair, electric blue eyes. Familiar as fuck face pulled into a smile. 

“Daniel! It is great to finally meet you after all this time.”

Daniel hadn’t ever considered meeting MaxV in person, the kid that’s been sending him 💯 emoji what felt like weekly for the last maybe two years. If you scrolled through their DM it was very one sided. But here he was, very caught out at the very real and very eager kid waiting for his reply. This would probably be the first time he ever did reply.

“Enchante, Max.” Daniel grinned and glanced over a Daniil when Max’s face flushed with a blush.

He didn’t think about it the rest of the day. Not when Max kept telling jokes and whipping his head around to see his reaction. Not when Max would hold Carlos’ hand and pulling him into close hugs only to turn and look to Daniel’s reaction.

Daniil was having a field day and he knew Seb was going to learn about this somehow.

He didn’t think about it. Because Max was a kid or whatever and it was weird.

Max sought him out fairly regularly after that, bolstered by being in the same company and paddock. Invigorated at the fact that Daniel responded to him every time.

— - —

Daniel heard the news but he hadn’t quite believed it. He knew RedBull did driver swaps, apparently ‘all the time’ but he didn’t think he ever saw it happen mid season like this. 

He walked into the garage to see the host of cameras and mics. The identical RB12 no longer sported Daniil’s number but now had a large 33 plastered over it. The garage was also sporting the new 3|33 decals. Daniel knew that marketing was having a field day.

He stepped off to the meeting rooms to wait for the crowd to clear, fiddling on his phone. He’d never admit it, not even under the pain of a slow as fuck pitstop, that he was interested to see what the hubbub was about. What could possibly be so good about Max that they would do such a public shaming of Daniil.

He didn’t know how much time passed, but he tweeted a bit and posted a new picture to instagram during the time. The notification banner popped up; maxverstappen_33☑️ 💯💯💯

Daniel grinned to himself, still surprised that Max had kept this up. Still apparently had his post notifications on. The door opened. 

“Daniel that picture was lovely.” Max sat in the seat across from him in the conference room. His RedBull polo was a little askew, and he was smiling widely.

Well, shit.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Down to the Meadow

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 3

Series Masterlist             Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: swearing, descriptions of depression, descriptions of violence/gore (canon typical), more of Frank being concerned about what reader is eating (very vague ED references)

a/n: AHHHHH I AM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE! A huge thank you to the anon who reminded me that it was Monday LOL. I am so glad that someone else enjoys this story because I love writing it. This chapter delves into Franks trauma and mental state and I hope you all enjoy!

w/c: 5.5k

The dream evolved after the first iteration. Each time he closed his eyes, a new horror cemented itself into the sentient nightmare that was slowly consuming his entire life. 

As with the first dream, it started with you joining Maria in his standard nightmares. Your beautiful figure sitting on the carousel alongside his late wife and kids as those assholes gunned you down. A patch of red slowly spreading across your pretty white dress as your smile morphed into a face of horror. 

The weird thing was, his subconscious laced the nightmares with gorgeous, peaceful images of you. Like his mind was desperately trying to remind him that good things are easily ruined. 

You pulling cookies out of the oven. Then, you being blown to bits in front of him in the field. You laughing at a joke he didn’t mean to make. Followed quickly by your screams as the life drains from your face. 

You picking flowers in a sun kissed field, before a large black mass overtakes you, swallowing you whole. 

Though his resting mind was eager to pry him away from you, to spare you a terrible fate, his waking mind was yearning to let him wrap himself around your finger. The fine line he was treading started to look more like a noose—and he was weaving it himself. 

A cold, squishy object nudged Frank’s outstretched hand deliberately. Groaning, the Marine retracted his hand into the cocoon of sheets he had created in his uneasy sleep. A pitiful whine shattered the early morning silence and sent a white-hot strike of pain through his skull. 

Pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes, his throat twisted in a silent cry of pain. Prying his eyes open, he was blinded by the daylight, searing an imprint into his eyelids. 

Nausea burned in his gut as he contemplated opening his eyes again. He wanted nothing more than to lie here and rot all day, but Max clearly needed to go out. The thought of bringing Max outside the apartment right now was enough to make a gag rise in his throat. An idea rattled around in his skull, the pain of his hangover too intense for him to even remember that Frank Castle never asked for help unless he was on his death bed. Braving the sun’s unintentional inferno, he let his eyes slide open again. 

A hiss of pain escaped his lips and he drew a hand up to block the rays as best he could while he took in his surroundings. He had fallen asleep on his couch after making a mess of his apartment, but his phone sat prominently displayed on the coffee table amid a smattering of empty bottles. Grasping it for dear life, he sent a message as quickly as possible before shutting it off and letting his head fall back to the pillows. 

Frank: I hate to ask this but could you take Max out for me? I’ve got a bad headache. 

A vibration let him know that you’d responded, prompt as always. 

You: I’m sorry you’re not feeling well ☹️ I’ll be right over. 

Breathing deeply, Frank heaved himself off the couch, stumbling to the door to unlock it before retreating to his created sanctuary. 

Frank: You can let yourself in. Door’s open. 

Drifting in and out of a painful consciousness, Frank hazily remembered the door opening, a cool hand on his face, the same gentle palm offering him some extra strength painkillers and a glass of water, before all signs of other life disappeared from his apartment. 

When he woke again, you were returning with Max in tow—your ethereal form outlined by a halo of golden light as you crouched in front of him. Frank was vexed by the sight of the skirt of your beautiful dress pooling on the floor.

“Hey, big guy. Feeling any better?” Your voice was soft as your dainty fingers stroked his arm with a featherlight touch. 

Frank grunted in affirmation, not trusting himself to look at your dazzling eyes and risk seeing honest concern. There was no way his fatigue riddled mind could resist you, it was too dangerous. 

You gave him a small smile. “Well I took Max for a walk to and around Central Park, so he should be a happy camper for a while. Did you want me to stay?” 

Blood rushed to Frank’s ears. This is exactly what he was afraid of. Do not say yes. Do not say yes. Do not— “Please.” His voice cracked around the word, making him cringe. You fucking asshole. You piece of shit. 

“Hey, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but tell it to quiet down. It doesn’t seem to be helping.” Your knuckles brushed over his cheek and he leaned into the touch, weakening your worried frown. 

“I just…I ain’t good company, sunshine. I shouldn’t let you stay, I can’t ask that of you.” Your pinched expression intensified as you listened to his deep grumble crack on the pet name he used for you. Cupping his cheek tenderly, a small smile slipped through as you reassured him. 

“You don’t need to be good company for me to enjoy being with you, Frank.” You shuffled closer to the couch, hand moving to scratch lightly at his scalp which made him groan in appreciation, eyes falling closed. 

Frank sighed, a strong sense of guilt ballooning in his chest “I don’t deserve you.” 

“Oh stop. You deserve to be happy. Whatever and whoever helps you get there, yah?” Your voice was definitive, almost stern, which made the corners of his lips twitch up in a smirk. 

“So bossy.” He murmured, his smirk growing as you gave his hair a small tug in retaliation.

“Can I sit?” You jerked your head to his couch and he nodded, sitting up to make room for you.

Ignoring his desire to let you care for him, he rested his arms across the back of the couch. The ghost of your body heat dancing over his exposed skin in an almost comforting waltz. It wasn’t a great placebo for your gentle touches, but it would have to do. 

