#the title is extremely rough and will not look like that good god i swear im a graphic designer

[gryffindraws]

i've been working on this idea since valentine's day and decided to skech out a cover (even though i literally only have a few out of context pages sketched lol)

over explained au idea under the cut

it's an au in which crowley is a human running his own plant store and aziraphale is a cherub that was kept in heaven after the eden/sword mishap. He runs the human archives in heaven and has been obsessed with humans ever since he met adam and eve. he's been schemeing for millenia to get a chance to go to earth (having only watched earth from the scrolls in the archives).

serendipitously, aziraphale finds an old file called the Cupid Project, a defunct project wherein angels would foster love amongst humans by helping them make connections (via celestial arrows to the heart, yeah. there was a reason it was cancelled). Seeing his chance, he pitches a reboot of the project to help more humans find love (and get his ass to earth). Annoyed, the archangels finally agree, if only to get him to stop pestering them. Under their terms, the archangels set a test for aziraphale to prove the project's worth. They pick a human for aziraphale to successfully find love for and give him one year to make it happen.

Anthony Crowley is a man that doesn't like to be bothered. He has a few 'friends' that check in on him from time to time, but really, he prefers to be alone with his plants. Really, he does. He's grumpy and prickly and pushes away anyone that gets too close. Which is what makes him the perfect candiate for aziraphale's test. Snickering to themselves, the archangels pick a man that couldn't possibly open himself to love. And when the year is up, aziraphale will be back in the archives, where he's promised not to bother them ever again.

tldr: human!crowley, angel!aziraphale, flower store, aziraphale as cupid. slow burn and strangers to friends to lovers. sappy romance, pining

some bonuses: the flowers crowley is holding are gardenias, which represent secret love. The flower's in the corner are cupid's dart, because of obvious reasons

[summerwritesfics]

🍷🖤For Warmth You’ll Be Longing, Nightingale, Prologue - Come On, Just Feel It, Can’t You See It?

Pairing: Hanzo Hasashi/Kuai Liang (Future chapters) Length: 1437 Words Rating: Explicit (For future smut & dark themes) Warnings: Cult Au, Whump, Torture, Blood and Gore, Whipping, Blood, Salt being thrown on wounds, Choking on blood, Pain, Injury, Flower growing in peoples skin, Body Horror, Mental Health Issues, NSFK (Not Safe For Kuai) @anyfandomdarkbingo : Cult AU

Summary: The Lin Kuei receive a visit from the Goddess of Light, Life and Virtue.

For Warmth You’ll Be Longing, Nightingale Masterlist - AFG Dark Bingo Masterlist

Notes: Guess Who’s baaaaaaccckkkk!!! >:) Did you miss me? No? Oh… Well… Sucks to be you then. TBH I’ve had this done and edited for a while so I figured it was a good point to start my return :) I swear when I signed up for all the bingo’s I have that all the fics I’d write would be oneshots but WHOOPS hellbrain wants to make everything multi-chapter ;_; I’m gonna warn you guys now this fic is gonna be rough, and Kuai Liang is gonna have a very bad time, poor baby. It’s basically going to get a lot worse for him before it get’s better. Explicit rating is both for future smut & probably some extreme gore, but tbh if you’re playing Mortal Kombat you are probably okay with that, just figured I should give the heads up 👍🏻 Title for both the fic and the prologue chapter are from ��Ice Queen” by Within Temptation.

Kuai could do nothing but tremble in pain, trying to keep his cries to a minimum. His back was burning, and every time the leather lashed against his skin the agony just kept growing. The added humiliation from his complete lack of clothes only made the whole situation worse.

I’m sorry. He kept his apologies and pleas internal, having learnt the hard way in the past that voicing them just brought him more pain. I’m sorry, please stop.

“We grow tired of teaching you this lesson Kuai Liang,” the Grandmaster claimed before the whip was brought down against him yet again. He clenched his fists, please, no more. “How many times do we have to be in this position until you just follow our commands?”

I tried! And by the Elder God’s he’d tried. But their orders were often impossible to actually follow, and those that were achievable needed to be completed to a standard he was sure no human could physically accomplish. He’d seen others complete their tasks in a similar way Kuai had, yet he was the only one who ever got reprimanded for it.

It’s not fair.

Kuai felt something grainy and sand-like be thrown on his back, and the second they hit his wounds, the burn became unbearable. Against his will, a bellowing screech was drawn from his lips, his hands reaching to claw at where the salt was getting into his wounds.

“Silence!”

A boot hit his back, forcing him down on the floor. He silently sobbed, desperately trying to keep his sounds to himself even as everything hurt.

Elder Gods, if you’re there, please let this end. It hurts.

Even with his eyes closed, he could tell there was a flash of bright light. The foot on his back retreated, and he heard the Grandmaster and his cronies taking several steps back. Kuai blinked his eyes open, slowly tilting his head up until he saw the new figure in the room, standing in front of him.

He recognised her from the scriptures.

Lady Cetrion, Elder Goddess of Light, Life and Virtue.

It felt like his heart had all but stopped.

“Lady Cetrion,” the Grandmaster breathlessly exclaimed. “It- It is truly an honour for you to grace us with your presence.”

Lady Cetrion regarded him for all of a few seconds, before her eyes slowly lowered until she was looking directly at Kuai instead.

Panic gripped him, as he pushed himself back, turning his entire body in an attempt to crawl away from her. He was just a lowly disciple of The Lin Kuei, she should not have made eye contact with him. He knew where this would go. She would want a sacrifice and the Grandmaster would slit his throat.

As he scrambled across the floor, he felt something strange snake around one of his legs. As he looked back to see what it was, he found a vine slowly constricting his calf. He gasped, clawing at the floor to no avail as the vine dragged him back to where Lady Cetrion was awaiting him. Another vine wrapped around his other leg, then two more around his wrists. His body was jerked up off the floor, as he found himself manhandled until he was dangling uselessly from the vines on his wrists.

And so that he was face to face with Lady Cetrion.

Any plea for mercy died on his tongue, this was it. He was going to die. She would claim him to show her favour to The Lin Kuei. Heart beating so hard it felt like it was about to burst out of his chest, tears welling in his eyes, but he blinked rapidly to try and keep his vision clear. If this was how it was going to end, he wanted to be at the very least able to see what she did to him.

Lady Cetrion brought up her hands, cupping them together, a small light emerging as she did. The light slowly began to morph, and soon there was a flower bulb, roots growing underneath against Lady Cetrion’s palms. She smiled gently, as the bulb began to bloom, revealing a beautiful royal blue flower.

Lady Cetrion looked back up at him, giving him the kindest smile Kuai had ever been graced with.

Then she placed her hands against his chest, and Kuai felt the roots of the flower exploring his skin.

And then…

Pain.

Such agonising pain. He’d spent his entire life being tortured and yet he’d never felt anything like this. It was so bad he could barely comprehend what was actually happening to him. It wasn’t until he felt something pulse under his skin that he realised.

The roots of the flower were digging into his skin.

Not just his skin, he could feel them exploring inside him, finding his veins and burrowing inside them. He knew the roots had found his lungs when he suddenly started to choke. Blood filled his mouth and he had no choice but to spit it out lest he drown. Then a sharp pain from around where his heart was, and he knew that this was it.

This was how he was going to die.

His heart giving out as he drowned in his own blood.

And then, suddenly as the pain had been there, it was gone.

There wasn’t even so much as an ache. Just ice cold and numbness. He blinked, coughing the last of the blood out onto the floor. He was light headed, and couldn’t figure out for the life of him what was happening.

The vines slowly put him down and retreated, but the second they were gone his knees buckled and he fell forward. Lady Cetrion caught him, wrapping her arms around him, as one hand reached to stroke his hair. Kuai sobbed into her chest, trying to come to terms with what the hell was happening.

I’m… Alive? I’m not dead. She didn’t kill me.

But why?

Finding just a little strength, he managed to push himself away slightly, just enough to look up at her. She was still looking at him with that kind and loving expression, like a Mother looking down at her beloved child. He was so confused, what was going on?

As he managed to stand up straight, he realised his back felt strange. He reached a hand behind him, finding something solid and cold coating the wounds. He brought his arms in front of him, noticing something off about a cut on his forearm.

There was ice, growing inside the wound.

His attention was back on Lady Cetrion. Was this her doing? Just what exactly was the flower currently rooted in his chest?

She placed her hands on either side of his face, leaning forward until her lips met his forehead.

As she gently kissed him, a vision enveloped his mind.

A room covered in ice. A throne in the centre. He sat on it, legs crossed and arms on the rests. The flower in his chest complimented the beautiful clothes he was wearing, a crown perched atop his head. There was a crowd of people, bowing before him and looking at him with nothing but adoration.

He was loved.

He returned to the present, and Lady Cetrion pulled away. He stared into her eyes, and she stared into his. Somehow, he understood everything now. If that was a vision of the future, or Lady Cetrion showing him what he could become, he didn’t know.

What he did know, however, was that Lady Cetrion had blessed him with these strange powers.

She had chosen him.

And he would make sure she’d made the right choice.

Lady Cetrion finally let go of him, taking a few steps backwards. Light enveloped her being, and in the time it took Kuai to shield his eyes, she was gone.

He looked down, ice was forming around his feet. He smiled. Granted he wasn’t sure how to control this power he’d been given, but he was sure he’d grow accustomed to it.

He slowly turned around, finally seeing how the Grandmaster and the pathetic fools who followed him were reacting. Oh, the looks on their faces were priceless. Mouths agape, looking at him like they’d seen a ghost. It seemed they understood what had happened as well.

He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped from his lips.

The Grandmaster’s face morphed to one of terror as that chuckle morphed into a full maniacal cackle.

The disciple they had despised the most had become Lady Cetrion’s chosen one.

He was the fucking messiah, and there was nothing they could do about it.

≛❀≛ Next Chapter ⋟

[esha-isboogara]

jojo’s bizarre porn tropes

publishing even MORE headcanons before i finish the first set ? an absolute iconic move from me tbh. i went crazy with my tags bro😩but anyways enjoy this …i will do more characters if i can come up with more tropes

here’s part two

jonathan - he’s very vanilla so your videos fall under the passionate category. jonathan takes the act of making love very seriously so expect to cum at least twice in one session. he won’t over stimulate though , he gives you a pleasant high. y’all don’t post a lot but when you do it’s usually a movie that will have the viewers drooling.

joseph- amateur porn. he isn’t too fond on setting up a camera and having a script or whatever. he’d much rather record you giving him head or maybe a lil pov of back shots. joseph makes sure you’re featured on his only fans regularly. videos are usually no longer than 5 minutes.

jotaro- big dick small girl trope. my god this man is hung. people watching your videos are always slightly worried for your safety. how does it fit? women all around the world want to be you. some of the more aggressive sessions almost always lead to concerned comments. jotaro does have a bit of a reputation so he refuses to show his face along with yours.

kakyoin- not a trope but most of your posts are cosplay related. dressing up as your favorite anime characters and fucking for money is a dream come true. a lot of work goes into your videos mainly because of the well put together costumes and make up looks. the entire look gets ruined in the end but presentation is a big deal. the two of you have a cute set up. it’s high effort but the rewards are so worth it.

josuke- innocent boy and experienced woman. he still won’t say it out loud but he is a total bottom so having you top him/take control is perfect. josuke will use titles like “step mom gives new son blowjob during dinner” to catch a persons attention. or so he says. you’d swear he has a bit of a thing for it. your videos are usually a bit longer and medium effort.

giorno- very beautifully done/well put together porn. people who watch the two of you enjoy modern art and pretty landscapes. it’s essentially art house porn. your content is extremely well put together and is pleasing to eye as well as to the dick/pussy. giorno doesn’t much care if his face is recognized-hes a crime lord there’s not much anyone can do at this point.

leone- rough sex! the people who watch your videos are sickos and the others are worried for your safety. lots of tying up, whipping, slapping and abuse of your little hole. don’t worry it’s all consensual and monitored.

bruno- pov style porn. honestly an iconic move from him. he loves to go back and watch your tapes so why not upload them. similar to joseph they’re never longer than five minutes but there’s a good amount of them. occasionally you two will put together tutorials for those less experienced in sex.

jolyne- lesbian! jojo knows how much men love that wlw content so the two of you exploit that fetish to the max. it started off as just a few short clips but as time went on you and jolyne got a whole set up. most of your vids are pretty basic but men especially eat them up so 🤪

hermes- massage porn. she’s always been good with her hands so why not use her abilities for something fun? you guys don’t upload often. not because you don’t want to just because you always forget or get too caught up in what you’re doing.

foo fighters- the two of you were on the weirder side of porn hub. strange toys, story lines and odd outfits. from alien sex to retro porn you’ve done it all. honestly it doesn’t really matter if others find it sexy the two of you enjoy it. it doesn’t take much to convince them to post your videos- it takes longer to explain how the camera works than anything.

[shiroichiban]

4town workforce au

uhhh, hi :33 i’m back after god knows how long of not writing to bring u my dumdum workforce au ideas :33 also if you saw this post fuck y’all it’s not a handy manny au >:((

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　robaire - barista/bartender　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

bet he’d have the like, really hot barista rep so college students would come to his cafe to take a peek at him but inevitably they’d stay for his coffee cause it’s really fucking good. and then at night his cafe turns into a calm little bar, he serves great specialty drinks to the point he’s been featured in a couple night life magazines!

he and jesse were college buddies therefore jesse is an extremely loyal patron to robaire’s cafe, plus robaire serves as his venting grounds. when robaire can tell jesse’s having a really rough time he’ll whip him up an ungodly concoction that’ll make jesse forget all about his worries~ and give him a massive headache after

z also happens to be a regular customer since robaire’s cafe serves some pretty good protein shakes, robaire knows his order by heart cause he never orders anything else (and he may have had a crush on him cause with those muscles how can you not—) he finally gave in and wrote down his number on the back of z’s receipt once and after a bit of a slow burn courtship they’re happily dating :33

sometimes he tries whipping up new drinks in his spare time and they’re either really good or spawn of satan bad, he has vomited a few of his own creations and honestly speaking robaire’s alcohol tolerance is concerningly high so you know there had to be something wrong with that drink

t’s the resident repairman so robaire calls him up to do some odd jobs every now and then, like “t the water is brown and smells like coffee.” “you work at a coffee shop, what’s the problem?” “n-no i mean the toilet water t.” it’s ok though he pays t a hefty sum for his work plus offers him a free discount on drinks so he doesn’t go unappreciated.

robaire actually knew tae as t's friend since he'd bring him around occasionally to take advantage of the free drinks he gets. he learned that tae's alcohol tolerance was scary that night and put a cap on how many drinks he should serve him for the sake of morning after tae young—

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　jesse - college professor　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

i’d give him the ‘wacky art teacher’ title but he’s too hot for that, he’s the resident hot professor that students always have a crush on at one point if they take his class. too bad he’s been gay and taken for awhile now but oh well, this man is stressed as hell by the way. will go out of his way to try and give less assignments so he’ll have to check less things but even then he suffers during hell weeks to the point he nearly got carpal tunnel from checking papers. but on the plus side he looks hot in glasses i guess?

the bar is his refuge though, he never comes by during cafe hours but once robaire sets up the bar he’s there almost the entire night (when he’s free of course he’s not that irresponsible) jesse used to be the official taste tester for robaire’s sample drinks but after a few bad ones let’s just say he tapped out of that role real fucking fast. might have had a fling with robaire when they were younger but honestly they both knew they were better off as friends so they broke up with no hard feelings.

since jesse had to witness the monster of a crush that was robaire’s on aaron z, jesse knows him by relation but also ended up going to one of his gym classes and actually liked it. jesse can admire the fact that z’s a damn good teacher and great motivator at that, they become good friends once he makes z swear he’ll never break robaire’s heart. he makes sure to drop by the gym at least once a week to the point z has come to expect him and even started giving him tips on workout clothes because no jesse, you cannot show up to a class in sweat pants and a pajama shirt.

tae and t were actually both jesse’s students at one point, although he never had a class with both of them together he knows t to actually be a pretty bright student, generally found him to be more engaged with hands on activities rather than pen and paper ones which he understood. t was generally a very earnest worker in his eyes and he appreciated that in him.

NOW TAE WAS A WHOLE DIFFERENT STORY, cause jesse may or may not have developed a slight crush on him when he first saw him— and it didn’t help that tae young would always stay behind and ask questions, or participate in after school workshops that jesse hosted. he genuinely tried to keep his feelings as just attraction and nothing more but the more time he spent around tae it inevitably spiralled out of control when he ended up confessing. but luckily tae said yes so all’s well ends well! (although he did say that their relationship should be kept on the down low until tae graduates)

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　tae young - florist　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

tae manages his college’s greenhouse but also part times as a florist in another more well known shop, generally just loves flowers and learned flower language long before he actually became a florist. started out as a volunteer with his college’s greenhouse until he ranked up to manager, but even that didn’t satiate his love for plants so he applied for a part time job that actually paid him money for his plant upkeep! he’s pretty popular around campus since people tend to buy their flowers from him (he offers student discounts even though they’re just flowers lol)

alright so about his relationship with jesse… tae couldn’t help it ok he’s hot :<< but other than that he genuinely loved how caring jesse was and how much effort he put into helping his students, especially since tae young didn’t exactly do the best in his class during the first semester. jesse genuinely went out of his way to help him then so he slowly started developing feelings… and he expressed those feelings with flowers! sometimes he’d give them to jesse straight up, hide them in his desk, press them into his homework (don’t worry jesse never gave him minus points for that), or some other roundabout way. and the moment jesse confessed to him he literally cried before saying yes—

tae has been to robaire's bar before thanks to t treating him to the free drinks that he gets there, he finds robaire quite charming and sweet so he understands all the campus buzz about the "really hot barista at the cafe"

tae and t are actually really close! they commute with each other to college everyday and have fun conversations all the way there, t was the first person tae told about his crush on jesse and t’s genuinely such an accepting friend. tae likes t cause he never judges him but also just cause he’s so fun to be around, also t is basically the hive mind for all the latest gossip so tae likes catching up on that kinda stuff.

now z and tae aren’t really close, they’ve only been acquainted a few times since z is robaire’s boyfriend and he’s jesse’s boyfriend so they’re still a bit awkward around each other. but tae thinks z is cool but also finds it really cute that he's shy since usually he's the one who leads conversations between them.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　aaron t - repairman　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

aaron t’s a repairman that a whole lotta people rely on since he can do various common and odd jobs, people will literally just say “if you have a problem go to aaron t!” and that’s kinda stuck as his tagline since then. he knows everyone in the community pretty well and is very well beloved considered the amount of discounts and free food he gets from the people he works for on the daily—

t is basically robaire’s assigned repairman since only he can deal with the random ass problems robaire’s cafe goes through. don’t even ask me how he managed to fix the toilet water thing cause i can’t give you an explanation. and t will admit, he may find robaire hot but he's heard him mention a boyfriend once or twice so he let it go

now jesse was t's professor during his first year of college and he has to say, the man is packing in the looks department hot damn. but also he felt very very worried for tae since he knew his feelings were fragile and he didn't want him to get hurt if jesse rejected him. nonetheless he gave his full support to their relationship and hey! it paid off cause now he has free access to the teachers lounge with the good snacks.

oh tae, beloved sweet tae young, t's best friend little brother scrunkly boy sweetheart platonic soulmate— anyways, t definitely sees tae as a little brother. he's supportive of whatever tae does and always tries to encourage him, they have a very caring relationship towards each other since tae also listens attentively to his problems.

ok z, jesus christ that was a fine ass man, t's done a few repairs for the gym here and there and z's supervised him a few times. a man of few words but t's chatter overcame it and they inevitably became good friends! z sometimes asks him for relationship advice regarding his boyfriend (who he soon learned was robaire so like, huh small world i guess?) and what kind of gifts he would like but t always just goes “whatever you get him, he’ll like dude.” a very sweet bromance between these two~

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　aaron z - gym instructor　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

i mean… are you surprised? he’s really good at coming up with workout plans for people of all ages and fitness levels, plus a very caring and genuine motivator when it comes down to it. now, have people gotten memberships at his gym just to check him out? yes, but he’s hot so what did you expect?? people to pass up the free eye candy of z in a really tight workout shirt that shows off his muscles?? but nonetheless z probably considered becoming a professional athlete at one point but decided to stick to helping people since that’s where he found he felt the best. probably coaches a grade school basketball team and they all love him and call him big bro z <33

now robaire’s his boyfriend (even he can’t believe it, kinda has this whole ‘aw man i don’t deserve him’ vibe every now and then), they share an apartment together and z helps him develop protein shake recipes~ endorses robaire’s cafe at his gym cause we love good ol’ business partner boyfriends. entrepreneur power couple in the finest sense also z helps robaire when it comes to heavy lifting during cafe renovations.

when jesse signed up for z’s gym z initially kinda thought jesse wouldn’t be able to do anything too intense, but surprisingly he proved him wrong. jesse’s actually pretty strong and he rarely needs help when manoeuvring equipment or keeping proper form, the only gripe z has with jesse is that his diet is shit. which i mean, is understandable he’s a teacher what else can he do, but z has to remind jesse he can’t replace water with whiskey and that in itself is concerning.

honestly z thinks aaron t is some kinda god, like he’s so knowledgeable?? on so many random things?? to be fair z only calls him around when the pipes to the shower room are acting up or if a machine isn’t functioning like it should but honestly the jobs he asks of t are always so varying and the fact that he can fix it all is so?? dare he say cool and fuel t’s ego even more… sometimes he asks him for relationship advice since he knows t to be good with people, but it seems that t really honors being true to yourself so z can respect that.

now tae, he may not know this but z coaches his little brother on the basketball team? so he knew him sorta, but then he introduced himself as t’s friend AND jesse’s boyfriend which was kinda a double whammy cause holy shit how have they not met officially until now?? tries to recruit tae into trying couples yoga with jesse cause z will always claim that he has the body and jesse’s joints probably need it, but other than that admires tae’s knowledge on edible flowers and thinks he’s cute when he starts passionately talking about plants.

