#which!! i like being chatty in the tags and i try my best to say at least something cool about any art or fic i rb

[pidgeonlaguz]

howdy!! it's been a minute but i'm still around. fair warning-- i have been lurking the whole time and have about. 100+ posts drafted 😵‍ you'll be seeing these shortly, i'll try my best to space them out as i get around to tagging them

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

A quiet neighborhood - Chapter 1

Pairing: Neighbor!Dave York x f!reader Words count: 5137 Rating: + 18, MDNI

Series Summary: In a quiet neighborhood where nothing exciting ever happens, your neighbor Dave is definitely a guy who catches your eye. What could he be hiding under his perfect exterior?

Chapter 1: We start to enter this neighborhood and the trouble begins 👀

Tags: POV second person, reader is female with female genitalia, wears dresses, has hair that can be tied up in a bun/ponytail, no other description is given, she doesn’t blush. smut, angst, kissing, dirty thoughts, infidelity, kinda Desperate Housewifes coded (uh, don’t judge, I love it), easter eggs in secondary character’s names (so you can have fun guessing which series/film they come from 👀), neighborhood dynamics, Carol, Molly and Alice are there. Mention of food, alcohol consumption, some reader's thoughts marked in italics and I think it's all for now. A/N: Here we are! I'm so nervous to post the first chapter of this story! I take it for granted now but: English is not my first language, I tried to proofread as best as I could so I hope there aren't too many mistakes. I don't have a beta, so it's all my fault, sorry. Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist, thanks to anyone who reads, I really hope you like it 🥹

And of course let me know what you think! Comments and reblogs are so much appreciated and they literally keep me going and try even harder! If you want to give me some advice, go ahead! ♥️

AQN - Masterlist

Your neighborhood is a quiet place. 

 White picket fences, well-kept gardens, plenty of block parties to attend, everyone knows each other and nothing ever happens. 

As a child, when you stayed at your grandmother's house who lived here, you didn't have the exact perception of how unusual and picturesque it was, like something out of a postcard.

It just made you feel safe and there were lots of kids to play with, so it was always that special place you hoped to live when you grew up. You lived a short distance away, with your parents, your grandmother would often pick you up after school and you would stay at her house until your parents got off work. You could say that you spent more time here than you did in your actual home. So when your grandmother died and left you this house, it was a natural choice for you to move here.

If you were asked who your most peculiar neighbor is, you would definitely answer Dave York. He is unlike any of the other men who live near you, messy, careless, jovial and chatty, peaceful men who are friendly with everyone. Dave is not like that, he is rather mysterious and reserved, to begin with. He is very affectionate and present with his daughters, of course, nice with his wife, but with strangers he limits himself to a politeness of circumstance, he speaks only as much as necessary, you have never understood whether it is due to shyness or a general aversion to people.

Dave is composed, precise, neat almost in a manic way in his appearance. 

He’s been living here for while, he moved here with his family a couple of years after you, and yet you've never figured out precisely what his job is, he told everyone he was a CEO for a company and no one felt compelled to investigate further, the neighborhood gossip preferred to focus on other, more juicy topics and so it remained a vague piece of information, which no one cares about. It certainly allows him to earn a lot of money considering the standard of living he leads.

It always takes you a while to wake up in the morning and you love to spend a few minutes on the porch sipping your coffee, you love that quiet moment before a hubbub of children being dropped off at school, cars pulling out of the driveway, the neighborhood waking up and getting back to life. Dave gets out particularly early so he ended up becoming part of your morning routine.

He doesn't even see you as he rushes out to go to work and you like it that way. 

He walks out of his perfect house, with a perfect garden, gets into his perfect car with his briefcase, perfectly shaved, combed, shirt and pants perfectly pressed, understated and elegant tie, shiny shoes on which not a speck of dust ever seems to have settled. You've always wondered what's underneath. 

He lives right across the street from you, so you can often see him from your window and you linger to look at him more than you'd like to admit.

You see him out early Sunday morning for a run, black sweatpants and white T-shirt, then mowing the lawn with his T-shirt slightly sweaty from running and his hair a little disheveled. 

At lunchtime you catch a glimpse of him sitting at the table in the living room, located in front of a large window with his family as Carol serves the Sunday meal. She, too, is similar in some ways. She is refined, never vulgar, has a lovely tone of voice, she’s kind and friendly to everyone, and bakes crazy desserts. She once brought you muffins to thank you for lending her a package of sugar she had forgotten to buy and they were the best you had ever tasted. And his daughters? Polite, respectful, always adorably dressed, little princesses of manners. But it is he, above all, who arouses your interest. He draws you inexplicably, for as long as you have lived here there has always been in you curiosity to find out if he has some flaw, if there is something that stirs him inside. 

And then, of course, he’s incredibly handsome, probably the most attractive man you’ve ever seen.

The first time you saw them at a block party you immediately noticed him, he stood out from all the others men. Black hair, aquiline nose, deep brown piercing eyes, plushy lips, broad shoulders, narrow waist, he wore a suit without looking either old-fashioned or snobbish, just gorgeous. You welcomed him, Carol and their kids to the neighborhood and then went back to your friends to sip margaritas and gossip. You couldn't take your eyes off him though; he was like a magnet that kept attracting your gaze.

There's nothing wrong with admiring someone from afar, is there? you tell yourself when you feel your cheeks warming up for him.

You always liked his confident but never cocky demeanor, his gestures are always measured and graceful, at parties when he talks to someone and is next to his wife he holds an arm around her waist never conveying a sense of possession but rather of protection and care. It bugs you to admit that this is exactly what you would like too.

_________________________

This morning you had to wake up earlier than usual, your boss called a meeting through an email you never wanted to receive, usually when he does it is to complain about something, which makes you want to stay in bed and call in sick. No time for Davewatching, you can't if you care about keeping your job and continuing to live in this nice neighborhood across the street from him.

You jumped into the shower grumbling, washing your hair in a hurry because you were obviously already late, and when you got out of the shower you discovered that your hair dryer was no longer working. Certainly not the best way to start the day. You cursed, fumbling in the bathroom cabinet drawer looking for a hair tie, tied your hair up in a high topknot, and sighed as you looked in the mirror to the image of a messed up you.

You couldn't do much about it, so you thought you'd put on your favorite office outfit to make yourself feel better, a dark gray skirt and jacket that you bought about a year ago. Money well spent, this suit hugs all the right spots on your body, making you feel elegant and professional, with a hint of sexiness. You feel confident. You pull it out of the closet and lay it on the bed, then look for a pair of tights to match. You rummage through your drawer and pull out at least five pairs, realizing they are all laddered. How on earth is that possible? Nothing is going right this morning. You huff, forcing yourself to wear hold-ups. Not your favorite thing to wear to work, they are certainly sexy but sitting 8 hours at your desk with silicone squeezing your thigh? No thanks. Yet this morning you have no choice.

You gather up your papers and stuff them into your bag, grab a cup of coffee adding a little milk foam that you quickly froth with a small electric milk frother, you drink it right away almost burning your tongue and then step out into your driveway heading for your car practically running, the heels you've been wearing clicking noisily on the pavement. 

You get into the car and start it, or at least try to, because it won't work. You bring a hand to your eyebrows, cursing again “Oh fuck! You gotta be kidding me!”. Your boss will have your head served on a silver platter this morning.

You get out and open the hood, to your lay eyes there seems to be nothing wrong, no smoke or other visible signs, so you think it's the battery.

You curse and get back in the car, searching your bag for your phone, your nerves are on edge when you hear light tapping on the window. You jump in your seat in fright, and when you turn around you see Dave on the other side. Great, you think. Just the situation I was hoping he'd see me in, stressed, messy, basically on the verge of tears.

You roll down the window and he asks: “You need help?” 

“Oh don't worry, I don't want to bother you, I can manage on my own,” you stammer, trying to pull yourself together. 

“The car won't start?” his voice is quite reassuring, aloof as it is.

“Yes but really, no problem, I'll call a uber.”

“Don’t be silly, let me give you a ride” you hear an amused undertone now, maybe because of your ridiculous face, you feel so inadequate and stupid in front of him, surely he thinks you're a train wreck and wants to do charity work by rescuing you as an abandoned kitten on the street corner.

You look down and see the lace of your stockings peeking out from the hem of your skirt that had ridden up too high when you sat in the car. You hastily pull down your skirt, wondering in a panic if he had noticed it too.

Your gaze reluctantly returns to him, feeling your cheeks heat up, and he seems unperturbed as he repeats, “Come on, if we don’t hurry we’ll both end up late.”

“Okay...” you whisper "well..thanks"

You get out of your car, finishing to adjust your skirt taking advantage of the fact that he has his back to you, as you awkwardly follow him across the street.

You get into his shiny expensive car almost in awe, smelling his car freshener, obviously something fancy because he’s too sophisticated to settle for something you can find at the drugstore for $2. 

It’s as clean as if it had never been used, the leather seat welcomes you, there is not a crumb or anything, this man has two little daughters and his car is immaculate.

You’ve never sat so stiff in your life, clutching your bag to your chest as if it would contaminate the car’s floor mat if you dared to put it down. 

He looks at you and urges “Seatbelt, please” and you hurry up to reply awkwardly “Oh. Yes. Of course.” and you see something shine in his eyes, a suppressed laugh, a tiny crack that disappears immediately.

You resign yourself to lay the bag at your feet and put the seat belt on, pulling it slowly, almost reverently, you feel his gaze on you and you are afraid of making another fool of yourself.

He starts the car and drives off, as you drive away from your neighborhood you try to calm down and regain control of yourself. He's just giving you a ride; there's no reason to be so jittery.

You give him directions to your office, trying to disguise your excitement as much as possible; usually you can get along just fine with anyone, but today you feel like a schoolgirl on her first experience.

You watch his profile surreptitiously as you tell him to turn right, and then left, lingering on his sculpted cheekbone, his long eyelashes, his perfectly drawn lips.

He’s so incredibly attractive your eyes almost can’t take it and so well dressed as usual, in a dark blue suit, light blue shirt and a burgundy tie with dark blue dots. 

You are almost there and a little bit sorry, you didn't feel like going to work already but now you want to sit in this car next to him until the end of the day.

When he asks you which building your office is, it takes you a few seconds too long to answer, “Oh, this one, on the right.” because you're so enthralled admiring his confidence behind the wheel.

Not only can he drive in gears, but his driving is safe, without wavering, and when he parks in front of your office you notice how he maneuvers with his open hand on the steering wheel. Sexy. You are impressed. You wonder if there is anything this man can't do.

You turn to him and whisper a thank you in a breathy voice. He looks at you and you feel his gorgeous brown eyes penetrate all the way into your soul as he replies, “Happy to help. Do you have someone who can drive you back?“

”Yes, thank you, I'll ask my coworker,” you lie, knowing that you will almost certainly have to take a bus or cab, but you don't want to give him any more trouble. 

“Okay, well, have a good day” 

“Thanks, you too”

Oh wait, there’s something…” he says, reaching your face with his hand and brushing dangerously close to your mouth with his thumb “here” He licks the tip of his finger and looks at you with his usual unflappable expression as you realize you have ridden in his car with milk foam at the corner of your mouth “you’re good now” he whispers and you would like to sink into the seat and disappear forever.

You get out of the car and walk toward the office entrance, feeling his eyes on your back, when you reach the door you turn and wave to him. He is still there, pulling up to the curb, and he gestures back to you. His car speeds away into city traffic a second later.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself before pushing open the door to your office and entering. 

_________________________

“Hey” you hear coming from above you as you are pulling with all your might at a plant that you don't even know where it came from and that is infesting your cyclamen flower bed. You look up and Dave is standing in front of you in your front garden, wearing the usual white T-shirt and black sweatpants he wears every Sunday for jogging. “Oh. Hi,” you say, passing the back of your hand over your forehead and then shielding your eyes from the sun to see him better. 

“So did you solve the car?” 

“Yes, thank you so much for your help” that feeling of being back in middle school when you had a crush on your classmate Josh comes alive again inside you. 

“Good. Was it the battery?” 

”That's right. I had to change it. 300 bucks! Fuck, I'll be damned.” You blather on without thinking that maybe you're not so close to each other to let yourself swear in front of him. 

Dave chuckles, even his laugh is polite and discreet but you can see a cheeky little light in his eyes along with a lovely dimple on his cheek that makes your face heated up.

"I know, they're expensive”

“Yeah, but what else could I do, I don't understand anything about cars, I’m better with plants” you chuckle trying to contain your nervousness.

“They are very beautiful,” he notes, moving his gaze from you to the cyclamens and then back to you, staring. He seems to want to say something more, his lips are half open out held, like everything about him.

“Thank you” There is a lull where you don't know what to say or what to do because he keeps looking at you with his big brown eyes that make you melt and then you ask the first thing that comes to mind "Um, are you and Carol coming to the Horowitz party next week?"

“I think so, she told me about it the other night. Will you be there?” you could almost tell you hear a hopeful tone in his voice, but you're brought back down to earth in an instant by your own inner voice. 

Stop doing this, he’s married you idiot. 

“Yes, of course.” you nod, smiling. 

He smiles back at you, “Well, I have to go now I'm glad you worked it out. If you need anything else however you can find me across the street.” 

You watch him walk away toward his home as you feel that something, at least in a very slight part, has changed between you. He is warmer, friendlier, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you enter the house to wash your hands. You feel like floating and when you look in the bathroom mirror you see it.

The most gigantic of smiles spread across your face, your eyes twinkling.

You are beyond redemption, a complete mess.

_________________________

“Carol loves that brand”

You are at the mall, standing in front of a storefront window that is too expensive for your pocket, gazing at a pair of black leather pumps.  You turn around and see him. Dazzling in a black turtleneck and gray pants, black belt and leather lace-ups, he looks like something out of a fashion magazine. You would almost find him irritating if it weren't for the fact that by now you have to admit to yourself, you have a terrible crush on him. 

Molly and Alice greet you with a smile echoing their father “yes, that's right, mommy loves them”

You smile at the girls “I can imagine. Your mom dresses so well, doesn't she?”  And they look at you proudly nodding “she does” 

“I want to be like her when I grow up” Alice adds in her little bird voice. 

“Oh that's so sweet, I'm sure your mom will be very proud, of both of you. ” you tell her gently. 

Dave is silent and smiles softly, watching his little princesses behave with you. “Well, we've gotta go, we're going to be late for the movie” he says right back, looking a little embarrassed but as usual you think your imagination is really flying awkwardly by now. 

“Oh, what are you going to see?” you ask, always looking at the girls to trick your mind. You don't have to think about him, he's a married man, what's wrong with you. 

“Daddy's taking us to see The Little Mermaid!” Molly announces to you with her eyes shining ‘that's my favorite!’ 

“The multiplex at this mall shows old animated movies in one of their theaters on Sunday afternoons,” Dave explains ”the girls love going there.”

"Oh wonderful!" you reply "well, have fun then"

They're about to leave when Dave turns around and tells you "you should buy them anyway" You stand for a moment interjected "the shoes, I mean. They would look good on you”.

You stand dumbfounded, feeling that tingle spread through your lower abdomen again. You don't reply, but you watch them walk off into the crowd, Molly and Alice each to one side of their dad shaking his hand, Dave in the center with his beautiful hair, his broad shoulders highlighted by his sweater, a delicious butt swaddled beautifully in his gray pants, as soon as they disappear around the corner you go into the store and buy shoes. Even if they are too expensive and if your credit card could talk it would ask you if you are completely crazy. This is the measure of how screwed you are. You can't wait to wear them to the Horowitz party. 

——————————

The Horowitz house is one of the most luxurious in the neighborhood; high ceilings, marble floors, expensive furniture all over the place, chandeliers and silverware, these people are filthy rich. You used to tutor their daughter, Gretchen, a snooty little princess who grew up in bamboozlement and thought she could boss you around. Somehow you managed to win her over eventually, and since you seemed to be the only one in the neighborhood who could tame her the right way, her parents paid you good money.

At the time you had just graduated and were trying to find a job so that money came in handy. 

You say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Horowitz and jump into the fray, it's packed everywhere, and your neighbors certainly aren't begging to take advantage of the lavish buffet served poolside.

You see Gretchen in the corner flirting with a waiter and smile, shaking your head, she’s only 18 and already so flirty and cheeky with boys, at her age you just felt like an awkward and inexperienced potato with no sense of fashion and no idea how to talk with boys, you're thankful that adolescence is long over for you. Two of your neighbors, Jane and Gabrielle, are gossiping about Edie's skimpy dress and the new boyfriend she brought to the party after divorcing her husband just two months ago. They wave at you and you sit with them on poolside loungers, they’re some of your dearest friends in the neighborhood. 