You were quiet for a moment, worriedly glancing around the apartment. Empty beer and liquor bottles littered the coffee table. While you wouldn’t dare call Frank’s place “messy,” your rigid, grouchy neighbor was never less than meticulous. He’d mentioned his military background to you once, which would explain his precision and attention to detail. And that was why the litter seemed so out of place, you supposed. 

Preoccupied with brainstorming a way to assist, Frank nearly made you jump when he broke the silence. 

“Sorry I ain’t much fun.” 

You chuckled, poking his shoulder. “I already told you, tough guy, you don’t have to be fun. You can sleep more if you want.” 

“Nah.” Frank’s face contorted with a grimace making you giggle.

“Ok, have you eaten yet?” You tilted your head at him, darling smile persisting even though his place was a mess and he was a disaster. His doubt began churning again. She deserves better. Send her away. 

Frank just shook his head, both to clear it of the whirling thoughts and to answer your question, so you continued. “How does an incredibly greasy burger sound?”

The Marine groaned, “Like fuckin’ heaven.” 

Giggling, you took his hand. “I know a good diner not far from here. Join me for lunch?” 

“Sounds like a plan, sunshine.” Frank allowed you to pull him from the couch, appreciative that you took care not to jostle him too much. Armed with more painkillers and a pair of sunglasses, the two of you headed out for a meal. 

The amount of care you took, in the short walk between his apartment and your destination, to ensure his comfort on the bustling NYC streets was honestly outrageous. How someone could give two shits about a man that massacred people without trying was beyond him, but he was grateful nonetheless. Keeping a tender hold of his hand, you led him around the other New Yorkers with immense grace, your sweet face bright with a smile the entire time. Thinking it would be best for his pounding head, you refrained from making conversation, simply turning around to grin at him every once in a while. 

As you reached the diner, you pulled open the door for him before his outstretched free hand could touch the handle. Frank was always so chivalrous around you, it was time for him to get a taste of his own medicine. Smiling sweetly, you bit back a laugh at his narrowing eyes as he skeptically accepted your action. 

“Thanks, sunshine.” 

“Why of course, sweetheart.” You coated your voice with honey and Frank grumbled, furrow above his brow deepening. Bringing his calloused hand up to your lips, you placed a kiss on his knuckles before brushing over them with your thumb. “Relax, Frank. Let someone else care for you this time, hmm?” 

The tension on his face ebbed before evaporating. Poking his cheek, that was now dusted with a rosy blush, you giggled, pulling him towards an empty booth. 

Sitting across from you, Frank slid his sunglasses off to fully appreciate your appearance today while you read over the laminated menu. Dolled up in one of your signature floral sundresses, your hair was styled differently—pulled away from your face, revealing more of you to him. Natural light poured in from the window framing your booth, highlighting your slender hands and neckline that plunged deeper than normal. Frank found his eyes tracing the line of fabric down into the valley of your visible cleavage until your sudden movement spooked him from the trance. 

“Ooooo the red onion and goat cheese burger looks good. That must be new or I would have tried it before. What are you going to get?” You beamed at him, blissfully unaware of the way his thoughts lingered on your skin. Stuck in his own head, he wondered if your melodic voice would respond to his touches the way he wished it would. What would you sound like if he ran a hand over your thighs? Would you get louder once it became his tongue?

“Frank?” You took hold of his arm that was resting on the dull plastic table, startling him. Your pretty brow pinched, eyes running over his face for any sign of distress. “Are you ok? Is it too loud or bright in here?” 

“I’m a’right, sunshine. Jus’ lookin’ at ya, is all.” He grumbled, picking up his own menu as heat rushed to your face. 

“Oh, well, er—everything is good, so whatever you choose will be, um, good.” You stumbled through the sentence, trying not to dwell on Frank’s consistent compliments. 

A waitress eventually approached the two of you to take your order. Taking your cues from Frank, you ordered a strawberry milkshake with your burger while he requested a chocolate one—Frank seemed more than pleased about the addition to your meal and you weren’t quite sure why. 

While waiting for your food, you and Frank were looking out at the flow of people through the window beside you. You happily commented on their outfits, and what jobs you thought they held. Though it was clear you were being overly goofy to lighten his mood, he encouraged it—asking you to describe their personality and voice along with their job. 

Letting your lilting tone wash over him, he focused on the way your fingers fit so perfectly in his. Your thumb continued drawing patterns across his knuckles, even though your focus was outside. 

While you were giving a ridiculous impression of a man in a full suit that clearly thought he was tough shit, Frank felt a confession bubbling up in his throat. 

“Friday is my daughter's birthday. She would have been 18.”

“Oh, Frank…” The devastation in his statement made emotion well up in your own chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thought I owed ya an explanation. F’r the mess.” His hand circled towards himself lamely. 

“You don’t owe me anything. Not one single thing, sweetheart. I’m here for whatever you need, explanation or not.” You squeezed his hand again, looking at him with concern, but not pity. 

“I meant what I said earlier. You deserve better.” Keeping his eyes downcast, his heart plunged when your fingers stilled over the back of his hand before slipping out of his hold entirely. 

Closing his eyes in disappointment, he assumed he’d rightfully lost your support until he felt a burst of heat settle against his side as you wrapped him in an embrace. Your hand buried itself in his hair and he let you pull him into your neck. 

“You are exactly the kind of man I deserve, Frank. You’re allowed to grieve, and, honestly, if you showed no emotion that would be a huge red flag. It’s ok to struggle and it’s ok to ask for help. I am always always a door away if you need company or someone to talk to. I know I tend to dominate the conversation, but I have been told that I’m occasionally a good listener.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, stroking over the spot of impact gently when he subconsciously leaned into the contact. 

“I don’t doubt it, sunshine.” He idled in your hold before drawing back, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he moved away. “Her name was Lisa. She, um, she died in a shootout. Along with my wife and son.” 

Before he could continue, your waitress returned to your table. Thanking her briefly for the food, you positioned Frank’s food in front of him, picking up a fry. Watching you turn to him expectantly, he found himself telling you everything. For the first time in his life, he understood why Red felt so strongly about his religion. Confessing his sins to you lifted a burden that he had lived with for so long, he had previously assumed it was a permanent piece of him. He’d found a new altar to kneel at, and he wouldn’t give that up, he couldn’t. 

He talked for what felt like hours. Telling you about Maria, their meeting, their love, their marriage. He told you about Lisa and Frankie, how he felt like he had failed Frankie more so than anyone else because of the responsibility he’d unknowingly placed on the boy’s shoulders. While he didn’t go into detail about their deaths, he spoke about things that had haunted him silently. The pieces of his relationships with his wife and children that he kept so close to his chest, Curtis didn’t even know about them. 

By the time he’d picked his plate clean, he was exhausted. Revealing his fears to you was relieving, but it took so much energy. Running a palm over his face roughly, he drained the last of his milkshake. 

“I’m sorry, sunshine. That was…a lot.” 

“Don’t be sorry. I appreciate you trusting me with this.” Your words were genuine. “Let me finish my burger and then we can go home.” 

His heart fluttered at the small implication that his apartment was your home as well. You may not have intended it, but it’s warmed his chest nonetheless. As you worked your way through the rest of your food, you remained tucked into Frank’s side with his arm around your shoulders. 

Letting his arm fall to your waist, he stroked a thumb over your hip gently, making you smile. Popping the last bit of sandwich into your mouth, you fell more firmly into his hold. Studying his face with a small smile, you brushed a few strands of hair off of his face, eyes landing on his lips for a moment before you looked away. 