[gubler-me-up]

Pegging for it

Request: PEGGING SPENCER PEGGING SPENCER PEGGING SPENCER

A/N: Thanks for the prompt, anon! On everything this submission made me gasp, it’s so wild, but very interesting request. Hope you enjoy it and for anyone reading, I hope you’re ready for some S M U T. Yes, the title is a pun. Sue me.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: SMUT (NSFW 18+)

Content warning: Swearing, pegging, female masturbation, mention of anal sex, mention of penetrative sex, fem!dom, male!sub, oral (female and male receiving), slapping, rough play, anal fingering, sex toys  

Word count: 2.3k

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

Finding someone as sexually adventurous as you were was a hard task to succeed in. Countless partners of yours were often turned off by your dominating role in bed. By no means were you dominatrix, but if your partner wasn’t satisfying you, you had no choice but to take the wheel. Men can be oh so boring and stiff when it comes to sexual acts outside the realm of ramming themselves into you for a few seconds before calling it quits.

Not Spencer Reid though. He did everything and anything you both were comfortable with. To be honest you didn’t think your standoffish genius would be into the things you were, but he was. Maybe even more. It also took you as a surprise he was so demanding and dominant when he wanted to be. He knew how to get your blood pumping all the time.

Tonight, however, was your turn to play the dominant role. You both had agreed to let you take the reins this time around. He only requested one specific thing for you to do to him. With your eagerness, you guessed what he wanted. To be handcuffed? No. To be blindfolded? No. What he told you he wanted made you even more excited.

He wanted you to peg him.

He said it with such a nonchalant tone you thought he had it done to him before. When you asked if he had been pegged before he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. He just thought it would be a thrilling experience.

Well, if he wanted a thrilling time you were willing to give it to him. He had given you so much wild, unforgettable nights. You thought it was only right to show him you were capable of giving him the same satisfaction back by being the over dominating person you are.

You walked up to his apartment door and gave it two firm knocks. You didn’t want him to think you were too eager. It would ruin your cool, calm and collected demeanour. You didn’t want to risk any chance of him seeing you break.

He answered the door, still fully clothed in his work clothes. You saw his eyes wander up and down your exterior. The only thing you were wearing was a brown trench coat, black heels and a black bag. He smirked as he stepped aside to let you in.

“Welcome,” he greeted.

You stepped in, looking at him unamused. He closed the door and looked back at you with his hands in his pockets as if he didn’t know what he did. You crossed your arms as you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Didn’t I tell you to be stripped down to your underwear by the time I got here?” You said.

“I thought-”

“No thinking tonight, doctor. Tonight you only obey,” you said.

You walked towards his bedroom. You looked behind you to see Spencer still standing there. With a curl of your finger telling him to come to you, he started walking your way. Maybe he did listen to instructions better than you thought.

As you both entered his bedroom, you closed the door. He had lit a few candles in his room to create a source of light. How considerate of him. You didn’t want your outfit to be put to waste with the darkness engulfing everything. It was as if he knew you wanted a spotlight to show off. He was such an excellent profiler.

“Strip,” you demanded.

He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and then his pants. You watched as his clothing fell to the floor and he was left with nothing on besides his underwear and socks. For someone so lean, he stood strong. His aura just radiated confidence. You kind of wished he would throw you on the bed and fuck you senseless instead.

He shrugged with an emerging smirk on. “I’m all yours.”

God, could he get any hotter? You placed your bag on the ground and then untied the fabric belt to open up your jacket. As your jacket fell you saw Spencer’s eyes light up as he saw your matching black lace bra and panty set. He licked his lips as his eyes stayed focus on the bottom part of your panty which should have been concealing your desirable lady part. Instead it left it exposed, leaving you ready to jump into action any time.

“You like what you see?” You asked.

He looked back up at you and nodded. You smirked at his silent answer. He already knew he wasn’t supposed to speak unless you told him to. Who said men couldn’t be trained to obey?

“Well, lay on the bed, so you can get a closer look,” you demanded.

He quickly placed himself on the bed, excited to see what you had in store for him. You crawled over him until his eager mouth and your dripping wet part met. Just his breathing on it sent tingles down your spine.

“Now, eat me out like the starving dog you are,” you demanded.

He didn’t waste another second as he plunged his face all in your folds. You felt his tongue glide through from top to bottom. He soon started to hungrily suck on your clit and repeatedly flicked his tongue over it. You moaned heavily as you felt a strong sensation run through your body. He was too good with that tongue of his. You knew right away from all that talking he did his tongue and mouth could do a lot more.

You lifted yourself off of his face before your orgasm hit you. As you looked down at him you could see all your juices covering his mouth and nose. He smiled up at you as he licked some of your juices from his lips.

“Did that satisfy my little pet?” You asked him.

He nodded his head. You smiled at his response, but you didn’t truly believe he was satisfied. You took two of your fingers and stuck them inside yourself. You pumped your fingers in and out of you a few times to get your fingers covered in your juices. When they were soaked enough, you took them out.

“Open,” you said.

He opened his mouth and you stuck your fingers inside.

“Suck them bone dry.”

He did just as you asked, sucking on your fingers as if his life depended on it. You smiled at him enjoying the taste of you. You stroked his long brown hair as you admired his obedience.

“That’s a good boy.”

You removed your fingers from his mouth and inspected his work. He did an amazing job of cleaning your fingers for you. You moved back a bit so you could lean down and kiss him. You only planned to give him a quick peck for doing such a great job, but the force Spencer kissed you back with moved you. It was hot, heavy, almost needy.

You leaned back up and roughly grabbed his face. Your face was unimpressed by the desperate nature of his kiss, but inside you loved it. Whenever he made out with you it was always such a powerful experience. The way his tongue would move in your mouth with such a force and the depth he would with his kiss would nearly floor you.

“Did I tell you to kiss me back?” You asked.

He shook his head.

“Speak up,” you demanded.

“No, ma’am,” he replied.

“Then why did you do it? Is this some sort of act of desperation?” You asked.

“Maybe.”

You smacked his face before grabbing it tightly again. He bit his lip as he looked back up at you, obviously enjoying your extremely dominant nature. You almost broke by smiling at him, but you managed to keep it together, so neither of you left the fantasy.

“It’s a yes or no question. Try again,” you demanded.

“Yes, ma’am, it was an act of desperation.”

You let go of his face and made your way off the bed. You peeled off his underwear and was met with his dick springing up from underneath it. He was extremely hard. It was a shame he wouldn’t be using his dick on you tonight.

You tossed his underwear aside. Taking your hand you started massaging his balls which let out a moan from Spencer. You squeezed them tight and yanked on them when you heard him moan.

“You’ve become too vocal. If you stay quiet for the next minute, I’ll reward you with what you really want,” you said.

He nodded, making sure not to even breathe too loudly. You lowered your head down and wrapped your mouth around his dick. You bobbed your head up and down, viscously sucking him off while still playing with his balls. Taking your other hand you used it to go up and down his shaft. Your saliva dripping down made your hand easily glide on his dick.

The laboured breathing coming from Spencer made your heart pump. You had him right where you wanted him to be before the real fun started. He deserved it after he lasted the full minute of you sucking his dick without a single moan escaping his mouth.

You stopped before he reached his peak. It was time for the main event of the night. You took off your panties and kicked them aside as you walked over to your black bag. You reached in and pulled out the strap-on dildo and then a bottle of lube. Spencer looked at you and you saw the fire spark in him.

You smiled at him. “It’s even in your favourite colour: purple. Now, I want you to get up and lean over the bed. Make sure your legs are apart.”

He hopped off the bed and did what you demanded immediately. You walked over behind him. His ass was so nice and toned for someone who never worked out. You ran your hand over his ass as you admired it. His muscles tightened under your touch which got you even more excited.

“Beg for it,” you said.

“Please, ma’am,” he quietly said.

You slapped his ass. “Please, ma’am, what? I said I want to hear you beg for it.”

“Please, peg me, ma’am,” he said with more bass in his voice.

You slapped his ass a second time. “Again.”

“Please, peg me, ma’am.”

Another slap. “Again.”

“I want you to peg me, please, ma’am. I want it.”

You finally stopped slapping his ass even though you were thoroughly enjoying it. He had begged enough for your liking. You squeezed a bit of lube into your hand and lubed up the dildo. Then you took some lube and lubed up his crack. You stuck a finger in his ass to see his reaction. He let out a moan and you felt his muscles clench. Perfect.

“Are you really ready for this, pet?” You asked.

“I want it so bad, ma’am,” he begged.

You took your finger out and properly positioned yourself behind him. Slowly you eased the dildo into him and a remarkable sound of pleasure left his mouth. It excited you and gave you the reassurance you needed to keep going.

Gently you pumped in and out of him, making sure not to put too much force into it. He continued to let out deep, needy moans. You watched the dildo go in and out of him and thought this must be what it looks like for him all the time when you two engaged in anal or even when you were in doggy. The view was definitely a thrilling experience and the sound of his moans echoing the room made it even better.

“Faster,” Spencer moaned.

“Oh no, you don’t demand. You beg. Try again,” you said.

“Please, go faster, ma’am,” he begged.

He didn’t have to beg you twice for it. You pumped in and out of him faster which made him uncontrollably moan. It made you happy he was enjoying himself. You had a feeling he would want to do this more often after this experience.

He was shaking and quivering which only meant he was about to orgasm. You nearly broke into excitement. You were proud the first time you’ve both done pegging it was going extremely well. You remained collected though because you wanted to say the line he always says to you when you’re about to orgasm.

“Come for me,” you demanded.

With no pause he let out a loud moan as you saw his muscles clench. You slid the dildo out and stepped back to admire the now limp Spencer face down on the bed. It was such a weird perspective to not be the one laying limp on the bed after orgasming, but you loved it.

You quickly took off the strap-on as you excitedly hopped on Spencer’s back. You didn’t care anymore about being a dominant in the moment, you were just overly happy he had enjoyed himself. You gave him a big hug from behind as you kissed his head.

“How was that for you, baby?” You asked.

He turned his head sideways to reveal a smile. “It was a great experience.”

“Does that mean we can do it again sometime?” You asked.

“Definitely,” he said.

You squealed and planted a kiss on his cheek. He laughed as he started to get off the bed with you still on his back. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he fully got off the bed.

“How about we take a shower together?” He suggested as he piggybacked you to the bathroom.

“Only if you promise we can have shower sex,” you said while burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“Promise. I’ll for sure be a better dominant than you. I won’t break character at the end,” he joked.

“Talk is cheap. Why don’t you just prove it to me instead?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.”

—–

MASTERLIST

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 18

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 18

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4326

Summary: Dean gets a better sense of what Sam and the reader’s new life is like.

Warnings: FLUFF, swearing

           Barbie opens the door with an honest to god plate of pigs in a blanket as though she just had them going and you have to remind yourself you’re in a dream. “What a nice surprise! Come in, come in. And who’s this?” she asks, hugging Sam with one arm while holding onto the plate and offering for you to take one. It’s as buttery and salty as you ever could’ve hoped.

           “This is, uh, this is my brother Dean.”

           “Well hello, Dean! What a handsome pair you two are.” She offers the plate to the brothers. Dean grabs two with a pincher, tossing both in his mouth. Sam politely takes one as Barbie yells over her shoulder. “Mike, we have company!” She motions for you three to follow her into the house and Sam has to practically clothesline his brother to get him to take his shoes off before he trails blindly after the plate full of sausage.

           Mike stands up from one of those leather armchairs, folding back the magazine he’s reading to greet Sam with a bear hug. “This is my brother Dean,” Sam offers as Mike hugs you with decidedly gentler back pats than he had for Sam. Dean holds his hand out as if to shake but Mike curves his big paws around Dean’s shoulders and pulls him in for a hug with enough force that Dean almost falls into him.

           “You didn’t say anything about a brother!” he bellows to Sam over Dean’s shoulder.

           Sam and you both freeze, and you can only speak for yourself but you suspect Sam is also worried Dean will be upset to hear that. Instead, finally released from Mike’s binding embrace, Dean rocks back to holding up his own weight with a big smile. “Crazy private, these two, right? You’d think they were in the witness protection program.” For another second you’re worried about how you’ll do damage control, how you’ll talk to them about Dean after this, and then you remember this isn’t actually Mike and Barbie, they won’t actually remember anything.

           Mike leans into Dean conspiratorially. “You can say that again. Now, what can I get you three to drink?”

           “Whatever you’re having works for me, sir,” Dean answers, charming as ever with his most clean-cut smile.

           “You’re going to regret saying that,” Mike laughs, heading over to the kitchen where Barbie is fiddling with something in the oven. He fills a row of pint glasses with dark beer out of a growler you know is the extremely strong beer he brews himself and hands one to his wife with a kiss on her cheek, motions for you and the Winchesters to each take one. “To a pleasant surprise and finding out there’s another man in the world like Sam.”

           “I think you mean another man like me,” Dean says cheerfully as you all clink your glasses together.

           “So you’re older?” Barbie asks, handing Sam a stack of plates to go make the table with.

           “Four years, yeah. It was easier to tell when I had a foot on him.” Dean reaches up to ruffle his baby brother’s hair, and Sam generously waits a half-second before swatting his hand away with a sheepish flush.

           “A foot? Really? I wouldn’t have thought anyone would ever have had a foot on this behemoth,” Mike laughs, catching Sam with a jokey punch to his bicep when he comes back for silverware.

           “Oh, yeah. Sam was a little squirt until he was like 17.” Dean continues.

           “How’s Luke’s basketball team doing?” Sam asks, color rising in his cheeks and desperate to have the focus shifted off of himself.

           Barbie grants his wish with a knowing smile. “Going to the playoffs! He’s very excited.” She hands Sam a huge bowl of salad to carry to the table and takes out a hot casserole dish from the oven.

           “They do playoffs for middle school?” you ask, about to trail into the dining room after Barbie with Sam and Mike like a chain of ducklings. Dean stops you with a hand on your arm.

           “It’s going to make it weird if you’re not yourself with him,” he mutters, low so the Kaisers and Sam won’t hear. “I’m okay, kid, I promise. This is…awesome, but I know you’re holding back. You don’t have to.”

           “What’re you talking about?”

           “You touched Sam more when I was topside and we were together. You’d think he has leprosy the way you’re dodging him now.”

           “Dean, we’re always going to be togeth—”

           He rolls his eyes in frustration. “Okay, fine, yeah, we’re together now. But you know what I mean.”

           You bite your lip. “I thought they’re just my mind’s projections, who cares if they think it’s weird.”

           “Babe.” He holds firm, his gaze steady.

           “Jesus, Dean, it is weird, okay? The whole thing is bizarre!” Your whisper has turned into a bit of a hiss and he glances to the dining room to make sure you haven’t caught anyone’s attention.

           He wraps his fingers around your hand and swipes an arc into it, looking down as he does. “I know it is, I’m sorry. Can you try, just a little bit? The whole thing is only going to get less awkward if we keep at it.”

           “Fine, yeah. I’ll try.”

           Dean holds your eyes for a moment, not seeming to buy it, before staring back at his feet. “For you it’s a dream but this—this is the closest I’m going to get; to being part of your lives. I just—I just kinda want it to be as close as it can be, you know? If you’re acting different then it’s not really—”

           “Understood.” You swallow hard against the lump forming in your throat, willing it to dissolve, not about to keep feeling sorry for yourself when he’s clearly putting so much aside to be present.

           Too quickly for you to react Dean lifts your hand to his lips, and the warmth of the kiss on your skin sends a shudder through you. He follows you into the dining room, where Sam and the Kaisers are about to sit down. You grab the seat next to Sam, leaving the head of the table opposite Barbie for Dean as the new guest.

           “You okay?” Sam asks, quietly enough you’re sure you’re the only one who can hear it.

           You squeeze his thigh reassuringly under the table. “Yeah, definitely.”

           Dean catches your eyes to give you a meaningful look that makes you swallow again, and before you can think about it you’re sliding your hand around Sam’s neck, looping him down to kiss him on the cheek. Sam’s cheeks flush pink as the corner of his mouth tries to tug into a smile and it’s so impossibly cute that you’re not faking your subsequent smile for Dean’s sake.

           Both Barbie and Dean smirk thoughtfully at the two of you before pretending to be engrossed in the salad she’s passing to him. “So, Dean! We heard your families were friends before these two got together; was it one of those things that you always knew was going to happen?”

           Sam chokes on a sip of beer, trying his best to cough with his mouth closed to keep the sputtering to a minimum. You think you’re probably the only one who catches the flair of joyful ribbing behind Dean’s eyes as he pretends to be concerned.

           “Aw, I remember my first drink. All good over there, Sammy?”

           His little brother strains to stop, his voice sounding as rough and cracked as if he’d spent 50 days breathing sand. “Yep. Wrong pipe, sorry.” He gives a closed-mouth smile of reassurance to his hosts that makes him look like a kid.

           Dean turns to Barbie, smile smooth and charming as anything. “You know, it’s funny you ask that. When we were younger, I was the one with the crush on her.”

           You probably should’ve guessed Dean would pull some kind of jokey shit like this but you’re still thankful that the Winchesters aren’t sitting close enough to kick each other’s legs under the table. As it is, you give a grin you hope seems warm and not tense.

           Mike finishes chewing a huge bite and nudges Dean’s arm with his elbow playfully. “I hope there’s no jealousy there.”

           “Ah, you know how it is. You grow up, things happen.” And if that isn’t the damn understatement of the century. “Couldn’t ask for a better girl to take care of my baby bro.”

           “Well I think that’s pretty damn sweet. Barb’s sister hated me until I drove to Wausau on Thanksgiving Day to change a blown-out tire for her. We’d already been married six years!”

           Barbie rolls her eyes across the table at Sam, mouthing “not true,” with an easy smile.  

           “I think that’s worth a drink,” Mike emphasizes, raising his beer. “To the best girl for—what’d you call him? Somehow I can’t imagine He-Man over here ever being a ‘Sammy.’”

           You raise your own drink with everyone else and Dean catches your eye with an iridescent twinkle as he repeats the toast. “To the best girl.”

           The rest of dinner is the exact emotional and literal comfort food you always get from the Kaisers, a respite from the world in the best way. As you had suspected he would, Dean gets along perfectly with them, falling into a good-natured ribbing of Sam borne of admiration with Mike and charming Barbie within an inch of her life. Dean tells stories about Sam as a little kid that you know are really far more embarrassing than the version he shares, and hearing Dean edit to idealize Sam for the Kaisers even as an eight year old makes you want to melt into the floor.

           You pretend to be tired too early in the evening, feeling selfish and wanting the boys all for yourself. Being handed a Tupperware of leftovers reminds you this isn’t real; the futility of carrying them a flash in the evening that you’ve otherwise forgotten won’t last.

           Standing in the doorway, Sam’s already on the porch when Barbie stops Dean as he’s following you out. Quietly, trying for privacy, she says to him, “Honey, I am so glad we got to meet you. We worry about these two being all by themselves, but knowing they’ve got you looking out for them is going to help me sleep a little more soundly tonight.”

           Dean covers her hand where she has his arm and looks at her with soft doe eyes. “You have no idea how much I could say the same to you.”

           They hug for a beat longer than necessary and then Dean’s right at your side, trailing after Sam’s long legs down the road to your cabin.

           It’s hard not to think it’s purposeful, Sam going ahead to let you walk with Dean on the way back. Dean flicks a side of his jacket away from his body and you slide in there like you always did, warmed by the pre-contained heat coming off of him and giggling when he kisses the top of your head. “Man, I guess some things never change,” he murmurs, breath spilling over your hair. “You even move to the damn arctic and still don’t get any warmer coats.”

           He’s feeding you the intro to an old script but you don’t have the heart to tease back, just snuggling up to him and walking to the cabin together feeling the familiar way the muscles in Dean’s side move against you as he does. Sam doesn’t even look back and it’s so unlike him not to check that you’re there that then you know definitively he’s giving you a moment together. “I miss you, baby.”