“Where are Rafael and Carlos?” you ask, looking for their husbands.

Gabrielle waves her hand and says, “over there talking football with Hank.”

You’re the only one of your friends left single, after breaking up with Jesse two years ago, you decided to focus on your career. You got a promotion last year, but still no husband in sight.

You suggest to go to the bar to have a drink and they both agree. 

There is soft music wafting around, classical, very elegant like the overall tone of the party. It looks more like a wedding reception than a block party, but you know that if the Horowitz don't make it big they're not happy. You approach the bar, a nice drink will solve your nervousness as you try not to stumble and end up in the pool because of your brand new high heels, clinging to Jane’s arm.

Of course she laughs at you “honey, those shoes are gorgeous but don’t you think they’re a bit impractical for a pool party?” 

“Hey! You were the one who told me I needed to freshen up my wardrobe and wear heels more often!” You reprimand as Jane and Gabi laugh.

You've been waiting to wear them at this party all week, even doing some tests at home to make sure they don't give you blisters. 

They're the highest heels you've ever owned and yes, they’re not comfortable, especially to walk on the grass and around a slippery surface like the poolside but tonight when you looked at yourself, swaddled in a little black dress and these shoes, you've never looked so pretty. Your bank account has been severely undermined but you think it was worth it. And even though it would be lo the last thing you should want, you can't wait for him to see you.

You put on your favorite underwear underneath,  just to have that extra boost of confidence. 

You feel good, just as good as you have felt in months, and all it took was for him to notice you. You should probably feel ridiculous, but because he took away the apathy you've been feeling lately, you decide you won't. Not this time. And when you see him walk into the garden, black slacks and white shirt, no tie, the last two buttons left open, he is breathtakingly handsome.

The only thing that matters is the instant when his eyes meet yours, and they are not cold and distant, but it is as if they are smiling, sparkling with a light you have never seen in them before. 

You've kept your wild fantasy at bay until now, but you're sure that in the midst of all these people he's been watching you. 

You feel proud and beautiful until you see her.

Of course Carol is by his side, holding his arm and smiling radiantly in her cream cocktail dress.

And suddenly it all comes crashing down on you, how could you not consider that she would be here, with him, his rightful wife. She wouldn't have been missed. Yet you were so busy trying to look the best you could that you buried her in the corner of your mind, just totally ignored her until this moment. You grab the martini you ordered and down it in one gulp. 

“Hey! Take it easy, honey!” Jane says to you, raising an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you?” 

She’s never seen you drink like that, you’ve never actually drunk like that, maybe just after Jesse left you, but it didn’t last long anyway. You shrug and smile at her. “Oh come on, it’s a party! And I don’t have to drive.”

Rafael and Carlos come over to greet you and you're left alone for a moment while the four of them go to inspect the buffet.

You try to distract yourself engaging old Mrs Threadgoode in a conversation you don't care about about the hedge bordering your houses, but out of the corner of your eye you see them approaching, her always at his side, as they make the rounds of greetings. You even try to blend taking the old lady by the arm and continuing to babble as you move behind a huge vase next to the appetizer table, hoping they won't notice you until you hear Carol's pretty voice behind you. You turn around, thinking you are doomed, as if she can read your thoughts, but there is absolutely nothing in her gaze but courtesy and grace, as usual.

It makes you even more nervous that her husband has been your constant thought for two weeks and she does not suspect in the least. 

You greet her, trying to swallow your senseless resentment, but when you place your eyes on him you feel that tingle again, that warmth invading you from head to toe, while his gaze is as enveloping and sensual as it has ever been. “You look great,” he tells you, and Carol immediately echoes him, ”oh yes, you look so beautiful today!” You say thank you, chat for a couple more minutes, and then excuse yourself by saying you need to go to the restroom. The whole time you were standing in front of him he was just staring at you, his gaze went down to your ankles noticing your brand new shoes, and you can swear you saw his mouth bend into a smile, almost imperceptible.

You still feel stupid for wasting the whole afternoon dolling yourself up for a married man.

You cross the hallway to the bathroom and see Gretchen again, deep in conversation with the same waiter, she’s leaning against the wall, running a hand over his chest covered by a white shirt and giggling coquettishly. She looks up and sees you, “Hey there! How are you?”

“All good, hun, how are you?”you reply. 

“I’m great! We need to talk later!” she shrieks at your back as you hurry toward the restroom door. You lock yourself inside in an instant and lean your hands against the sink, sighing. What the hell had gotten into you, what did you think you were doing? 

You take a couple more deep breaths and try to downplay “okay, let's just calm down, there's nothing a couple more martinis can't fix” You look in the mirror and say to yourself “now you go out, enjoy the party with your friends, then you go home and forget about this whole thing. Enough of this crap” you whisper it in a low voice. You have just finished the sentence when you hear a knock at the door. “I'm done, just a second,” you say loudly.

You don't expect the voice you hear coming from the other side “It's Dave” 

You pull your ear to the door to make sure you get it right and ask “who?”

 “Dave. Open up” Your heart skips a beat and your hand trembles on the door knob as you are unsure what to do. “What do you want?“

”To talk. Come on, open up.” 

You don't understand what you should talk about, there is nothing to discuss, nothing happened “I'm going out now,” you mumble, check your makeup quickly and pull the handle determined to avoid  him and go back to the garden to find your friends.

You make to leave but Dave pushes you back inside the bathroom “Wait a minute” You are incredulous as you look at his enigmatic smile “What is it?” 

“You bought the shoes” You don't know what he is getting at “So what?” 

“I was right. They fit you well” He smiles at you and you feel a knot in your stomach 

‘Did you need to lock yourself in the bathroom to tell me that?’ you raise an eyebrow wryly. 

The situation is so absurd that you even pluck up the courage to answer him in kind. 

“Actually, no. But to do this...yes” He leans over you and encircles your face with one hand ‘You’re so damn perfect tonight’ he whispers, before placing his lips on yours. 

You open your eyes wide as if you've been hit by a gunshot, not expecting anything like this. 

His mouth is soft and inviting, his tongue moving lightly against your lips, and you let it in, savoring a warm and delicious whiff of whiskey, losing yourself in his flavor, feeling his hands tighten on your hips. Before you know it, he has pushed you against the marble walls, caging you into his body and continuing to lick into your mouth like a thirsty man in the middle of the desert, unleashing an unprecedented storm inside you. You moan into his mouth as your arms wrap around his back and your hips thrust against his in a silent but desperate plea for attention.

Your bodies blend perfectly, it feels like one of those wet dreams you keep having at night in the privacy of your room. Him naked on top of you covering your skin with kisses that descend over your breasts grazing your nipples and then over your belly to your pussy. Him pounding you senseless as you whine and scratch his back with your fingernails feeling so full of his cock. 

He suddenly pulls back and reality collapses on you again waking you up from the stupor you've fallen into. He smiles at you again “I just wanted to tell you this,” his hand caresses your neck, his eyes fix on your breasts accentuated by the cleavage of your dress just for a moment and as he arrived he disappears behind the door again going back to mingling among the people. 

He didn't even leave you time to talk, left you standing there like a fool, wondering what the hell it all means. What does he want from you? What is going to happen from now on? Your head is empty, you brush your lips still feeling his latent taste. If you were asked who is the most peculiar man in your neighborhood, you would surely say Dave York. You would also say that he is a total threat to your heart. 

Tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @thundermartini @harriedandharassed @syd-djarin @penascigarette @joelalorian @pedrostories @sunnytuliptime let me know if you want to be added or removed and I'll do it right away.

[irregularcollapse]

before you say cut is my absolute comfort fic i've read it too many times to count

very happy to hear there's gonna be sandra in the sequel bc you write the mota women so so well <3

oh my goodness <3 thanks so much, anon! i really appreciate people coming out of the woodwork to say nice things about this fic! i'm still really pleased with how it turned out, and i feel like it hits the things i was trying to do with it (which is nicely confirmed when people like you say things like this weeeeeeeeee)

WOMEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!! thank you for loving my love of women <3 i just truly think that even if i'm writing primarily about men, there's no reason not to pay some respect to the canon women. i'm really excited to write more Sandra (Westie!!!!!!!) because i really enjoyed doing her in the little tennis b-side that i did. some actor Sandra lore is that she has a weird little will they/won't they UST game with Marge, however given that Marge is an agent (not Sandra's agent, but an agent nonetheless) it would very much be a professional conflict of interest for them to do anything about it. not particularly ethical!!

and this is also the reason why Marge and Gale have never gotten together in this universe, because while their relationship is primarily professional, Gale is still very attracted to her and also she's one of his favourite people. it is a thing he struggles with a little, regarding his own sense of self-worth: as he says in this b-side, it's a bit sad that his best friend is his agent.

anywayyyyy yay women! i also have a bit of Helen in an unfinished one shot that i'd really like to return to at some point but can make no promises about:

Kissing girls with lipstick on has always felt a bit extra dirty to Bucky, like he was taking something painted and perfect and poised, and leaving his mark. He liked the smooth slide of a lipstick mouth against his own; he liked the way it’d smear, over his lips and the girl’s, leaving her all messy and making her look wanted; he liked, when she was nice enough to get on her knees for him, the smudges he’d find on his cock when he washed up after.

“That’s your color,” Helen had said to him while the other girls were righting themselves and tidying up their little impromptu party, wiping the bar and figuring out where to toss the now-empty bottle.

“What’s that?” But Bucky had already known, and was wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand; something else gotten from the bottle, not just the liquor.

“The first one we’ll call a freebie,” she’d rolled on like he hadn’t said anything, conversational and conspiratorial, and Bucky would wager she had a few brothers. “But if you want an assortment, enough to share around, it’ll cost you.”

“Yeah? What’s the going rate on blank love notes these days?”

“One of your field Lucky Strike four-packs, and the same number of your pros.”

Bucky had whistled, eyebrow raising and grin straining against his attempts at being aloof. “Quite the hefty price tag. Now what would a nice young lady like you be wantin’ with that many helmets?”

“Loose lips sink ships, Major. If you’ve got them, leave them on the rear right wheel of the kiosk.”

also Tatty!! i have some background/past Tatty/Bucky sitting in yet another unfinished one shot lmfaoooo i just think! they would have had a fun little time together!

you didn't ask for any of this :)) i guess i'm feeling chatty and: WOMEN.

also the first time i tried to reply to this ask i got this error:

which feels a bit on the nose considering the erasure of women in fandom spaces lmfaoooooo

[eaymtb]

This will never stop being funny to me:

"Originally, Lazard was going to flee. As soon as Veld confronted him later on in what ended up being chapter 9 about the money, Lazard was going to save his skin and run. And then Veld actually happened, dear gods, he’s so fucking hot??? I have issues and I don’t even care. Anyway, Veld was supposed to be Threat, not Daddy, and Lazard was supposed to skedaddle and I’m really glad that didn’t happen, because I thoroughly enjoy their interactions.

Also my self indulgence created a whole ass tag on AO3 for this crack ship."

Anyway, the Turks are one of the very few things where I intentionally ignored the FF7 timeline. Several of them are recruited during the events of Before Crisis, which doesn't even start until the end of Feb 2001 (Or [v] - εγλ 0001), but I didn't want to make up characters for the Turk investigation when there are a whole bunch that already exist and that I really like. So I just decided this was going to be one of those rare instances where I would say fuck it, canonical accuracy (or as accurate as one can be with the mess of incomplete and contradictory lore that compilation has) can take a hike, and they're all magically already Turks. And then I went ahead and also named Nunchaku Tamaki (Because his character and design instantly made me think of Tamaki Suoh from Ouran High School Host Club) and Knife got named Chau (Because of Scott Pilgrim, despite not having anything remotely in common with the character otherwise, lol.) I also just decided that Chau and Tamaki were on Aerith rotation for September so I wouldn't have to try and explain who they were in text, which is why neither of them ever get mentioned, ha. And probably ~never will~ either. They just get to live in my head.

And the head-canon notes below that, because that's actually something I can just copy paste out of that tab in the spreadsheet, read:

Reno is in his head, extremely intuitive but flighty, chatty, distract-able. Rude partners well with him because Rude is grounded and pragmatic, he keeps them focused and directed and notices details. Alvis and Freyra work well together because Freyra is enthusiastically determined to prove herself but she’s a country girl, while Alvis can be lackadaisical about protocol and is a city boy. Freyra makes sure they dot their I’s and cross their T’s, and Alvis isn’t competitive about being the best so he’s really happy to cheer on and support Freyra, and gives her credit for keeping him on task. Juget and Ruluf are what Tseng considers his heavy-hitter team. An ex-mercenary and an ex-mob enforcer, they’re both ruthless and pragmatic. Ruluf also genuinely treats Juget as one of the guys which they appreciate. Together they have a ranged combatant and a close combat combatant. Ruluf is very familiar with Midgar and it’s slums, and Juget is familiar with hunting down a target out in the world. Maur and Cissnei pair really well for canvassing and investigations that require speaking to people. Cissnei covers the innocent pretty young girl and Maur the older, respectable and polite hard working man, which covers most civilians really well. Maur also treats Cissnei respectfully, and can be protective of her, which Cissnei finds sweet (and also secretly appreciates). Emma’s strengths lie in forensic accounting and researching. She works best alone. Balto and Chau pair well together personality-wise. They both appreciate beauty and wish for the world to be a better place. They are surprisingly idealistic for Turks.

I put that bit of thought into what Turks Tseng would assign to what activities back in chapter 4. It was some of the research and world-building done alongside figuring out Cloud and the kid's journey and the investigation itself. Ruluf and Juget get assigned to investigate the caves under Banora with a SOLDIER 2nd because they're the most effective combat team. Emma does the forensic accounting, while Maur and Cissnei canvas Hollander's neighborhood, speak to his colleagues, and investigate his home. And Freyra and Alvis came along with them to Banora because they're, in my mind, kind of like Reno and Rude 2.0: The Rookies. The fact that Alvis uses a rod weapon, has red hair and was also a slums rat; he's so obviously a baby Reno, it's adorable.

[natsmagi]

I love ur art!!!! really its so gorgeous and the style brings me sm joy, its so soft and cute!! and ofc fem ntsmg is THE GOAT!!!!!!

BUT I JUST WANNA ALSO SHOW APPRECIATION FOR HOW U ANSWER ASKS AND STUFF AND IDK JUST UR WHOLE PERSONALITY IN GENERAL?? I love reading ur text posts especially when u kinda analyze the characters and stuff like its so fun to read and tbh, both natsume and tsumugi are characters that I feel are often mischaracterized in the fandom, and like idk I feel like u get them so perfectly and its sooo !??!?! Awesome getting to read ur awesome takes when new events come out and stuff like YOURE SO RIGHT ABT EVERYTHING, i be reading ur posts and going "you!!! YOU FUCKING GET IT!!!!!!!!!!" *happy stimming*

if you honestly did like a proper character analysis for them one day just now i would be so here for it and read it over and over again probably. Im currently hyperfixating RLY HARD on ntsmg so sometimes i just go through ur entire text post/ask tag and read everything over and over again 😭😭😭 I JUST LOVE THIS BLOG IN GENERAL KEEP DOING WHAT YOURE DOING, YOURE ABSOLUTELY AWESOME AND VERY MUCH BASED USER NATSMAGI!!!!♥️♥️♥️♥️

OIUGOHGOOHH OH MY GODDDDD ANONNNNNNNN THIS IS SO SWEET I HARDLY EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAYYYYYYY 😭😭😭😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH U HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY THIS MAKES ME 🥺🥺💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

im a very chatty person so im very glad u like hearing what i have to say 🥺!!! and im glad u like my personality too since i feel i can come off as harsh or arrogant sometimes AKJHFSKJH THOUGH TBF I DO TRY MY BEST TO BE KIND......