Flagging down your waitress, you started to hand over your card but Frank’s large hand settled over yours. Passing the waitress his card instead, his lips twitched in a tiny smile. 

“I got this one, sunshine. Could she get the rest of that shake to go?” 

You grinned at him, pressing another kiss to his cheek. 

Frank was sure he hadn’t smiled this much in years. The pair of you traipsed along the city streets, under the impression that the sunlight would do you both some good. Of course, he’d needed to persuade you and your adorably furrowed brow that his headache had faded and could withstand the bright lights and urban ambiance. You’d once again woven your fingers with his as you ambled along, this time threading your arms together too. The heat of your skin pressed to his was a drug unlike any other. He was infuriatingly drunk on you and his heart refused to do anything about it. 

Because it was you, with your brilliant smile and silvery laugh. He’d been constructing walls around himself for years, and you’d strode up with a basket of pastries, walking straight into his life and tidying it up like you had always been there. 

Stuck in his own mind, Frank failed to see the teenager sprinting down the sidewalk. His growing daydream of you cementing yourself into his life was shattered as your hand was abruptly tugged from his grasp, your body falling to the cement under the weight of the gangly teen who’d toppled you. 

“Oh gosh, are you alright, ma’am? I am so sorry! I didn’t see—“ 

“The hell?” Frank snapped at the kid, who turned white as a sheet as he stared up at the towering man. 

Kneeling beside you, Frank felt his heart constrict seeing the crimson-tinged scrapes on your elbows, small trickles of blood spreading from them across your pristine skin. Not to mention, your beautiful dress was splattered with the remnants of your milkshake, the styrofoam crushed against your chest. 

Snarling, Frank turned back to the boy, still crouched beside you, arm outstretched so you could pull yourself up. “Jesus, did ya even look where you were goin’? Or did ya just feel like injuring her and ruining her pretty dress.” 

The kid’s adams apple bobbed as he gulped in terror, wide eyes watching Frank’s movements as he backed away in surrender. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been paying attention.” 

“Yah. Ya should’ve. Fat lot of good that does us now, though.” Frank spoke tersely, feeling a hand rest on his bicep. 

Sitting up, you gave him a pointed look before smiling at the teen. “It’s quite alright, I just got scraped up, is all. Don’t worry about him, he’s a little protective. Are you ok?” 

Only you would be able to experience a mess like that and worry about the idiot that caused it. The kid nodded, breathlessly running his hands through curly, brown hair. 

“I’m fine, ma’am. I am so sorry, again, did you need help—“ Bravely (or stupidly), the boy stepped towards you with an arm held out, offering to help you up. Fists clenching, a low growl left Frank, scaring the kid back into his senses. 

“Sorry, er, have a good day!” The kid chirped fearfully, dashing away. You giggled, craning your neck to watch him disappear into the masses. Grabbing Frank’s hand with your own sugar-stained fingers, you allowed him to help you stand, brushing a knuckle over his cheek when you saw his fierce scowl. 

“I’m ok, tough guy. He didn’t mean it.” Giving him an earnest look, you withdrew your hand from his face, giggling when he slid forward on his toes to follow the warmth of your touch. Gently sliding your palm against his nape, you scratched at his hair—earning a deep, pleased rumble from him—and tugged him back into a moderate pace. “I would love to get this dress washed so it doesn’t stain, though. Let’s get home.”

Tense scowl easing, Frank gratefully let you guide him back to your building. 

“Frank, really, I’m ok! You don’t need to—“ You pleaded, watching the man pace around his apartment, grabbing various first aid supplies to tend to your shallow wounds. 

Frank ignored your bargaining tone, shuffling through his depleted kits for the supplies he sought.  Armed with bandages, saline, and cotton pads, he kneeled before your seated form on his couch. “Course I don’t need to. I want to. That bother ya?”

Sitting before him in a cotton shirt and pajama pants, he felt his heart clench as he studied your soft figure. You shook your head at his inquiry, looking at him with eyes filled with an unrecognizable emotion. Had he upset you? Was he being too pushy?

“No, it’s just…” You trailed off, eyes avoiding his own as you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. His stomach tightened, waiting for you to reveal that he’d pushed you away, but the sentiment never came. “I don’t want to be any trouble, Frankie.” 

Oh. Oh. It’s not defensiveness, it’s doubt. Guilt. He’d been so wrapped up in his own insecurities that he had forgotten you were fully capable of falling prey to your own. Setting the supplies aside, he took your hands, looking firmly into your eyes. 

“Ain’t no trouble. Not to me. Not when it’s you.” His words were honest and the short, strangled gasp that escaped you told him you weren’t expecting it. A hint of a smile ghosted over your lips, making his mouth twitch in tandem. 

Silently, he pushed up your sleeve and rotated your arm to expose the torn skin. Dampening a cotton pad with saline, he swiped over the injury as tenderly as he could, terrified of seeing you wince. Holding still, you smiled at him, free hand coming to rub circles over his back as he worked. 

Focusing his eyes intently on the wound, he ignored the growing warmth in his chest, expanding with your continued touches. Though he was staring at your ravaged skin, his thoughts were elsewhere—leading him to put too much pressure on the wound. Your hand gave a barely noticeable twitch of pain, but he cursed his existence anyway. 

“Shit, ‘m sorry darlin’.” Loosening his hold on you, he bandaged up the shallow cuts. You just smiled at him, tracing a finger over his chin. 

“No need to be sorry, Frankie. Thanks for taking care of me.” He blushed, grumbling out a dismissive response and returning to his work. 

Though the day had already worn him out, long strings of words spilled out his mouth. Stories pulled from him by your sheer magnetism. You gave reassuring touches and encouraging nods as he once again told you everything. How he’d been a trouble maker as a kid and ended up enlisting, the brotherhood he’d found in Curtis and Billy. There was no way your perceptive eyes missed the flinch he gave when mentioning his former best friend, so he moved on quickly. He spoke about coming home to Maria and the kids, dealing with the shenanigans of two elementary schoolers while struggling with PTSD, the way he’d grown to appreciate the quiet and the way he hated it now. 

While you were more than comfortable carrying a conversation, he’d never found more solace in letting someone listen to him. You remained quiet, but present enough to stoke the embers of his energy as he rambled, squeezing his arm when he stuttered and smiling softly at the anecdotes. With a sigh, he placed the final bandage on your skin and pulled your sleeve to cover it. You were silent for a moment, studying the fabric of your top before his doubt got the better of him. 

“I’m sorry, you can leave if you want. I didn’t mean—“ 

“Oh Frank,” Chuckling softly, you pulled him into a hug. While the gesture was unexpected, he was overwhelmed with gratitude as he melted into the embrace. Pulling back slightly, you pressed your forehead to his. “What on earth gave you the impression that I didn’t want to be here with you?” 

Snorting at his own lack of control over his fears, he nudged his marred, crooked nose against your pristine one. “Wanted to give you a route to escape, is all.” 

“Don’t want one.” You whispered, growing breathless as he ran his fingers along the soft skin of your cheeks. 

The two of you sat there, slowly melding together, for what felt like hours. A cloud of hesitation and want steadily growing around both of you as you desperately sorted out whether or not to make a move. Before either of you could act on your desires, a shrill alarm rung out—startling you so intensely you shrieked, nearly toppling off the couch. 

“Shit, sorry, honey that’s me.” Large thumbs fumbling over the screen of his crappy phone, he shut off the horrific noise and chucked the device across the coffee table. “You ok?” 