           “Kid, I’m right here.”

           You peer up at him. “Don’t be a dick.”

           He glances down at you bundled against him. “I miss you too. But I see you guys all the time; it’s like nothing changed.”

           The reflex to laugh bitterly doesn’t fit the moment but you can’t stop it. “Right. My mistake.”

           His jaw muscles tighten to a ball for a whisper of a beat. “I need you to fucking work with me here, babe. I know this is not ideal but it’s so much more than anyone else gets and I gotta be honest, you’re being kind of a bitch about it.” You kick your eyebrows up on your forehead, both disbelieving and challenging. Dean realizes the mistake borne of his frustration immediately. “Not a bitch, that’s not what I mean, sorry. A baby. You’re being a baby.”

           “A baby?”

           He stops you both. Sam’s already about halfway up the driveway. “Listen, I know that you’re—I don’t know, mad. At me for not being here, the way things happened, whatever. But it’s done. It’s over. No one else in the fucking world gets this, gets to have it both ways, visit like I’m just a town away. You get to see me, I get to see you guys, pretty much whenever we want.”

           A few tears start collecting in the wells of your eyelids, indignance or grief or both. You try to blink them back but when one falls, lightning fast and stupid like Wil E. Coyote running out over the edge of a cliff, Dean brushes it away with a swipe of his thumb. “I get it. I miss you too, all the fucking time. I miss the way things could’ve been; I miss shit I didn’t even have, you know? I miss this fucking cabin, believe it or not—I—we all could’ve lived in a cabin like this together. We—maybe we could have had kids or something, couple of little girls to braid Uncle Sammy’s hair, the fuck do I know? But at some point I had to accept what I do have, and you do too.”

           You look over his shoulder, not wanting to meet Dean’s eyes or the truth that’s there. He’s right, but that doesn’t make the bottomless pit of greed for more of him go away. “Sam’s going to be waiting for us.”

           “Don’t deflect. It doesn’t have to be this second, but you have to get good with this. Today—tonight, whatever—was pretty damn near perfect and you’re upset because you want something that doesn’t exist.” He flicks his gaze up the driveway to confirm it’s empty; Sam’s already inside. His jaw is still tight but his eyes are tender and fuzzy, the same way he looks when he’s tired. When they lock onto yours, you can feel them sear straight into you, heating you up slow like an Easy Bake oven. “But right now you’re going to kiss me like it’s the first time. Then we’re going to head in, and you’re going to act like I know you’ve been with Sammy, sappy freaks that you both are, I’m going to have a few drinks with my brother, and we’ll tell the same stupid stories you’ve heard a hundred times.”

           That’s finally enough to make you chuckle and you venture an arm out of the protective embrace he has on you to take his chin in your hand, thumb on that perfect indent as you catch Dean’s lips with yours. It’s soft and delicate, a thank you and a reminder and a memory at once. His lashes catch a shadow when he opens his eyes, and you hold them for a long second. “I thought you said like our first kiss—you didn’t even try to jam your tongue down my throat.”

           Dean rolls his eyes through a smile and a part of your mind flares with victory knowing you’ve made it past the bramble patch of emotion. “I was like twenty, can’t blame a guy for trying. You couldn’t have been that mad; you still let me get under your shirt the next day.”

           You laugh hard, letting it ring out along the driveway as you tug Dean to the house with your fingers interlinked in his.

           Sam is pouring a few fingers of bourbon into three little juice glasses when you walk in, and you grab one right off the counter without breaking your stride, tossing it back and offering it to Sam. “Hit me.”

           He smirks and obliges as you slide a hand to his lower back. There’s a half beat of hesitation before he leans back that inch or two into your palm like he always does, but what’s more important in that moment is that he still does, and without flushing. Sam and Dean both grab their glasses and you don’t remember the last time you’ve done this many toasts in a night that weren’t at the bar following a Packers win.

           “To you two morons finally figuring this shit out,” Dean says, raising his glass.

           “Yeah, whatever,” Sam grins. For a beat you can see in his eyes the unbridled admiration he has for his brother, the complete devotion and deep grain of grief he’ll never be free of even if he can see Dean like this every day for the rest of forever. You wonder if you had truly realized the way it flared in his eyes before everything. All three of you sip at your whiskeys together, and you have to fight to keep your mouth closed through a petite yawn.

           Sam tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear and lets you lean into the wall of his body, wrap your hand around to his side. His hand moves to envelop your shoulder, thumb swiping absentmindedly back and forth. It’s nothing, genuinely less physical affection than you used to show Sam most of the time when you and Dean were two halves of a living couple like he’d pointed out to you earlier, but the most important thing is that it feels okay. More than anything it feels like being at the bar, the ‘aren’t they so cute’ on Dean’s face the same one that you get at work only made different by how much you wish you were somehow able to tuck up under Dean’s arm at the same time.

           A couple drinks and a while later you’re sprawled on the couch, head laid back on the armrest. One foot is tucked under Sam’s thigh where he sits next to you and one rests on top of his lap, a large, warm palm gently wrapped around your shin. The living room—area in the non-bedroom-or-bathroom-space in the cabin where you’ve put a couch, armchair, and rocking chair you’ve grown fond of, really—is small enough that Dean’s knees, extended and one crossed over the other where his feet are on the coffee table, are right by your shoulder, absentminded slow rocking of the maple chair he’s on not quite matching the pace of the hand he has playing with your hair. You’re close to drifting off, and isn’t that weird, that you would get sleepy in a dream, but listening to Sam and Dean is so relaxing. They’re talking about the few weeks they stayed in Bar Harbor as kids, running around Acadia National Park like it was their own personal playground and swimming in freezing cold Atlantic waters, creating all kinds of imaginary games in spite of even Sam being maybe a touch too old for it, by then.

           It’s warm; Sam has put a couple logs on the fireplace, trying to hide how eager he is to show his brother all the repairs he’s done to the cabin. More than that, you realize suddenly, it finally feels like home, Dean’s appraisal the baptism that it needed to make you feel safe enough here to approach sleep so casually without Sam’s body as physical protection. Dean’s hand wraps around to cradle your head and he leans over to whisper in your ear. “It’s okay, you can fall asleep.”

           You shake your head loose of a little of the drowsiness. “No, I—we’re in my head, it’ll be over if I—” you murmur, waking up even more as you talk.

           Sam’s hand moves up and down your shin reassuringly. “It’s okay. We have a greenhouse filled with dream root now, we can come back all the time.”

           “Well, not all the time,” Dean amends. “You guys have to get out there, not become sleep junkies. Once, twice a month or something.”

           “Oh good, a standing appointment. Like the dentist,” you say, rolling your eyes around a bitter smirk and killing the rest of your drink. Sam smiles softly and looks up at Dean, silently willing him to be the one to argue with you.

           Dean takes the bait, sliding his hand out of your hair to prop his elbows on his knees. You sit up straighter to be able to fully see his face.

           “Babe, come on, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Sam and I have seen what happens to people who get hooked on this shit, take it every day. It’s a risk to do it even every couple weeks.”

           “You haven’t even explained to me how this works—do I have to decide to wake up or will it happen by itself?”

           “It’ll be a natural transition if you don’t consciously decide to,” Sam offers, voice quiet and smooth like you’re some victim’s family member he’s trying to soothe. You let him do it, stop yourself from rankling defensively and appreciate for a second how nice it sounds, how comforting it really is. “Most likely it’ll get easier to control it with a little practice, but I think Dean’s right, if you go to sleep that’ll probably do it a little more, uh, gently.”

           Sam’s eyes reflect the firelight as they do every time he sits in that spot on the couch. He looks warm, looks calm and whole. You can see right away that he needs you to be the one who’s struggling to let go—maybe partly for Dean, who’s eviscerated every time he sees his brother hurt and has always been, but also for himself, for the way he’s telling himself this is enough. Though you were the one who’d threatened Dean, Sam had undoubtedly gotten closer to following through—following Dean—both actively and passively. You loved Dean, but Sam in many ways was Dean, just like Dean was Sam. Inextricable in the parts that really counted and that was the point, why you would’ve mainlined dream root swamp ass tea until you withered away like a rat choosing a pleasure button over food to see them both. They were each perfect alone, Sam and Dean—different and perfect—but together they were the sun and the moon, the entire universe inside one Impala.

           It’s easy to let him have it. Sam deserves so much more than this small mercy and you are struggling, want desperately to have been put in some kind of coma together in this little play-pretend world where the food’s always exactly what you want and the time passes inconsequentially if at all.

           You wipe a tear off your cheek that you hadn’t felt fall, can tell before you open your mouth that your voice is going to falter. “Couple weeks, right? You promise?” Sam and Dean nod in tandem and you try to drink up every drop of it, try to ignore the shade of sad-desperate behind both of their eyes. “And it’s going to be the same? No one’s going to like, forget or anything? Is this like Groundhog Day where you’ll have to be re-introduced to Barbie and Mike every time?”

           Dean’s eyebrows screw up in thoughtful empathy. “Pretty uncharted territory here, kid. I hope not, but I don’t want to promise you something I can’t deliver.”

           Sam reaches over to take your hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “It’ll still be us, though. That’s the important part, right?”

           You nod tightly, feeling small and stupid ironically like a kid trying to fight off bedtime. It hangs in the air for a beat.

           “Catch you losers later, I guess,” Dean smirks, standing up and offering you a hand. Like he’s heading to his house on the other side of the block you reach up for a hug, only momentarily surprised when Dean foregoes the hug to slip a strong hand into your hair, cradling your face for a kiss that’s somehow bruising and tender as he presses your lower back to weld yourself to him. The feeling of his lips steals the breath from your lungs and you barely have the presence of mind to realize you’re blushing, getting dangerously close to making out just a step away from Sam. Dean, cocky asshole that he is, winks at you as he draws back.

           When you turn back to Sam, he’s—he’s rolling his eyes through a smile. With a start you realize it’s exactly the same long-suffering playful tolerance he’d have catching you stealing a kiss during a case and that thought alone is a buoy as Dean pulls Sam down to tuck into his arms, that same eternally-little-brother hug that has always made you smile. You look down at your feet, giving them a second to share a few of those ever-indecipherable looks.

           “Do you guys want to just stay out here maybe? I can ‘go to sleep’ or whatever in the other room? Feels a little weird to just sit here and have you both staring at me,” you offer with air quotes.

           Sam’s eyes are earnest and reassuring when he meets yours. “Whatever makes you most comfortable. Do you want me to, ah, also…?” He tosses a casual thumb over his shoulder to the bedroom.

           “I’ll be okay, I think. Thanks, though.” You rock back on your feet awkwardly. “Um, goodnight, I guess.”

           “See you soon, babe,” Dean says, and it’s not hard to see the sweetness under the casual affect he’s trying on.

           “See you both soon. Love you, morons.”

           You don’t remember falling asleep, but then you wouldn’t, because in reality you’re waking up.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 19

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[dershloop]

i wrote this while sick nd did edit it while slightly less sick so excuse and weird discrepancies LMAO

Title: Get Well Soon, Gumball

Words: 1698

Warnings: a bit of swearing, some self-esteem/body issues mentioned

Relationships: Glacier, background Plasma

“Are you sure you should be training today Cole? You don’t look so good,” Jay said hesitantly, looking over at his friend concerned for his health.

“Yeah dude, you look rough. I’m surprised Zane even let you get out of bed,” Kai chimed in, narrowly avoiding a hard blow to the head from the automated training dummy.

“Don’t say my name too loud guys, he didn’t,” Cole croaked, “I just can’t afford to take a day off.”

“What?” Kai exclaimed, purposefully being as loud as he could to try to draw Zane’s attention from inside the monastery. This time, however, he wasn’t as lucky in regards to dodging the dummy while also attempting to look after his best friend, letting it land a well-placed blow to his ribs. “Fucking hell, ow,” He groaned from his new position on the dusty ground, splaying out his arms in legs, letting out loud, long, laboured breaths as he attempted to lessen the pain.

“Oh my God, firefly are you ok?” Jay said, abandoning his kendo helmet and Shinai on the ground as he rushed over to his boyfriend to help him up. Cole walked over too, though with a lot less urgency, not even taking off his helmet or dropping his own Shinai.

“Ok you definitely need to get back in bed,” Kai said through laboured breaths to Cole, taking Jay’s hand and hoisting himself up with a wince as his side stabbed with pain “You didn’t even drop your Shinai. I’ve known you for years and even if you’re feeling rough you’re always one of the first to help us if one of us falls. You’re not well.”

“I heard shouting, is everything ok?” Zane called, walking out into the yard to the sight of Jay fussing over Kai and Cole stood, fully geared out and standing shakily, looking as if he wasn’t 100% sure where he was.

“You’re boyfriends being a little shit,” Jay said, looking over at Zane as he practically dragged Kai away from the yard and towards Nya and Pixal’s workshop to get some kind of medical help for his extremely bruised and possibly broken ribs.

“Yeah Z, he is not ok. You need to sort him out and get him in bed,” Kai wheezed, hobbling slightly.

“Kai shut up before you do yourself anymore damage. This dumbass probably just broke a few ribs and he still has the nerve to lecture Cole about being out of bed. I hope he feels better soon, I’ll come and see him after I’ve dumped him on Nya and Pix,” Jay said, beginning to attempt to drag Kai away.

“You know you love me really,” Kai coyly remarked, stilling wheezing slightly. Jay didn’t respond, but Zane could tell he rolled his eyes.

Zane panned his eyes over to his own sick boyfriend, who was still standing, fully kitted out in his Kendo training gear. Even his shinai was hanging loosely from his large hands. He looked genuinely awful, worse than he had that morning in fact.

“Before you say anything, I feel fine,” Cole croaked, letting out a long sniff afterwards.

“Cole Hence Brookstone I told you to stay in bed,” Zane said sternly, looking over at the quivering mess of a boyfriend who was currently stood in front of him.

“I know but-”

“No buts, you’re coming with me right now.”

Cole knew better than to continue to protest; in situations like this, Zane usually got his way. Whether or not it was rightly so was down to interpretation. He shuffled through the blurred hallways, not 100% sure where he was going. He knew a bed of some kind would be involved but the question of whose bed was a largely unanswered one considering his brain was 300% more concentrated on keeping him upright and at least semi-conscious. The room he was led into was dark; too dark to be Zane’s and it wouldn’t be Kai, Jay, Lloyd or Nya’s because that’d be weird. Even he was conscious enough to know it was his room.

“Here, I’ll sort out your gear and stuff just try to relax,” Zane spoke softly, taking the kendo helmet off and placing it to the side, doing the same with the rest of his gear and gi. He then began sifting through Cole’s wardrobe, pulling out a hoodie and sweatpants to change into. Only then did he let him back into bed. Cole frowned and looked up at Zane from his place in bed.

“Get in with me. I need my teddy bear,” Cole groaned, his voice gravelly and even deeper than usual. Zane smiled.

“Ok, just give me a second to change. I doubt I’ll be leaving here for a while so there’s no point in being in my gi,” He said, walking over to Cole’s wardrobe again and pulling out a t-shirt and shorts, quickly changing and climbing into bed with him, any thought of training for at least that day discarded. Cole quickly readjusted himself, scooching over onto Zane, wrapping his arms and legs around him, resting his head on his chest for warmth.

“Why’d you get out of bed? I told you I’d be back with tea soon.” Zane said softly, running Cole’s hair through his fingers, twirling strands around and watching as the light reflected off it, showing at least another 10 hues shining through. The deep blues, browns and midnight blacks mingled and danced with the golden light streaming in through the curtains. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. Even if he didn’t always think so. Zane would always be there to remind him that he was.

“I can’t afford a day off,” Cole said hoarsely, “I’m already not as thin as you guys, the more days I take off the worse it’ll get.” Zane furrowed his brow and thought for a moment, trying to fully process what Cole had just said.

“Are you… saying what I think you’re saying? Because if you are, I’m going to have to take evasive measures,” Zane said matter of factly. If Cole really did think him being bigger was a bad thing, there would have to be action taken.

“What? You know it’s true. If I stop working out I’ll just get fatter, I can’t take a day off,” He croaked sadly, biting his lip. His head was spinning but he couldn’t just lay in bed all day; he had to do something. He had to at least get a few reps in.

“Hmmm,” Zane hummed, “It’s worse than I thought. Cole, it seems you are suffering from a serious case of negative body image. There’s only one known cure,” Cole laughed a little and played along.

“What is it, doc?”

“500 kisses and a whole day in bed of cuddles,” Zane replied stoically.

“Oh well then, someone who spent 2 hours downloading every episode of greys anatomy must know what they’re talking about,” Cole replied sarcastically, a goofy smile playing on his lips.

“Exactly, and I know you’re being sarcastic so I see I’m going to have to crank it up to 700 kisses.”

“Oh no! How terrible!” Cole gasped, still being sarcastic, however, it backfired as he began to cough aggressively.

“That’s what you get for being an asshole, I’m also cranking your prescription up to 1000 kisses but seeing as this might go on for a while, I’m capping it at that,” Zane said with a chuckled, rubbing his hand up and down Cole’s back slowly, just waiting for Cole to say the word so he could administer the treatment.

“You know me too well,” Cole laughed weakly, propping himself up on his chin which admittedly was uncomfortable but he was willing to endure so he could look at Zane’s beautiful face, “So doc, when’s the treatment starting?”

“How… about… now!” Zane exclaimed, beginning to pepper kisses all over Cole’s head and face, making Cole laugh hoarsely.

Zane pushed Cole off of him, pinning his arms down and kissing all up his arms and onto his hands and fingers, before moving to his torso and making sure every square inch was covered in his love. Eventually, he made his way back up to Cole’s face, making sure every little bit of his neck was covered as well, in some places even leaving small red marks behind. Whether or not they were unintentional, Zane would never tell. The final kiss was placed on Cole’s lips, making sure to press extra hard to accentuate his point.

“Wow, Z, you’re meticulous I’ll give you that,” Cole said through laughs shaking his head at the nindroid currently sat on his lap. His hands sat on his waist comfortably, a true testament to how much they really were meant to be. It was almost as if the sweet tin can sat on top of him was made for him.

“Why thank you. Are you cured?”

“If I say no, do I get more kisses?” Cole said coyly with a smirk, massaging circles into Zane’s waist with his thumbs.

“Depends. If you’re good and get in bed properly and don’t leave until your better, then most assuredly,” Zane said matter of factly, his own hands idly drifting over Cole’s torso. If he could see inside his mind for just a moment, Zane was sure he’d see himself the way he saw him. He was the perfect size for hugs and cuddles, and his larger stature just meant all the more Cole to hold and love. It also meant he could pick him up which, in their 2 years of dating, Zane was sure he’d never find it the most amazing and adorable thing ever.

“Oh well then, it’s settled,” Cole said quickly, moving Zane off of him and getting under the covers, quickly snuggling back into his chest. He could hear all the mechanical parts inside him buzzing and whirring, turning and pumping, keeping Zane alive. There was something comforting about the soft noises that emitted from his boyfriend that just radiated comfort. The mechanical buzz was a grounding constant. Always there, always around, always keeping him sane.

Zane smiled and wrapped his arm around Cole, holding him close.

“Get well soon, gumball.”

[damnusillygoose]

Jerza fanfiction(fluff)

Title: The morning after.

Summary: Erza and Jellal spend a tranquil morning together.

Fanfiction link leading to the site:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13786176/1/The-morning-after

Disclaimer: these characters are owned by hiro mashima sensei.

As a fugitive, Jellal's life was filled with caution as if it were to be ingrained in his volition. He wasn't used to a deep uninterrupted slumber. A rich fulfilling sleep was a delicacy that he cherished wholeheartedly. This normalcy of getting a full 9-hour sleep was still peculiar to him but he tried his best to adapt, after all this was going to be his future ahead which he is going to walk alongside Erza.

Their sex session last night was rough and it made his back sour all over. He woke up peacefully with the expectation of a warm body cleaved to his side. He opened his eyes to check on her only to find her tenderly staring at his face. She looked so angelic and serene. He once again reminded himself how fortunate was he to witness her glory which was only exclusive to him

'Good morning, Jellal', she giggled and gave him a peck on his cheeks.

'Good morning, Erza', he replied back bashfully as a blush embellished his cheeks

This feeling right there. It seems simple right? To wake up beside someone after sex? However the significance of the event changes when the concerned person is the woman you love. You don't have sex with the woman you love, you make love to them.

All of his life, he loathed his existence. Never allowed himself a respite. Continued to be harsh on himself. Hence, in moments like these when he is exceptionally vulnerable, he feels blessed to lay beside the woman he devoted himself to since he was mere 11 years old.

He took a deep breath, with no urgency and slowly closed his eyes in sheer tranquillity. He stroked his fingertips along her palm in an endearing manner and gave it a chaste kiss.

'What are you musing about, love?', Erza asked, curiously as she watched him close his eyes with a smile adorning his beautiful face.