ID LOOOVE TO ANALYZE NTMG MORE !!! main reason i dont do it as often or hold myself back a bit is because admittedly its been a While since i read alot of the stories, a majority of which i have only read once, and when i make actually Proper analyzes i like to have reread the material and see if i maybe misinterpreted something on my first read or am misremembering, bc when given new info other interactions can be read differently and all that. and i also wanna actually do them justice and not accidentally spread misinfo AJHSFKJH AND I UNFORTUNATELY HAVENT HAD THE TIME NOR ENERGY TO DO THIS </3 but even without remembering every single piece of dialogue verbatim i like to think my grasp on them is still somewhat decent, and im very glad u like my interpretations 🥺❤️

it always makes me so incredibly happy when people view the characters similarly to me aswell bc like u mentioned they Are kinda prone to getting mischaracterized in some ways...... i think it mainly comes from both natsume and tsumugi having MANY factors to their characters though, and the mischaracterization comes from only highlighting one aspect of them and failing to think about how their different attributes overlap (although this can probably be said for the entire cast tbh). like an easy example that im sure everyone gets by now is natsumes little tsundereisms. if you only focus on him being rude to tsumugi it can look like hes just some edgy guy with anger management issues, but when you take into account other factors such as him having a rather spoiled upbringing both by his parents and nii-sans, and his distaste towards feeling "weak" (also caused by his upbringing, since he was frail as a child and raised as a girl) you start to see that oh. alot of that is just him being defensive and emotionally immature. since he had such a comfortable upbringing those hints of discomfort and vulnerability are threatening to him as someone who always had everything handed to him. and when you dont know how to deal with situations like that ASWELL as being afraid of being seen as "weak" youre Gonna start resorting to harsher words and sometimes even get physical because you have no clue how else to handle this. its also why the natsumes character consists of him being pretty obsessed with "growing up" and "not being a kid anymore," because he knows how immature he could be SKHDGJH he doesnt have bad intentions he just. doesnt know how to be vulnerable with people

[cozymoko]

Long time DL fan here! It's always a pleasure to read your headcanons because the characterization of the boys is so on point. How would the reckless and social little sister fare with the Mukamis as her brothers? Part of me thinks she'd have more freedom with them than with the Sakamakis but of course Ruki is controlling and protective of his siblings even under normal circumstances and both he and Kou are possessive af so...maybe not?

Thank you for all your hard work <3

RECKLESS, OVERLY SOCIAL LITTLE SISTER

Note: I love you. I love you. I love you! Thank you for reading and I completely agree with that so let's get to it! Enjoy. ♡

Synopsis: This scenario “reckless, overly social little sister ” but Mukami version.

Pairing: platonic Mukami brothers x gn! Sibling reader (feminine pronouns used)

Format: Headcanons

WARNING(S): none

Want more Diabolik lovers? → Masterlist! ★

RUKI MUKAMI

Though not overbearing he is quite strict. Conceivably a bit more than he is to his brothers. As the youngest and only sister in the Mukami household, Ruki finds his behavior to be simply out of love. You are young and impressionable, and he will not allow someone to take advantage of that.

You being overly social was not the most ideal outcome, but he can't complain. It could be worse. Although that doesn't mean, Ruki won't watch your interactions very closely. If you were a bit older, perhaps he'd let lose a little more. Until then your stick with his incessant nagging that every Mukami seemed to have some experience with.

“As long as you follow the rules, I have no qualms with it. However try not to stray too far from my sight, it seems your little endeavors can get a little...me ssy.”

KOU MUKAMI

The two of you are the same, adventure-wise. Kou would take you anywhere you want if you ask him to. But if you steer too far from him, he might be a bit skeptical. Ugh, just the thought of losing you in a crowd is absolutely petrifying! Don't expect him to let you go in any forests or lakes, you're too cute to risk getting injured in any way and it would kill him to see your face with even the tiniest blemish.

Now your chatty side is a different story. Being an idol demands Kou to be social with his peers. But you're not an idol; you're his sweet little sister that should know better than to talk to just anybody. This world is infested with liars and snakes, so it's his job to protect you from them. After all, he can see what others cannot.

“Hm, I'm a little sad. It's almost like my precious baby is growing distant from me~! Is it true, please say it's not!”

YUMA MUKAMI

Everyone has hobbies but Yuma finds yours to be rather concerning, which he reminds you of every single day. And like any "normal" brother he forces you to work long hours with him in his garden in hopes to mellow you out. But of course, it doesn't work so he settles for tagging along with you.

Yuma is the least worried about you making new friends. He taught you how to defend yourself and you being immortal is also a plus. But that doesn't mean he won't beat some ass if they hurt you or your feelings. All in all, as long as you were safe I suppose he won't question you too much.

“What're ya' doin'? Beat their asses already! Tsk, who taught ya' to act so god damn docile? Next time listen to me, will ya'!”

AZUSA MUKAMI

The most supportive brother award goes to Azusa Mukami! No, but seriously, he is your biggest hype man. Amongst the others, he is the most eager to greet you upon your return, not only because he missed you but out of curiosity as well. Though Azusa has no interest in venturing beyond the manor as you do, he still finds attraction in the stories you bring with you.

For someone so into pain he hates seeing you hurt, emotionally at that. Not everyone is as kind as others so you're bound to have a few shitty interactions. And like any other person, it turns your sweet expression sour. It pains him that he can't do much about it but he'll do his very best to take your mind off of it!

“Welcome home, did you have fu...n? Aah, that makes me so happy. Come....tell me more, Ive miss...ed you very much.”

[pondslime]

I've been absent from Tumblr for a couple of days and somehow my FYP is full of Sinclair thots??.?? Is this some national holiday?🥶🥶🥶🥶 I have so many that gnawl at my brain at night.

Imagine calling Bo Beauregard for the first time🤐🤐🤐 You're either trying to be serious and have a real conversation with him for the first time since settling in Ambrose (spoiler: this is impossible. He's misogynistic and a firm believer that there's nothing to talk about with girls🩷🩷🩷🩷 he gives off that TikTok vibe "Do girls even have hobbies?" Like bro, drinking bear and crying ain't a hobby either), or you're so exhausted with his neanderthal shenanigans that you just sigh "Beauregard...." while absolutely pissed off and annoyed.

I just KNOW mama Sinclair would call him Beauregard in that no-nonsense tone when he would rip a hole in his dress pants before church , he must have PTSD from hearing his own freaking name. He's so used to being just Bo, that the only times he even acknowledges his full name are when he's either being scolded by his parents or when he's arrested and sees it on the paperwork.

So yeah, long story short I doubt he'd be amused by anyone calling him Beauregard. RIP MC.

*bonus crack thought* I remember talking here with someone about how Fucking Funny™ would it be to call Bo Robert. I'm not a native English speaker and I honestly never heard of the name Beauregard before😭😭😭 I just assumed Bo is like Bob, which is Robert😂😂😂😂 I'd get smacked on the head with a wrench for trying to be cute and calling him Robert. End scene

omg jhdsjhfjd not the fyp being inundated w/my dumbassery 💀

I lowkey felt like I was spamming the dash last night. BUT idk what came over me, I've had a couple days off work and I'm in a chatty mood hjhdsjahjhsdjh like. I just wanna TALK about this goofy ass movie?? **note to all the poor souls that might be following me rn: pls feel free to block the tag "sinclair brainrot hours" if u would like to save urself from my shenanigans**

this ask is killin me dshjhdfsjhj DRINKING BEER AND CRYING AIN'T A HOBBY BOY

I'm unfortunately part of the Anti-Beauregard Sinclair Hater Nation. I am, after all, the graphic designer responsible for THIS abomination:

context for this can be found here, with poki's galactic big brain take

I also love this take on what his real actual name is 🐔🧊

I just CANNOT buy this guy as a beauregard hdjhdfjh I simply cannot

HOWEVER. I do this thing w/ppl I'm fond of where I'll lengthen their names in ridiculous ways. like just add in entire syllables and letters that just. wholly don't exist. and I could see one of two situations playing out w/bing bong

scenario one: u drop a "beauregard" out of the blue one day. maybe you're trying to be cute. maybe you're trying to piss him off. he looks over @ u. crinkles his brow and gives u the bitchest lil expression. u best be glad u make good pork chops, WOMAN. bc u can't even remember his NAME. who tf u think ur talkin to??? one of ur fancy shmancy city boys?? get outta here!! just grumblin' around the living room abt how if u want some prissy ass boy w/a genteel ass name like that, his brother's right downstairs grumble grumble mutter mutter

scenario two:

he's been slurpin up that good ambrose moonshine (some crazy ass shit that comes in a jug w/x's on it. u know the one. lester labeled it as "ambrosia" and walks around saying it's the "fruit of the gods" and slappin his knee. bo has no fuckin' idea what he's saying.) and despite his high tolerance, boy's a bit sloshed. so are u. u drunkenly crawl into his lap and call him beauregard. he thinks this is v heehaw funny. whatchu think I am girl?? some kinda royalty?? that pretty lil head of urs is all kindsa messed up!! figure I AM like a king here hehehehehe

both equally as annoying😔

[etherealeeknow]

vocal lesson

• rated m for mature, slight angst

• pairing: vocal coach!seungmin x fem!reader

• wc: 2.3k (confession: writing long fics isn’t my forte)

• tw: underlying toxic relationship, masturbation (m), grinding, groping, unprotected vaginal sex, explicit language, creampie- i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:

• note: i have a love hate relationship with this fic. i have a few goals i’d like to achieve from this fic and whether or not i’ll succeed is based on your feedbacks 🥺 so please don’t hesitate to drop them! also, enjoy!

• tag list: @es-kay-zee @formidxble @bobateastay @vogueinnie @sailorhyunjinz // leave a comment, dm, or an ask to be tagged! thank you ♡

—

seungmin despises the way his heart dropped when he sees your name flashing on his phone screen instead of you flashing upon his eyes. by this time, he’s fully aware that a chatty girl like you isn’t the type to text. in fact, you only do it on one occasion, which is when you’d like to cancel the class. just like what he has expected, the text says you won’t be able to make it that day and that you’re sorry; but he knows you’re not sorry. he knows you’re doing this on purpose—to torture him—and it’s working perfectly.

honestly, the suffocating pain in his chest isn’t because he has been losing sleep, tossing and turning in his king size bed for hours over the thought of you being all dolled up in the baby blue dress he has gifted you; neither is it because he missed his favorite orchestra playback this morning just so he could find the most perfect white shirt out of his collection of other white shirts just so he can appear pleasant for you, but because you’ve been cancelling the lesson for three times in a row. if your mother ever finds out about this, she would definitely fire him. to prevent that from happening, seungmin has been silencing your maids with credits, but he knows too well they’d soon go for more if you keep this up. 

fiddling with the handkerchief that you had purposely left for him a few weeks back, seungmin gloomily shoves it into his pocket before dragging himself to the grand piano to warm his throat up. the first few notes started off slow and stable according to the piano keys, but with constant fear running on his mind, his fingers slipped and pressed the wrong one. the awry sound makes him cringe and shuts his eyes in annoyance. he hates it, mistakes, he hates it to the fullest, yet he has managed to keep up with it all this time just because he adores you more than anything, even when your cracked voice sometimes haunts him at night. see, seungmin’s giving his all to you,

but why are you doing this to me? where are you? i miss you.

“heh, pathetic,” he mutters to himself as he slowly lies down onto the piano bench, facing the chandelier which lights would usually illuminate you when sitting on the same bench while waiting for him to get to the music room, running your delicate fingers along the black and white wood. your side profile’s exactly like a goddess—breathtaking.

sighing over the imagery of you, he begins unbuckling his belt; eyes closing momentarily when he slips a hand into his unbuttoned pants and starts palming his clothed member. three weeks. it’s been three weeks since he last got off, since he last felt your touch, and he’s been trying his best to hold back because he believes you’ll eventually come around. he believes you won’t leave him just like that, yet you aren’t here again today, and he’s dying to release his pent-out frustration.

a heavy sigh escapes his lips when he takes out his dick, the tip leaking from precum and it makes him let out another sigh when he begins pumping it; another one follows, then another one, and it carries on as seungmin’s hand goes faster by each second. even in the peak of his pleasure, all he can think of is you. oh, how heavenly it would’ve been to have both your soft hand and pretty lips around him instead. his free hand is quick to slip into his pocket, snatching your handkerchief. despite only briefly smothering himself with it, your lingering scent alone is enough to make his head spin. with the sateen now wrapping around his throbbing cock, it feels as if you’re there, skin to skin with him.

“fuck!” he hisses, but eyes widening right away over his own volume as he quickly raises his head to check on the slightly opened door.

he’s so close and pausing in the middle just to lock the damned door would ruin everything. should he just bet on his luck today? it’s not like any of his well trained maids would rudely barge into his music room, right? but who knows?

screw it.

his back automatically arches when he feels the increasing tension in his pelvis, and it pushes him to fasten his hand move—pumping his dick rapidly to release. with eyes rolling to the back of his head, seungmin begins chanting your name desperately and that’s your last straw. the moment seungmin ejaculates is the moment you slam the door open and run towards him. the poor guy who’s barely riding out his high jumps on the bench as he sits up.

“y/n—”

“shut up,” you cut him off and crash both of your lips and body together, causing him to fall back down onto the bench, and creating a somewhat deafening screech on the floor, but it’s nothing compared to his loud moan in between the kiss.

the feeling of you straddling his lap instantly makes him hard again; the feeling of his warm hands running wild all over you and the stickiness on your inner thigh coming from your ruined handkerchief has you wetting your already damped panties—the effect of rubbing yourself when peeping on his little show. as the kiss deepens, so does your hunger for each other. of course, there’s no way you’ve gotten over what he did, and he’s surely still upset for being ghosted too, but for now, lust is winning. one squeeze on your thigh is all it needs for you to throw your baby blue dress across the room.

“you’re always so hot when you do that,” says the now naked seungmin who gets back onto the same position, looking at you with his half lidded eyes as his arms stretch out to fondle your breasts, his favorite part.

“the only time you’d compliment me is when we have sex,” you scoff before going back down on him, slowly yet easily pushing his cock inside of you, and both of you grunt in unison.

“y/n, ah— shit! i told you it’s because i know you can do better.”

snorting, you call him a liar before grinding mindlessly, movement starting off slow just like how your breathy moans starting off low. as much as seungmin enjoys being taken care of, patience doesn’t exist in his dictionary today. his hands leave your chest for your hips, guiding you to slip in and out of him at a faster pace. but that’s still not enough—he needs more. in a blink of an eye, you go from being on top of him to under him. seungmin bangs you down loudly on the grand piano, your buttcheeks and hands hitting the keys and filling the entire room with jumbled notes while you yourself are filled by him to the fullest, right at your g-spot.

“seung— fuck!” 

“louder,” he commands while thrusting into you, hips moving in a rhythm, and strong hands bringing your legs up to rest on his shoulders before holding onto your ass, supporting you from slipping down—multitasking is indeed his second best talent besides singing.

“what’s the p— point?” you breathe out, trying your best to sound coherent while maintaining eye contact, “so you’ll compliment karina instead again? pat her on the head and caress her cheek again?”

“you know i only did that to motivate you.”

“bullshit.”

if seungmin has to name anything you can do best, it’ll definitely be your ability to drive him crazy—disobeying him. again, he believes he has been going all in, keeping up with your lack of talent and bullshit for the past half a year; the way you’d fight, then fuck him, and fight again only to fuck him again, and the cycle continues. whenever he tries to talk things out, be it about your vocal lesson or your tangled relationship, you wouldn’t give a damn. today, that has to change.

“and i’m the one to blame? karina always listens to me,” he replies, slowing his thrust as he can feel your walls clenching around him even more and more.

“faste—“

“i said louder, y/n. tear your mouth wide open,” he grunts, thrusting into you so strongly that you jump and land back on the piano, creating such messy harmonies.

“seungmin, faster!” you yelp, voice raspy yet a little louder this time with your hands finding their way on his shoulders, and it makes him sneer as he leans in to kiss you, biting your lower lip before he lets go, and stop dead on track.

“hoarse voice, dry lips. don’t i always tell you to stay hydrated?”

you find it unfair. seungmin’s energy doesn’t make sense. the fact that he still has the power to put up with fucking while carrying you even after his solo session is unfair. and the way he has the audacity to give you a vocal lesson in the middle of everything, then stopping just because you aren’t complying is way too cruel, but perhaps, this is what you deserve.

“i’ll never cancel our lessons again. i’ll— i’m sorry. i will really listen to you,” you beg desperately, almost sobbing as you grind on him, refusing to let the tingling sensation on your core die down.

seungmin shakes his head. he knows you too well. normally, seeing you surrender like this softens him and makes him think that perhaps, he’s being way too demanding, or maybe, he should be even more understanding.

“that’s not what i asked for, love.” is what he says before resuming, putting all the remaining pressure he has left to snap his dick deeper into you.

that’s when his name falls out of your lips ever so gracefully, followed by endless ah’s, jaw hanging open. this is the loudest and clearest you’ve ever been—no holding back, no hitching breaths, no cracking—pure perfection. 

seungmin doesn’t even need to ask for more because you’re already repeating it on your own.

“fuck yes. just like that. such a good girl,” he grunts right beside your ear, picking up his pace.

it only takes a few moments till you feel the familiar knot in your abdomen coming back along with him twitching inside of you, and this time, you make sure to hold onto him so tight, afraid he’d pull the same stunt again.