You were panting, on the edge of giggles at your clumsiness, but you nodded. “Something wrong?” 

“No, sunshine, nothin’ like that. My friend, Curt, he’s hostin’ group today. Asked me to come.” Frank wallowed in the disappointment of the ruined moment, cursing his own rotten luck for pushing you away. 

“Oh, I can get out of your hair. Sorry to keep you!” Standing from the couch, you made to straighten the fabric bunched around your waist but a hand shot out to wrap around your wrist. 

“It’s not for a couple a’ hours, if you wanna stay.” Frank’s dark eyes flitted over your face, scanning for any sign of required affection. Luckily, it didn’t take long for you to break into your signature dazzling smile and perch on the edge of his seat, practically sitting in his lap. 

“Course I’ll stay. I could make something for you to bring, if you’d like?” 

“Somethin’ like those addictive cookies?” Frank asked, raising a brow teasingly. 

Leaning in close, your murmur danced across his chin as you grinned up at him. “Tell you what, I’ll teach you the recipe, then you can bring them whenever you’d like. You have to be careful though, these are dangerous secrets I’m revealing to you, sir.”

Frank laughed, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ll take ‘em to the grave, sunshine.” 

Scrolling through your phone, you sighed as you switched apps yet again. Nothing was holding your attention and the boredom of it all was eating you alive. 

Biting your lip hopefully, you flicked your screen to your message inbox, heart sinking when you saw there were no new messages. 

You’d spent damn near 8 hours with Frank, yet you couldn’t help but mourn his absence this evening. It was well-known both to you and your loved ones that you were quick to get attached to people, especially if they were brooding or lonely. Leo always referred to this as your “penchant for strays” given your obsession with pitbulls and black cats in addition to society’s lone wolves. But there was so much more to Frank than his soft grumpiness. 

Frank was sweet and protective, and his actions were proof that cared for you deeply despite only knowing you a few weeks. Your face felt clammy just thinking about the way he patched up your minor scrapes earlier today. You wondered if his tender first aid skills were developed during his short time with his wife and children. 

It was no surprise to learn about Frank’s tragic backstory. Though you had done your best to keep his life private, you’d managed to piece together the key points of his service, his loss, and his downfall. Your conversations today had simply filled the gaps, and fueled your existing desire to learn more about him. 

Despite your unassuming, feminine nature, you couldn’t help but empathize with Frank and his violent past. His actions didn’t scare you, revenge was something you’d dealt with intimately throughout your life, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful that so many dangerous individuals were no longer around to terrorize your beloved city. 

Learning more about his past had only drawn you to Frank even more, as if learning about each segment of his being only strengthened the invisible current that washed you repeatedly against his rocky cliff side. His violence wasn’t unnerving to you, simply more evidence that this man was exactly as passionate as you’d interpreted him to be. 

“The Punisher” they called him. The name was brutal, absolute. It wasn’t the image of the vigilante that you’d settled on. Yours was complicated, human. Just a man who loved his family so deeply that he was willing to bring hell to the people who took them away. His journey was one you couldn’t fathom, yet you understood. 

So you continued to pursue a friendship, maybe allowing it to blossom past traditional platonic boundaries, but how could you resist. Spending time with him meant time flying past, sharing bubbling laughs and stupid jokes with a man who looked at you like you hung the moon. When Frank was with you, his attention was deliberate and profound. He was focused on you and only you, even when surrounded by a myriad of other people and stimuli. You basked in the intensity of his gaze, letting it warm you from the inside out like a bright flame on a dark night. Did the world really expect you to not stoke those embers? 

As if your thoughts had summoned him, the unique text tone you’d assigned to Frank’s number sounded, igniting a bright smile on your face. 

Frank: You might have created a problem for me, sunshine. These guys want me to bring cookies every week now. 

You: All good things come at a price, sweetheart. Did you really think that you didn’t need to sell a piece of your soul to make cookies that good?

Frank: Pretty evil of you not to warn me. I’m starting to think this was your plan all along. 

You: Damn! You found me out. What can I do to make it up to you?

Frank: Do me a favor? 

You: What’s the favor?

A firm knock on your door startled you, making you drop your phone. Tilting your head quizzically, you shuffled over to peek out the peephole, grinning when you saw who had knocked. Pulling the door open, a very stern looking Frank—contrasted by the wiggling, excited pitbull at his feet—stood before you. 

“Hey there, sweethearts! C'mon in!” Beckoning the pair into your apartment, you led them to the couch, happily letting Max jump into your lap. 

“You’re spoilin’ him. He’s gonna think any furniture is fair game.” Frank’s gruff voice held a tinge of amusement but his face held a whirlwind of emotions you couldn’t quite decipher. Clearly, he was avoiding something. 

“He’s the bestest boy, Frankie! He deserves to sit on the couch with me!” Squishing the pit’s face, you gave Max a kiss before looking at Frank expectantly. “Sooo…you needed a favor?” 

Looking away from you, Frank sighed, rubbing at his nape. “Yah, shit, I hate to ask this, sunshine. I, uh, I was hopin’ you’d be willin’ to watch Max for a few days for me?” 

Your heart pounded, body flooding with concern, and slight excitement. “Of course, Frank. Everything ok?” 

He nodded, slouching forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, still refusing to make eye contact. “Yah, just a business trip, nothin’ crazy. I just wasn’t expectin’ it and couldn’t get him into his usual place. If you don’t wanna do it—“

“Frank,” You placed your hand on his forearm, stroking his skin softly as you tried to encourage him to relax. “Of course I’ll watch him. That’s not an issue. I’m just worried about you is all.” 

Frank snorted quietly, letting you take his hand and pressing a delicate kiss to your knuckles. “No need to worry, sunshine. I can handle myself.”

Sliding out from under Max, you strode over to the broad man on your couch and knelt before him, taking his other hand. “Never said you couldn’t, sweetheart—but I’m going to worry about you anyway. Anybody going with you on this job?” 

“Nah, just me. Why, you gettin’ jealous on me, darlin’?” Frank smirked at you and you shoved his knee, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest at the new nickname. 

“You wish, Castiglione. I’m cool as a cucumber.” Mirroring his tender affection, you pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Just don’t want you to forget about me while you’re out galavanting, is all.” 

“Don’t think that’s possible, sunshine. I can’t stop thinkin’ about ya.” Frank murmured, finally meeting your eyes. The two of you hovered mere inches apart, tension growing around you in a thick fog before Frank cleared his throat, dissipating it. 

“Anyway, I can leave a key with ya, if that’s not too weird…” 

“Yah, yah.” You let go of his hands, standing up to brush off your dress. “That works, Frankie. When do you leave?” 

“Well, uh, now. If you’re truly ok watching Max?” 

“I’d be honored. Just…promise me you’ll drive safe, sweetheart.” 

Frank’s gaze was fervent, drawing you in and pushing everything else away.

“I promise, sunshine.” 

Thank you for reading!! Comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated!

Taglist: @cheshirecat484@xxdrixx@smhnxdiii@mattmurdocksstarlight

[ryuichirou]

Flirting hcs

Anonymous asked:

How do you think the twst boys flirt? How do they respond to being flirted with if they notice at all?

Anonymous asked:

How does Chen’ya even act when he’s feeling flirtatious?

Back with more hcs, and another very interesting prompt!

Since Anon2 mentions Che’nya, I thought it was a good reason for me to write about more characters than usual. I hope this is at least fun to read. Thank you for your questions!

PS. Take a shot every time I say the word “teasing”. It’s not my fault: these boys love to tease...