'It's nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today'

It was instances like these when Jellal would say something sweet and she would start feeling warm all of a sudden. Yes, she is the Queen of fairies and yes, she is strong but she is also a woman whose heart would burst with joy when the man she loves flirts with her first thing in the morning.

Their relationship was relatively new. They both were amateurs and naïve in terms of love but they were willing to learn. Willing to learn with each other.

'Aren't you ashamed Mr. Fernandez? Flirting with me first thing in the morning.'

'Why? I can't even flirt with my girlfriend?' Jellal looked at her smugly as he shifted his body to completely lay in her lap.

Girlfriend. His girlfriend. She could never utter this word without getting giddy. She finally brought herself to reality as the sweet term spilled out from the very same mouth that ravaged her last night. They are in a relationship now. They are living together. They have no hinderances that would pull them apart from being together. Emotional, physical, none.

She is his. He is hers. No excuses. No fibs. She would expect neither and she knew he wouldn't leave her, No matter what. Not after the love she witnessed in his eyes and his reverent caress as they united with each other again and again.

She looked down and saw him rubbing his nose against her belly and kissing her soft supple skin as he fondled her waist, delineating against the voluminous curvature of her body. He appeared extremely childlike right now. Just like the boy she thought she lost in that abominable tower, but she knows that boy is still there. He resides in the man who is right in front of her. In the man who is vehemently protective of her and wouldn't hesitate to lay his own life down to save hers. She knows the love that he harbours for her is boundless and he tries his best to make her feel cherished. He was learning to love. And so was she.

She firmly ran her fingertips in his scalp and massaged it lightly. Jellal let out a content sigh and submerged further into her.

'I stink, don't I? she asked.

'Nope. You smell wonderful sweetheart.'

'Stop lying. I know I do.'

'You don't, I swear', he grinned and resumed to suck her skin lightly

'You are biased towards me, Jellal!' she exclaimed with a barely hidden smirk of her own.

'Maybe', he finally looked up and gave her one of his savage smirks that she knew would turn her into a puddle. He was a literal sex god.

Suddenly surmounted by her possessive streak, she lurched forward and fondly pulled him into her warm embrace.

Warm. Soft. That's how he would describe the embrace he was crushed into. He slowly pulled his arms forward, taking her completely in his arms whilst giving her temple a long kiss and nuzzling his nose, like a spoiled child, in her sweet-scented hair he adored so much.

Jellal sighed. Heaven. Heaven resided in her arms.

Erza rested her limp form in Jellal's safe arms and delineated random patterns with feathery touch across his back. There was a time, back when, she used to yearn to catch a glimpse of his face, when the odds were against them and meeting each other was impossible.

And now? she had him entirely to herself. She wanted to melt into him, to devour his existence, to ravish him completely, to make him into hers. She had become greedy, she noticed.

Their past was a reminder, an admonisher that distance brings pain and sufferings. If anything, else it did? It certainly made them devoted to each other even more. Distance made their hearts grow fonder.

Time is like a thin piece of paper, wilted and weak, which can be easily blown away by the gust of the wind. Today you hold it within your hands, tomorrow you won't. Erza and Jellal were intelligent mages who know better than to take this teaching seriously. After all who can depict the woes of being away from each other better than these two?

A/N: do you guys fancy more fluff jerza? Constructive criticism is appreciated!

[mkstrigidae]

from the ask meme abt writing, i have a few questions about your writing process! how do you stay organized with so many pov’s in AWPH? i always wonder what writing app/site fic writers use (word, google docs, etc.), and if it’s not too much, could you show a screenshot of how that looks?

Hi friend! :) I am terribly sorry it’s taken me a while to answer this- life has gotten in the way

Oof- so the answer to that question ‘how do you stay organized’ is probably ‘I don’t’, but I’ll do my best. (this ended up long and fairly disorganized)

About APWH POVs:

For the different POVs, there isn’t really a process I have to choose whose POV is used for what scene- I’d probably be more stern about it if were writing a novel, but because it’s fanfiction, I kind of just go with whatever feels right at the time. There is one thing that’s absolutely deliberate, though- I’ve never written a scene from Petyr’s POV, because he’s the exception to narrative omniscience.

There have been a few instances where I’ve had to switch whose POV i was writing from as I went along, or after I finished a scene- Meeting Jon Arryn is an example from the most recent chapter. Initially, it was from Sansa’s point of view, but Sansa overthinks everything and so it kept going off in all sorts of weird directions and I couldn’t pin it down. Once I started writing as Robin, it got much easier.  

The single most difficult thing about keeping all the different characters straight is remembering who knows certain things, and who doesn’t know certain things.

Take this, for example. The two characters closest to omniscience are Oberyn and Sansa, but where Oberyn knows Baelish’s history and can understand certain aspects of his motivation because of years of working on the case and studying him (in addition to a hefty understanding of human psychology), Sansa isn’t always completely aware of how important certain pieces of evidence are, or how relevant certain things are to Petyr’s motivations. The two of them understand Baelish more than anyone else, but in drastically different ways. The biggest thing is that Oberyn is aware of Petyr’s relationship with Catelyn, and how he feels about her, whereas Sansa has no idea about that, and still doesn’t really understand why Baelish took her in the first place (although she’s been doing a repeat speedrun through the five stages of grief throughout the entire thing, poor kid).

But there are basic facts of the story, and then there’s the ‘who knows what’ aspect of it. Someone broke into the Stark’s home in White Harbor and stole Sansa from her bed- this is a fact. But only a few people know who it was that broke in or how it was done. An assassin was hired to kill Petyr Baelish at the airport and failed. The Lannisters know who the assassin is, but Oberyn and Daemon don’t yet.

There are lots of complicated relationships among the characters too- Jon knows more about Robb than any of the rest of them, except maybe Rhae, who only ever shows vulnerability to Willas and Marg, and so the rest of us don’t really get to see her soft side. Arya’s relationship with Catelyn is extremely complicated, and as such, she has a lot of baggage going into meeting Sansa that Sansa has no idea about. Lyanna is aware of what’s generally going on politically, and is working on several important stories that could provide some insight to Oberyn, but they haven’t talked about politics too much recently, because Oberyn’s too busy with the investigation and Lyanna’s busy with her job. There are secrets that Robb has been keeping for an extremely long time, and secrets that Sansa’s keeping without even realizing it. There are a lot of things that were odd or abnormal or red flags in Sansa’s childhood that she doesn’t even realize are odd, because she has no other frame of reference.

In terms of keeping the other stuff straight, I have a page at the beginning of the APWH Master Document (it’s so long dear god), that basically has character names, ages, locations, and time zones written down. I’ve tried making like, character info compilations, but I’m not very good at updating them so I stopped that (although I found a particularly funny bit about the targs in one that’s sampled below).

Generally, I think it’s more important to understand how your characters react to certain situations and their most basic personality traits and values, rather than just having a long list of stats on them, so that tends to be my approach. If I’m worried that I’m about to write something that conflicts with a previous plot point, generally, I’ll go back and skim the story for mentions of them to double check- I’ve reread APWH so frequently that I am genuinely sick of the first five chapters, haha.

Unfortunately, a lot of it tends to just be that I have an extremely good long-term memory for details. The trade-off is a god-awful short-term memory, though. It’s partially the ADHD. I’m on the verge of trying to keep things straight with an excel doc, tho.

The timeline is one of the trickier aspects, so I tend to scribble them out anytime I’m thinking about when and where certain events happened. Generally, I use Sansa’s abduction as year zero, because I do not understand how years work in Westeros and have elected to just use my own- here’s a sample of one I scribbled down the other day when I was trying to figure something out.

(Sorry about the post it notes- those are covering some spoilers! ;D)

About my writing process:

It is…. Not as streamlined of a process as I would like, haha. Generally, I go by chapter. I kind of have a rough idea of what I want to happen in each chapter, and generally that evolves as the story does.

For each chapter, I kind of just bullet point out some things that I want to have happen, and then try my hand at writing some of them. Some of my best ideas happen after this process, though, like the scene where Robb and Sansa find out that Baelish moved them out of the city while Robb was in town to avoid a confrontation. But I have those bullet points, and usually rough chapter titles and rough summaries before the chapters start. (Some things blacked out because of spoilers ;D)

I think that if I waited until I was inspired to sit down and write, then APWH would maybe be done by like, 2070, so I usually kind of sit down and just start writing- some of it is good, some scenes I discard completely, and usually, once I hit on something that works, the plot flows where I want it to.

I generally know how I want the chapters to start, based on how the previous chapter ends (My writing time for them usually overlaps bc it’s a natural continuation). Once I figure out roughly how I want the chapter to end, though, the whole thing starts coming together, and it’s easier for me to figure out what doesn’t belong in the middle, and what might be missing.

I started using one master document on word, because I swear to god I did not intend for this story to turn into the behemoth that it is, and that lasted for about twelve chapters before I realized that the damn thing was 368 pages of tiny font (I don’t double space my lines when I write bc I like seeing as much of it as I can). So I’ve switched to individual word docs for each chapter as of chapter 13, and used google docs to share the chapter with the wonderful @nowmywatch-begins who was kind enough to beta read the thing and remove the excess of commas I tend to use. I use color coded highlighting to indicate different things- turquoise means I want to go back and rework something, green means I need to check to make sure something doesn’t conflict with something I wrote previously, yellow is for sections that I might not want in that chapter and might need to move, etc. Anything I end up discarding goes in a section at the end of that chapter labeled ‘outtakes’. I used to have a lot of trouble rewriting things because I hated to get rid of them, so this circumvents that particular issue. I get to keep what I wrote, while still improving the story by being willing to throw out certain parts.

I write out of order frequently so I keep a separate document called ‘APWH- Bits and Pieces’ that I use whenever I’m doing something like that- it acts as sort of a holding tank for these scenes until I feel like they fit in the story. I also just keep random notes in there, questions that I think need answering, random sentences that just come to me, ideas I’ve jotted down when an idea sparks, etc. There’s a lot of stream of consciousness kind of stuff because I tend to process ideas by writing them down, and so I have stuff like ‘okay so what if Lysa did X and Petyr was here and does Sansa have a college scholarship???? Is the Braavosi prison in the northwest or the south? Why is Westeros still a monarchy? do the tabloids follow the royal family like in britain???’

Like, I have the ending for APWH written, but it’s fairly disjointed, and i think I’ll be able to flesh it out more as the story goes along. I like having a general idea of where I’m going with my writing, but I also will modify those ideas frequently as I go- sometimes the characters really do write the story for you.

This is probably not very organized, and waaaaay longer than you wanted, but I hope this answers your question!!! Thank you for the ask! :)

[fandomfanfics12]

Home Lives With You-Part 5

Title: Home Lives With You. Pairings: Steve x Tony Part: 5/? Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst, blood, abuse (physical and verbal), ptsd, anxiety, bullying Summary: Peter’s been living with the abusive Thompson family for years, it was the only family in the system that would take him. When Steve and Tony get a phone call from the social worker who introduced them to their daughter Morgan for an emergency placement, they feel like they must pay back the favor. But are Steve and Tony taking on more than they can handle, and will Peter be able to adjust to a warm and welcoming family home? A/N: Again this is kind of long lol, hope you enjoy!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Peter’s heart was hammering inside of his chest as they made their way to the living room. It had to be the hospital bill, that’s what had done this. he should’ve been better at concealing his wounds, he’d let his guard down in that moment with Tony and Steve. He was having a panic attack and they had been comforting him and he’d let his guard down. Dammit. How was it that Peter could get himself kicked out of the first good home that he was sent to? How had he been such an idiot? Tony sat down on the couch, Steve beside him and they both stared at him.

“sit down Pete.” Tony said and Peter did so slowly, his palms growing sweaty. As selfish as it was, Peter wondered if he’d at least be able to keep the elephant that Morgan had given him, but he knew how unlikely that was. It would go back to their precious and perfect daughter and Peter would go back to the Thompson’s basement, and the world would go back to normal.

“I’m so sorry about the hospital bill, I promise I’ll pay you back.” Please don’t kick me out. Peter put the elephant beside him and sat down on his hands so they wouldn’t see him shaking, wouldn’t show them how much he’d loved it here. How much he’d thought they had maybe potentially cared.

“this isn’t about the bill and I don’t want you to worry about that.” Tony began to dig through his pockets and Peter looked down at the floor, heart hammering inside his chest. But we are going to be sending you back, you’re just too much trouble. we don’t want our perfect daughter exposed to your freakishness. We don’t want her to see such violence at such a young age, maybe we could visit sometime. But they wouldn’t visit, old fosters never do. They just leave the kid to rot, hoping the next family can straighten the child out. Peter thought he was used to this conversation, used to people telling him that they didn’t want him anymore, but he could already feel the tears welling up in his eyes as he waited for the words.

“What is this?” Peter raised his hand and inhaled sharply to see the tiny lump of soap he’d gotten from school. He’d go to the school nurse once every couple of weeks to get a bar of soap for his “friend”. The nurse most definitely new that there was no friend but knew better than to push for more information.

“Soap sir.” Peter swallowed, the room was starting to spin and he wanted to disappear. He just wanted this part over, wanted to go back upstairs and pretend to pack up his things and then be back at Rhodey’s office. He didn’t want to be here in this moment any more.

“This is dollar store soap.” Tony said and Peter nodded, it wasn’t like the school bought fancy soap that they just gave out to students for free.

“it’s my soap sir.” Peter said and tony rose an unimpressed brow.

“why didn’t you use the bar of soap that was already in the shower?” Peter had seen it and had been tempted, but knew better than to use their things.

“Because that’s your soap sir.” He said and they shared a look.

“did you bring this from the Thompson’s?” Steve asked and Peter nodded, looking away at a picture on the wall. They were at the beach, Morgan on Steve’s shoulders and Tony making a silly face at her. Someone else must have taken the photo.

“It wasn’t their soap sir.” Peter said defensively, he hadn’t stolen anything from them. Hadn’t dared.

“Then where did you get it?”

“School nurse sir.” Peter’s fear was turning into anger, his defence mechanisms kicking in.

“alright well from here on out I want you to use our soap, okay?” Peter’s head whipped towards them and his heart leapt up into his throat.

“you’re not kicking me out?” his voice wobbled and both of their faces softened, relief was washing through Peter.

“of course not, why would you even think that?” Steve asked and Peter let his eyes fall shut.

“I thought with the hospital bills and seeing what I looked like, maybe you wouldn’t want someone like me around Morgan.” Peter admitted and heard one of them inhale sharply.

-

This kid was going to break Tony Stark-Rogers’ heart. Hearing the crack in his voice, seeing the way his eyes had darted around the room and knowing he’d thought they were going to kick him out through this whole conversation broke Tony’s heart. He took Steve’s hand and squeezed, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

“Peter we are here for you and we are going to support you. you haven’t scared us away if that’s what you’re worried about.” Tony said and he opened his eyes, tears welled up.

“Really?” Steve and Tony moved in one swift motion to his side, wrapping their arms around him, Tony rested his head on Peter’s shoulder.

“You’re not going anywhere. I spoke to Rhodey yesterday while you were sleeping and I asked him if we could extend your stay.” At that, Peter stilled in their arms.

“What?”

“You’re going to stay with us for three months, if that’s alright with you?” Peter nodded and joy rushed through the three of them.

“I’d love that sir.” Peter whispered. Tony and Steve squeezed him a little tighter and Peter relaxed in their embrace.

“Great, now why don’t you go upstairs and get changed into some clean clothes and I’ll reheat some dinner while Steve does the washing.” Tony said, pulling back and Peter nodded. They helped him up off of the couch and then Tony made his way to the kitchen. he watched as Peter walked passed, his gangly and too-thin limbs. He wondered how often the kid had gotten a full meal if he had to get soap from the school. Tony made a mental note to put more food on Peter’s plate, just to be safe.

-

Peter dumped three of his four outfits into the washing basket Steve held in his hands.

“You were wearing that on Thursday, why don’t you change into something else?” Steve asked and Peter looked away, shit.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” Steve asked, worry in his voice. He began to ask Peter questions, about whether that had something to do with his injuries but Peter cut him off.

“This is all I have Mr Stark Rogers.” Peter admitted at long last and Steve fell silent for a moment.

“You’ve dumped like three shirts in here.”

“I only have four shirts and two pairs of jeans.” Peter said and Steve’s hands tightened on the basket.

“Oh, okay. Well we can take you shopping for new clothes tomorrow.” Steve’s voice was a notch too high but Peter shook his head.

“I can’t afford new clothes Mr Stark-Rogers.”

“That’s alright, we can pay.” And Steve walked back downstairs before Peter could argue with him. Peter stayed there for a long moment and took a few deep breaths, this family was too nice, too good to be true. They want to keep me. the thought was startling, he didn’t quite believe it. the idea that Steve and Tony could want Peter around was insane. But they had extended his stay, and that meant more to Peter than he’d ever be able to explain.

-

“Tony he needs new clothes.” Tony’s brain was too distracted by Steve, hair perfectly tousled and washing basket propped on his hip. There was a light stubble from too many days gone by without shaving that Tony was finding irresistibly attractive.

“What?” Tony asked and Steve rolled his eyes but a smile tugged at his lip.

“Peter needs new clothes. He has four t-shirts which are practically held together by a single thread.” Steve put the basket down on the kitchen counter to lift up one of Peter’s shirts and it did look extremely rumpled and worn.

“stop drooling for a minute.” Steve told him, Tony scrunched up his face and stuck out his tongue. Steve rose a brow and Tony sighed, stepping closer and reaching out to touch the material. It was rough, old and scratchy.

“I had planned for a shopping trip this weekend but we were a little busy.” Tony said and Steve nodded, silence filling the space between them. Then there were footsteps coming down the stairs, too heavy to be Morgan’s. Tony handed Steve back the shirt and Steve carried the dirty washing away before Peter entered the room. He offered Tony the smallest of smiles and slid onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island.

“how are you feeling?” Tony asked and Peter scratched the back of his head.

“Permission to speak freely sir?” Peter asked and it took all of Tony’s might not to last.

“We’re not in the military Peter, of course you can.” Peter nodded, staring down at his hands.

“Tired, hungry and a little stressed.”

“Why stressed?” Tony asked, leaning on the island across from him and Peter looked back up to meet Tony’s eyes.

“I’ve got a lot of homework and I haven’t started any of it and I’m already so far behind in all of my classes because there wasn’t many opportunities to study back at the Thompson’s and-“ Tony reached out and placed his hand over the top of Peter’s, offering him a gentle smile.

“It’s alright Peter, I’ll help you out.” Tony said and Peter’s eyes widened.

“Really?” Tony nodded, hoping that it wasn’t English.

“of course, what subject do you need help with the most right now?” Peter scratched the back of his head, the nerves practically radiated from him.

“Chemistry.” Relief flooded through Tony’s veins. Thank god.

“chemistry is like a second language, why don’t you get your homework after dinner and we can work through some of it tonight?” Tony asked softly and Peter beamed at him.

“Thank you Mr Stark-Rogers.” Peter’s voice was barely above a whisper. Tony grinned, he had finally upgraded from sir. The oven dinged and Tony turned around, ready to dish up the meal and spend some quality time with Peter.

-

When Peter woke up the sun was shining through the window and his body was sore. He was curled up on the floor, ribs throbbing and Steve’s face just above his own.

“Pete why are you on the floor?” Steve asked and Peter blinked several times, wishing his vision would clear.

“the bed is yours.” Peter mumbled, sitting up and rolling his shoulders.

“actually me bed is in my room with Tony, this bed is yours.” Peter’s heart leapt up into his throat and his head spun towards Steve.

“really?”

“Yeah Pete.” Steve chuckled and helped Peter up to his feet. He walked over to his phone which was only on twelve percent, the screen was cracked and it was so outdated that the phone had actual buttons. 10:13 was what the time read and Peter’s eyes widened.

“um Mr Stark Rogers?” Peter turned back to Steve who was frowning at Peter’s phone.

“Yeah?”

“is the clock wrong or is it really ten-thirteen?” Peter asked nervously and Steve scratched the back of his head.

“I hope we didn’t overstep our boundaries, but Tony and I thought you could use a day off given the weekend you had.” Peter blinked, a day off?

“oh, what chores do you want me to do today?” Peter asked, Steve shook his head.

“no chores Pete, we’re taking you shopping.” Steve said and Peter tilted his head to the side.

“I don’t understand.”

“Tony called in sick to work and I don’t have class on Monday’s, even Morgan’s being fake-sick today. We’re going to take you out and get you some proper clothes and some stuff for this room and,” Steve gave a pointed look at his phone. “a real phone that you can use.”

“I have no money, I can’t accept yours either.” Steve shrugged.

“Breakfast is ready downstairs, we’ll leave as soon as you’re done.” Steve said and then exited the room, leaving Peter in nothing more than a stunned silence. He wasted no time going downstairs, Tony had made pancakes and had drenched them in maple syrup and whipped cream. Peter’s mouth watered at the sight of the large stack and he slowly sat down on the stool, glancing at Tony who watched him as he drank for his coffee cup.