“shit— please let me cum. please cum with me, come inside me, please, please, please,” you blabber, voice turns husky once more, but seungmin couldn’t care less, there’s always another chance for another vocal lesson. right now, all he wants is to,

“cum.”

the two of you reach together. name chanting, legs shaking, fingers digging, and body fluids mixing into each other—drenching not only your lower bodies, but also the extravagant bösendorfer piano seungmin shipped all the way from austria. but that’s another thing to worry about. right now, he can barely keep his eyes open while you can barely feel your stiff spread legs across his shoulders. once he’s made sure you’re over your high, seungmin gently pulls out and lets you down. he sits himself first on the bench before pulling you by the waist to seat you on his lap, and the two of you let silence take over for a little while.

“i know you’ve been bribing my maids,” you start off, “they have a big pay, but it’s impossible for their designer bags to double up in just a week, you know,” you continue while pushing his damp hair aside, revealing the remaining half of his sweaty forehead.

“they were gonna snitch on you to your mom,” he replies, pausing in the middle to mirror your action, pushing strands of hair to the back of your ear before averting his gaze back on your eyes.

even with your smudged eye makeup and cracked lipstick, you’re still as shining, dilating his pupil.

“and?”

“and she’s gonna fire me.”

“isn’t that what i should worry about? you’re a world winning award soprano. there are hundreds of talented people waiting in line to be your students. money isn’t the problem. plus, i know you hate my voice. i also never listen to you, never call you sir, and am ninety nine percent horny throughout our lessons. in short, i’m a bratty and disrespectful pain in the ass.”

your punchline makes him snort and he can’t help but to pull you into a hug, closing the already small space in between so he can indulge in your body heat and feel your chest beating calmly alongside his.

but what happened to changing things? don’t you wanna be in charge? you can’t just let her have everything she wants. 

despite hearing the faint voices in his head, mocking him for having the weakest heart for you, seungmin doesn’t care. for all he knows, he was a train wreck earlier this day; he surely didn’t expect he would go from reminiscing the memory of you under the chandelier to it actually coming true. 

“this is real, you’re here.”

“it is. i am.”

“and you’re gonna—“ pausing, he breaks the hug to cup your cheeks, “you have to stay.”

“what for? for you? for the vocal lessons? for… what?” you question, unconsciously tilting your head as you place a hand over his, slightly squeezing it, hoping he wouldn’t let go.

silence.

“i might be a bitch, but i’m not dumb. it isn’t about money and it isn’t about sex either. so what is it, seungmin?” you ask, eyes searching for an answer before adding, “i bring no good to you.”

you’re right. his best friends have said the same thing. they can’t seem to wrap their heads around how a collected person like him can break so easily over a random, spoiled, daddy’s little princess. it doesn’t make sense, he knows—i know. he’s been trying to figure it out, only to meet the same dead end.

“i’m a mistake.”

yes—yes you are, and seungmin hates it, mistakes, he hates it to the fullest, yet he has managed to keep up with it all this time just because,

“you’re the only mistake in my life that i can take, y/n.”

—

gen’s masterlist

[rebrandedbard]

Gifted Glances Stolen Smiles

wc - 2391

Ao3 link.

Jaskier is trying to get Geralt to smile, but he just can't seem to figure out what it takes, and he maybe gives Geralt a goodnight kiss while he sleeps. In the meantime, Geralt thinks they're already in a relationship that's moving at the speed of a glacier and he's sweet about it.

-

Did Geralt ever smile, Jaskier wondered? The man was stoic at the best of times, and at the worst, his face was warped with displeasure. It was a treat to see Geralt relaxed: the lines of his wrinkles would soften, his brow unfurrow, and—if Jaskier were very lucky—Geralt would close his eyes and rest awhile, looking nearly content.

Jaskier liked it best when Geralt slept. He was always the last one asleep, the first one awake. It was a rare thing to catch Geralt unconscious, and Jaskier was sure that was by design. But twice he’d woken in the middle of the night and found himself nose to nose with the sleeping witcher. The first time, it had been nearly impossible to see his face in the darkness, but the second, the moon had been almost full, so big and bright, and she’d cast her light upon his face. It was like the light which fell through the windows of a cathedral to embrace the masterworks of great artists upon the altars. And what better pedestal for Geralt than a soft pillow? If Jaskier had his way, he’d wrap Geralt in the finest linen sheets, lay him on a down mattress, all bathed in lavender for a restful night’s sleep. He wondered what his face would look like then. Beautiful, no doubt.

Geralt had almost seemed to be smiling, softened in sleep. Jaskier had not been able to help himself. He tipped his head forward and placed the gentlest kiss upon his brow; a silent good-night, and a blessing for pleasant dreams. If he tried, Jaskier could trick himself into believing Geralt really did smile after.

Alas, Jaskier lamented: Geralt wasn’t one for smiling. But then again, he’d never been one for talking much either, and the next day he was unusually chatty. Geralt had said, ‘Good morning’ and used up a few of his precious fifty words a day to complain about Jaskier’s breath before breakfast. When they’d sat down to eat, Geralt asked if Jaskier wanted to return to the room, have his sleep out while he went off to see the alderman. A very unusual offer. Geralt often had Jaskier tag along to collect payment, as Jaskier had a persuasive tongue. With Jaskier at his side, Geralt received most of his payment in full.

“Are you trying to trick me, witcher?” Jaskier asked. “Trying to give me the slip and make off while I’m asleep? Tell me, what have you put in my morning tea? Have you spread some sleeping draught on my bread instead of jam?”

He took a great bite, swallowed it down with a monstrous slurp, then pretended to gag. He threw a hand over his forehead and went limp over his plate.

Geralt rolled his eyes and nudged Jaskier’s foot under the table.

“I live!” Jaskier gasped theatrically.

“It’s a miracle,” Geralt deadpanned.

Jaskier grinned and tucked back in, chewing at a more gentlemanly pace. “So. What is it? Have I got bags under my eyes or something? You’re being generous.”

“I just thought you might be tired.”

“Well, that was courteous of you. But rest assured, I am well rested.”

Geralt hummed. He returned to his breakfast without another word, and Jaskier regarded it as a fluke of the early morning.

Until it happened again in the market.

They were returning from their meeting with the alderman—only stiffed by one silver coin—when Jaskier wheedled his way into an extra hour of shopping. Geralt followed along at Jaskier’s side while he flitted from stall to stall, abusing this sudden burst of generosity to have a bit of fun.

“Look at this, Geralt!” Jaskier held up a little floral sachet embroidered with two stars. It was filled with lavender and chamomile, with just a hint of cinnamon.

“This,” he explained, “is a charm for good dreams. See these two stars here? They’re wishing stars. The first grants blessings for good dreams during your first sleep, the second for your second. You see, most charms try to lay a sort of blanket-blessing for the whole night, which is why they never work. My grandmother made one of these for me when I was little and she used both stars. I never had a poor night’s sleep with it under my pillow.”

“Hm.” Geralt picked up the sachet, examining it with an amused expression.

Jaskier liked when Geralt looked smug. It was not the smile he truly wanted, but anything like a smile was a blessing to see. He was always glad when Geralt enjoyed himself.

Geralt dangled the little sachet in front of Jaskier’s nose, swinging it slightly. “And how did you sleep last night? Are you in need of a sleeping charm?” he asked.

Jaskier stiffened. That made twice that Geralt had suggested sleeping poorly. Jaskier had been sure he’d been asleep, but now he had an inkling that he was being made the fool. He lightly tugged the sachet from his hand and returned it to the stall.

Geralt resumed his silence after they left the market.

That night, Jaskier slept with his back to Geralt. He thought he could feel Geralt’s eyes on the back of his head long after they snuffed the candle. He nearly jumped when he felt the arm wrap around his waist.

Geralt pulled him to his chest and spoke in his ear. “Calm down,” he murmured. “You’re thinking too loudly. I can’t sleep.”

Jaskier nodded, heart racing with nervous energy.

“This too,” Geralt said, placing a hand over the thrumming in his chest.

“I’m afraid that’s out of my hands.”

“It’s in mine. So relax. You have nothing to fear with me.”

That was … a strange sort of comment. Strange, and oddly calming. Jaskier played them over in his head, imagining them in a new context. He closed his eyes, taking in the feeling of Geralt wrapped around him, warm and steady. Geralt’s breath tickled his neck. And yes, Geralt had his hand over his heart. His heart was, in many ways, in Geralt’s hand.

Jaskier smiled, cracking an eyes to look up at the moon. “I’m not afraid of any werewolves sniffing about tonight if that’s what you were thinking.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Hm. So what do you think I’m afraid of?”

Geralt only hummed in reply.

Jaskier turned under Geralt’s arm. “Oh no, I said ‘hm’ first. You have to say something else. I already used it in this conversation.”

“Hm,” Geralt replied again, a funny little smirk on his face.

“I’ll smother you,” Jaskier threatened, putting a hand on Geralt’s pillow to make good.

But Geralt took the hand from under his head and wrapped it around Jaskier’s. “Wish you would,” he murmured.

“Come now, Geralt. The pay wasn’t that bad. And I don’t really mean to suffocate you; you don’t have to hold me back.”

“You need more sleep. You’re slow-witted today.”

Jaskier frowned. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

So he did, and things were relatively normal as the week progressed. Evidently, Jaskier looked rested enough, and Geralt no longer felt the need to make comments. Perhaps that had been all. Jaskier had to admit, he was tired. Or perhaps it was more convenient to pretend. He didn’t like thinking that Geralt had woken, and he didn’t believe Geralt would toy with him.

They were on the path again, and Jaskier returned to his musing. What, he wondered, would make Geralt smile? He told jokes at the tavern at the next town, hoping to steal one little grin. Now and then he cast a look over his shoulder to see if Geralt might laugh, but after the first few jokes he had to concede. He spent the rest of comedy hour focusing on his circle of patrons, laughing and drinking while he waited for Geralt to finish his lunch.

In the evening, he worked the same crowd, hopping round and round in a dance as he played his songs. He played a few songs Geralt had deemed not horrendously irredeemable in the past to see if that might do the trick, then tossed in a few cheeky verses of ‘Fishmonger’s Daughter’ for good measure. He bought Geralt an extra ale. A second plate.

Geralt never did smile, but at least he looked pleased.

When Jaskier had a moment spare, he brushed Roach and polished her tack. It would seem this quest of his was never-ending. All month long he’d been asking himself the question, and honestly, his efforts were uninspired. He wasn’t doing anything more or less than what he would normally do, sprinkling in little treats here and there which he thought Geralt might enjoy. There wasn’t  anything special in it. The lack of imagination bothered Jaskier and he knew that if he wanted Geralt to smile, he would have to think of something bigger, grander!

But Geralt was different. Geralt didn’t mull over these things. It was surprising, yes, when Geralt went out of his way to do things for him, but he didn’t agonize over doing them. As easily as Geralt set his bags down at the campfire, he might place an apple by Jaskier’s elbow. The day might be long, but Geralt would set up camp at midday to let them rest, just when Jaskier was aching for a good lie down.

Jaskier lay awake after his first sleep some nights, watching him, thinking it over. The more Jaskier thought about it, the more he became aware of the little things Geralt did. They were more frequent now. At least once a day, Geralt did something to make him smile. All Jaskier wanted was to do the same.

What, Jaskier asked himself. What would make him smile?

He stood in the tailor’s mirror, asking himself the question once more as he adjusted his new doublet. He turned this way and that, plucking at the sleeves. It would be autumn soon enough, and he needed to dress for the season. He thought a nice red would do.

Geralt sat on a stool to one side, a new cloak folded upon his lap. It was Jaskier’s treat for the day, and he had bullied Geralt into accepting it.

Jaskier’s eyes flicked to the side of the mirror. He hoped he might steal a glance of Geralt smiling at the new cloak. It was a black wool, lined with soft fleece. It was still a bit early to wear anything so heavy, but Geralt was always telling him to think ahead. This village was known for their particular breed of sheep, and the coin was good, so Jaskier thought it wise to invest in the warmest, softest wool in the east. Silently, Jaskier dared anyone to try and find a more thoughtful gift than that! It was a smart gift, he thought, and to his great shock, he saw it at last.

Geralt was smiling, a real, true smile. Not a smile born of politeness, nor a wry grimace, not a smirk, but a genuine smile. But Geralt was not looking at the cloak.

Geralt caught Jaskier’s eye in the mirror.

Jaskier turned and said, “You’re smiling.”

“I do that,” he replied.

“Not often. I hardly ever see it.”

Great shrugged. “You’re too busy most of the time.”

“I’ve been trying to catch you smiling all month long! I’ve been constantly vigilant. How could I be too busy?”

“You’re singing. You’re talking and dancing, writing. Having fun. I like to watch you do it,” Geralt answered. “Almost as much as you like to watch me sleep.”

Jaskier flushed. “You know about that?” he asked.

Geralt stood, setting the cloak aside, and crossed the room to stand beside him. “I don’t mind. It’s no different from my watching you.” As he spoke, he carefully slipped his hand into Jaskier’s. “I understand if you still want to move slowly, but some nights I wish that you would kiss me again. I thought you were trying to tell me you were ready for more.”

Jaskier’s heart stopped.

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders, looking at their reflection in the mirror. “Even so,” he said, leaning his head against Jaskier’s cheek, “I’m happy where we are now. I’m all in, Jaskier. However long it takes, I don’t mind waiting.”

“Waiting?” Jaskier squawked. He did not currently have the capacity to process everything Geralt had said, and Geralt had said quite a lot—very plainly spoken—in less than a minute.

Geralt nodded. “As long as you need.”

“You’ve been waiting on me. Waiting for me to … I beg your pardon, but did you say you wanted me to kiss you?”

“I did.”

Jaskier’s limp hands remembered themselves. They rose to cover over Geralt’s arms. Jaskier simply gaped into the mirror. Slowly, a smile lit up his eyes.

“Hey, Geralt?” he said.

“Hm.”

“I bet you a gold coin I know a way, guaranteed, to make you smile again on command.”

Geralt chuckled. “You’re broke.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m guaranteed to win.”

“Given your tone, I have a funny idea I’m about to win something as well.”

Jaskier turned in Geralt’s arms and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Geralt hummed. “I love being right,” he said.

“And what else do you love, my dear?” Jaskier brought a hand up to curl a teasing finger around Geralt’s long white hair. He felt giddy and silly. He wanted to dance and sing and act a fool, then leap into Geralt’s arms. But never mind the leaping; at that very moment, he was right where he wanted to be.

Geralt shushed him. Slowly, he unwrapped himself from Jaskier and walked back to the stool. He picked up the cloak and wrapped it around himself, after which he bumped Jaskier out of the mirror to have a look.

“My new cloak,” he answered.

Jaskier laughed and bumped him back. “I have excellent taste.”

“You do.” And Geralt adjusted Jaskier’s ruffled tie.

They stood together, side by side in the mirror, stealing glances at one another. No, not stealing, Jaskier realized, for this was allowed. He would not steal glances this day forward. From now on, they would be a gift. So he gifted Geralt with another glance and winked.

And Geralt smiled.

[newtonsheffield]

I love love love love love this Brigerton and sons universe! You’re such an amazing writer! I wish I had even half of your talent!!! 😍 I was just re-reading it from the start and was wondering something (Just me being too involved in this story, sorry!) but how did things go the first night Kate and Anthony slept together. I know there was obviously a lot of passion but was there any awkward bits. I can imagine knowing someone that long and then the relationship progressing might be a bit weird

Oh Heyyyyyyyy

I love love love love love you for reading this ridiculous little universe that I keep forcing into existence with reckless abandon! I think at this point Julia Quinn herself would have to be like “Molly, honey, you have to stop” and then maybe I would consider it. You’re very kind to comment on my writing style which is...chaotic at best but then my character alignment has and always will be chaotic good so can we really be surprised? And Talent? She surely has none (she is me) but I will say this for myself: I’m certainly very determined and indeed I genuinely feel bad for people trying to search for Kate and Anthony content in the tags and have to wade through my relentless posts to find it! 

Ahhh Kate and Anthony’s first night together. It was beautiful and they were both very satisfied. Let’s leave it there. 

I’m kidding, Let’s dive in. (I’ll apologise in advance for it because... it’s...well bad... eh you’ll see for yourself)

Kate Sheffield had been attracted to Anthony Bridgerton for an embarrassingly long time by the time she found herself in the back of a town car with him, his teeth grazing her collarbone in a way that had her spine shivering with anticipation. From the very first time she’d seen him there’d been a little flutter in her stomach when their eyes met that she’d pushed down under layers of frustration and irritation and yes, possibly some denial. But she’d never really thought about sleeping with him, would have honestly never have allowed herself to, and definitely hadn’t intended too tonight. She certainly couldn’t be blamed for whatever images her demented subconscious had twisted into that dream where Anthony’s eyes had burned into hers and they’d moved together and his voice had whispered rough in her ear Come on Sheffield, Let go and she’d woken with a start her hands twisted the sheets and had to stand in the open door of the refrigerator to cool down. And she certainly couldn’t be blamed for the startling frequency with which it recurred.