Riddle – he isn’t super aware of it when he is being flirted with, even his own flirting is usually unintentional; he just gets carried away with teasing sometimes (this is going to be a tendency for a lot of these boys...). He doesn’t notice when things get too heated until it’s too late. If someone was to genuinely try to flirt with him, he’d either not notice it or misread it as being made fun of and get angry. This is what happens with him and Floyd a lot...

Ace – just straight-up genuine flirting is too cringe for him these days: imagine being honest about your attraction to someone and always having a risk of being laughed at and rejected? What a cool way to make a fool out of yourself. It’s probably a phase, but for now Ace’s style of flirting is your typical “tugging on your pigtail because I like you”; this is why he teases Deuce all the time. He really likes him, but it’s easier to playfully push him in a puddle than to actually flirt with him. He is good at detecting others flirting with him though, even though that doesn’t usually happen...

Deuce – he is very oblivious... one could flirt with him for years, and he wouldn’t notice. He also isn’t a good flirt at all; he would start overthinking it and fail miserably if he tried to flirt. And then Ace would make fun of him... Deuce is so happy that he doesn’t have to think about these things. Surprisingly though, sometimes the way Deuce talks back to some delinquents really reads as flirting. But he himself doesn’t know about it.

Trey – he will notice when other flirt with him because he’s been dodging advances from others for years. He is very good at making it seem like he doesn’t notice anything, but he is pretty much always aware... When it comes to his own flirting, he isn’t very good at it, so he wouldn’t even want to try. But somehow him being kind of awkward backfires because it makes him even more charming to some people. His most preferred style of flirting is probably to bring someone something freshly baked and tasty to eat (i.e. Vil’s lab coat vignette)

Cater – look at this man and his powerful back: he is carrying the Heartslabyul’s entire flirting career on his shoulders. He flirts a lot, he flirts all the time; we’ve seen him flirt. He isn’t always successful, but this is mostly because of whom he chooses as a target of his flirting: neither Malleus nor Vil would respond to his style of flirting. He is also pretty quick to notice when others flirt with him, but it doesn’t happen very often...

Leona – one would say that his preferred style of flirting is the bravado-style rants that he does, but not really; I think Leona likes messing with others’ heads but also provoke with his comments, just to see if others would react in a way he finds amusing. One might say that he is like a cat playing with a mouse, even if the mouse is actually a hyena... Also, Leona is very quick to notice others flirting with him.

Ruggie – he is surprisingly adaptable and changes his style of flirting depending on who he is with. But he also only flirts to gain something, and these days he doesn’t do it a lot; with Leona he doesn’t even need to flirt, and having anyone other than Leona in that role in his life would be too much. Ruggie also doesn’t always notice that he is being flirted with... he feels like there is always a catch behind others’ sweet words.

Jack – he isn’t much of a flirt and he isn’t very good at noticing that he is being flirted with. It’s not that he is very oblivious, it’s just that romance isn’t on his mind all the time. He would probably try to act somewhat sweet and compliment a person if he tried to flirt, but then would get defensive since he is such a tsundere...

Azul – when it comes to noticing others flirting with him, Azul is even worse than Ruggie in terms of “alright, what do you want?”. Azul doesn’t trust anyone who is complimenting him or making any kind of advances towards him, he just knows that there is something else that they want. Remember how he didn’t let Jamil help him with flying lessons, even though he knew that it was Vargas himself who asked Jamil to help Azul out? It’s even worse when Azul is being flirted with... At the same time, he always tries to outsmart the other person. As always, turning everything into a battle of wits... When it comes to Azul himself flirting, I think the end of ch4 was a pretty good showcase of that; he showered Jamil with compliments and basically started to give him reasons to go out with him and switch dorms lol Flirting with Azul means that there is a certain result that Azul anticipates. Always. He is so annoying god. His flirting is insanely good on paper, but sounds incredibly fake despite him doing everything right.

Jade – this is Ace’s “tugging on your pigtal” all over again, but with a sick twist. In a weird way, I think Jade flirts almost all the time. The way he pokes others, the way he watches their reaction, all of it is pretty much flirting from Jade, lite version. If he finds one target though, he will start spending more time on finding more elaborate ways to mess with them, I mean flirt with them. He is also very good at noticing others flirting with him, but still acts surprised every single time. What a tease. He never responds to other person’s flirting, at least in a way that one would expect him to.

Floyd – he is either chasing someone down the hall just because he loves chasing someone (Riddle...), does something that includes him manhandling someone else’s body, like throwing them in the air and catching them again, squeezing, tickling, chewing, etc (Riddle...), or being surprisingly honest and straightforward about his attraction. He doesn’t get embarrassed at all, if he feels like he likes someone or some specific aspect of someone, he’ll just say it. If he feels like he wants to hang out with someone more, he’ll say it. I think a lot of people around him start thinking that he is kind of sweet when he does that... only for him to switch to his first type of flirting in 3, 2, 1...

Kalim – he is a weird case. He is also pretty straightforward and wouldn’t mind complimenting others or expressing his feelings in a very honest way, but, and I feel like I say it a lot, Kalim does a lot of romantic things as a friendly gesture. It’s difficult even for Jamil to differentiate between Kalim who held his hand for half an hour just for the sake of it and Kalim who did that because he wants to be with him romantically. Surprisingly, I think Kalim consciously might hide his attraction, especially if it’s someone like Jamil because of the fear of getting rejected and getting stopped at the beginning of their ~romance~. These thoughts wouldn’t come to him before, but I think that after ch4 he is more cautious, especially if it’s Jamil – he wouldn’t want to lose either him or their friendship, even if this friendship is a little dishonest now... When it comes to others flirting with Kalim though, he is super oblivious. Like, scarily oblivious sometimes.

Jamil – he knows when others are flirting with him, and he probably looks down on a lot of people who do. He is never interested in flirting back... But even though Jamil himself isn’t much of a flirt, he is very good at it and always knows what the other person wants to hear. I’m just saying, he doesn’t even need to use his unique magic to seduce someone, he is that good at it. He throws just enough hints and is at the same time subtle and straightforward.

Vil – he loves flirting a lot. If the situation allows it and he likes the other person, he could initiate flirting easily; he does it with Trey sometimes, as well as with a lot of other guys, and of course Rook as well. Even when Vil isn’t actively flirting with someone, he throws teasing comments here and there a lot. Vil’s flirting is playful, teasing, a little “biting” because he loves it when men get flustered and a bit defensive over his comments (he basically showered Jade with it). He loves it when they try to “bite back” as well, as long as it’s fun. And of course Vil is always aware about others flirting with him, he just ignores it a lot of times. He only flirts with those who he deems fun enough to do it with.

Rook – here comes another “flirts all the time” type of guy, but this time it’s 100% genuine. He does flirt every time he opens his mouth and loves showering others with compliments, but he also does a lot of physical and sensual things, like touching or leaning towards someone to play with their hair. When it comes to someone he feels deep romantic attraction, he does every romantic thing that could come to his deeply romantic mind: poems, flowers, paintings, little gifts, notes, anything. Rook flirts all the time, but when Rook flirts, it’s hard to miss. Rook loves flirting, and sometimes he spends hours doing nothing but that with Vil, who plays along. Rook is also very good at noticing others flirting with him, and he always acknowledges that one way or another. Even if he doesn’t want to flirt back, he wants the person to feel appreciated to some degree... very... nice of him?