“are you waiting for a countdown or something kid?” Tony asked and Peter shook his head, picking up the knife and fork and digging in to his breakfast. The food was delicious and Peter actually moaned upon his first taste of it. he could feel Tony’s eyes on him, observing him closely but Peter didn’t think about it too hard. Here he was, being offered up actual food and it tasted good. Divinely sweet and insanely mouth-watering. Peter devoured the meal, savouring every last drop and ensuring that there was not even a crumb left on the plate.

“Alright Peter go put some shoes on.” Tony said and Peter nodded. He ran back upstairs and grabbed his four dollar shoes that had come from target and slipped his feet into them. He rushed back downstairs where the Stark-Rogers were waiting for him.

“All set? Good.” They made their way outside, Tony locked the front door and then got into the car where Steve drove the four of them to the mall. Once they were all out of the car, Steve locked it and took hold of Morgan’s hand and they began to make their way inside.

“Shouldn’t I be at school, or you guys at work? We really could just do this another day.” Peter said even though they were already there.

“Nope, this can not wait any longer.” They led Peter to a store full of tech and Peter eyed the heft prices nervously.

“what are we doing here?” he whispered to Tony who just raised a brow.

“which kind of phone do you want?” Tony asked and Peter shook his head.

“I already have a phone sir.”

“Steve described it as something that belonged to a really old grandma.” Tony told him and Peter looked down at the floor.

“So? It still works.” Peter said defiantly but that didn’t seem to matter, because a salesperson was talking to Steve and Steve was telling him that he wanted to get Peter a phone.

“I have the perfect phone, and we got it in a new special edition too.” The man disappeared and then returned with a small box. When he opened it up he pulled out a phone that had a sleek and smooth black screen. But when he turned it over Peter’s brows rose. The smooth back of the phone was red at the top but slowly turned into blue as Peter’s eyes moved down.

“We’ll take it.” Tony said and Peter’s head whipped towards him.

“No sir please! It’s bad enough that you’re losing money because you took the day off, this is way too much!” Peter insisted but it fell on deaf ears as Steve walked away to go fill out the paperwork. Tony was smiling softly, Morgan looked bored but Peter’s heart was hammering inside of his chest. This was way too much, he’d never be able to pay them back for this.

“Peter it’s fine. Steve and I wouldn’t pay for it if we weren’t okay with it.” Tony pulled out his own phone which was a similar model to the one that he was buying Peter and showed Peter a long list. The first item on the list had a little tick next to it. get Peter a new phone. Before Peter could protest anymore Steve was back, bag in hand and grinning.

“where to next?”

“Well we need to get him some clothes.”

-

Peter stood in the dressing room wearing a pair of black ripped jeans, a white soft t-shirt and a blue flannel.

“Pete?” Tony asked and Peter opened up the door, Tony grinned and nodded, the basket full of clothes that he’d already insisted on buying and hands full with even more clothes to try on.

“Awesome, we’re getting that too.” Peter shook his head, he really couldn’t accept all of this.

“Mr Stark Rogers we have more than enough.” Peter said because he knew that there was no way he’d be able to talk Tony out of buying the clothes already in the basket. It had taken Peter a while to get into the swing of things when shopping for clothes. He wasn’t sure what he liked or what he looked good in, and had needed to explain to Tony that he had just received the clothes that Flash hadn’t wanted anymore. Tony had already placed an entire wardrobe’s worth of summer clothes in the basket, and now insisted that Peter try on some things for winter time.

“but what about when it gets cold?” Tony asked and Peter glanced at himself in the mirror. His skin looked yellow in this lighting.

“then we can go shopping again, if I’m still around.” Tony froze but nodded. Despite himself, Peter’s heart sank. Just because they’d asked for an extension didn’t mean anything, it wasn’t like they were going to adopt him.

“alright we’ll get you some winter clothes later, but we’re buying that outfit you’re in.” Peter nodded and shut the door so he could change back into regular clothes. He had been trying on different outfits for over an hour ad was glad that it was finally over.

“Hey Pete what’s your shoe size?” Tony asked as Peter tugged on a shirt.

“why?”

“Well you can’t keep walking around in those shoes.” Tony said through the door and peter’s eyes darted down to his feet, shoes were expensive though.

“it’s fine.”

“shoe size.” Tony said impatiently and Peter bit his lip. He wanted to let Steve and Tony buy all these things for him, wanted it so badly. But Peter wasn’t there son and he’d done nothing to deserve all this.

“It’s honestly fine Mr Stark Rogers.” Peter said and Tony knocked.

“What’s going through your head kid? We aren’t the Thompson’s and we aren’t going to neglect you. you may think all of this is frivolous or unnecessary but it’s not.” Peter nodded, still not quite believing him.

“11.” Peter said after a long while, finally caving to Tony.

“Great.”

-

Morgan had been an absolute angel. Steve had been nervous to bring her along shopping today but she loved helping Peter. Steve had told her that Bucky would be coming over on Saturday for dinner and she’d perked up again once she’d started getting bored of clothes shopping. They were now in Target, trying to find some decorations for Peter’s room. Steve was mostly sticking to neutral tones, he wasn’t exactly sure of what colours Peter liked and Steve was going to suggest that they repaint that room. Unless Peter liked the cream colour that it already was. Steve stared down at the clock, lamps and bedding stuff. Steve had grabbed a couple new pillows, a throw blanket and two different duvet covers that he’d thought Peter might like.

“I’m hungry.” Morgan whined as they waited in line.

“Why don’t we get some doughnuts when we’re done here?” Steve asked her and she gave him a big toothy grin.

“Really? Yay!” she clapped and stomped her feet on the ground in excitement. Steve chuckled at her small antics and soon enough he was handing over his card to pay for Peter’s things.

“you know dad, if we got a doughnut machine we could make doughnuts all the time!” she pointed to one in the shop that was on display and Steve shook his head.

“Maybe another time sweetie.” Steve made a mental note to bring it up to Tony for Morgan’s birthday. They always had an ever-growing list for things like birthdays and Christmases. They’d need to make one for Peter now too. They made their way over to the little doughnut shop and Steve kept an eye out for Tony. He’s not going to be happy that we’re doing this. But Tony was nowhere in sight.

“Do you want the one with rainbow sprinkles?” Steve asked and Morgan nodded her head.

-

Tony spotted his tall, blonde and gorgeous husband across the walkway, and it took Tony a moment to understand where Morgan and Steve were going exactly.

“This one seems nice.” Peter said after inspecting the shampoo bottle that Tony had just handed him.

“We’ll come back. Peter you push the trolley.” Peter put the bottle down and followed Tony out of the store, they made their way over to the doughnut shop.

“Do you want the one with rainbow sprinkles?” Steve asked and Morgan started to eagerly nod her head.

“Steven Grant Stark Rogers are you buying doughnuts without me?” Steve and Morgan spun, eyes wide and mouths agape and then Steve’s face morphed into a smirk.

“maybe.” Tony crossed his arms and shook his head.

“doughnuts?” Peter asked and the three of them turned to him, his brows furrowed.

“You’ve had a doughnut before, right Pete?” Steve asked and Peter bit his lip.

“No?” Tony gasped extra dramatically, Morgan covered her mouth as if she were going to scream and Steve just rose his brows.

“We’re getting a box Steve.” Tony said and marched up to the counted to order it. he could feel the eyes of his family watching him and Tony couldn’t contain the smile as he ordered the doughnuts. While Peter was still on edge, he’d most definitely relaxed today. Calming down ever so slightly as the day had progressed, resisting a little less each time Tony suggested something for him. Tony was glad he’d taken the day off work to spend this time with Peter, even if Hammer would taunt him about it for the rest of the week.

-

Doughnuts were officially Peter’s new favourite food. Tony had gotten a variety of flavours but overall, the plain glazed doughnuts were his favourite. He was still stunned by the amount of things that Steve and Tony had bought him, no one had ever done anything like this for Peter before and if he thought about it for too long he would become overwhelmed.

“Peter we were thinking that you’d like to repaint your room, so what colour would you like?” Steve asked as the four of them made their way back to the car. Peter inhaled sharply but shook his head, he couldn’t accept anything more from them.

“I like the colour that it already is.” Peter lied, it wasn’t that the cream was ugly, it just wasn’t what he would have picked for a bedroom.

“liar.” Tony teased and Peter managed a small smile.

“thank you for all that you guys have done, it’s more than I could ever thank you for.” Peter said as they reached the car. He really didn’t have a clue as to how he’d repay them, maybe one day he could come back once he had a job and give them a big fat cheque to make up for all of this. because there was no way they were keeping him, thoughts like that were just too good to be true.

@smallnjh @picklepotatoe14 @thatisamericasass @briebriebrieee @aftereveryraincomessunshine @meyamoadriytu​

[electra-xt]

midnight hotline is one of my favorite fics! it's so rare to find an author willing to treat both luther AND diego as, yk, three-dimensional characters instead of caricatures. i was wondering if you still have interest in their dynamic after s2? tbh i love reading your lists of headcanons, so would delight in any thoughts you have about them as a ship or polycule w/ other characters. no worries if not! thank you either way for feeding us the good content!

ahhh thank you!! luther deserves sooo much more than the fandom gives him, doesn’t he? (although i feel like after the initial s1 backlash i now see a lot of posts that wax eloquent about how poor luther is misunderstood and the most traumatized, so perhaps people are seeing it differently.) they deserve to be three-dimensional characters! they have the potential! even if the writers in season 2 decided to dumb them down a ridiculous amount. olga foroga? everyone leaving diego hanging with ‘team zero’? it felt like the writers were like “well tom hopper has great comedic timing. what if we did that and nothing else.” that being said though, i DID like how when luther stormed out of elliot’s house, diego followed him and tried to give him a pep talk. good shit! enemies to brothers! 

i don’t think i’d personally write more about luther/diego as a couple— midnight hotline encapsulates pretty much all i have to say about the two of them, tbh. in terms of polycules i am a huge fan of luther/allison/diego as a threesome and i can trace this back to the fight scene at the academy in s1e3 which was decadent for a simple person such as myself who appreciates competent people kicking ass together. the reason i love luther, diego, and allison together is the power dynamics between them and the rest of the academy” luther obviously was number one, allison had an extremely socially potent power, and diego schemed all he could to climb in his status. in general, i’m much more interested in stories about powerful people experiencing a reckoning with their status and assumptions than i am about underestimated underdogs. so i am enthusiastic and excited when i see them all kicking ass togethee

i actually wrote about 7-8k words of a second luther/allison/diego fic last december, but i don’t think i’ll be able to finish it— buuut i can post a snippet here! the premise is that they are teenagers at the academy, allison is goading them into manifesting their sexual tension, and diego and luther are coming back from sneaking out to a club :)

The footsteps got louder. Allison inhaled and then exhaled, forcibly calming herself, and then she heard the sound of familiar laughter.

“They fucking loved you, man, don’t act so surprised. You can’t go in a club flexing all your muscles like that and then act like it’s crazy when girls start coming up to you and petting you.”

“I wasn’t trying to flex at anyone— you told me this shirt was fine.”

“It is,” Diego said, “if you’re trying to get laid.”

“You said it was normal.”

“Wanting to get laid is normal, buddy. We’re at the house. Come on, I’ll show you how to get back in.”

Allison stubbed out her cigarette on the metal piping on the roof, and then she climbed out onto her window, perching carefully on the windowsill as they came around the corner into the courtyard.

Luther was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a white tank top. It clung to every curve of his muscles. No wonder the girls had gone crazy over him. He looked good, appealing in a rugged way, yet less rough-and-tumble than Diego, who looked like he was smudged with some girl’s body glitter. Luther was leaning on Diego a little bit as he walked. The two of them looked excruciatingly perfect in the dim light, and Allison let out a tiny sigh.

“You good?” Diego said, looking up at Luther.

“Can we,” Luther said, “just sit for a moment?”

“You really need to?” Diego said.

“Yeah,” Luther said, stumbling to the bench in the courtyard and sitting down hard. “Yeah.”

“Oh, baby, you’re drunk,” Diego said, in awe.

“So?” Luther said. “Don’t you do this all the time?”

“I’ll have a drink,” Diego said, sitting down next to him. “But it’s not really the point of going out.”

“You’re tipsy right now,” Luther said. He reached in and tapped Diego’s nose.

Diego batted his hand away too quickly, and Luther laughed. “I don’t usually drink too much,” Diego said. “It’s… special occasions.”

“Like this?” Luther said.

“Going out with my clueless straight boy brother?” Diego said. “Yeah, I’d say that’s special.”

“I don’t know why you’re always telling me I’m straight,” Luther said.

“‘Cause you are,” Diego said. “I mean, I’m not— it’s not a big deal. I don’t care about it. Thought I just… we both know where we stand.”

“I’m not straight,” Luther said.

There was no noise. Allison leaned out the window a little further.

“Oh,” Diego said.

“You wanted to know where we… stood,” Luther said.

“Yeah,” Diego said.

“Is that a problem?”

“You keep it pretty quiet,” Diego said.

“So do you,” Luther said.

“Fuck,” Diego said. He rubbed his face. “This whole time, gay chicken, I thought you were a…”

“I’m not a clueless straight boy,” Luther said.

“You’re a clueless not-straight boy.”

“Diego.”

“Sorry,” Diego said, sounding the opposite of sorry, but he was quiet for a moment. The next time he spoke, he sounded tentative. “You’re really into guys, huh?”

“Don’t be weird about it,” Luther said, looking down at his hands.

“I’m not, man, I promise,” Diego said. He laughed a little. “I mean, I get it better than anybody.”

“It’s not really a part of me I thought about a lot,” Luther said. “Until Allison’s… game.”

“Allison made it weird,” Diego said.

Allison felt a flush of shame from her perch on the windowsill. Fuck her intentions. Fuck herself. Whenever she tried to intervene in a situation, save for a crime scene, she always dug her fingers in too far and made a mess, didn’t she? And Jesus, she didn’t even rumor them this time.

“Yeah,” Luther said. He paused.

“What?” Diego said.

“I don’t know,” Luther said. He still wasn’t looking at him. “You’re right. It’s weird.”

“She has some balls to pull this shit,” Diego said. He shook his head. “Gay chicken.”

“I don’t mind that it’s weird,” Luther said.

Allison went still.

“Really,” Diego said.

Luther shifted. “I know it’s— weird that I don’t think it’s weird, because it’s weird, but—”

“Are you into it?” Diego said, voice low.

Allison could barely breathe from the silence.

Luther looked down.

“Hey,” Diego said, tipping Luther’s chin up with his hand. “You get shy all of a sudden?”

“Diego,” Luther said, “are you…” He shook his head, as if chastising himself. “Are you—”

He cut himself off. Allison watched him, holding her breath, and she could see Diego watching him too. Everything seemed to hinge on Luther in this moment— unlike every mission in which he was Number One, titled as the captain, the boy king, and it was easy to brush him off. But right now, from her windowsill, Allison was magnetically drawn to the boy on the bench with a question in his mouth and a white undershirt that seemed to glow in the nighttime.

“You can say it,” Diego said quietly.

“You don’t know what it is,” Luther said.

“If I knew,” Diego said, “I wouldn’t need you to say it.”

Luther swallowed.

“C’mon,” Diego said. “Let it out.”

His voice was hushed. Allison could barely hear him. Luther looked up at him, disbelieving.

“Are you into me?” Luther said, looking up at him.

Diego nodded, once. Then he nodded again. “Yeah,” he said. “I— this whole time, Allison’s game, I wanted… you better not be fucking with me, you better not tell anyone, I swear to God— you better forget this when you sober up tomorrow.”

“No,” Luther said.

Diego blinked. “What?”

“I don’t want to forget,” Luther said, and he dragged Diego in and kissed him.

[stilinskishit]

Too Long (A Stiles Stilinski Fanfic) - Chapter 3

**First couple of posts have a different title but I changed it because I didn’t like it :)**

Summary: Teen Wolf with a female main character alongside Scott and Stiles? Here it is. Ramie McCall is Scott’s twin sister and best friends with both her twin and Stiles. The trio’s friendship means the world to all three of them, so what happens when there are more than friend type of feelings present?

Tags: @multi-madison​

MASTERLIST

Chapter 3 - Batman

Ramie awoke Monday morning extremely confused. She was not in her bed and the alarm going off was not her usual phone alarm. After a second she realized she was in Stiles’ room and everything came flooding back to her. She and Stiles were studying the night before and then watched a movie, and she must have fallen asleep at some point. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Ramie to stay at the Stilinski’s, but Scott was usually there and they would sleep on the floor. Ramie reached over and grabbed Stiles’ phone, turning off the alarm. The boy was still sound asleep, his arm draped over her side and his head shoved into the back of her neck. She was glad he was asleep as she could feel how hot her face was. She wasn’t surprised the boy was a cuddler, but she never thought she would be the one he was cuddling. She regretfully moved away from him, sitting up and moving to edge of the bed, swinging her feet onto the floor.

“Morning,” She heard a rough voice behind her. Stiles was now awake as well, rubbing his eyes. Ramie pretended not to notice his morning voice. She couldn’t help but grin at how cute he looked. “You fell asleep during the movie and I didn’t want to wake you, I texted Scott so he knew you were here and wouldn’t freak out.”

“Sorry, I was exhausted,” Ramie turned away from him again, feeling embarrassed.

“No it’s fine!” Ramie could feel Stiles sit up quickly behind her.

“Stiles do you always wake up this late?” Ramie asked, rummaging through her bag to see if she had a sweatshirt or something she could put on so she wasn’t wearing the exact same clothes to school that she was wearing the day before.

“Late? This is early,” He groaned, pulling himself out of bed. “Do you need a shirt to wear or something?”

“If you don’t mind,” Ramie said sheepishly.

“Pick whatever,” He gestured to his closet. Ramie grabbed a green and black flannel from his closet and pulled it on over her t-shirt. Feeling eyes on her, she turned to Stiles who was still sitting on his bed, staring at her with a small smile on his face.

“What?” She asked. “Do I have bad bedhead or something?”

“No!” Stiles jumped off the bed, moving to his dresser and turning his back to her. “I was just thinking about something funny Scott said the other day.” Ramie narrowed her eyes at the back of his head and went over to the mirror on the back of his door. Her hair was fairly tame, and she had nothing on her face.

After rushing Stiles out the door, the two made it to school surprisingly on time. They met  up with Scott in the parking lot, as they usually did. He looked tense as he walked towards Ramie and Stiles.

“Why do you look… terrified,” Ramie asked when he got to them and they started walking towards the school.

“I had a weird dream…” Scott sighed. “I attacked Allison on a school bus and it felt so real.”

“But it was just a dream,” Ramie reassured him.

“So you killed her,” Stiles butted in, pulling open the door front door to the school, letting Scott and Ramie go before him. Ramie shot him a look and he shrugged.

“I don’t know, I just woke up,” Scott said, shrugging. “I was sweating and couldn’t breathe, it took me a few minutes to relax. I’ve never had a dream where I woke up like that before.”

“Really? I have,” Stiles said. “Usually ends a little differently.”

“Please, no,” Ramie shoved Stiles, pulling a disgusted face. “I slept in your bed last night, I don’t need that sort of information.” Scott met Ramie’s eyes with a slightly shocked look on his face. She looked away quickly, watching her feet as they walked.

“A. I meant I’ve never had a dream that felt that real, and B. Like Ramie said, never give me that much detail about you again,” Scott looked at Stiles. “Especially if my sister is sleeping in your bed.”

Stiles tripped over his own foot at Scott’s words and stumbled forward.

“We just fell asleep watching a movie,” Stiles rambled. Ramie kept her head at her feet. “I swear that’s it.”

“I’m just messing with you guys,” Scott chuckled, hitting Stiles on the arm. Ramie chuckled, it sounding far more nervous than she intended.

“I think I know what this is about,” Ramie said quickly, changing the subject.

“I know, I know, you think it has something to do with me and Allison,” Scott groaned, continuing to walk down the hall. “Like I’m going to rip her throat out or something.”

“No, never,” Stiles said, causing Scott to look over at him.

“No that’s exactly it,” Ramie said, Stiles nodding enthusiastically, his previous response clearly sarcastic. Scott gave them both a death glare. “Hey, I mean honestly Scott, you’re handling it pretty well.”

“Yeah, it’s not like there’s a book for you to read about how to use your wolf powers for good and to not rip out throats,” Stiles patted Scott on the shoulder.

“Maybe there’s not a book, but I could have a teacher,” Scott shrugged.

“What, Derek?” Ramie asked, and Stiles smacked Scott on the back of the head. “It seems you’ve forgotten we got his ass thrown in jail.”

“I know, I know,” Scott rubbed the back of his head. “It’s just that dream, it felt so real.”

“How real?” Stiles asked, just as he pushed opened the door into the back courtyard.

“Like it actually happened,” Scott said before running straight into Ramie who had stopped dead in her tracks. The trio looked up to see a school bus, completely destroyed and covered in blood at the back to the school.