And honestly, she’d barely been thinking by the time she’d stumbled into the front entrance of his house and he’d pressed her up against the door and whispered “Can I take you upstairs?” His voice like a desperate whine in her ear. And when she nodded a little desperately herself and he growled as he practically dragged her up the stairs, laughing and giggling the entire way, threw open the door of his bedroom with a startling bang! and pushed her firmly down onto his mattress she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to think again. 

By the end of the night she had learned three delightful facts about Anthony Bridgerton  

He was unfairly attractive. And yes, perhaps this shouldn’t have been news to her given the fact he’d had her in a panic every time he’d so much as stood next to her for nearly a year now. But he seemed even more so in this setting. She’d known he would be muscular, could feel it against her finger tips when she’d hastily unbuttoned his shirt, delighting a little in the way the muscles had jumped a little at her touch, as though she held electricity in her finger tips. But it was quite a different thing to see him crouching over her, the moonlight highlighting his face, to feel his muscles, and the powerful tension they carried pressed against her was something different entirely. And suddenly she had the startling realisation that she’d probably never ever be able to look at him across the conference table at work again without thinking about how his stubble had scraped at the inside of her thighs and how is hair between her fingers had felt positively sinful.

He was very generous. He’d pushed her back on the mattress after he’d slid her dress off and his eyes had washed over her and she’d felt the heat of his gaze linger on her lingerie for just a moment before he’d knelt before her, ripping his shirt off that still hung unbuttoned on his shoulders, tugging her firmly towards him and Kate had had time to feel only a little self conscious before he’d looked at her with such longing as his fingers had run little patterns around the tops of her stocking and he’d said This is... This is okay right Kate? As though he was waiting for her to slap his hands away and run crying from the room and the way he was looking at her was so absolutely intoxicating how could she say but God Yes. Please Anthony and the wicked little smirk he’d given her had been sent straight from hell to ruin her she was sure as he dragged her stockings down with his teeth, catching her thighs just a little, and when she’d fallen apart for him three times in embarrassingly quick succession he’d surprised her very much by saying God Kate, I’m so sorry I wanted to wait longer but I can’t wait anymore. And her only coherent thought in her very blissful state had been Jesus what more could you possibly have wanted to do?! But instead she’d pulled him firmly towards her pulling his lips towards hers and whispered Don’t then just before they met. 

He was very chatty. Sure, Anthony had always been vocal enough when they’d sparred verbally across the table. But in general, he was the stoic silent type, only speaking when he had something important to say. And, Kate supposed, perhaps he found this important to say. Talking during sex had never been something Kate had been particularly fond of, in fact during one awful interlude at the end of their relationship Kate had said Jesus Harry can you just stop?! but when Anthony Bridgerton was moaning in her ear. God she thought she might die right then and there. It was relentless. A constant stream of So beautiful, So good, Oh god, Fuck Kate,Perfect and her name whispered like a prayer again and again into the night. And Jesus Christ she couldn’t help herself as their moans mingled together. And when he collapsed on top of her, and she’d made a half hearted attempt to roll away from him after several seconds, even though she loved the sound of his heartbeat slowing in her ear and she was sure if she tried to walk, her legs would collapse from under her if she tried to stand, she’d felt very content when he’d made an exhausted disgruntled noise and pulled her tightly against him again. And truly when he’d whispered I’ve never felt like this before. I didn’t even know I could. She’d had to try her best not to cry

Truly, in the end Kate had been surprised by how natural everything had been, how right it had felt to take this step with a man she’d known for so long and professed to hate so publicly. She’d thought it might be awkward and stilted and that she’d feel desperate to cover herself from his gaze. But honestly, she’d never felt so desired or considered or loved (as terrifying as that was) as she had, right there in Anthony Bridgerton’s bed. That didn’t of course mean she was going to let him get away with things so easily, that she could stop herself from saying 

“That was a real date right?” and being very satisfied by the startled choking noise he made. 

God. I am so sorry. Somebody kill me             

[writerwrites]

Yuánfèn | 02

Ch. 2: Retrouvailles: “An overwhelming feeling of happiness caused by seeing someone after a long separation.”

Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 3.3k Chapter Warnings: Smut - 18+ Only - Minors DNI, male masturbation, one night stand mentioned but not detailed, slow burn, grief, fluff

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The first week Steve took it slow, only texting you when you texted first or if he hadn’t heard from you at all. He’d taken your advice, balancing his time between preparing the team for another altercation with the Maximoff twins and finding out as much as he could about them. It was a welcome distraction from the lack of news on his hunt for the Winter Soldier. Natasha was the only one that seemed to notice that he would periodically glance at his watch or his phone and go quiet for a moment before getting back to work. When she finally cornered him, he felt like he should have seen it coming. Arms akimbo and eyebrow quirked, she called him out with no hesitation, “You’ve got a secret.” 

“Don’t we all?” Steve could immediately feel the regret in challenging her, busying himself with packing up his bag to head to his room and shower after a long morning of training. Nat didn’t hesitate to follow suit, tagging along with her own bag as she took long strides to keep up with him, even slipping into the elevator before he could. “How’s the search for the Maximoff twins going?”

Nat stood in front of the panel before he could select a floor. “Who have you been texting? Finally ask that SHIELD agent out, Sharon, or is the moping about a certain fossil?” She raised an eyebrow, her fingers tapping her arm impatiently.

Sighing, Steve reached behind her and hit the button. “Neither. I’ve just got a lot on my plate.” Before she could make another snarky comment, he asked. “Clint went home. Did you check in on him?” Though he didn’t use the tone of encouraging her to mind her own business, as he respected the effort she was putting in to build their friendship, he couldn’t help but hope she’d drop the subject.

“Yeah, I’ve checked in. Clint’s good, just like Doc said he’d be. Cho’s kind of a genius and it’s a relief to know that there’s someone that can piece us mere mortals back together when we’re out there saving the world with you.” Steve nodded as he listened, like a captain listening to a report on one of his troops, but his shoulders went ridged with her comment about Dr. Cho. She reminded him too much of Tony and not enough of Dr. Erskine. Luckily, it went unnoticed as she stepped out of the elevator with him and they walked toward their rooms.

There weren’t many memories in Steve’s life, even before the serum, where things simply went black. Taking a beating from his brainwashed best friend was one of them. Steve could picture the metal arm pulling back, the sting of pain as the bones in his face shattered over and over, and could even recall the conversation between swings, but he knew there were moments that were just blank from the concussion- especially after Bucky pulled him from the water. The fading image of him walking away, the ache of being put onto a stretcher, the gentle touch of small hands on his swollen face as the hum of medical machinery tried to pull him back to reality. It didn’t happen for days, but there were moments when he could still hear her talking to him or someone else in the room and always gave his hand three small squeezes before saying her goodbyes.

Steve had been in his head, remembering the music that woke him up and Sam waiting there for him. They’d stopped at Steve’s door, closest to the elevator, and Natasha pretended not to notice how quiet he’d been until she finally added, “Clint’s probably going to take another week before coming back to work, but we’re going out for drinks tonight. Are you thinking about coming with us this time? Might help you clear your head.”

“I’ll think about it.” It was a surprisingly genuine response. He didn’t need to get drunk to have a good time with friends and knew Sam could use the break from hunting a ghost and was itching to see Nat again. There was no doubt in Steve’s mind that if he said yes that Kristen from Statistics would be there and he wasn’t going to open that door, let alone walk through it.

“Aren’t you full of surprises today.” With a slight smirk she kept walking toward her room, calling back, “We’re heading out at eight. Take a nap old guy.”

By the time he was alone in the shower, the idea of going out with the team seemed all the more appealing. Regardless of Natasha still trying to set him up with random colleagues. He was lonely and reaching one of those breaking points of needing to find some comfort to balance out a minute sense of normalcy to his bizarre life, be it good conversation or bad sex. The water cascaded down his toned body and he brushed away the beads of dew and bubbles of soap that trailed down the lines of his muscles before reaching for himself. A part of him that was still very much stuck in the 1940’s hated this need, always feeling some level of shame in finding comfort in the palm of his hand. Typically, these moods resulted in an act of non-sexual frustration, a stress reliever that was easiest to address with his fist and a punching bag.

He told himself that he wasn’t the kind of person to think of someone in particular that way during the solitary act. When he did ‘indulge’, his thoughts had always trailed back to the singular heated kiss with Peggy Carter. But now, with one arm on the tiled wall and the other stroking his length, Steve took an uncommonly slow pace and his mind went to the little things that he’d thought about over and over throughout the week. Small warm hands on his skin, her hand in his. How small would her hands look wrapped around him? How soft would she feel? The smell of her hair and the way she clung to him in a simple hug. Did she know how warm she felt as she held on so tightly to him? Steve gripped himself more tightly, strokes still slow and steady, as he worked out the loneliness with a twist of his wrist. Thoughts passing from little moments and his own stolen glances. The sound of her little hums when she was thinking or satisfied with a solution she’d come up with, how she always bit her lip when she was in a room full of people. Then there was the way she held her breath every time she managed to make eye contact with him as his hands moved over the lace panties she'd passed him to pack. Was she always wearing something like that under her scrubs? Did she do this, think about him getting off to the thought of her in them? The thought of the doctor slipping her hand between her thighs while she wore nothing but lace, scrolling through their messages, and thinking of him finished the soldier off. A long deep groan of her name echoed in the bathroom as he made a mess of the shower wall and floor.

Steve was panting, exhausted but satisfied, as the water washed all evidence down the drain. Slowly, he started to realize what he’d done, but the familiar weight of guilt couldn’t settle in as he realized he wanted something other than a past he couldn’t have. As he dried off, Steve tried to rationalize the thought away, they’d had a nice moment between two colleagues and she was undeniably pretty. It was easy for his mind to drift there, he thought, to think about someone who was naturally beautiful and kind when they were so wholly unaware of it. As he got dressed, Steve put a pin in it, telling himself that even if there was a little spark, she needed a friend. That thought alone seemed to settle the decision to go out or not for him. He chose to drag Sam along for Nat’s sake and make the most of it all.

Sam and Nat were hitting it off well, making Steve wonder what was really going on between her and Clint. The pair of them together had been a force and, despite not feeling ready to date- especially someone as modern as Lilian-with-a-lip-piercing from Accounting, he found himself heading out with her for the night. She was chatty and outgoing, and he found some relief in her questions about his past or job. It stopped him from having to open up on a deeper level when that wasn’t what they were doing. What they were doing was rough and exhausting. She was vocal about what she wanted; hair pulled, ass spanked, fast thrusts, and a firm no kissing rule. He obliged, getting his pleasure from the sounds of her own and his name on her lips, but by the third round she was exhausted and he was left thinking about how he’d never made love to a woman.

Slipping out of Lilian’s place with less awkwardness than he’d expected, Steve checked his phone. He still hadn’t heard from you all day, and it was 2 am in New York, which meant a new morning for you in Spain. He wondered if he should’ve asked Sam for an update on Bucky at the bar, but hesitated to reach out and ask at this hour. Despite socializing and the workout he’d just had, he was too in his head to go to sleep. Spinning his keys around his finger he found himself riding his bike over to the small, quiet apartment with books and a hungry fish.

As if you knew he’d turned up in your space, he heard his text tone just as he was screwing the top back onto the fish food. “I know you said that if I needed anything, to just ask. Probably didn’t expect a text this early and I’m guessing you’re probably asleep… this is so dumb and a big ask, but…” Steve stared at the screen, eyebrows drawn together as he wondered if the smartphone had eaten a text or had some feature that shortened longer messages that he didn’t know how to open. He watched the typing bubbles pop up again and waited, taking a seat at one of the two bar stools at your kitchen counter, the other containing a pile of your neatly stacked mail from the week. “I know I didn’t think I’d get through the goodbyes alone, but I managed. Thanks for the encouragement. It's everything else that I realized I just can’t do alone. The packing… all the pictures. There’s so many memories and I can’t take everything back to my place in New York- my place is just too small.”

Steve clicked the ‘call’ icon and waited for you to pick up on the other end. He thought about his mother’s funeral and how Bucky had been there for him, told him he knew he could manage alone but didn’t have to. His stomach twisted with emotion and then the call went to voicemail.

You didn’t expect him to see your panicked messages until later in the morning. You sat there, runny nose and bleary eyed, staring at the name on your screen. Five minutes, just staring, no text response, no new call- and then he was back, a FaceTime call this time. Pulling your hood over your head so he couldn’t see how disheveled you were, wiping your face on your sleeve, you answered with your face hidden mostly between your knees where you rested your chin and the hood. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” The apology that excluded the ‘I’m sorry’ was still very obviously an apology.

“You didn’t.” You were unconvinced, his hair was a little mussed, clothes wrinkled. He could tell that it seemed like you hadn’t fully thought through what you were going to ask of him, so he offered up a different question.“What do you have left to do in Spain? We’ve managed to stay out of trouble over here, just for you.”

The soldier tried to study your expression, noticing the glimmer in your eyes that wasn’t just from the sunrise. “I have to pack up what I want to take home. I was thinking I could get a scanner and digitize the pictures, but I don’t know how long that will take.” You let out a puffed up sigh, “I don’t think I have the heart to sell the place, but I’m so bad at taking vacations that it seems like a waste to keep it.”

“Don’t sell it. If your gut is telling you to keep it, go with your gut. There are other options, AirBnB or renting it out.” You sniffled, burying your face further in your arms and legs, leaving Steve to stare at the view behind you. “I know I’m getting a sideways view here, but it looks really beautiful.”

That managed to squeeze a small smile out of you as you nodded and turned the phone toward the balcony to give yourself a moment to wipe away the tears and snot once more. “Yeah, under any other circumstances it would be a proverbial paradise. You probably need a vacation more than me.”

“You’re probably right.” Steve laughed softly, trying to coax you out of what looked like the tail end of a lot of crying. “Send me the location, I’m curious what’s around the place.”

With a long hum you sent him your location. “Not going to send Stark tech to stalk me, are you?”

“I’m sure if Tony wanted to keep tabs on you he was already doing it.” Steve clicked on the marker and looked around the place, its stone streets and little shops. “Doesn’t look like there’s any modern shops, as cute as all these little places are. Where are you going to find what you need to scan the pictures?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Just using my phone’s camera, I guess.” You looked at him as you watched the colors reflect off his face, blues and greens that mirrored the same flecks of color in his eyes. He probably didn’t even realize how beautiful he could look just staring at a phone. You relaxed a little, having someone to talk to for the first time in a week and let out a quiet yawn. “Is 8 am too early for a nap?”

Steve laughed and your face ached as you nearly smiled again. He bit his bottom lip, tempted to tell you that it was nice to see you smiling when he knew your heart was hurting, but he could already hear how cheesy it sounded and instead, chose banter. “Is 2 am too early to still be awake?”

“Go to bed. You know the second that you all even think you know where the twins are you’ll be on a Quinjet to find them. You can’t be pulling all nighters, even if you’re a super soldier. Doctor’s orders.” You added with a small smirk.

“Even if I headed back to the Tower this very minute, I bet I’d still beat Nat back. I think she left the bar with my friend, Sam.”

You knew Sam, just a little from one brief patch up. He had the same charm Steve had, clever and driven. “Nat and Sam? Good for her. He seems like a great guy and he could keep her on her toes.” With his phone so close to his face you couldn’t help but wonder, “Wait, it’s too quiet for you to be at a bar. Steven Grant Rogers, are you FaceTiming me from the bathroom of an O.N.S.?”

A part of you wanted to laugh, the thought of Steve just sleeping with some random person from a bar. Another part of you, the one that had a hint of a crush on the sweet guy who helped you when you were desperately in need of a friend, felt a pang of jealousy. “I’m not sure what an O.N.S. is, but I’m actually at yours feeding your nameless fish and named plants. You really got to figure out a name for him before I do.”

Somehow, a smile found your face, this big hero wanting to name a fish and zipping over to your place to feed him at 2 am. “If you’re too tired to head back to the tower, you can crash at my place. It’s late, you look like you could fall asleep at any moment. The bed’s clean, towels are in the bathroom cabinet, and coffee and it’s fixings are right over the pot. I’m not fancy enough for a Keurig, sorry.”