Epel – he has some good potential, but his flirting skills aren’t very polished. He knows how to compliment people and is very good at picking what to comment on to make the other person feel flustered, but his execution isn’t always perfect. But when he gets carried away, he gets so much better and so much brattier it’s insane. He is a bratty flirt... that doesn’t always pick on it when others are flirting with him. I’d say he misses it 85% of the time.

Idia – he just offends people lol this is Ace’s “I don’t want to flirt it’s cringe” thing but much worse. Idia is terrified of trying something just to be rejected, so he doesn’t even entertain the idea of flirting with someone. It would be a disaster, he thinks. Ironically, he is good at expressing his feelings in a very honest way... as long as it’s in a text form. He will notice others flirting with him, but will get so shocked by this that he’ll rationalise it by thinking that this is some kind of “confessing your love to an ugly nerd” thing. It’s not impossible to get him flustered, but god he is as difficult as Azul sometimes.

Ortho – has a potential to become scarily good because of how huge his database is. He knows how good and bad flirting sounds (thanks movies!), the only thing he needs to learn is to how to figure out why one of them works or doesn’t work. This is something that requires a lot of experimentation, but he is up to the task! Beware of Ortho randomly flirting with everyone! He isn’t good at noticing others flirting with him yet, but it’s mostly because he is very rarely being flirted with. Boo..!

Lilia – he loves flirting, but with him it turns aggressive sometimes. Maybe it’s because of his past + because he is very used to Malleus who is a huge smart-ass, but at least it’s fair to say that flirting with brats is his main specialty. He bites and bites back, he teases, even belittles sometimes, but to him it’s all out of desire to flirt. He could be oblivious sometimes, which is surprising, but still, the majority of times he is good at detecting others flirting with him.

Silver – this boy doesn’t flirt... he could compliment someone, he could bring someone a gift or find some other ways to express his feelings, but he never really does it. He is also very oblivious to others flirting with him. Despite Lilia’s wish to make him more sociable, it’s still pretty difficult for Silver to figure out what others wants from him...

Sebek – he always ends up talking about how awesome Malleus is, would that be considered flirting if he is talking about it to someone other than Malleus? Somehow I doubt it... He isn’t good at flirting at all, he is also a huge tsundere, so he either compliments someone in a way that sounds like “not bad for a pathetic worm” or tries to compliment someone sneakily, without saying a word, by showing them his appreciation instead. Which is sweet, but also super rare. Sebek also would get angry at others flirting with him: he doesn’t get it and doesn’t know what others want from him. This sick boy...

Malleus – he is at the same time mysterious and straightforward. He loves confusing the person he’s into a little bit, loves putting them in uncomfortable situations and playfully scaring them (i.e. when he does his “do you even know who you are talking to?” thing with a wide smile). I guess similarly to Vil, but less subtle than him. He does it Sebek, but also Lilia, even though it’s very difficult with someone who knows him as well as Lilia does. Still, when he gets Lilia to sweat a bit over something, he is super pleased. Also yes, Malleus is aware when he is being flirted with, and he is usually either amused and enables it, or gets super annoyed instantly.

Che’nya – I think he is one of the boys who flirt all the time with everyone around them. You guessed it: he teases, especially when he appears and disappears randomly, tickles and gently blows air in someone else’s ears. Che’nya’s style of flirting is very physical, sometimes almost Bugs Bunny comedy style physical. If Che’nya likes someone, his head will pop out of thin air to smooch the person and then immediately disappear again. He’s done it to Riddle a bunch of times...

Neige – remember when I said that Trey is bad at flirting but it’s somehow good? Neige is this x100 but also super wholesome. He’ll try to call someone beautiful, and then get awkward and apologise, and the person will instantly want to marry him. Well, anyone other than Vil. Neige is also super oblivious to others flirting with him.

Rollo – lord have mercy on him.

Fellow – he is very adaptable and could change the way he flirts depending on what the other person is into; but he spends so much time flirting with powerful men, so the majority of time Fellow compliments people for what he feels they are proud of, acts kind of submissive, sneakily touches someone’s arm to hint at being interested physically as well. He is a very good flirt, and of course he knows when others flirt with him.

Gidel – very inappropriate gestures and winks. No one would consider it flirting. No one would be comfortable with considering it flirting...

Crewel – carrot + stick style of flirting. His inner dom is always awake, and his inner tamer is always working harder than anyone. He comments on people’s weak spots, and then either keeps teasing them or compliments them based on their reaction. I feel like his boys always feel like they’re being watched and evaluated from every angle, and somehow become very eager to please him. This style of flirting is surprisingly successful for Crewel, but maybe it’s due to his charisma and looks... He also always knows when others are trying to flirt with him; he’s always been good at noticing others being into him in general. A dangerous scary man.

Trein – I know, it’s hard to picture that, but even Trein could be a flirt sometimes. He isn’t very daring or scandalous, I would say he is very sneaky and would just make slightly teasing (one last time...!!) comments here and there, but to Crewel it’s pretty obvious that this is his style of teasing. Trein also notices when others flirt with him, but pretends not to see it.

[returnsandreturns]

I just dontated to the PCRF! For a mattfoggy prompt, what about, in college, matt sitting in foggy's lap just becoming A Thing That Keeps Happening that started as a circumstantial thing but it just. never /stopped/ happening. And eventually they kiss about it.

matt being just an absolute goddamn mess has been my favorite thing to write lately so this was a lovely opportunity!! thank you <3

(also, if you donate any amount to the Palestine Children's Relief Fund or a similar organization of your choice, you can also get a guaranteed matt/foggy ficlet of an undetermined length. just send me an ask.)

“We cannot afford a cab,” Foggy says, leaning out of the questionable car belonging to Marci’s friend that is already full of more college students than should legally be in it, “and we are both drunk enough that there is a non zero chance that somebody is going to fall in front of a train. Just sit on my lap—you’re too pretty to wander around the streets alone.”

Matt sighs before climbing into the car, slumping down so he can settle awkwardly on Foggy’s lap, shutting the door behind him.

“This is undignified,” he says.

“Dignity’s overrated,” Foggy says, wrapping his arms around Matt’s waist loosely, making a soft noise when Matt shifts and they both clearly internally reckon with the fact that he’s making significant contact with part of Foggy that he actively tries not to think about. Because it’s weird to think about your friend’s dick—and maybe just as weird to have to think so much about how he shouldn’t be thinking of it.

The car is full of drunk babbling so neither of them has to say anything—which is probably for the best.

What’s there to say?

-

“Oh, shit,” Matt says, when he goes to sit next to Foggy on his bed but, in the midst of finals week delirium, ends up sitting directly on him. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Foggy says, after letting out a shocked laugh, arms going around Matt’s waist to steady him and immediately reminding Matt of that feeling from a few months ago—sitting on Foggy’s lap, Foggy’s arms around him, Foggy’s—his thoughts are interrupted when Foggy says, a little high-pitched, “Are you gonna maybe move, buddy?”

“Oh god,” Matt says, again, despairingly, climbing off of him and considering hiding under the bed. “Sorry! I normally have a better read on where you are, I’m just. . .”

“In clinical need of a nap?” Foggy asks.

“So tired,” Matt agrees.

“I’ll point out,” Foggy says, “that we are currently in a bed—where most naps take place.”

“That’s true,” Matt says, smiling. “Statistically.”

“C’mon, we’ve earned it,” Foggy says, gently touching Matt to guide him so they can lie next to each other, on their sides, touching in so many different little places that Matt can’t focus at all—until Foggy asks, softly, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Matt says, just as softly, smiling. “It’s good.”