“I think it did,” Stiles said, as Scott and Ramie stared at the bus in shock. Scott turned suddenly, running back in the school.

“God you’re stupid sometimes,” Ramie glared at Stiles before running after Scott. She heard him questioning her behind her but ignored him as she ran after Scott. “Scott, wait, I’m sure she’s fine, dont listen to Stiles. It’s just a coincidence.”

“Yeah, a coincidence,” Stiles butted in, suddenly next to them again. “A seriously amazing coincidence.”

“Stiles!” Ramie gave him a death glare and he opened his mouth but closed it again, putting his hands up defensively.

“Scott I’m sure she’s…” Ramie started as they turned a corner, Scott running straight into Allison, alive and well. “Right here. Hey, Allison.”

“Jesus, you scared me,” Allison put her hand on her chest, kneeling with Scott to pick up the things she dropped when Scott crashed into her.

“Told you she was fine,” Stiles said to Scott. It was Ramie’s turn to smack Stiles on the back of the head. Stiles scoffed at her, rubbing the back of head and turning, mumbling something before walking to class.

“Why wouldn’t I be fine?” Allison looked between the two siblings. Scott looked at Ramie, begging for her to say something.

“I just had a weird dream with you in it,” Ramie said. Scott nodded, giving her a small smile to thank her for saving his ass.

“You’ll have to tell me about it later,” Allison grinned, pecking Scott on the cheek before heading towards her class. Scott and Ramie followed in the direction that Stiles had before, the three of them having class together that period.

“So… nice shirt,” Scott said as they walked together. Ramie looked down at herself.

“I wear this t-shirt all the time… but thanks?” Ramie gave him a confused look.

“No I mean, the flannel,” Scott said, the corner of his mouth lifting a bit. “Looks like one Stiles just wore the other day.”

“Yeah, because it’s his. We woke up late and I needed something to wear,” Ramie said as casually as possible, not looking over to her brother because she could picture the look on his face.

“Wearing Stiles’ clothes after sleeping over at his house,” Scott muttered, and Ramie could hear the smirk in his voice. “Sleeping over in his bed, may I add.”

“Shut it Scott,” Ramie glared at him as they entered the classroom, keeping her head down to hide her face, as she knew her cheeks had to be bright red. She heard Scott laughing to himself as he sat down at the table next to the one Stiles was at, while Ramie sat down next to Stiles. Mr. Harris always made Scott and Stiles sit separately during class, but somehow Ramie and Stiles got away with sitting next to each other.

“Maybe Scott caught a rabbit or something,” Stiles said as Ramie sat down next to him, obviously still trying to piece together Scott’s dream.

“And did what?” Scott butted in from his table.

“Ate it?” Ramie peered around Stiles to grin at Scott.

“Raw?”

“No, you baked it over a campfire,” Stiles deadpanned. Scott glared at the two of them, Ramie covering her mouth so he couldn’t see her smile.

“Stilinski and McCalls,” Mr. Harris called out. “Class is starting. Maybe you three would benefit from some more distance.”

“I don’t think so,” Stiles shot back, shrugging. Harris gave Stiles a look that would burn him to death if his eyes were lasers. “Alright, going.” He groaned, moving across the room while Scott moved up a few tables.

“Let me know if the separation anxiety gets to be too much for you,” Mr. Harris said, causing Stiles to let out a sarcastic laugh. As he sat down as his new seat, his eyes catching Ramie’s and he gave her a grin. Scott, who saw the exchange gave Ramie a knowing look when Stiles looked away, before turning back to the front of the class.

…

After it was found out that there was a bus driver nearly killed in the incident the night before, Scott turned to Derek to look for answers. He suggested that Scott go back to the crime scene and see what he could remember from that night, which is why Ramie found herself in the back seat of Stiles’ jeep late that night.

“You two stay here,” Scott said, moving towards the fence that surround the back parking lot of the school. “Someone needs to keep watch.”

“Ramie’s here, she can do it,” Stiles jabbed his thumb towards Ramie, who glared back at him. Stiles started to climb the fence.

“Stay here,” Scott grabbed Stiles’ arm, pulling him back downwards.

“How come it always feels like you’re Batman and I’m Robin,” Stiles said. “I’m always keeping watch.”

“If he’s Robin I don’t wanna know who I am,” Ramie sighed, pulling the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her hands.

“No one is Batman or Robin, or anyone,” Scott groaned. “Just stay here.”

“Oh my god, fine!” Stiles dramatically pushed off the fence, following Ramie who had already turned back to the jeep. Ramie hopped in the passenger side as Stiles sighed loudly, slamming his door and slouching down in his seat.

“Oh relax, Batman,” Ramie squeezed his shoulder. “You would’ve passed out with all that blood anyways.”

“I would not!” Stiles argued, and Ramie just grinned back. He rolled his eyes and huffed again, sinking back down in the seat. The two sat in silence for a few minutes.

“You wanna know something funny,” Ramie said suddenly, feeling brave. Stiles hummed in response, his eyes still glaring towards Scott on the bus. “The night Scott got bitten, I came home late, obviously, and my Mom thought you and I were hooking up or something. Crazy, right?” She gave a nervous laugh which she hoped didn’t actually sound nervous and glanced over at Stiles, whose head snapped towards her.

“Why’d she think that?” He sat up, a panicked look on his face.

“I dunno, I guess cause we spend a lot of time together or something,” Ramie shrugged, looking away from his gaze. She regretting bring it up. “But it’s crazy anyways, that she would think that. It would be so weird if we were anything other than friends.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said quietly. “You’re right it would.” Ramie glanced over at him. He was looking straight forward, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Usually she was good at reading him, but not now. Her chest felt tight at him agreeing with it being weird. She obviously, deep down didn’t think it would be weird at all.

“Wait,” Stiles shot up in his seat. “Raim do you see that?”

“Lights?” Ramie followed his gaze. What looked like flashlights were coming towards the bus that Scott was currently on. “Stiles, do something!” Stiles started honking his horn over and over, and a minute later Scott came sprinting back towards the jeep. Ramie dove in the back and Scott jumped in her spot a minute later, yelling at Stiles to drive. Stiles threw the car in reverse and sped out of the parking lot.

“Did it work?” Ramie leaned forward as soon as Stiles turned the jeep around, putting her head between the two boys in the front seat.

“Yeah, I was there last night, the blood on the bus, a lot of it was mine,” Scott huffed, out of breath.

“So you killed him?” Stiles asked.

“No, I think I was trying to save him. I saw glowing eyes, it must have been Derek,” Scott continued. Ramie’s eyes narrowed.

“Why would Derek want you to remember that he attacked the bus driver?” She asked.

“I don’t know, that’s the part I dont get,” Scott sighed.

“I bet it’s some wolf pack thing,” Stiles shrugged. “Ripping someone apart together, like hazing or something.”

“But he didn’t, do it, he’s not a killer,” Ramie chimed in.

“So I can go out with Allison,” Scott said, Ramie patted Scott on the shoulder and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“I was gonna say it means you won’t kill us, but that too I guess,” Stiles nodded.

“Oh yeah… that too.”

…

Ramie awoke a few nights later to a loud thud coming from Scott’s room. She checked her phone, it was only 11:30. Scott said he wouldn’t be back from his date with Allison til 1 or so. Ramie shot up out of bed, seeing a figure from across her room in Scotts room, the doors of the bathroom being left open. She grabbed the bat she had been keeping next to her bed and ran into Scott’s room, towards the figure crawling onto his bed but heard a familiar scream.

“Jesus!” Stiles jumped back onto Scott’s bed. Seconds later, Melissa came running into Scott’s room, also carrying a bat.

“What the hell? Stiles!” She groaned, dropping the bat to her side, while Ramie still had hers up in shock. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing?” Stiles yelled. “What are you two doing with all these bats? Does anyone in this family play baseball?” The light flipped on and Scott was suddenly in the doorway, looking very confused.

“Scott, can you please tell your friend to use the front door,” Melissa said to her son.

“It was locked, he couldn’t get in,” Scott said. “He’s Ramona’s friend too.” Ramie glared at Scott for using her full name and putting the blame on her as well.

“I was asleep until I heard a crash,” She looked at her mother.

“Alright, well how about the fact that there’s a police enforced curfew right now and you both are out past that? Do either of you care?” Melissa looked between the two boys.

“No.” They both shrugged. Melissa sighed, throwing the bat onto Scott’s bed.

“You know what, I’m done parenting tonight,” She turned to leave. “Ramie’s in charge.” Ramie grinned and Stiles looked over at her, doing a double take. His gaze stayed on her for a second and he glanced down at her legs, which she noticed were completely bare. She was wearing a huge t-shirt to bed and very small shorts, and she just realized under his gaze that she looked like she wasn’t wearing pants. She tugged the sizes of her shirt down as far as she could. Her stomach flipped a bit, but she told herself Stiles was just being a typical teenage boy. Scott spoke, breaking Stiles’ gaze.

“So what’s up,” Scott pulled his desk chair over towards his bed, and closed his door. He sat down, facing Stiles.

“My Dad left for the hospital a bit ago,” Stiles looked between Ramie and Scott. Ramie leaned against the doorway of the bathroom, listening. “The bus driver, he succumbed to his wounds.���

“Succumed?” Scott breathed.

“It mean’s he died, Scott,” Ramie said quietly. Scott looked between her and Stiles, before getting up out of his chair, turning to leave.

“Wait where are you going?” Stiles followed him into the hall.

“Derek, I need to talk to him,” Scott said taking the stairs two at a time, Stiles and Ramie on his heels.

“Now?” Ramie called, Scott clearly ignoring her as he shoved on his shoes. Without another word he took off out the front door.

“So much for that curfew,” Ramie said, sitting on the stairs as Stiles watched him take off.

“Yeah, I guess I should get home before my Dad gets back,” Stiles glanced at Ramie, his eyes not meeting hers but not looking at her bottom half either. She felt very uncomfortable.

“Stay safe out there Stilinski,” She said from the stairs. He chuckled and shot her a small smile before heading out the front door. She turned to walk back upstairs and found her mother watching her from the top of the flight.

“What?” Ramie asked in regards to her mother’s gaze.

“Just wanted to see if there was any kissing going on down here,” She grinned. Ramie groaned loudly, moving past her mother with a glare and closed the door to her room, hearing her mother’s laugh from the hallway.

[mortuarybees]

do u have any more good omens fic recs?

oh boy do i. some of them are fics that i have included in my fic rec tag so if you’ve been in that bear with me there will also be others. basically my preferred and only accepted genre of anything is “unbearably tender” and “aziraphale is extremely neurotic and crowley loves him anyway” it’s therapeutic

at some point im going to update the original reference post with like. all the amazing content ive come across since making it but until then:

one may tolerate a world of demons for the sake of an angel by lumosity aka @femmeaziraphale aka my very best friend

they have started another fic intended to destroy my life in which hell wins the next round and divines a special torment for crowley pls read it and encourage them to finish it because they don’t believe me when i tell them it’s amazing and i am  d e s p e r a t e  for more.

 “You know, you’re very familiar,” Aziraphale said, breath stinking of the sweet wine.

 “Oh? I guess I look like many goat herders,” Crowley allowed. Aziraphale snorted, nudging Crowley’s shoulder clumsily.

 “No! I mean that you just seem like someone I’ve known before,” Aziraphale said. Crowley felt that familiar ache in his chest. Suddenly he wished he was sober.

 “I have a common face,” Crowley dodged.

 “Say whatever you like, but I feel like we fit together quite nicely,” Aziraphale said, resting his head against the bark of the tree. Crowley took the opportunity to watch Aziraphale while he had his eyes closed. There were the same old blonde eyelashes against his cheeks, the one little drop of sunlight that formed a mole at the corner of his eye. Crowley wished to kiss his cheek only once. An apology for not losing. For not giving Aziraphale an eternity of listening to celestial harmonies.

wings and how to hide them by triedunture

Crowley's been annoyingly in love for six thousand years. What's another lifetime between friends? // if you follow me you’ve probably seen me post or quote certain excerpts a million times you may recognize it as His Body Is A Place And It’s Filled With Love.

He swallowed. So bloody awkward, staring up at Aziraphale like this, having his face held. Was he supposed to maintain eye contact? It seemed impossible. His gaze darted away.

"Keep your eyes fixed on me," Aziraphale admonished, giving his cheek a little pat. "Try to imagine, I don't know...slipping into my body the way you'd slip into a new coat." His smile was weak.

Crowley made a face. "Sounds grotesque."

"It isn't! Come now." His voice and eyes softened. "Please. Try."

Deep breath in. He would try. For Aziraphale's sake. "All right." He opened his eyes, held Aziraphale's plaintive stare, and pictured how it would feel. To be a part of Aziraphale. To be held inside him, to surround him at the same time.

To be loved.

hand in unlovable hand by courfeyrock (les mis solidarity)

“Goodnight, my dear,” he says, and Crowley swears, Aziraphale could call him my dear for six thousand more years and he still wouldn’t be able to get used to it. // it’s tender it’s bed sharing it’s “i love you in the human way” it’s quoting that unspeakable broadchurch scene its title is from no children by tmg; in short, it’s specifically designed to torment me.

Crowley’s head snaps around as if on a swivel. “Shall we… what?”

“Go to sleep? Normally I would love to stay up and have a drink or a chat but you see I really am exhausted and I--”

“Yes, yes, of course.”  Idiot,  Crowley thinks.  I am such an idiot.  "I'll uh, I'll sleep underneath the covers, and you can sleep on top." He waves his hand in a forcefully casual gesture that he hopes conveys just how normal it is for two platonic friends to be having this conversation.

everything just stops by witching

they are drunk and crowley wants to take a bath so he miracles one and they have. the most unbearable conversation ever fucking put to fiction literally returning to it to select one single quote was nearly impossible for me emotionally. god the tenderness the yearning!!!! “i like your silly aziraphale things”!!!!!!!!!! “i love you deep, angel”!!!!!! i hate it! just read it please i cant actually keep describing it or i’ll have to lay down for a little while.

 “Are you –” the angel’s voice was hoarse, and he paused to clear his throat, “are you playing some sort of game right now?”[....]

“I am not,” Crowley whispered fervently, his face frighteningly close to Aziraphale’s. “Six thousand yearsss, angel. You’re a part of me, and I jussst – just wanted you to know, is all.”

 Without warning, Aziraphale reached with both hands to pull Crowley in closer, forcing him to drop his own hand from the angel’s face. Aziraphale held him gently, pressing a single chaste kiss to the demon’s forehead, his lips lingering as his thumbs slid tenderly along his cheekbones, his fingers wrapped up in dark, dripping hair.

 When Crowley responded not by recoiling, as Aziraphale had expected, but by melting against his skin and sighing contentedly, the angel placed another kiss on one cheek, then the other. He moved to kiss Crowley’s eyelids, his jawline, his chin, the corners of his mouth, all the time cradling Crowley’s head in his hands, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Crowley to rebuff his affection.

Crowley, ever one to defy expectations, continued to allow the angel to kiss his face to his heart’s content. It was only when he heard Crowley sniff and let out a pitiful whimper that he pulled back, looking at the demon with concern.

hard feelings/loveless by witching

Aziraphale said it was like the opposite of the feeling you’re having when you say things like “this feels spooky.” Crowley didn’t know what to make of that, but he expected it was something like the opposite of the feeling you get when the only person who truly knows you makes a cryptic remark suggesting that you can’t understand love. Crowley understood love all too well. // crowley. crowley can’t sense love bc he is so goddamn full of love that he can’t see past it he’s just so full of it that he can’t separate it from just how he always is  c r o w l e y. also angelic/demonic mindmelding.

“What about - I mean, if that’s… love,” he struggled to get the word out, “then what’s this other feeling? The one that I’ve been calling love for all this time?”

 “I don’t know,” Aziraphale said. “I can’t possibly imagine.” He didn't have to voice his surprise at the fact that Crowley had an emotion he called love. It wasn't that he had truly thought Crowley was incapable of such an emotion; he was deeply aware of the power and range of the demon's feelings. He simply hadn't thought that Crowley was in tune with his own mind enough to understand it in those terms.

 “Can I show you?” Crowley blurted without thinking.

come as you are by punkfaery (explicit; trigger warning for body dysmorphia and disordered eating)

Aziraphale visits a modern art gallery, goes on a diet, and submits to the mortifying ordeal of being known. Not necessarily in that order. // this mugged me in an alleyway and ruined me emotionally for a whole night but like whatever. it starts with a mary oliver quote so idk what i expected

He dragged a kitchen chair out and sat in it, looking like he wanted to set fire to things with the power of his mind. He was probably angry enough to try it, too. Aziraphale moved a nearby copy of The Earth Compels out of the way, just in case. “It wasn’t really because of him,” he said. “It just made me realise, that’s all.”

“Realise what?”

Aziraphale swallowed. “That I’m not… quite as I should be. That you deserve better.” He lowered his head, feeling wretched. “That’s all. I’m sorry I didn’t say something from the start, but it seemed like a difficult sort of thing to bring up.”

Crowley’s face was indescribable.

“You thought I’d stop liking you because you’re not thin,” he said. His voice was utterly toneless. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“Well, naturally when you say it like that it sounds – ”

“Seriously? After six thousand years of, of whatever you want to call this? After we literally saved the fucking world together?”

salinity (and other measurements of brackish water) by drawlight

It's an odd thing, getting on after the End of the World. Crowley takes to sea-watching. // michael sheen has read and recommended it. god. it starts with a quote from eros the bittersweet. it took me a full half hour to read past the first paragraph or so it’s so Much.

"I want to see you cook." (Something made from his hands. Something purely Crowley. Nothing pulled from the ether. Nothing sourced and given, no. Something made from his hands.)

He looks at his hands. Holds them up, splays them against the shale backdrop of his ceiling. His hands are always the same, day to day. They are clean but stained. His long and dawdling fingers, his bit of knuckles, his veins and tendons beginning to show a little more. Yes, more, he doesn't know the age of his body but he keeps it somewhere here, at indeterminate forty. There is a hangnail on the ring finger, there are stains of belladonna on the sides, on the rough spots.

Belladonna, that green plant sick with chlorophyll, sick with poison. Crowley is a gardener and he grows belladonna in his bedroom. He knows poisons the way Aziraphale knows the Dewey Decimal System. Yes, he knows them intimately, bent over his long counter, pulling the leaves apart, peeling the stems. Crushing the seeds. He knows not to lick his fingers after, that the leaves and berries are toxic to a grown man, that maybe even Livia had used it once, dripped into Augustus' wine. Not, really, that poisons would  matter  . It’s one of those little perks of the demon gig, that whole  immortality thing. What can get at him; what can cut it short? Only holy water and other blessed things. (Aziraphale is an angel, made out of blessed things. Crowley does not know how it might be to kiss him, mouth to wet mouth. If holy water might burn him, what can he expect from the freshwater mouth of an angel?)

birds of a feather by idiopathicsmile

Aziraphale nests. Crowley relearns some crucial facts about angelic courtship rituals. // look....im weak for home decorating as proxy or metaphor for domesticity and familiarity and this trope is literally this. i die

“Demons definitely don’t court,” says Crowley. “They fuck sometimes, but it’s—I don’t know if you’ve ever seen anything about the mating practices of insects but it’s more—like that. There’s no guarantee all parties will come out in one piece. Never seemed worth it, frankly. I like my pieces where they are.”

Aziraphale takes this all in with a series of slow, horrified nods.

“Wait,” says Crowley, “what do angels do?” He’s never pictured angels engaging with each other at all, outside of maybe mandatory team-building exercises.

“They nest,” says Aziraphale.

Crowley waits for this to all make sense. “What, instead of fucking?”

“No,” says Aziraphale primly. “Not  instead. It’s—it’s part of the courtship ritual. You have to be able to build a decent nest if you want to be seen as a viable mate—”

“Like birds,” Crowley repeats, disbelieving.

“Not like birds, birds got it from us,” shrills Aziraphale.

men have gone to heaven for smaller things than that by mercuryhatter

Aziraphale finds an age slipping away from him. // aziraphale and crowley attend robbie ross’ funeral, and aziraphale mourns the loss of the old circle. also there’s some brief dunking on bosie. i adore this fic with my whole heart

“Listen.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s elbow and dragged him out of earshot of the funeral, releasing him under a nearby tree. “It’s not that I’m not glad you’re back. Remember that, because I’m about to be very short with you, but it’s not that.” He raised an eyebrow questioningly and Crowley nodded.

“That being said.” Aziraphale took a deep breath. His voice was shaking slightly and he tried to press it back to steadiness inside his throat. “You will not get near one more human under my charge this decade, are we clear?”

“Angel–” Crowley started, surprised, but Aziraphale cut him off. Fury was bubbling up inside of him, bright and brittle and with a deeply-buried thread of exhaustion that he couldn’t afford to think too long about.