You watched him stop scrolling, his eyes meeting yours as you rambled. He didn’t look tired, he looked disheveled but perfect, as always, but it was cute to see him try to flatten out his hair nevertheless. “You forgot about the books.”

“I thought that was a given.” You stuck your tongue out before yawning one more time. “I’m serious though, best to stay off the road if you’re tired. Besides, the bills are paid even though no one’s there to use anything. I’ll probably be gone another week.”

Steve sighed, not in some defeatist way of you being right but, to your surprise at the mention of how much longer you would be gone, “One more week…”

“Feels like I’ve been gone for months.” You looked away, eyes stinging as the weight of your reality settled on your shoulders again. There was no one left in this world to actually miss you. The truth was that despite being in this beautiful place, you couldn’t help but feel all the more hollow and alone in it. If it wasn’t for the little check ins you would’ve never managed to drag yourself through the house, to the lawyers, or out to the shops to eat. “I’m not texting you too much am I?”

“Not at all.” He replied quickly, then worried it might have been too fast. He could tell you were off somewhere else, wondering if you heard him or if it even mattered. The way you clung to him just a few feet away from where he currently sat, a tight hug now in the forefront of his mind. Before he knew what he was saying, the thought spilled out. “I wish I could give you another hug. I know it’s not easy to do this alone.”

The confession choked you up, sniffling you nodded, “I wish you were here to give me a hug too. A1 hug game, big guy.” Despite the tacked on joke, tears silently spilled from your cheeks and you were eager to get off the phone so he didn’t have to hear the incoming wave of heavy breathless weeping. “Get some sleep, Steve. I’ll keep texting signs of life.”

He nodded, eyebrows knit together with concern and curiosity, “We’ll catch up soon, darling. Goodnight.”

Steve took you up on the offer, showering and climbing into your bed somewhere around 3 am with one of the other books that had been stacked on your bedside table. He hardly comprehended a single word, replaying the conversation as he drifted into a heavy sleep, overwhelmed by the sense of happiness in just seeing your face through a screen as he was surrounded by the comforting scent of you. For the first time since seeing Bucky, he didn’t dream of his best friend falling off the train or the dance he never had.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love feedback from you. Do you think these two miss each other? Are they crushing or just some horny adults? We shall see, we shall see!

Also, if it wasn’t obvious: In this house we stan bisexual Cap and ship Sam x Nat over Bruce x Nat.

As my followers know I have an obscenely demanding job, but I always try my best to keep you posted on if there will be a delay in a chapter posting. This series should be posting every Sunday until it finishes. Also, while I do keep Reader vague, I’m a Latina writer and I write fics I want to read.

Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics​​

I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to my overall tag list.

[kineticallyanywhere]

idk if you’ve seen it yet, but a few people in the tag seem to be wondering if you’d ever address why you drew nick with blue eyes and blond roots originally? it leaves a bad taste in people’s mouths evidently and although you have brown haired brown eyed nick now, moving past it without addressing the mistakes quickly seems a little misguided?

I'll preface by saying that I didn't see anyone @ me until you brought it up. I don't check my mentions much. Thank you for letting me know

My initial idea behind my Nick design was that he took after his mom, but that he dyed his hair to look like his dad. At the time I made a design for Nick, there was a conversation around being careful with how you make your Nick, because tropes surrounding a kid of color with drug issues is... a lot. It's not a topic or a stereotype I am at all equipped to handle, so at the time I figured making Morgan white and having Nick take heavily after his mom was the safer choice.

Obviously, I don't think this is the better option anymore. I don't like thoughtlessly changing my facecanons overnight and making characters unrecognizable to myself and others, and I don't sit and draw Nick enough to shift everything very quickly. But I'm better aware that many of Glenn's genes would probably take precedent over Morgan's [if she's white], and am trying to do better with skewing Nick's features to his dad's side of the family. I wish this was a move I'd allowed myself to make much sooner, I know I have issues with getting attached to designs I make the first time, and it's something I'm going to keep working on (even and especially with my own OCs). This attachment prevented me from taking advice I'd asked for before, and I regret that.

I'm always working to improve, but that's never going to happen all at once. I know I'm not perfect, I know I still have many areas to improve and shave down my own walls on, and I'm grateful for everyone's patience while I do that. I have two part-time jobs and I'm in school (including over the summer, like right now), so I have to pick which projects I put time into.

The only reason I can give for not having talked about it (more than I already have [x]) is that I haven't really thought to? It's been a while since I've considered myself a chatty poster, I don't engage with much conversation anymore, and have had enough bad-faith encounters online that I don't feel comfortable chatting to the air. I'm a regular person here to have fun, not a celebrity. I'm just trying my best and hoping my best gets better over time.

tl;dr I do regret a lot of the features I originally gave Nick, and I never talked about it because I'm afraid of scenarios like this, where acknowledging your flaws on the internet gets stapled to you for the rest of your life.

I guess I hope somewhere in here is the answers people are looking for. I'm genuinely sorry; I can't change the mistakes I've already made

[perfeggso]

every fortress falls (AKIRA x NCT)

Please enjoy this anime-kpop crossover for the Lights, Camera, Fanfiction event hosted by @supermwritersnet​! I chose to write for Shotaro and one of my favorite fictional universes ever, Akira’s Neo-Tokyo. If you know Akira, my story will run parallel to the canon plot. If not, I hope you give this a try and enjoy anyway and I highly recommend the source material! <3

If you’re interested, here is my AKIRA playlist. 

Setting of Akira: It has been thirty years since the end of WWIII, begun due to the detonation of an unidentified superweapon known only as “Akira” over Tokyo. The incident and subsequent war decimated the city which was rebuilt into Neo-Tokyo, a corrupt and crime-ridden megalopolis centered on an artificial island in Tokyo Bay.

Characters: Shotaro, Sungchan, Yuta, Akira main characters, other NCT members upcoming. 

Genres: cyberpunk, sci-fi, action/adventure 

Warnings: drug use/abuse, gangs, some swearing, eventual graphic violence

Rating: mature but not explicit 

Chapter length: 1.3k

Chapter 1:

The capsule cradled in Shotaro’s palm is red and white and shiny, like the earrings that Noriko would wear and which, when Shotaro asked, he found out were supposed to look like “blood and come,” respectively. The drone of Tanaka-Sensei’s voice from the front of the classroom barely penetrates the cloak of sullen disruption shielding Shotaro’s wooden amphitheater seat in classroom 12 of the Eighth District Vocational Training School. Even though realistically no one is paying attention, Shotaro tries to hold the pill so that his hand is obscured by his row’s shared desk. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous; Tanaka-Sensei is barely commanding control of the room as he attempts to explain how a carburetor works, the closest kid to Shotaro is reading a girly magazine, and everyone at the school is well aware that you can buy as many of these pills as any broke student could afford from the nurse’s office.

It’s just, Shotaro reasons as the patent-leather-like curves of the capsule glint in the jaundiced combination of natural and fluorescent light, he’s always been a good kid. He doesn’t do things like this – at least that’s what Yuta constantly tells him. He doesn’t buy drugs – no matter how cheap they are – from Kaneda’s girlfriend of all people, and he certainly doesn’t take them. Kaneda, Shotaro has always felt, is inextricably linked to him. For one, Shotaro Kaneda’s family name is the same as Shotaro’s given name (though they use slightly different kanji if anyone ever cared to notice). For another thing, the two boys have known of each other since early childhood, having come up in the same orphanage and school system for boys deemed by the state to be “lacking in future prospects.” (Shotaro doesn’t think this label really applies to him; it’s not his fault he doesn’t really like academics and the one activity he really enjoys – dancing – is far too expensive for him to pursue). For a final, crucial thing, Kaneda is the leader of the Capsules, the rival gang to Yuta’s Clowns. The fact that Kaneda could very literally kill Shotaro’s adoptive brother of sorts any day now understandably precludes him from feeling much of an affinity towards his classmate.

Shotaro has been taunted more times than he can remember for being the “boring” Shotaro. But if skating by under the radar to receive his vocational high school diploma, getting out, and not being sent to Jaws for discipline twice a week is boring to his classmates, Shotaro doesn’t really care.

Well, he didn’t care, until he had gotten to thinking one day last week. It started when he’d found Yuta’s stash of drugs. Yuta tries very hard to keep any evidence of his dependency from his little brother, but he’s not always great at it. Over the years, Shotaro couldn’t help but notice the blissful calm which comes over Yuta when Shotaro has caught him thinking he was taking the stuff in private. Nor could Shotaro help but register the ensuing boost in energy and motivation. It had always made him wonder even if Yuta categorically forbid it and he was good at smothering his curiosity. When Shotaro came to school the next day and mentioned finding Yuta’s pills offhand to Sungchan, the younger boy proved less adept at quashing his hunger for new experiences, and Shotaro had begun to truly let his imagination get the best of him.

“Hey!” The harsh whisper startles Shotaro out of his preoccupation with the look and feel of his capsule, to the extent that he almost blunders and drops it down the five graduated rows of seats below him. But fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, he holds on.

The voice is as familiar as the backseat of Yuta’s motorcycle and coming from the level of seats behind Shotaro, so he turns around. Class has devolved to the point that having a full conversation stage-whisper style is about the least disruptive thing occurring.

Sungchan’s oversized frame and comforting smile loom over Shotaro from above, like a benevolent version of the mechanical surveillance vultures Sungchan had once gushed in horror that the American government was trying to build.

“Did I scare you?” Sungchan asks.

Shotaro fakes a glare at his best friend, but only ends up chuckling.

“How could I be scared by a 185cm walking teddy-bear?”

Sungchan tries to look hurt but giggles right back.

“Did you get the stuff?”

Shotaro nods, angling his hand so Sungchan can see the pill.

“Why were you so late to class?” Shotaro asks, feeling irrational panic nipping at the edges of his mind for the first time all day to suggest that maybe Sungchan was held up because someone caught him with drugs. Shotaro wonders why this thought hadn’t occurred to him earlier, hoping that’s an indication of its ridiculousness.

“I got caught up talking to Sawako in the nurse’s office,” Sungchan explains, and Shotaro relaxes a little. “She was very chatty for some reason and I felt bad. I think she’s lonely. Did you know Kaneda got her pregnant?”

“No, what?” Shotaro makes a face as disapproving as he feels. “That asshole. Of course he wouldn’t use protection. Ugh, anyway. Did you get what you wanted? Everything go smoothly?”

Sungchan pulls a button-size plastic bag from his pocket and displays, not quite covertly enough for Shotaro’s liking but he’ll live, the identical red and white capsule within.

“Perfect.”

“I was thinking,” Sungchan continues, “Sawako said she thinks there’ll be a battle between the Capsules and the Clowns tonight. Should we try to catch some of it?”

Shotaro leans his elbows onto the desk in front of his friend and smiles, indulgent.

“While we’re high for the first time? Sounds like a shitty idea.” Sungchan pouts like Shotaro knew he would, so he adds a “we can feel it out in the moment, though,” because he is a weak man when it comes to Sungchan’s wants and needs. They are both that way towards each other, even when it gets them into trouble. But as Yuta always says, “memorable trouble is worth it”; i.e., if it makes a good story in the future, might as well go for it.

“Yuta would kill me if he found out though,” Shotaro wagers, “and I mean that literally.”

The last class of the day ends as he’s speaking and he and Sungchan make plans for meeting in the evening as they filter out of the musty, chipping paint, brutalist structure which is supposed to pass for a place of learning.

Shotaro finds Yuta where he always does after school: unsheathing his motorcycle in the back parking lot.

Yuta’s bike is a souped-up Honda painted to look like a 1940s bomber. Yuta wears a black leather biking suit he probably slipped on in the men’s room before heading out and pulls a helmet decorated with clown makeup over his black mullet as he greets his little brother, following the exchange by offering a similar helmet to Shotaro.

They hop on and head out onto the streets of Neo-Tokyo. Skyscrapers tower grey in the daytime light what feels like miles above the litter-strewn street and block out the sun. They’re so massive they could probably each hold an entire city’s worth of people, Shotaro reckons, and they move sluggishly in opposition to the trajectory of the bike, like cargo ships trudging against water.

“Good day?” Yuta asks when they stop at an intersection next to Flower Alley Mall.

“Yeah,” Shotaro assures. “Sungchan heard something about a battle tonight? What’s up with that?”

“I don’t want to get into it, but he’s right,” Yuta admits. “But don’t try to tag along or I’ll murder you.”

With that, the light turns and Shotaro grabs hold of Yuta, mumbling “I know” fondly into his shoulder. They zip away like that the rest of the way to their apartment, the capsule burning nuclear in Shotaro’s pocket as he’s left to ponder his next move.

[nayarablueglasses]

Duo x male reader

a/n: oh gods this is so. anyways this was meant for day thirteen of the @gundam-wing-pride event but certain circumstances have caused me to be unable to post in time for it. the tears prompt was kept in mind for this, i hope it suffices.

word count: 2,059

summary: horrific battles never made you cry, so how did a joke from Duo manage to do it?

warnings: reader is in an active war at first, brief mentions of reader becoming deaf to loud sounds after the battle, reader has a very dry way of thinking, i haven't seen the entirety of the show in ages so i think my timeline is a little messed up

reader pronouns: he/him but comes off as gn

How’d you end up here?

You’d woken up to the extremely jarring sounds of the space station’s evacuation alarms. Considering the immediate panicking masses of people that then flooded the streets, it wasn’t the best way to wake up. Especially when you factor in that your first evacuation drill since the ‘safe space’ had been rebuilt, relocated and refortified was supposed to happen next week. Though to be fair, there were absolutely no signs that you knew of that would signal a a war erupting on your colony.

Honestly? You never were impressed by the Gundams. All you knew about them was that they were starting a war with what a few of the colonies had begun to call the “colony rebels.” The White Fang. Maybe the White Fang had started the war, but you could care less. No matter who’d started this, the colonies- your colony- was caught in the crossfires now.

And it wasn’t like you could trust the Gundams, either. It wasn’t that long ago that Gundam Pilot 04 almost blew up an entire colony because their father had been killed. If that was how the Gundams handled personal loss, your colony could only speculate on the ways they’d deal with the political difficulties of a war. And unsurprisingly, it turned out that they handled it absolutely terribly.

The scariest part was the absolute absurdness of the whole war. Two sides that claimed to speak for the colonies. The White Fang pressed attention on the colonies, while the Gundams remained an absolute mystery. Plus, the individual power struggles claiming the colonies, the Treize Faction war against Oz that was reportedly occuring back on Earth... everybody was misinformed about absolutely all of it, and the best you could do was try to make sense of the chaos unfolding and hope it never touched your poor colony.

But wishes don’t always come true. And certainly never the wishes you make.

Like the wish you’d been repeating back to yourself for the last hour- to be able to come out of this unscathed. Your arm had some thoughts on that.

As it turns out, trying to run through an active warzone to the safe space you didn’t know the location of was extremely dangerous. So dangerous that your arm had been hit with a stray bullet. Right now the main dangers were the footsoldiers firing at each other, but not that far off in the distance you could see two of the Gundams fighting a swarm of Taruses. The fact that they weren’t close was anything but comforting, since you’d seen the speed of the Gundams before on T.V.

Oh.

“Hey- get outta the way! Ya try’na get killed?” A White Fang footsoldier shoved you to the side, presumably trying to help. Instead you stumbled facedown into a very large pile of scrap metal. Which very much hurt your arm and effectively trapped your leg as well.

Fun. “The fuck kinda horror movie is this?” You muttered to yourself. Of course, of course you ran directly into the fray. Because of COURSE that was safer than the opposite direction (which in all fairness had been covered in sharp-looking rubble). That’s fine. You could work with this. What did your uncle usually tell you- take inventory in terms of crises?

You hadn’t brought a backpack with you, so, all you could take inventory on was what was in your pockets. One elastic, a single outdated coin, and fuzz. Plus, a bleeding arm and the bullet you figured was still in there, a possibly twisted and hopefully not broken foot, ringing in your ears... and the clothes on your back. Ok.

So this is how you die? Fine. That’s fucking fine. You had plenty to live for, but fine. Who cares?

“Woah-hoh, what the hell? Hey- hey handsome, you awake?”

A very neon green light pierced your consciousness. Out of habit, you tried to raise your arm to block it out- and then an even more painful, piercing feeling jolted through your whole body. “Ahh-huah- ‘m. ‘m awake now. Ohhh gods. Yeah. ‘m- yeah. Fuck. Who’re you and are you going to help me or kill me?”

“Kill you? Man, I might be the god of Death and all but I’m not going to kill you! You related to Heero or somethin’?”

“Don’t know- ow- who the fuck that is. What’s up with that green light shit> ‘M gonna be blinded if I open my eyes.”