If they wake up a little more tangled together and with Matt having a broadened awareness of what Foggy’s dick feels like when it’s pressed up against his ass, it’s fine. They were unconscious. It’s not like they wanted it.

—

Matt wants it.

Matt—Matt wants it.

Fuck.

—

After a series of lap related incidents, some unintentional, most incredibly contrived to the point where Matt almost gives up because Foggy has to actively be choosing not to say something, Foggy pulls Matt into his lap on his bed and gently grabs his hips.

“Do you have something you want to tell me, Matty?” he asks, voice a little lower than normal.

Matt’s eyes widen.

“Uhm,” he says.

“Use your words, please,” Foggy says.

“Okay, but what if I—I mean, instead, what if—fuck, Foggy,” Matt says, giving up on words and leaning down to kiss Foggy instead, soft at first then decidely not when Foggy hands move to squeeze his waist then down to his ass as they go from kissing to Matt dazedly thinking about everything else Foggy could do with his tongue as they frantically make out.

“Okay, the lap sitting,” Foggy says, when they break apart out of sheer need for oxygen. “Do you normally come onto people by literally throwing yourself at them?”

“Everything preceding the month of October was accidental,” Matt says, immediately.

“And what about the incidents following that?” Foggy asks, amused.

“. . .less accidental,” Matt admits.

“You just like being in my lap, buddy?” Foggy asks, stroking Matt’s hair.

Matt nods, a little too overwhelmed, but Foggy gets it immediately and takes Matt by the hips again to pull him slowly closer, making an encouraging noise when Matt shifts so his erection presses up against Foggy’s through too many layers of clothes. He rolls his hips. Foggy swears.

Matt’s fingers slide over the zipper on Foggy’s jeans and Foggy says, firmly, “Yes,” before Matt even has a chance to say please.

[supernotnatural2005]

Just a lil announcement…

Thats right, i am adding Priestly to the list of Jensen’s characters i’m writing for. 😍 After reading @zepskies HC for 'Man Flu', she has other works like Code Red and the prequel to it, Miracle Man - which are amazing btw - I felt inspired, so thank you Alex, for the unintentional inspiration. 😂 It's also going to be another submission for my @jacklesversebingo square.

If anybody would like to be tagged, i have now added him to the form. 🤗

Picture Perfect - Coming soon... 👀

Summary: You decide to surprise your boyfriend Priestly with a spontaneous request he’d made months ago, however, not everything goes to plan.

Prompt: "You have to find it before the others do!"

Sneak peak...

Priestly leaned over your shoulder. “Babe. What did you do?”   You groaned, shoving your phone away.   He folded his arms. “What’s going on?”   You turned to him, heart hammering. “You have to find it before the others do.”   His brows shot up. “Find what?”   You hesitated, face heating.  His eyes narrowed. “Oh, you so did something bad.” A grin began to form on his lips. “I may have… hidden something for you,” you admitted. “In The Sandwich Bible.”   Priestly blinked. “Okay… And?”   “And—” You exhaled sharply. “It was supposed to be a surprise for you.”   “…What kind of surprise?”   Your jaw clenched. “The personal kind.”   Priestly stared.   Then—his eyes widened.   “Oh, Oh.”   You squeezed your eyes shut. “Yeah.”  

Jensen Ackles Tag List:

@lyarr24 @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @kr804573

[koolades-world]

CONGRATULATIONS ON 2K

Can I request Satan and MC with 17 and 28?

Now for the sappy stuff:

It felt like it was just yesterday that I was binging "Just like Lilith," (yes, been here that long with notifs still on for you and everything) and now you've grown so much, and I just 😭. Please keep writing, I've seen your style change and improve, and I am so glad to be on this little journey watching my favourite author get the love they deserve.

awwww thank you!! it means a lot to me that you stuck with me through my extended unintentional break haha. i for sure thought i'd basically have to start from scratch again after that. i also think i freaked out a little when i saw the words my favorite author. words can hardly describe how i feel. like me?? me is someone favorite author? sending you all the love in the world anon 🫶 so glad you've joined me on this train that is my writing haha

enjoy <33

prompts 17 and 28 w/ Satan

Satan loved a lot of things. Perfectly warm tea, chunky cats, late nights of reading followed by lazy mornings, the smell of old books, but most importantly, you. He wished he could spend everyday with you by his side. Which was the reason he agreed to go on the stupid family camping trip in the first place. You were his sweetheart, so of course he couldn’t deny the puppy dog eyes and pleading when the trip was proposed on the first place.

He didn't inherently hate camping. He preferred glamping, but camping wasn't the worst thing in the world. Being far away from other demons and in the solitude of nature was preferable, minus the fact that he could only have a select few books. What really bothered him was the fact that it was a family trip. He'd be trapped in the middle of nowhere with the six demons that annoyed him the most. He tried to look at it from the bright side though, as you would tell him. He'd be there with you to, after all.

The spot Beel and Lucifer had picked was remote, beautiful and mountainous, but the trip there wasn't too long. Somehow, there were only seven tents, and a brawl almost started over who'd get to share a tent with Mc. Satan was in the center, but while they were at each others throats, Mc had set up one of the tents on their own and laid stakes to it. Beel and Belphie ended up sharing a tent. Honestly, it was a power move on your end and only made him love you more.

You lounged in the center of camp on a blanket on your back while everyone else set up tents. Belphie wasn't helping, of course, and was basically right on top of you. That was the beginning of the end for Satan. You chatted with everyone swirling around you as they worked, and it wasn't too irritating until Mammon and Levi got into another argument. Then, Lucifer insisted they 'act more like a family' and have together time, which meant they needed a campfire. Nobody else made the move to make it, so when he stepped up to the plate, you were kind enough to join him. The two of you were able to talk while you worked, gathering firewood, which he thought would be enough to calm him down. Soon, the two of you got the fire lit with magic, and you went off one more time to gather more tinder. Upon returning back, while unsure what you'd returned to, you were just in time to watch Beel throw water onto the fire, putting it out. That was his last straw.

Satan threw down the kindling he'd gathered and stormed off in the direction he'd just come from. "Satan! Wait, please come back." You turned and tried to run after him, but he was gone quickly. The other six brothers watched silently. After seeing that they were not going to follow him, and planned to resume as normal, you shook your head. "You guys are awful to each other. Don't follow me, I can protect myself." You too went off in the forest, only after anticipating that the brothers would try to follow you, not their brother.

You weren't exactly sure which way he'd gone, but you could feel his anger somehow. Maybe it was the pact, or maybe it was your magic. Either way, it helped you follow him higher and higher into the mountains. The trees thinned out, and eventually, you saw him sitting in the middle of a small clearing near the edge of a cliff. He turned slightly to see who'd followed him, and turned back around after seeing it was you. "Glad I found you." You sat next to him.

"What do you want?" His words were sharp.

"I just came to keep you company." You leaned over to take his hand. He jumped a little, but gripped it back. You laced your fingers with his.

"I'm fine. Nothing is wrong." He didn't look at you, but you could still see the ever-shifting expression on his face.

"You know just as well as I do that that's not the truth," you told him.

"I'm telling the truth, Mc." He tried to refute what you'd said.

"You're a terrible liar." You could almost laugh at his false insistence.

"What if I was upset? What would you do?" Instead of responding to you, he presented you with a 'hypothetical' question.

"Well, I'd tell you I was here for you, and that I understand how much your brothers can be. We can just stay here, if you'd like. Hypothetically, of course." You couldn't help but laugh a little over the way the two of you were communicating.