“No.”

where you stay i will stay by mercuryhatter

at the hundred guineas club, men went under women’s names. aziraphale went by naomi and he paid! to keep ruth free! for crowley!!!! while crowley slept! it stopped my tender heart

“Let’s see. We all know Victoria, of course. Betsey, Henrietta, Georgiana, Chastity, that’s rich, and Temperance too, particular friends of each other, I imagine? A few Elizabeths, not particularly creative… oh.” Crowley nudged Aziraphale until he peeked up from his place hidden in Crowley’s sweater. “Aziraphale.”

“No, dear, I didn’t put that one down.” Crowley huffed in fond exasperation.

“No, honey, you put Naomi.”

“So I did.”

“And… I don’t see a Ruth.”

“No,” Aziraphale sighed. “No, I paid them an extra hundred pounds a year to hold that one for me.”

“For you or for…”

and this isn’t a fic but another essay that means the world to me, making an effort: queer (trans) masculinity in the ethereal & occult beings of good omens by elegantidler and irisbleufic

[hholyholland]

a choice

pairing: harry holland x reader

warnings: mentions of sex, pro-choice, angst, fluff

word count: 1.7k

note: this is a very controversial thing to write about so if u don't support it that's okay just don't read it :) my mind comes up with the weirdest shit to write about I swear, also I'm really bad at titles so someone help

You and Harry had been dating for almost two years now, and sex definitely wasn't something new to either one of you.

The two of you had tried a lot of things, trying to figure out what positions and angles worked, kinks, all sorts of things, it took a while but soon you were both comfortable and he knew your body extremely well. He probably knew your body more than you.

You always made sure to use protection as well, you had thought about going on the pill but your doctor never let you, something about how it'll mess up my chances of having kids in the future.

Harry didn't mind though, you guys haven't used protection before as neither one of you didn't want the stupid plastic separating either one of you.

He always just pulled out or you would take a night after pill. You were both relatively young, Harry had just turned 20 and you were still 19 (your birthday was a month away), neither one of you were ready to have kids, especially not when his career was just getting started.

It was rare when Harry ever got rough in bed, he was always so loving and caring but sometimes he just needed someone to take it out on, or you would just straight up piss him off.

He was being so rough that neither one of you realized the condom had broke, even after you were done. He collapsed next to you, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“I wasn't too rough was I baby?” He murmured and you shook your head.

“No Harry, it was great, as always.” You played with his hair and let him lay on your bare chest, before getting up and cleaning the both of you up and heading back to bed.

A few days after that you felt sick but you didn't think anything of it. The weather was bringing a lot of people down to a cold or the flu so you just automatically assumed it was that.

Harry was out with Harrison and you were home alone feeling sick, you felt nauseated all morning making it hard for you to eat or drink anything. Harry insisted on staying home, but you told him not to, Harrison needed pictures and he couldn't just ditch his friend like that.

“Mommy I feel so sick.” You groaned, a hand going onto your stomach, wishing she was there to take care of you.

“Awh I'm sorry dear, but I was um, thinking, have you and Harry had sex recently?” The two of you were on FaceTime so she saw your reaction to her question.

“Yeah we have, but we always use protection so don't worry.”

“Your father and I did too Y/N, but here you are now. I'd go get one just to make sure, you can call me when you've done it.”

Anxiety filled your body and you nodded at your mom, saying your goodbyes and hanging up before heading to the store.

Harry wouldn't be home for another two hours so it was plenty of time for you to do what you needed to do.

Your mother recommended you buy three, just to make sure since sometimes these tests can be a little.. wack. You bought three different ones before heading back to your shared apartment, you were scared.

What if you were pregnant? You wouldn't be able to have the baby, you were young and you weren't ready to be a mom, and Harry wasn't ready to be a dad.

You did what the instructions told you to do and immediately called your mother, sitting on the bathtub ledge bouncing your leg up and down.

“I'm scared mom, I can't be a mom. I'm only 19, and Harry is just getting started with his dream, I can't do this to him.” You let out a shaky breath.

“It's gonna be okay Y/N, you have options and although one of them isn't the best it is an option and you know that. Make sure to talk to him about it too.”

“No! I can't talk to him about it, it's gonna freak him out or he's actually gonna want the baby, and not that that's a bad thing but I'm not ready to have one yet.”

“Y/N if you don't talk to him about it, it's gonna cause issues.” Your mother rolled her eyes at you, “How long it's been?”

“Uh they should, they should be ready now.” You murmured, looking at the time. “I'm scared.”

“It's all okay dear, just look.” Your mother bit her nails in anticipation and you let out a deep breath before nodding and looking at all three sticks.

“Oh my god.” You breathed, you felt light-headed and felt like passing out.

All three tests read 'positive’, two lines going across the screens.

“Mommy I can't have this baby.” You cried, feeling overwhelmed.

She sighed and nodded, knowing how scared you were at that moment.

“I'll call a clinic and we'll go tomorrow yeah? I'll text you.”

“O-okay, thanks mom, I love you.”

“I love you too Y/N, I'll see you tomorrow.”

You nodded and ended the call before grabbing the sticks and heading outside throwing them in the community dumpster.

You didn't want Harry to find out, it scared you so you couldn't imagine what his reaction would be and how he would feel.

When Harry got home later on you tried your best to act calm and natural, but he read right through you asking you what was wrong.

You just lied telling him that you just didn't feel great, and also let him know you would be going to the doctor's with your mom tomorrow.

The next morning your mom was right outside your apartment, waiting in the car for you. You told Harry you'd be back in a bit, giving him a small kiss on the cheek before leaving.

“You sure you wanna do this Y/N?” Your mother glanced over at you and you nodded,

“Y-yeah, I'll have a chance to have kids in the future again.” You told her giving her a small but reassuring smile.

Once you got to the clinic you were instantly taken back, the nurses did all the basic stuff before you were laying down on a table, a doctor next to an ultrasound.

“This is just to check how far along you are, this isn't us trying to get you not to do what you want to do.” She assured you and you nodded lifting your shirt and exposing your stomach.

She moved around your stomach for a couple of minutes before asking you if you wanted to know how far along you were, you nodded and bit down on your lip.

“You're just a little over three weeks, which is surprising considering how tiny the bump is.” She helped you clean up before talking to you about your choice.

You understood everything before being given the pill, you took it and nodded at everyone.

“I'll be okay, it's okay.”

You thanked the nurses and doctors before leaving with your mom, you got back in the car and your mom looked at you.

“Are you gonna talk to him?”

“Yeah, yeah, I will once I get home.” You let out a shaky breath, and she nodded before heading to get you back home.

You thanked your mom and gave her a hug before getting out of the car and heading into your apartment.

Harry sat on the couch watching the show 'You’ but his attention immediately turned towards you once he heard you enter.

“Hey love how was the doctor's?” He got up and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“It was uh, good.” You mumbled, not being able to look at him. You suddenly felt so guilty, you couldn't even look at your boyfriend.

“Baby what's wrong?” Harry asked grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him.

You had glossy eyes and it concerned him, “what's wrong baby?”

The word 'baby’ made your heart hurt and you took in a deep breath leading him to the couch.

“I felt so okay going into this, I didn't even think about it. I thought I knew what I wanted, but I feel so guilty right now and I'm so fucking sorry Harry.” You cried, he was so concerned.

“I, I should've talked to you about it first but I didn't, and I'm so sorry H. I, uh, I got an abortion.” You watched his face as you said it.

His brows furrowed and you could barely read him, so many thoughts were going through his head at the moment.

“W-we used protection though- fuck, it probably broke. Fuck, I, why didn't you talk to me?” He felt so overwhelmed.

“I don't know, it's just, we're so young and your career is just taking off and I was so scared. I'm sorry Harry, I'm so sorry.”

He didn't say anything, he was just staring at the ground before he got up and walked away.

“Harry?”

“I just, I just need some time.” He breathed, glancing at you before leaving.

You collapsed onto the couch and buried your face into the pillows, letting out a muffled cry.

“You're so stupid!”

Harry took a walk around a local park, calling his mom while out. He wasn't mad, he was just hurt.

Nikki explained to her son that it was okay for him to be upset but he needed to be there for you, telling him how it was probably hard for you and it's probably taking a toll on you at the moment.

Which it was, you were under your bed covers, your eyes were crusty from crying. You had called your mom and told her what was going on, and she made you feel a bit better.

“Y/N?” Harry called out before walking into the room, seeing you curled up under the sheets. “YN, I'm so sorry. I know how hard this must be for you, I was just hurt that you didn't talk to me first.”

You sat up and looked at him, “I know Harry, I'm sorry too. It was so selfish of me, and I just thought I was doing the right thing.”

He grabbed your hand and kissed it, “You did love, we're young and you're right. We're not ready to have kids, I'm only 20 and you're only 19. We'll have our own one day.”

You smiled at him and nodded pulling him in for a kiss, “I love you H.”

“I love you too darling.”

[padfootprongslet]

Title: They Don’t Know Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe / Spiderman: Homecoming / Avengers (All Movies) Genre: General Pairings: Peter Parker & Tony Stark (Irondad) Characters: Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Peter Parker, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, James Rhodes Rating: T, for swears. Links: AO3 / Fanfiction.Net / Also under the read more, but I suggest the links

All around him, he could hear the chatter of the team, trying to include him in their noise but being put out when he doesn’t respond. His head is down on his chest, his heartbeat slow as he ignores everyone, his thoughts on the one person he lost. It’s been a couple of months since half of the world disappeared, but it feels like it’s been an eternity since his world disappeared, and he doesn’t know how to act now, now that Peter is no longer surrounding him in every aspect. It’s also why he hasn’t gone back to his penthouse, or the tower, or his personal floor at the compound. There are too many memories and too many feelings, and he can’t handle it. The urge is to drink is at its highest, but he always stops himself, glass pressed to his lips as he thinks about how the kid that he grew to love as a son would feel about it. He can always feel Rhodey, Pepper, even Happy looking at him with worry on their faces, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know if he can say anything.

In fact, he’s been pretty silent for these past two months, and he wonders if that’s why everyone’s here now, trying to get him to open up, like they have any right, when they don’t. Only four people did, and one of them is gone, and now -- now the team is yelling, he can tell, and Tony finds himself frowning, looking up briefly as his eyes look past Rogers and Romanoff, tense and unsure, to Bruce, who looks confused and straight to Barton, who appears to have stated something that probably would have caused some kind of problem for Tony more than two months ago. His head tilts, his hand goes to rub his chest, head tilting to the side as he looks at Barton before scoffing.

“If you have somethin’ to say, say it, Barton.” He finally lets out, his voice rough from disuse, eyes looking towards Rhodey, whose stepped forward in order to place his hand on Tony’s shoulder, almost like he knows the younger man won’t like the words Barton has to say. The two never got to know one another, not when the man was brainwashed, nor when they were hiding out in his farmhouse, so looking at the man now, Tony can see the look in Barton that he sees in himself every time he looks in the mirror, and he hates it, but he can’t look away, recognizing the anger and knowing what’s going to come next.

“Why act the way you do, Stark, when you’ve lost nothing. You still have your fiancée, your best friend, even your god damn chauffeur!” Barton snaps and Tony -- Tony sucks back a breath, Rhodey’s hand squeezing his shoulder as he blinks in surprise. They don’t know, he thinks, choking out a laugh briefly before shaking his head and closing his eyes. They don’t know, they can’t even begin to realize just how important Peter was to him, all because the two of them spent time together and nowhere near the other Avengers. The Avengers were off doing who knows what in Wakanda and Tony -- Tony was putting himself back together again with the help of his own family, Peter most definitely included. Every single person surrounding him, minus Rhodey, thinks he didn’t lose a single person, not realizing how wrong they are - he lost the most important person, held onto him as he begged to stay, as he tried to stay but felt every single inch of him turn into dust and he ---

“Tony, Tones, breathe,” he hears, and his eyes flick towards his best friend, not understanding because he is breathing, isn’t he? If he wasn’t, he would be on the ground, right, or with Peter, not -- not here, with everyone surrounding him, looking at him in confusion. His heart is pounding heavily inside of his chest, and he grabs onto it, trying to grab onto the reactor before remembering that he can’t, and isn’t that just fucking hilarious, he thinks, snorting before looking up at his best friend and trying to smile at him, though he’s sure it came out as a grimace instead.

“I’m fine, platypus,” he whispers, his back straightening in the chair as he looks towards Barton and lets out an exhale of breath. They don’t know about Peter, about the one kid he considers his son, and he doesn’t know how to tell these people he doesn’t trust about something so pure, so innocent and bright, about someone who brightened up his own days, admittedly.

“What, have nothing to say?” Barton adds on, huffing when Romanoff looks over at him and Tony lets out a small chuckle, looking at the changed man with a slight arch of his eyebrow. He knows he should say something, let the others know what he’s thinking, but…. What could he possibly say? There wasn’t trust between them, even though they all knew they needed to work together, somehow, to reverse what the purple monster did.

“I did lose someone, you know,” he ends up saying, his voice barely a whisper as he looks at the other man with wide eyes, rubbing his chest once more before he briefly looks towards his best friend. ‘You couldn’t possibly have known that though, because you weren’t around,” he snaps back, hands clenched into fists as he moves forward, the chair rolling with his weight. “All of you met with me with preconceived notions of me, not ever bothering to actually know me, so yeah - I lost someone. And I’ve been dealing with it the only way I know how, and questioning me, acting rude to me and god knows what else? Not helping!” Tony adds, panting as he looks at Rhodey and crosses his arms in front of him. He remains silent for a few minutes, trying to relax and get his breathing back under control, his honeybear keeping an eye on him as he laughs, shaking his head.

“Normally, I wouldn’t even bother with giving you guys jack shit, but that’s now what my kid would want, so guess what? You guys finally get to see why I’ve been mourning.” He states, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking upwards. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, can you play the Gone to Heaven, Got to be Good playlist?” He doesn’t expect a response, turns his chair slowly to the screens as his heart clenches, not ready for the videos to begin playing even though he made the playlist himself, Rhodey and Pep by his side, sometimes even Happy, all of them mourning in their own ways. None of the Avengers deserve to see these, except maybe Bruce but Tony knows they won’t understand otherwise.

“Sure thing, boss,” His AI responds before the first video pops up, and Tony sucks back a breath, remembering the day vividly.

“C’mon Mr. Stark, why not let me get in there and see what I can do,” Peter nearly whines, causing the older man to look at him with an arched eyebrow. He can see that Peter is grinning, energy running through him thanks to the excitement he feels over being in Tony’s labs, the action still so new to both of them that it takes a few minutes for the man to respond.

“Are you done your homework?” Tony watches Peter carefully, knowing the younger man hasn’t, and he ends up humming softly before chuckling. “Finish your homework first, underoos. Then you can help me with the suits,” he adds, laughing a little more when he sees Peter pouting.

Tony watches carefully, numb, not focusing on anything but the video as another one begins.

He hears a knock on the door, hesitant, and he looks up from the phone in his hand with a small frown, wondering who it could be before he arches an eyebrow. “F.R.I, lights at 15%. Whose knocking?”

“It appears to be young Peter, sir,” His AI responds, and Tony finds himself letting out a small breath and nodding, before clearing his throat. “Come on in, Pete,” he voices, a frown on his face as the teenager slowly opens the door looking extremely dishevelled. He briefly sees the time on his phone, almost four in the morning, and he finds himself sitting up more so and looking at Peter carefully.

‘You okay, kid?’ His voice is soft, eyes immediately taking in the kid’s appearance as he shifts to the opposite side of his bed, holding the blanket down and his arm open for Peter to crawl in, which he does immediately. Tony’s arm rests against his shoulders, bringing him in close to his chest as he realizes how heavily his kid is breathing, another frown forming as he rubs Peter’s arm, trying to comfort him.

“Another nightmare?”  The nod against his chest is faint, but Tony feels it anyways and pulls Peter in closer, humming a song he remembers from his childhood softly, watching his kid carefully for any more signs of anxiety.

“What was this one about?” He ends up asking after a few minutes, knowing the tune isn’t helping as much as it normally does. He can feel Peter’s hand clench his shirt briefly, and he waits patiently, knowing Peter has to work up to answering him.

“Homecoming. Toomes dropping the building on me,” Peter eventually replies and Tony tenses slightly, remembering when he first found out - how angry he was at Toomes, at himself and more shockingly, how worried he was, even though Peter had been right in front of him when he learned about it. But he knew however bad it was for him, it was worse for Peter, especially when the nightmares started showing up.

“I’ll be right here, bambino,” He whispers, kissing the top of Peter’s head, smiling when he feels Peter nod in response. “It’s safe, you’re safe, you can go to bed, alright?”

“Kay. Night, dad,” he hears, his heart soaring as Peter falls into sleep.

Tony sucks back another breath, noticing how everyone save for Rhodey has managed to freeze, shock coloring their features. They didn’t know, they couldn’t know, and for some reason, the thought sticks with him despite the next video playing.

“Come on, Mr. Staaaaaaark, it’s your birthday, we gotta do something!” Peter enters the living area of Tony’s penthouse suite with energy he hasn’t had in years, a small grin forming on his face as he closes the water he had been drinking from.

“Did you ever think kid, that just staying in and watching movies with you, Pep, Rhodey and Happy was good enough for me?” Tony asked, his grin turning into something soft when he notices Peter’s surprise at that statement, his cheeks turning red while he opens and closes his mouth.

“Wait, really? Peter’s voice is small and Tony can’t help but sling his arm around his kid’s shoulders, bringing him into his body and placing his head on top of Peter’s own, despite the closeness in height.

“Yeah, underoos. Really.” He responds, squeezing Peter’s shoulder before pushing him away playfully. “Now c’mon, I gotta kick your ass in Mario Kart,” he teases, turning towards the couches and televisions, missing Peter say, “Happy birthday, pops!”

Tony’s heart clenches, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Briefly, he notices Barton opening and closing his mouth, but he ignores it for the next video, shaking his head briefly.

“What’s this, kid?” The sun is barely up, Tony and Peter on the couch with blankets and pillows surrounding them, a movie playing softly in the background as Peter quietly hands over a card.-like envelope Tony takes it, a small frown on his face as he looks it over, flipping it carefully. His birthday was the month before, so he has no idea what this could possibly be, but Peter -- Peter looks awkward and uncomfortable and not sure about something and Tony hates that, doesn’t want to see his kid looking at him like that.

“You should open the envelope, Mr.Stark,” Peter replies eventually, fingers playing with a loose string on the MIT hoodie he’s stolen from Tony. Tony can’t help but stare for a few minutes before opening the envelope slowly and taking out the card that’s obviously inside, his heart pounding in his chest as he reads the words written within.

Today was Father’s Day. Had been for god knows how long and Peter -- god his kid was so damn perfect. A small smile forms on his face as he re-reads the words before he turns back to Peter and brings him in for a hug, kissing the top of his head.

“I love you, Pete,” he whispers, the card going to the table.

“Love you too, Dad,” Peter responds softly, the duo going back to the film they were watching, goofy grins on their faces.

Tony remembers that, remembers how it was only a few months ago and now everything’s changed and --

“Mr. Stark, I don’t --- I don’t feel so good --”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, stop!” Tony interrupts, breathing becoming heavy and erratic once again as the video stops. He can see his arms around Peter, can see the Spiderman suit and emblem, can see his goddamn son beginning to turn to dust and he can’t. He briefly hears Rhodey muttering, the man’s face appearing out of nowhere as he pleads for Tony to breathe and really, why must they keep saying that.

“Sorry boss. Just wanted them to understand,” He hears F.R.I.D.A.Y say and he doesn’t respond, not sure how he could. Instead, he focuses on Barton, how his eyes are wide and understanding. He notices that Lang’s appeared during the videos, an understanding in his eyes also, with Romanoff and Rogers looking awkward, though he has nothing to say to them in this moment.

“Do you really need me to say it, Barton?” He ends up whispering, feeling like his soul has been dragged, his heart stomped on. He sees Barton shake his head and he knows, without a doubt, that everyone realizes how important the kid was.

“You’re not the only one who lost their kids. Their worlds. I’m tired of fighting, I have been for so damn long. But for him? I’d fight the goddamn universe from here to hell,” Tony adds, hands clenched into fists as Barton nods.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and Tony, Tony only scoffs before nodding his head.

“It’s not enough. Never will be. But at least you get it now.” He adds before slowly managing to get up with Rhodey’s help, turning away and leaving the room, needing to get away from all of the emotions. He passes by a bookshelf, simple in its design but filled with photos and knick knacks of Peter’s, and even himself, his heart clenching. He’ll get his son back, he knows this, but right now?

“Miss ya, kid.” Tony whispers, before leaving the room as everyone else looks towards the bookshelf they ignored originally.

[hayleysstark]

The Twenty-First Night of September

Chapter 1

Words: 4654 Warnings: None Summary: The Giver is just the sweetest, nicest, most thoughtful, most considerate troll in the entire village, because Poppy says so, and Poppy is never wrong. She just kind of didn't think maybe the Giver might be Branch. // The AU no one asked for. Pre-film. Multi-chapter. Eventual Branch/Poppy. Dual POV. Extremely slow burn. 