And there the light went. Nice. If this guy didn’t kill you, you might actually survive. Sans your arm. Nobody on your colony could help your arm. You figured that life would be interesting from now on. “Great, thanks man. Fuuuuck. You- you see my arm? Yeah- I’m taking your silence as a yeah. This bitch’s fucked and moving at all is very very painful. So hey random stranger. You strong enough to carry me to the nearest amputator?”

Apparently you were just being dramatic. Your arm would 100% be still attached and your foot would survive. Your ears were… fine. After waking up in a hospital on an entirely different colony station, you learned that apparently, there exists a kind of deaf in which it was hard to hear things that were too loud. Which. You now had.

No more concerts. Meh.

The most jarring of everything was when you discovered that a) you were likely to have either trauma or ptsd and b) the guy that carried you to the hospital in his Gundam- was a Gundam Pilot. 02. Duo Maxwell. He’d brought you to Colony 14 Blue and was now reportedly “chillin’ outside until you get discharged.” with the promise that he’d bring you to the Peacemillion afterwards.

Oh. And almost everybody you knew closely had “likely” passed away in the attack. The therapy for that was going to be interesting when you consider that nobody of your family was on the colony at the time of the attack. Honestly the way they were pressing for you to be evaled made it feel like they were planning to make an example out of your supposedly poor mental state. Unsurprisingly the hospital was being run by the White Fang.

Discharge went quickly. The ride back to Duo’s Deathscythe went quickly. The ride in Duo’s Deathscythe went far, far too slowly. And adjusting to life on the Peacemillion went poorly.

Every now and again, Duo would look for you and, if he hadn’t immediately come from a fight (he passed out on your carpet once due to blood loss after being in a gunfight. Zechs was less than appreciative.), he’d bring you to the nearest colony. Being able to enjoy a day out on occasion was a rarity you usually only got to experience with Duo.

“Ooooi, Duo. Check these out. Tell me these aren’t the coolest gloves you’ve ever seen.” You held up some black fingerless gloves for him to inspect. He’d brought you to a new colony, where apparently a special holiday (complete with fun sales) was happening. Admittedly, some of the people on this station were giving you and Duo some especially strange looks whenever Duo would tug on your shirt or grab your hand to get your attention but like. Fuck them.

“Hey, those look pretty awesome!” he grinned and bounced over, snatching the gloves from your hands to look for a price tag. “To steal or not to steal, that is the question.”

You raised an eyebrow. So maybe the crush you’d developed on this overgrown child of a thief was growing. So what? It’s just a crush. Everything’s going to be fine. “Is the price tag expensive or something?”

Duo shook his head. “Exact opposite. There isn’t one.”

“Let’s just leave ten gilla and bolt, then.”

“...wicked.”

Normally the rides back home were silent and awkward, but after the rather exciting day you’d had, you were feeling especially chatty. Which wasn’t to say that there weren’t still awkward breaks in the conversation. It was quiet, sure, but a lot of things had been quiet lately. Being deaf to louder things tended to do that to a person.

Duo drew you out of your thoughts with another tug on your sleeve and pressed one of the gloves into your hand. “Here. Figured we’d both look badass with just one glove. Plus we match!” He held up his gloved left hand with an air of confidence. He wasn’t wrong, honestly. Wearing his braid the way he did, he already cut an impressive figure, but the gloves really sold the look.

You pulled on the glove he gave you, flexing your fingers to test it’s flexibility. After all, if you couldn’t engage in you and Duo’s elaborate handshake, you might have to ditch the glove altogether. Luckily the glove fit you well- functionality and style alike. Ten gilla spent well.

“Not bad. Y’think Zechs’ll get jealous?” Duo laughed at the idea.

“Doubtful, doesn’t he have Noin to get him cool stuff? Plus, I think his mask and that hair are defining accessories, what else does he need?”

You shrugged. “What gay wouldn’t love these? ‘M already enjoying mine ‘nd yours look more worn in than mine do. Solid fuckin’ proof right there.” Not like you could confirm or deny that Duo was gay. Honestly, you didn’t really care for his specific labels, but Zechs was definitely gay so it just helped further the joke. With his demeanor and his lesbian best friend? Could the flags get any gayer.

“More like pansexual on my account. Good to know your take on gender preference though. This mean I’m allowed to openly flirt with you now?” He leaned back into his seat, throwing his feet up onto the table in front of you and resting his head in his hands.

You raised an eyebrow. “Only if you promise not to ‘no homo’ me afterwards.” Duo pretended to fall backwards, clutching at the nonexistent pearls and acting offended. You two giggled when Sally came in from the cockpit to assure herself that somebody hadn’t just gotten a concussion. To which Duo immediately pretended to have a head wound of some sorts (you suspected he was being purposely vague) in hopes of attaining the candy that Sally sometimes had on hand.

Once she left (leaving you and Duo with strong warnings against fooling around more, lest Duo’s “head injury” get worse; to which you had saluted and replied, “absolutely no promises, ma’am!”) you shared a look with the brunette and tried to keep from dissolving into a fit of laughter. To your chagrin, it was a fail. You were laughing so hard that your stomach was starting to genuinely hurt. Duo was doubled over on the ground, wheezing unintelligible words and trying to hand you the lollipop that Sally gave him.

By the time you had managed to calm down and breathe, Duo was getting into the chair beside you and clutching his side. “I think I pulled a muscle from laughing so hard.”

“Yeesh, ‘m crying from laughin’ so much. Aah, this is what y’do to me.” You joked, wiping away tears from the corners of your eyes.

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry before,” Duo paused to think. “like, at all! Now that I think about it, didja even cry when I rescued you?” You shrugged again. The battlefield was pretty terrifying and if you hadn’t found it in you to cry from fear… well, you were feeling a lot of emotions during the whole ordeal. Who could really blame you? “Pretty tough that a fuckin battle didn’t even make you cry. Hey- my bit musta been pretty damn good to make you shed a tear!”

“Yeah, don’t let it get to y’head. ‘S just because ‘m crushin on you.” You mentioned casually, testing the waters.

“Full homo?”

“Full homo.”

Well, would you look at that. Now Duo was crying. What was with you two and tears today?

BONUS:

“You’re so cheesy.” You muttered to Duo, who was proudly holding up your guys’s fingerless gloves- which he had sewn a rainbow patch onto the back of.

He smiled, tugging your glove onto your hand. “Mhm. You love it though.”

Sighing, you returned the favour and pulled his glove onto his right hand. “You’re right. I love it. I love you.”

[all works found under the name "nayarablueglasses" are property of nayarablueglasses. please do not repost, claim as your own, or edit. i do not consent for my works to be part of any social media other then tumblr, including having my works be adapted for asmrs.]

[alovesongshewrote]

Almost A Thousand Years - Spellbound | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot:  You’ve known Hisirdoux Casperan for almost a thousand years.  You’ve hated him for almost a thousand years.  And for almost a thousand years, you’ve been cursed to feel each others pain.  But somewhere in that time, things changed.  [Hisirdoux Casperan x Mostly Gender Neutral but Probably Female Presenting Based on How Historical Men Treat Them!Reader]

Word Count:  5,298

Warnings: guess who’s swearing again, reader is generally sad lol, mentions of torture

A/N:  OOP WIZARDS

Tags: @furblrwurblr​ @rainningdoom​ @fluffydmonkey @blondie0458​ @sitherin-mxschief  @jinxedleo​ @lawlesshedgehog @einahpetsyarcip

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“Beware!  You, you!  Are in grave danger!”

“Archie?”

You were very surprised to see the familiar and very glad that whatever made you want to hurt Douxie didn’t apply to him.  

“(Y/N)?”

“Heyyy, Arch,”

“(Y/N), where have you been?  Douxie’s been looking for you everywhere!”

“That’s what I’m worried about,”

“Wait, (Y/N), you know the talking cat?”  Toby exclaimed, frantically between you and the cat-dragon.

“He’s a familiar, actually,”

“Familiar?”

“Nuh-uh, not familiar, I would remember if I’d met a talking cat,”

“No, familiar, wizard-assistant,”

“Assistant!  That’s very offensive, I am a wizard associate, thank you very much,”

“Yeah, okay, semantics, what do you need Arch?”

“I need you to come with me, or the world as you know it will come to end,”

You sighed, rubbing your temples.  Had you and your gang of stray children, trolls, and Akiridions not saved the planet enough for one year?  What sin did you commit to cause these unending apocalypses to rain down on you?

“Are you threatening me pussy cat?”

You put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, a little worried that he would actually try to fight Archie.  It wouldn’t be too out of character for him.

“No, I’m warning you,” Archie responded, calm as ever, “Put simply, the world as you know it is about to end,”

“What else is new,”  you muttered, following the cat-dragon down the street, “C’mon guys, let’s see what wants to destroy the universe now,”

Toby, Steve and Arrrgh kept up the conversation while you followed Archie in silence, silently praying that wherever the familiar led you, his wizard would be far away.

Your prayers went unanswered.  

“Sorry, this is a lot to take in.  Pets can talk?  The world is ending?  Again?”

“Not the best timing, I know, but we need your help all the same,”

“Douxie?”

“Casperan,”

“(Y/N)?”

“Wait, (Y/N), you know this guy too!?”  

You froze in place at Steve’s question, looking briefly into Douxie’s eyes.  If it hadn’t been physically painful to avoid killing him whenever you were in the same place, it still would’ve been emotionally painful.  How could you look into the eyes of the one person you could always count on, the man you loved, when he had left you for dead?  How could you look into his eyes knowing you had been sent to kill him?  Centuries had passed, and yet you still felt like the traitor you’d always been.

“We’re acquaintances,” you said, stepping back in a desperate attempt to quell the bloodlust rising within you, trying to escape the rage that wasn’t yours.

You avoided looking into Douxie’s eyes again, but the hurt on his face was clear to you, even if you weren’t staring directly at it.

“Wait, wait, hold up, I thought you worked at the cafe or were a model or something-?”

Douxie laughed a little, trying to shake off your icy demeanour, “There’s a lot about me you don’t know,”  

The cuff on his wrist glowed blue, the light forming an orb in the palm of his hand.  The teenagers in front of you were wide-eyed, amazed by Douxie’s use of magic.  You just shook your head and kept trying not to kill your oldest friend.

He pressed the orb to the door of the bookshop, unlocking it, “Come on then, the answers to all your questions are within,”

“Sure they are,” you muttered, hanging back as the boys filed into the store.  You took a second to look at Arcadia’s Arcane bookstore, one of the few places in town you’d never actually been to.  When Douxie started working there, you decided that avoiding the shop was a key part of not committing murder.  The same went for the cafe, and anywhere else the wizard went.

“(Y/N)?” Speak of the devil, it was the wizard.  The one whose life you were trying to save, “C’mon, I need you for this, too,”

“I-” you looked down, desperately searching for an excuse.  End of the world or not, saving Douxie from yourself was more important.  Maybe you should’ve just left Arcadia.

“(Y/N),” his voice was soft, just as you remembered it.  The way he looked at you made you want to cry.  There was so much love in his eyes.  Left for dead or not, you couldn’t deny he did care about you, “Please,”

He reached out, his hand gently clasping around your wrist.  No matter how much you longed for his touch, you tore your hand from his grip as if you’d been burned.

“Fine, Douxie, I’ll join you on whatever hell-quest this is, but you have to promise that you’ll stay away from me,”

He was shocked, clearly taken aback by what you said, “That’s… that’s fine, but why?”

It killed you to hear how heartbroken he sounded, “I’ll explain later, let’s just go,”

The hurt in your voice hit him hard.  The way you’d jerked your hand back left him feeling as if he’d done something wrong.  Whatever it was, Douxie promised himself that he would figure it out and apologize to you and make it better.  He didn’t need you to forgive him, he just wanted you to smile again.  He wanted to see the light in your eyes, the one that he’d been falling in love with since at least the fifteen-hundreds, even if he wasn’t the cause of it.  Ever since you’d disappeared, you’d been distant.  The few chances he got to look at you, you’d seemed haunted.  He wanted to help you so bad, but he couldn’t do anything unless you let him.

Silently, the two of you walked through the door.

Inside the shop, various objects floated about, surrounded by a green hue.  You recognized that magic.  It had cursed you years ago and had cursed Jim more recently.  Merlin.

“Put that down! Thank the ether you’re here!  We haven’t a moment to waste,”

“Woah, crusty creepy dude,”  

You laughed at that, trying to keep yourself quiet and failing.  You wouldn’t say it to Merlin’s face, but those were your thoughts almost exactly.  The old wizard ignored both you and Steve.

“I had hoped for more Hisirdoux,”

“Jeez, thanks Merlin,”

“Silence, traitor,”

You rolled your eyes into the back of your head.  Would no one let you live that down?  

As if Douxie sensed your discomfort, the young wizard took the attention off of you, “Look, I tried, I couldn’t find the changelings or the aliens.  I’m pretty sure most left the planet,”

“Merlin!  It’s me!  Toby Domzalski!  Y’know, War Hammer, Guardian of Arcadia, Geology Club president,”

“No one could forget you chatty,”

“Oh my god, Merlin, what have I told you about talking to kids!”  

Since the old man had awoken from his nine-century long sleep, you’d tried to convince him to do two things.  Call Douxie, because the young wizard deserved to know what was going on and you couldn’t tell him yourself, and be nicer to the children for god’s sake.

“And Steve Palchuk!  Creepslayer!”

“I have no idea who you are, but we’re desperate.  Thankfully, we have the brute,”

“Because, y’know, the traitor is of no use to you,” you muttered, scooping up Archie, trying to interrupt a dispute between him and Arrrgh.  Fortunately, the familiar did not struggle to get away from you despite your cold attitude towards his wizard.  That, at the very least, brought you some relief.

“Wait, where’s Jimbo and Claire?  I thought they were with you?”

“Yeah, good question Merlin, where’ are the kids you’re in charge of?”

“Answers forthcoming.  Make preparations, we’ve a journey ahead.  And don’t-”

“But Master!”

“‘But Master,’ me,”

“Very typical,” you sighed, releasing Archie from your hold.  Your attention was brought back to Douxie.

“But… are you sure you want to count on these children?  They’re clearly not ready for this,”

He was partially right.  Your kids had seen battle before and could probably take whatever was thrown at them, but that didn’t mean they should have to.  They deserved a break.

Steve scoffed, “Excuse me, college dude, these children fought off a fifty-foot extraterrestrial,”  he made a good point despite it being an obvious brag, and it would have held some weight, had he not promptly gotten into a scuffle with an enchanted set of armour.  

You watched, cringing a bit, before turning your attention to Merlin and Douxie’s conversation.

“I’ve spent years preparing, centuries-!”  All true, once again.  You could say what you wanted about Hisirdoux Casperan, but you couldn’t deny he was more than capable when it came to magic.   You'd seen his magic improve over the centuries, and you knew for a fact that he could kick some ass.

“Silence!”  Merlin cut Douxie off, reminding you ever so slightly of your Camelot days.  You wanted, desperately, to comfort your friend, but being in the same room was hard enough.  If you touched him, he would die.

“I mean, silence, all of you,”  Merlin corrected himself, “Can you not hear that?”

You could hear nothing, but you stopped to listen anyway.  Beside you, Toby drew his hammer, readying for a battle.

You still couldn’t hear it.

“Something wicked this way comes,”

You squeezed your eyes shut, tired and stressed, but willing to fight.  You drew your sword, and in front of you, blue magic circled around Douxie’s wrist.  Your body was telling you to murder him right now, show him no mercy, go for the throat, but you held back.  Now was not the time to kill your friends.

Merlin and Douxie walked past you to look out the window.  You joined them, squinting to try and make out what lurked in the murky darkness, only to jump back when a shadow mephit flung itself at the glass in front of you.  It bounced off a shield of blue, tumbling off into the street to join its brothers and sisters, all of which now came into view.

“Shadow mephits?  Traitor, did you lead them here?”

“You do know I have a name, right?”

“No, no, it wasn’t (Y/N), it was me, or at least I think it was,”

“Yes, it was us,” Archie said, jumping onto a shelf next to Douxie.  You would’ve laughed at the familiar’s candor, had the shadow mephits been less interested in breaking in.

Merlin just shook his head, “He found us.  The barrier won’t hold for long.  We must make egress!  Tobias, take my things!”

With a wave of Merlin’s hand, a trunk, surrounded by the green glow of his magic, slammed into Toby and flew him up to the roof, screaming.

“For god’s sake, Merlin,”  he couldn’t hear you through the attack, but it was the sentiment that counted.

But then again nothing really mattered.  A mephit broke through the barrier, only to face a bolt of magic from Merlin, “All of you to the roof!”