"I would tell you that sounds great, but that I have a better spot in mind for relaxing." He got up, seeming calmer than he had been before. You could still tell he needed a little more time, but you knew just spending time with him would help.

"Lead the way, Satan." The two of you began a short walk through the forest again. With him holding your hand, it was much easier to feel safer in the rather unfamiliar forest. You could protect the both of you, no doubt, but it was comforting nonetheless with him by your side. The walk was peaceful, and filled with comfortable silence. You eventually reached a river. While it wasn't particularly fast looking, peering into the water showed that it was deep. For a while, the two of you sat beside the water, talking minimally. The two of you enjoyed each others company, and the scenery.

"Ready to go back?" Satan stood up. You were surprised that he had been the one to ask that. You weren't sure what time it was, but you at least thought you'd be out there for another hour or so. You knew him and how long it took him to decompress sometimes.

"Yes. I'm getting a little tired." With a yawn, you got to your feet with the help of Satan's extended hand. You must've not been as steady with your footing as your though, because as soon as he let go of your hand, you promptly stepped on a loose rock and took a tumble into the water.

The water was cold, and you were only fully submerged briefly, but in that short time, Satan had jumped in after you. He was quick to swim after you, and grab ahold of you so you wouldn't get separated by the flowing water. "Are you alright?" He grabs onto a nearby rock to stop the two of you from getting pulled further.

"Just surprised is all. You came in after me." You pushed his wet hair out of his face so he could actually see you.

"Of course I did." He stated that as if it was obvious.

"I'm flattered, but I would've been alright. You didn't have to get soaked too just for that." You mentally sighed when you thought about how long it would take you to dry off. At least now, you'd have each other for company while you dried.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Please don't go anywhere I can't follow," he said. You laughed a little at first at his words, a little confused.

"What do you mean? You jumped in after me." You put your hands on his shoulders to better keep yourself from getting swept away, since you could feel the subtly drag of the river.

"Not in just a physical sense. What if you were hurt? I can't lose you, especially not over something I could prevent." He sounded very solemn. His response wasn't something you anticipated, and it took you a second to process.

"I care a lot about you too. Thank you, for everything." There was so much more you wanted to say, but struggled to find the words for. So, instead, you hugged him as best as you could.

"It's the least I could do for the human who changed my life." Satan reciprocated as best as he could with the one arm that was already around you.

"Let's get out of the water before we catch a cold. If we're lucky, your brothers will be asleep and we'll have the fire to ourselves." You could already picture the lovely time the two of you would have by the campfire together. By the look on his face, you could tell he was thinking something similar.

"Hang tight then." Satan smiled at you. It was the most beautiful smile you'd ever seen. It communicated everything he felt, even the words unspoken. If you weren't sure of your feelings before, you were now. The avatar of wrath, your sweetheart.

[grandlinedreams]

hi hi before your requests close, i was wondering if you’d write something super angsty- maybe with a happy ending? i don’t have a prompt, just love angst and hurt/comfort

Hiya papaya! Thinking about the modern au, so have some EMT!Ace

[Heads up!: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of passing out, CT scans fucking suck]

When he hears the radio clipped to his belt crackle to life, Ace doesn't think much of it as he stirs from the light, sleepy daze he'd been drifting into in the back of the ambulance.

"Gonna have to repeat that," he answers when Sabo's voice is garbled, smacking the radio against his palm. Damn thing has to be at least ten years old ㅡ and no sign of them getting new ones, either. He holds it to his ear, rubbing at his eyes, though he stills as he hears the address.

It's familiar, as is the description of the patient ㅡ and he suddenly feels sick, staring at the radio in his hand. Surely Sabo'd said a digit of the address wrong, or gotten a description eerily similar ㅡ because Ace has a horrible, sinking feeling that the patient they're going to collect is you.

"Ace? You good?" Marco is talking, trying to get his attention, and he shakes his head to snap out of it.

"Yeah, yeah, Iㅡ" He swallows, fishing for his phone. "Sorry, but that call out just now...that's [Name]'s apartment." His fingers are shaking a little as he finds your contact, typing a text to send.

[Is everything okay? Call me when you get this.]

"I'm sure it's nothing," Marco tries to soothe as Ace all but slams the bay doors shut as the garage opens, siren already light and flashing as Marco pulls out and heads down the road.

Ace stares at his phone, willing you to answer. That this isn't for you, it's for a neighbor. A friend. Hell, he'll take a stranger over something happening to you.

He's out of the ambulance before Marco even pulls to a complete stop, heart hammering in his chest as he listens to the cop who's waiting for them at the entrance to the apartment complex.

"Neighbor found them unconscious on the floor, said they were conscious now but didn't want to move them."

"Thanks, man. We'll take it from here." Ace feels like he's underwater as he moves towards the open door, wishing that this apartment wete anything but as familiar to him as it is. He'd been here this morning, tangled up with you and lamenting the fact that he had to leave.

Ace has seen a lot of things in his time as an EMT ㅡ bones jutting out where they shouldn't, exposed viscera, and even an enchanting conversation with a man who seemed wholly unaware of his unintentional diy tracheotomy. None of it makes him feel as untethered and scared as seeing you on the floor does.

You're paler than you should be, and he hurries to stop you when your head turns towards him. "Ace?"

"Hey, sweetheart." He kneels, takes the neckbrace from Marco, sliding it beneath you and into place. "Can't have you moving your head like that until we know what happened. Can you tell me what today is?" He waits to get your answer, then continues. "What year is it?"

You frown. "I'm fine," you protest, "let me get up."

Ace shakes his head. "You passed out, sweetheart. We're taking you to the hospital." He watches as Marco grabs your wrist, eyes flicking to the watch on his wrist. "I'll get the backboard."

He needs something to do, to dispell the nervous jitter as he runs through all the things that could be wrong, running from mildly inconvenient to terminal diagnoses. By the time he makes it back and they load you onto the board, Ace is trying to stay positive for your sake.

"This is unnecessary," you whine as you're loaded into the bay, pouting at Ace. "Really? I passed outㅡ"

"And hit your head," he protests. "You need to be looked at." He shifts to professional mode as he picks up his radio, rattling off your vitals and brief description of what the situation had been.

"Ace?" He turns, finds you watching him.

"I'm sorry," you say and his chest aches as he brushes hair out of your face.

"Don't be," he murmurs, "you'll be fine, okay? We'll get you checked out, figure out what happened, then get you home."

"For cuddles?" You sound hopeful, and Ace grins.

"Of course."

Ace doesn't get to see you much further than your admission, and by the time he finishes his shift, you're already in a room that he's pointed to by the night shift nurse at the desk.

You're sitting up when he enters, cup of jello in hand, though you light up as you see him. "There's my baby," he coos, grinning as you roll your eyes. "What'd they say?"

"They ran a CT to make sure I didn't have anything abnormal going on," you report, "and it came back clear. My blood sugar was just really low, so I guess I passed out because of it. They're sending me home with a modified diet."

"Good," Ace says, tucking himself into the bed beside you despite your protest. "You scared me, babe."

"I'm sorry," you say as you let him tug you down, arms wrapped around you. "They'll be mad if they come in and you're asleep in this bed with me."

Ace presses his face to your chest. "Let them," he mumbles. "Don't care, I'm gonna nap with you."

"Brat," you tease, and he sighs.

"I'm your brat."

You hum, kissing the top of his head. "That you are."