Notes: This idea has come an incredibly long way to tell you guys the truth. I initially thought up the plot right after S1 dropped LAST January ((dfghgfrhgfgb can you BELIEVE this series has survived an entire year)) but I didn't actually do anything with it - I typed up a couple rough drafts here and there, but none of them felt right, and at one point, it even got turned into an RP ((with my buddy @etheriumart, they have an account on here and Fanfiction, check them out u cowards)) and I was pretty much on the verge of abandoning it completely, but I decided to give it one more go. 

Fun fact, this is actually only my third time writing from Poppy's perspective ever (Just Friends and One Night being the first two) so I'm very much still learning. How have I been in this fandom for a solid two years now and only written twice from Poppy's POV? blasphemy. she deserves my respect. Anyway, though, the next chapter should be from Branch's point of view, so I'll get back to my regularly scheduled programming then lmao. Honest feedback's very very appreciated! I know I got lots of room to improve, and outsiders' opinions usually help with that.

Set several years before the movie, by the way, so Branch and Poppy are both in their teens for now!

Read on Fanfiction or AO3 

"Are you sure about all this, Poppy?" Smidge asked, for what had to be the thousandth time, big, deceptively soft-looking baby-blue eyes wide as they could go, apprehension and uncertainty plain on her little face. "Just think about what you're missing!" She swept a small hand through the air, fingers spread, and gestured loosely to the crowd of colorful trolls below, packed shoulder-to-shoulder, bodies swaying energetically to DJ's latest mix—which was amazing, by the way, as always, Poppy was going to absolutely shower the girl in hugs and compliments the minute the party wound down—

Oh. Right. Reassure Smidge. Gotta reassure Smidge. Focus, Poppy. This is too important for distractions.

She pulled her lips up in the brightest smile she could manage, and nodded enthusiastically. "I know, I know, it's all so super-amazing-tastic, I love it, but—but I—" if she let herself close her eyes she knew she'd see the lonely little figure in her mind, as dark and mysterious and unreachable as they always were, lingering nervously on the edge of the village with hungry, unseen eyes fixed on the dancing trolls below, watching and watching and watching and never joining—Poppy felt the grin on her face begin to falter. "—I can't," there was no way anyone but Smidge could hear her over the deafening pound of DJ's music, but she dropped her voice to a whisper anyway—no need to drag the whole party down with her, "I—I can't stand the thought that there's a troll out there somewhere who's not having fun like the rest of us. They deserve to be happy as much as we do, they deserve to be as happy as they've made us."

The words bolstered Poppy, even if they were her own—she even mustered the strength to hitch her smile back on her face. Somewhere out there, creeping unseen and unknown and, worst of all, unthanked, through the gloom of the village was a troll who cared, who cared so much they sacrificed their every Harvest Moon to bring the rest of the town a night full of wonder and laughter and love and happiness—somewhere out there was a troll who cared, who wanted with everything in them to make people happy, and Poppy would spend her whole life, if she had to, making sure they got some of that happiness back.

"But that's just it, Poppy," Smidge spread her hands out helplessly, "what if they're happy the way they are? And even if they aren't, it's not like we can do anything about it! We have no idea who they are!"

"I know," Poppy admitted—God, did she know. The music-playing, confetti-spraying thank-you cards obviously hadn't been special enough for the mystery gift-giver to reveal themselves—she'd even rigged up one to sing a song she'd written herself! Specifically for the Giver! Maybe the title had been too on the nose? "The Gratitude Song" didn't leave much room for imagination, she had to admit.

But the anonymous troll had even snubbed the parties! How many crazy-loud recognition parties had she promised to throw them if only they'd come forward?! Flashing lights! A minimum five pounds of glitter! Disco balls! A special thank-you mix from DJ Suki herself! What more could any troll in their right mind even want?!

Well—Poppy hastily fought off the giggle bubbling in the back of her throat—Branch probably would have snubbed the parties. Would have called them a "safety hazard", or something like that. He was really funny that way. Ooh, just wait 'til she got to tell Branch she'd found out who the Giver was! Of course, she still had to do the actual finding-out part, but when she did, ooh! She couldn't wait to rub his smirking face in it. He was so infuriatingly confident that no one would ever, ever know, and always asked annoyingly pointed questions that made her wonder—"If this 'Gifter' weirdo wants to remain anonymous, shouldn't you respect that?"—and shot her that snarky little half-smile at the end of it. Yeah, she was gonna have some serious fun with Branch, just as soon as she'd unmasked the Giver.

She threw her shoulders back and stood up a little straighter at the thought. If nothing else, she could at least have the satisfaction of giving Branch a big, fat I told you so.

"I'm gonna head out," she told Smidge, and bounced to the edge of the giant flat-topped orange mushroom. "See you later!" She threw herself straight down into the heart of the wildly-dancing crowd, laughing out loud into the breeze rushing past her face, and ripping all the breath from her lungs—countless pairs of gentle hands caught her, seized her by the arms or legs or dress, passing her smoothly from troll to troll—she surfed easily all the way to the back of the crowd, slid neatly from Moxie Dewdrop's arms, shot her a quick smile of thanks, and made her way out of the pod.

She didn't let her feet stop moving until she'd gotten a good way away from it all, pausing to adjust from the bright lights and blaring noise of the party to the sudden darkness and silence of the forest staring back at her—the air, when it hit her lungs, tasted uniquely of autumn, sweet and spicy and a touch smoky, too, like the amazing cider Biggie always made special for the Harvest Moon—ooh, she wanted another glass already—

No. No, this was too important to let herself get distracted. Eyes on the prize.

Right. The "prize" being the absolutely ginormous, record-breaking thank-you she'd finally finally finally get to give when she found out the mystery troll's true identity—ooh, she'd planned it all down to the last detail—the Giver would smile, of course they'd smile, who didn't smile when someone thanked them? Ooh, and she'd bet her flower crown that their smile would be the really nice kind that made their whole entire face light up like the sun and—!

There!

Poppy's heart nearly ripped itself out of her chest at the sight of the dark, hooded figure, smaller than even Smidge at this distance, darting nimbly from one pod to the next, enormous sack slung over one shoulder, cutting an awkward and lurching and hunchbacked figure in the ivory moonlight.

Oh, my God! It's happening!

Okay, okay, okay, stay calm, stay calm, she just needed to stay calm and catch up to them and convince them to tell her who they really were and then she could thank them and together, they could go back to the party and tell the village and everyone would swarm the Giver in hugs and thank-yous and the Giver would never ever have to be sad or alone on the Harvest Moon again, and everything would be all cupcakes and rainbows for everyone! Easy!

Focus. Poppy dragged in a breath, and shook out her hair to its fullest length—she wrapped the bubblegum-pink tips around the nearest tree limb, and swung herself up into the sky, swathed momentarily in a blanket of rich sapphire studded with a hundred thousand sparkling stars, landing lightly in the tree with the rough bark scratching painfully at the bottoms of her bare feet. She winced, and lifted her legs to rub at her stinging toes—no, no, no time for that! Poppy gave herself a shake. She had a Giver to thank!

For what felt like hours she flew, weightless, through the all-encompassing dark, with her heart in her mouth and the blood pounding in her ears—the wood sped by beneath her, moon-dusted, leafless trees gleaming faintly silver under the faint light—one branch, then another, then the next—nearly there now—nearly there—

There, that was it! That was the pod the Giver had disappeared into! Only just up ahead! Poppy shimmied across the last limb on her stomach and leapt, like a cat, through the open window—the impact jolted her a bit, reverberating up her legs—she wobbled lightly where she stood, and smothered a swear—Smidge could have pulled it off better—

Oh. Oh, God. Oh, God, the Giver was right there!

Ooh, she could scream—no, no, she couldn't scream, she couldn't! She didn't want to scare them! The Giver hadn't seen her yet—standing with their back to her, and hood pulled up to hide their hair—ugh, unfair, how was she supposed to try and guess who it was if she couldn't see their hair?

Nope, it'd just be more fun this way! She wanted to look the Giver in the eye when she finally unmasked them!

They'd ditched their sack right by the window—already half-empty? This troll worked fast. Respect!—and without the weight, their motions had become quicker, more fluid, actually kind of graceful—

—bet they're a good dancer, then—

The Giver knelt by the bed to put down the poorly-wrapped present in their hand, reached to reposition the bright yellow bow so it sprang up, arching cheerfully toward the pod's low ceiling, and took a little step back, as if to admire the effect—

A sudden, fierce swell of affection flooded up in Poppy's chest—if the gifts themselves weren't telling enough, the tender way this troll touched them certainly was—the half-second they took to spruce them up, make sure they looked their absolute best for their recipient—ooh, she just wanted to hug them! Right now!

No, no, not right now—plenty of time for hugging later—first she had to find out who they were—

Poppy couldn't keep from bouncing a little, up and down, on her toes, fluffy purple carpet muffling the sound. Finally finally finally! The moment was here! The moment had come! After years and years and years of getting the nicest, sweetest, most considerate and thoughtful gifts ever, and getting to see the rest of the village so happy, she finally got to say—

"Thank you!"

The Giver actually screamed out loud—Poppy really felt a bit bad about it, to be honest. They jumped a mile in the air—they'd even put on boots, she noted in the back of her mind when their feet left the floor—they must be seriously into this whole anonymity thing. She could only assume the dancer's elegance of only a minute ago had completely deserted them, because after a long minute of stumbling and tottering and flailing and just generally tripping all over themselves, they landed in a messy heap of dark cloth on the carpet.

Oops.

"I—I'm sorry!" Poppy barreled from her spot by the window and over to the crumpled form of the fallen Giver, hand rising on instinct to help them back to their feet. "Are you okay?"

"Amazing," The Giver grunted out, in a way that didn't sound like they meant it at all—which didn't make sense, why would anyone say something they didn't mean?

The Giver rolled over on the floor, rudely ignored her outstretched hand, and pushed themselves to their feet—no, his feet, she corrected herself, his feet—the thick hood of the black jacket and the dark glasses completely obscured their face, but what little she could see—broad nose, sharp jaw, hollow cheeks—what little she could see belonged to a man, that voice belonged to a man—no—no, not a man—a boy—definitely a boy, she decided, after a second glance, and a boy not much older than her—it took her a second to wrap her mind around the thought—she'd sort of imagined the Giver as an old man, to tell the truth, with grey-streaked hair and wrinkles, like her dad, but even in the shadows, she could see the dull skin was smooth—dull skin—the revelation jolted her—oh, no, oh, no, no, no! Oh, the poor troll, oh, no, his colors must be dimmed, oh, the poor thing—and his voice, it wasn't a voice she'd ever imagined for the Giver at all, even when she got past the way it had cracked right in the middle.

The Giver's voice was gentle, she'd decided, a long time ago, very gentle and soft and benevolent, like ocean waves lapping at the shore, the kind of voice that sounded nice all the time, the kind of voice that was just made for singing and telling stories and reciting poetry and lulling little children to sleep—the kind of voice that just made you want to keep listening—angelic, almost, she'd told herself, but this—this didn't sound like that sort of voice at all—no offense to the Giver, no, no, she didn't mean that in a bad way, just—well, it was all—rough and uneven and—

—and familiar—

The Giver tugged lightly at the edges of his hood and stepped past her, head down, face carefully averted—no, no, he was—he was leaving, no, he couldn't be leaving—

"Wait!" Poppy pushed her whirling thoughts to the back of her mind, and scrambled after him. "Wait, wait, wait!" She didn't really pause to think about the rest of it—she just sort of. Well. She threw herself at him, wrapped her arms as tight as she could around his black-clad legs, and hauled him back down to the floor. "I don't even know who you are!"

"Poppy—!"

Oh. Oh, God. Her name left his lips, and she froze. There was only one troll in the whole entire village who talked to her like that, with all that—that annoyance, and that exasperation, and that frustration, and—

The glasses slipped off the bridge of his wide nose, and he actually chose to press his face to the carpet before he'd let himself look at her, but—God, but it didn't matter anymore, did it, she didn't need to see his face, she knew, she knew and there was no going back—the dull skin, the dimmed colors, it should have been a giveaway, how had it not been a giveaway?!

The Giver was—the Giver—he—he was—

"Branch?!"

He stiffened and went still beneath her, gloved hands clenching up in fists against the vibrant violet floor. "I—" For half a second, it sounded like he was about to start yelling at her. "—I'm sorry, Princess," he said instead, in a very, very Not-Branch voice, "I think you must be hearing things, because I can assure you, I am not—"

"Branch," Poppy cut him off, and pushed herself up on her palms, swinging her legs over his sides to sit on him more comfortably, "give it up." In spite of the disbelief still roiling through her like a storm at sea, she felt a giggle bubbling up in the back of her throat at her choice of words. "Should be easy for you, huh?" She couldn't suppress the laugh anymore, and it erupted uncontrollably out of her, mirth merging with her shock to make the sound more than a little bit hysterical. "Guess you're pretty good at giving."

And Branch—Branch hissed at her! Actually hissed at her! Between his teeth! Like a snake! Ooh, she wished she could see his face! He always made the funniest faces when he was flustered. "Shut up."

"'Shut up'?" Poppy clamped her hand over her mouth, but the snort made its way out anyway. "A-and here I thought you had a—gift—for language!"

"Poppy, I swear to God—!"

Another loud shout of half-incredulity and half-amusement ripped its way out of her mouth, and she threw back her head—there was no way she could swallow it back anymore—her sides were already beginning to ache in protest, and she clutched weakly for her heaving ribs. Oh, God. Oh, God, Branch was the Giver. Did not see that coming. At all.

It was just—well, it was just—well, Branch didn't care. About anyone, or anything, except his bunker, but that—that didn't count, Poppy didn't count that, because the bunker wasn't real, it didn't have feelings, so it couldn't care about Branch back and—look. Look. The point. The point was this. Branch didn't care about things.

And that didn't mean he didn't have his good qualities, because he did! Sure, if it came down to it, he'd probably leave the village for dead, but he was funny, and he had lots of interesting things to say about the forest if she only waited him out or wore him down, and he was so fun to argue with, he always had a comeback for everything, and just because he didn't care about things didn't mean those weren't all good qualities, so there!

But—but if Branch was the Giver, then that would mean—

—that would mean—

"Branch," Poppy said, and the sound of her own voice in her ears startled her, far more than it should have, and she had to swallow and start again, "Branch, why are you doing all this?"

"God, Poppy," Branch's hands fisted against the floor again, and he shifted a little underneath her, "I don't have time for this. In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of in a hurry."

"No, why?" Poppy finally had the Giver in her grasp, and she didn't care anymore that it was Branch, she didn't care that he was grumpy and snarky and hated her parties and didn't like glitter and wouldn't let her hug him at Hug-Time and didn't care, she finally had the Giver in her grasp, and she wasn't letting him go, not until he'd told her everything there was to tell. "I mean, if you want to give us presents, why don't you just—give us presents? Without all—this?"

"I don't," Branch growled, "want to give any of you anything."

"Or—or better yet," Poppy decided to ignore that last part—obviously a blatant lie, right? Right? "Better yet, why don't you just—I don't know, not act like you can't stand us? I-I mean, if you care, why don't you act like it?"

"Okay, fine," Branch pushed himself up on his palms, and twisted over onto his back to look at her—she slipped a little with the sudden movement, but grabbed at his shoulder and held on, "I guess I have to break it down for you, huh? Okay. Here we go. I hate every single goddamn one of you."

"But," Poppy knew well the signs of a full-on Branch bitch-rant, and she needed to head it off like, ten minutes ago. The guy could really just go for hours if you were dumb enough to let him get started. "But you don't. Because you're the Giver."

"Oh, my God, Poppy!" He lifted an arm, and shoved her to the floor in one swift motion. "Okay, fine! I admit it! I'm the Giver! Now let me go! I still have about seven dozen of these left to deliver, the party could end any minute, I really don't have time for—!"

"The party!" Oh! Oh, God! Ooh, this was going to be even more fun than chasing the Giver! "Oh, my gosh, Branch, the party! Come on, come on, come on!" She jumped to her feet, and yanked on his arm. "Come on! Up! We gotta get back before it ends!"

"Um." Branch flicked at her knuckles until she let go. "Right. Yeah. Have fun with that." He got to his feet, and dusted off the front of his dark jacket.

"What? No, no, no," Poppy giggled—right, right, her bad! She kind of hadn't really explained that too well, had she? Oh. Well. Fixing! "We gotta tell the village, my man!"

"What?!" Branch tried to spin around to face her, but he really just did that thing again where he tripped all over himself and flailed. "No! No no no no no no no! No!" He clumsily regained his balance, and shook his head wildly back and forth, so hard he looked like he was gonna give himself whiplash.

"Yes!" Poppy countered, and nodded vigorously to prove her point. "Just wait until they hear about you, Branch! Oh, buddy, they're gonna love you!"

"If I did everything so the village would love me, I'd never have done a useful thing in my entire life."

"I didn't hear that!" Poppy clapped her hands over her ears. "Come on!" She motioned, with her elbow, to the open window. "What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

"No," Branch repeated, so firmly she could read the word as it formed on his lips. "The village is never going to know."

"But—" Poppy deflated a little. Her hands slipped off her ears. But didn't he—didn't he want—? "But Branch, how are they supposed to thank you if they don't know it's you?"

"I—I don't—" the pale purple flush crawling up Branch's cheeks glowed like a beacon in the dim light of the empty pod, "—I don't want—" He dragged in a breath, and it sounded painful, like it snagged somewhere in the back of his throat and for half a second, Poppy thought he was going to say—something, she didn't—she didn't know what, but something important, something that mattered, something that meant something and she knew if he did, all the barriers behind his eyes would finally fall and she'd see—

His hands clenched back up in fists. "I don't need," he lifted his head, and stuck out his chin, "I don't need your stupid gratitude."

Branch turned sharply on his heel, and stomped over to the dark, half-empty sack still waiting for him by the window. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I—"

"Wait!" Poppy edged forward as far as she dared, as far as she thought he'd let her get before he stepped back. "Wait! Let me help!"

Branch dropped the sack again. "What?"

"You said it yourself! The party could end any minute!" Poppy jerked her thumb in the direction of the glowing pod, even though she knew it couldn't be seen from here. "If we split the gifts between us, we can get done with the delivery way before anyone comes home!"

Branch snorted. "Right. Yeah. Like I'm gonna do that." He swung the sack back on his shoulder.

Stubborn ass. Poppy was seriously about to stamp her foot. "Why not?! No, don't answer that," she added, when he opened his mouth, because that snarky half-smile was already curling up his lip, and she really just could not deal with one of his smart remarks right about now, "don't. This is, like, super important to the village! It makes 'em all really happy, Branch! I wanna help with that! Let me help with that!"

And—oh, God, here was officially the craziest part of the entire night—Branch looked at her. Just—just looked at her. It wasn't a glare, it wasn't a scowl, it wasn't even one of those tired, dead-eyed glances. It wasn't even a smirk, like when he'd just got in a really good jab at her, and had to show off how insufferably cocky he could be. He didn't do any of that. He just looked at her. Like—oh, God, like he was seriously considering—

"No."

What?!

Okay. Fine. That was fine! Time to bring out the big guns, Poppy supposed. All was fair in love and war, and all of that. Hmm. No. Gifts and war? Giftery and war? Giftery. Was giftery a word? It should be.

Oops. Sidetracked. She shook her head, and lifted her chin.

"If you don't let me help," she jammed her hands on her hips, and tried to look as intimidating as possible, "I guess I'll just—" she lifted one shoulder, and dropped it an instant later in a half-shrug, "—have to tell the village."

Every last ounce of color drained from Branch's face.

"Mm. Well." She headed for the window straight past him, and smothered a smile when he reflexively stumbled out of her way. Ha! She never made him step aside! She should try this intimidation thing more often. It was fun. "Nice talkin' to you! See ya, Branch!" She stepped to the edge of the window, and shook out her hair for good measure. "Ooh," she added, on impulse, "I'll have to help the kids with their thank-you cards tomorrow, that'll be super-fun!" Okay, now she got why Branch smirked all the time when he said something snarky! Ooh, this was so fun! Why had no one ever told her it was this fun to mess with him?

"W-wait!" Right on cue. Branch bolted toward her, stumbling over the clunky, awkward boots, and threw out a frantic hand. His fingers, warm even through the thick gloves, latched onto her wrist.

Poppy arched her eyebrows. Ooh, she was not gonna make this easy on him! Not in the slightest. "Yes?"

"You—you—" He looked anywhere but at her, purple flush returning to his face with a vengeance, "—you can help, okay? Th-there. I said it. Happy?"

"Yes!" Poppy bounced backward into the pod. "Oh, my gosh, this is gonna be so so so so much fun—!"

"Ground rules," Branch said coolly, and jabbed a finger at her, "no singing. No dancing. No running off and telling the village anyway."

"Branch, do you really think I'd break my word?"

"Yes. Without hesitation." He opened up the sack, pulled out a few brightly-colored boxes, and thrust them at her. "Now let's get this over with."