You grabbed Steve and Arrrgh and started up the stairs.  Douxie, of course, didn’t listen to his master.  You couldn’t hear the argument that took place between them as you guided your companions up the stairs, but you could see what was going on below you.  You had to admit, Douxie blasting shadow mephits while standing his ground in an argument was pretty damn impressive (impressive here meaning hot.)

Merlin moved past you, blasting some mephits as he went.  You took initiative and sent some magic their way as well, knocking a few away from Archie.  Douxie grabbed his familiar with magic, saving the cat-dragon from a very mephit-y death.

“C’mon Douxie,” you said, waiting for him by the door, crying out slightly when the nerd rammed his hand into a candle, feeling the burn on your own hand.  Your wizard took a brief moment to look at you, then the candle before lighting the bookstore on fire.

To be fair, it was a magic fire, and it wasn’t damaging anything but the mephits.  You were actually quite impressed by that, too, and you were very charmed by his laughter once he saw that his plan worked.  Merlin, however, didn’t care.

“Fire!?”

“Yeah, magic fire!”

“In a bookstore!!?”

“Butmephitsarevulnerabletofire-”

“Move it!”

You grabbed Archie, jumping out the door to see your friends fighting off even more shadow mephits.

“Got any more magic fire, Doux?”

“‘M afraid I’m fresh out,”

“Ah.  Fuck,”

You swung your sword into the nearest mephit, “I guess we’ll have to do this the old fashioned way then,”  You buried the blade in another one of the creatures before placing Archie on the ground and blocking a blow from yet another mephit.

“Stand back!”  Merlin exclaimed, throwing a crystal ball that released a small ship from inside of it.  The blast from the ship blew back a few of the mephits long enough for everyone to have a two-second gawk at the little boat.

“Woah, ship just got real!”

“Yeah-huh,”

“Everyone on!”  Arrrgh growled, tossing all of you on board.  

You frantically scuttled away from Douxie, double-checking your blade to be sure it didn’t have his blood on it.  It didn’t.  He was safe.  From you, at least.

You stuck to one side of the ship, watching your friends fight off more shadow mephits on the other side.  You sincerely hoped they’d never have to fight you like that.

You heard someone say, “Boy,” from below, a voice that was eerily familiar to one you had heard before, not too long ago.  You were about to rise and check to see if your suspicions were correct, but before you had the chance, green shards flew through the air, just like-

Just like the one that had gone through you.

You didn’t have time to ponder things as Merlin’s ship flew off through the night sky.  You just sat back and shut your eyes, trying to keep the internal demons at bay.

You did your best to erase the memory from your mind.  To forget a green knight who, on the orders of his masters, sent a shard of black magic right through you.  You should have died, but instead, the projectile broke through your skin and disintegrated, taking over your body, turning you into an assassin against your will.  Your captors had called it a trial, an experiment.  Sneaking a look at one of the shards beside you, you realized that you had been a test run.  That shard hadn’t disintegrated.

You kept your eyes shut.

A few minutes later, the memories faded.  You could relax, finally.  The sound of the boys screaming with joy rang through the air.  Flying was fun, you had to admit that.  You opened your eyes, first looking at Steve, Arrrgh, and Toby, then at Douxie.  

He was beautiful, staring off into the distance as if there was nothing in the world to worry about.  As if the assassin sent to kill him wasn’t at his side right now.  You bit the inside of your cheek to keep any emotion from showing.  You couldn’t let them know anything was wrong, if you did they’d never trust you again.  But what you felt was overwhelming.

You were stressed, not knowing what was to come in the future, nor what your captors would do to you if they knew your target was still alive.  You were hurt, because over the ten years that you’d been tortured your best friend hadn’t searched for you, even though he had before.  Was he tired of you?  Did he just not care anymore?  You were scared of the answer.  And worst of all, you were in love.  But you refused to admit it.

“What the heck is that?”

You turned your attention to the horizon before you, “That’s not-”

“Welcome, young squires, to Camelot,”

“Camelot!?  Like, as in ancient-old-people-times Camelot!?”

“Thanks, Toby,” you snarked under your breath.  You heard a snicker from beside you.  You made him laugh.  That made you feel a lot better.  You even smiled when you thought Douxie wasn’t looking.  Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad.

He was looking.  His fondness for seeing his old home dulled in comparison to his fondness for you.  The small smile on your lips was enough to power his world for decades, no, centuries.  You still seemed troubled, but if you smiled now, there was still hope that he could help you make things better.  

“Excuse me, I have a question.  How is this castle flying right now?”  

“The Heart of Avalon.  Its magic keeps Camelot aloft, powered by time itself,”

You took a moment to lean over the side of the ship, examining the large green stone.  It was nice.  Reminded you of Merlin’s magic.  The ship took a sudden turn upwards, and Merlin called out a greeting to someone.

“Holy crap, Gallahad’s still alive?”

“Seems that way,”

“I guess committing treason means you miss the weekly newsletter,”

You missed Douxie’s frown at your angsty humour.  He wanted you to know that no matter what Merlin called you, you were no longer a traitor.  You wished that could be true.

The ship took another sharp turn, heading for the entrance.

“I say, coming in a little hot, don’t you think?”

“Rubbish!”

“I knew Merlin would be the death of me, but not like this,”

You held on tight as the ship landed, but it wasn’t enough.  The impact launched you into Douxie, who managed to catch you, only for you to jump out of his arms, even though you would’ve liked to stay there.

“Sorry,” you whispered, once again straining to avoid murder.

If Merlin didn’t try to execute you for past treasons, he would definitely kill you for murdering his favourite apprentice.  Of course, that was only one of several reasons to avoid committing homicide, but it was the most prevalent right now as Merlin caught your eye.

Toby, Steve and Douxie exchanged banter, while you spoke in lower tones with your once master.

“So, you still haven’t gotten over your petty rivalry, have you?

“It’s not that, Master, I-”

“So we’re back to Master, are we?”

“It’s only fitting seeing that we’re back in Camelot,”

“If that’s the case, I should have you killed for treason,”

You weren’t sure if that was a joke or not, but your response was one hundred percent serious, “Please do,”

Merlin turned to you, fairly concerned.  He was not expecting that retort, to say the least.  But you weren’t looking at him.  You were looking back at his apprentice, something he couldn’t name trapped in your gaze.

“Uh, cool floating castle ship,” Toby interrupted both your and Merlin’s train of thought, “But what’s the grave danger you keep talking about?”

Merlin didn’t answer, instead, he looked ahead of him, “Ah, there you are,”

“Claire!”

“Toby!”

“Aarghaumont!”

“Blinky!”

You grinned as your friends hugged each other.  It was good for them to be back together again.  

“Whoa, hey, Steve’s here, too!  How ‘bout- how ‘bout some love for Steve?”

As much as you admired Steve’s growth as a person, you had to cringe, just a little.

“Oh, hi Steve,”  Claire said, unimpressed before her eyes turned to you, “(Y/N)!  Hi!”

“Hey, Claire, Blink,” you gave a small wave, too emotionally and physically exhausted for anything else at this point.

“What happened to you guys?”  Toby asked, frantically taking in Claire and Blinky’s worse for wear appearances, “Wait, where’s Jim?”

The look on Claire’s face told you everything you needed to know.

One room over, Jim was encased in a green crystal… thing.  

You knelt to the ground next to Jim’s crystal and immediately began your assessment.  The trollhunter’s face, arms and legs seemed to be fine, but a shard of something had embedded itself in his chest.  Unfortunately, you recognized it.  It was the same thing your captors used to force you into becoming an assassin.  It looked like the shard had gotten about halfway in before stopping, completely intact, above Jim’s heart.  You didn’t need to be a doctor to know that that wasn’t a good thing, but you were a doctor, and you needed to get a closer look before you could do anything.  Before you could get any closer, your attention went back to the conversation taking place between everyone else in the room.

“What happened to him?”

“We were ambushed.  Some ancient, dark warrior.  An unstoppable knight clad in green,”  

Your blood ran cold.  You were right.  Same knight, same shard, and eventually, same outcome.  You didn’t want to think about that.  You refused to consider the implications.

“Master, is that the same knight we saw at the bookstore?”

“One and the same,”

You swore under your breath.  This could not be happening.  You never wanted to deal with your captors ever again, but here they were, knocking at your door and trying to kill more of your friends.

“That onyx shard is working its way towards his heart.  I placed the boy in stasis, stalling its progress… for now,”

“But that’s not a permanent solution, is it?”  you muttered, deciding to distract yourself from thoughts of the green knight by trying to find a way to fix this problem.  

If you removed the shard, it might leave a gaping hole in Jim’s chest, one that would need more than a few stitches, that is if you could pull the shard out at all.  You weren’t super sure whether it would disintegrate or not, and if it did, that might kick start whatever possession your captors had planned for Jim.  

If you couldn’t remove the shard, stasis was the best idea until you figured out how to remove it.  Maybe it could be burnt away?  But that might kick start disintegration.  No, that would just burn the boy, and impalement was bad enough.  You racked your brain, struggling to find a solution.  Around you, your friends were talking, but you barely listened.  You needed to focus, otherwise, you’d explode from nerves alone.

“If I had my shadow staff, I could have saved him,”

“Who is this Green Knight?  How do I get my hands on him?”

“I do not know.  The Green Knight said but one name, which chilled me to the bone.  Morgana,”

The name of the Eldritch queen caught your attention.  You stood up, eyes now focused on Merlin.

“Oh, I hate that lady.  But wait, I thought we kicked her bewitched butt to the shadow realm?”

“Which he appeared not to know, but he bore the emblem of Camelot,”

Great.  Just great, the last thing you needed was Camelot zombies, and yet, here they were!  Merlin took a few steps away from Jim before turning and heading out the door, and into the night.  The gang followed though you stayed behind, taking one last look at Jim.  You’d failed him.  You were supposed to be a doctor, and a protector, but here he was, nearly dead because you left him alone with Merlin for more than two seconds.

“Come with me, quickly.  I fear the answer lies in the past,”  

You turned away from Jim, following behind the others, avoiding Douxie and staying silent.

“A dark menace is coming, one even I cannot face alone,”  The old wizard led you into another tower, stopping at a table in the center and opening up a time map, “You are all now soldiers in a war started centuries ago for the world of magic,”

You scoffed slightly, “Yeah, what else is new,”

Merlin ignored you, “Once, the realms of Magic and Man clashed in endless bloodshed.  King Arthur sought to wipe out magic that ravaged the lands in his war against Gunmar,”  blue light from the time map displayed images of Arthur and Gunmar as the old wizard spoke.  

You turned your eyes to the floor at the sight of your old master.  It hadn’t been long since you’d seen the old trolls face, but it still brought a sense of anxiety with it.  The Gumm-Gumm king had trained you to be afraid, to be a fighter.  He’d pretty much ruined your childhood, but there was no time for angst now.  Merlin was still expositing.

“I brought what few spellcasters I could under my protection, to spare them from the sword,”

“Including myself, (Y/N)-”

“That’s technically false,”

“Oh, and Morgana le Fay,”

“She was the finest student I ever taught… until she tried to kill me.  Thankfully, in my all-seeing wisdom,”  you rolled your eyes again.  Merlin kept talking, “I created a secret weapon- the Trollhunter amulet.  The war came to a standstill and I imprisoned Morgana at the Battle of Killahead Bridge,”

“Only for her to break out nine hundred years later,”

“Shush,” Merlin finally acknowledged you, “This Green Knight that assailed us was clearly born of dark magicks, but I have no memory of him nor what connection he could have to Morgana,”

You bit your lip, remembering the shard used to curse you.  You had a very vague idea of the connection between the Eldritch queen and the Green Knight.

“We know not what he is, nor why he pursues us, though his presence is a dire omen of things to come,”

You also had a decent idea of why the knight was pursuing you.  Or, at least pursuing Merlin.  If this green knight was, in fact, the same that served your captors, it was likely he was doing their bidding just as you were.  With the knight, they’d targeted Merlin directly, or, at the very least his trollhunter.  In your case, you’d been sent to kill one of the very few people Merlin actually cared about.  Either way, they were coming for Merlin, or for what he had.  

Back in your prison, you had two main captors.  You’d only briefly met the third, the one they’d lost.  From what you’d gathered, the other two assumed she ran to Merlin, and judging by size alone, it was very possible that she was hiding somewhere here, in Camelot.  

It was either that, or they were coming after you specifically for not murdering Douxie fast enough, but that didn’t seem likely.

The sound of a bell ringing shook you from your thoughts.

Something hit the side of the castle, knocking everyone to the floor.

“What’s happening?”

“Have you never been under attack before?  To the battlements!”

You followed Merlin and the squad outside to see your worst nightmare come to life.

Your once-prison, the ship of your captors, the Arcane Order, rose into view.

“Oh.  Fuck,”  your eyes widened as you took in the skull-shaped ship for the second time this century.

“Everyone, get to safety!  Now!”

Merlin didn’t have to ask you twice.  You grabbed whoever was nearest to you and scrambled to find the safest place possible.  It was kind of difficult while Camelot shook from each attack, but you managed.

You shoved Toby, Claire and Steve into a small sheltered balcony of sorts, raising your hands and casting a shield around the four of you.  Debris bounced off of the magic you’d projected.  Merlin was yelling something, but you kept your focus, straining to stay in place as ice hit the ship, forming bridges between the Arcane Order and Camelot.  It didn’t work very well.  The shield came down around you, but there was no time to set it up again.  

The kids ran towards the edge of the ship, their weapons drawn.  You followed behind.

“All of a sudden, flying castles aren’t so cool!”

“You said it, Steve,”

The ship shook some more as fire and ice attacked it.  You watched, wide-eyed, as the demi-gods who had tortured you for ten years sent blast after blast at what had once been your home.

“We‘ve got to protect Jim!  I’m not losing him again!”  Claire exclaimed as shadow mephits began to cross the icy bridges connecting them to Camelot.

You took two mephits out with your sword while Toby yelled something about hammers.  The four of you continued your fight, taking out as many goblins and shadow mephits as possible.  It didn’t take too long for you to clear a path, making your way to Jim and the trolls.

Another blast of ice carved its way into the tower in front of you, forcing you to remember that same ice carving its way into your skin.

“Surrender, Merlin,”  

That voice made you want to vomit.  You took a few steps back, not even bothering to prepare a spell or level your sword at an opponent.  You were somewhere else now.

Fortunately, you didn’t have to do much in terms of freeing the ship.  One of the towers crashed into the bridges of ice, releasing Camelot from the Arcane Order’s hold and snapping you out of your traumatized haze.

You followed Claire and Steve up to the main tower, where Douxie was trying his best to steer the ship.  

“Please don’t blow us up, please don’t blow us up,”

“We don’t have enough power for the jump!”  Archie sounded as panicked as you felt.

“Trust in Merlin!”  Scratch that, Douxie’s panicked shouting was much more like you.

“No thanks!”

Green fire surrounded whatever the hell device was controlling the ship, giving it enough power to tear a hole in time and space.

“We have to steer Camelot through the time rift!”

You would have helped if you hadn’t been slammed into one of the railings, left to cling on for your life.  That was probably fine, Douxie, Claire and Steve were managing.

“IT ENDS,”  it was the green knight’s voice again, “NOW,”

Panic surged through your veins as something hit the ship, tipping it, and sending you all flying.  You held onto whatever you could, trying not to freefall through the air.  Jim’s crystal nearly fell on you, instead, it fell down and into the time rift, which was probably worse than him just crushing you, but you couldn’t really think of that right now.

“What do we do man?”

“Trust me!”  Douxie exclaimed, grabbing Claire and pulling her with him into the rift.  You watched them fall, still panicking.

“Whatever, I have nothing better to do,” you joked, trying to calm your nerves.  It wasn’t working.  You let go and fell through the night and into a different time.

The sky changed.

It was daytime now.

You were still falling though.

“This is gonna hurt!”

“It- Does- Hurt!”  Steve voiced your thoughts perfectly.

The wind was knocked from your lungs as you hit blue forcefield after blue forcefield and then the ground.  The landing was pretty rough, but the good news was you were all alive.

The four of you remained lying on the ground for a moment before Steve began to freak out, something about being blind, before he was hit in the head with Jim’s crystal tomb.

The boy groaned, “What just happened?”

“Well, I just conjured an anti-gravity spell to slow our fall and keep us from dying.  You’re welcome,”

“Thanks for not letting us die a horrible, horrible death, Casperan,” you said, sitting up.  You did a quick check to make sure nothing was broken before you realized.  You didn’t have an innate drive to murder the wizard anymore.  You laughed a little, realizing the curse was broken, for now at least.

“(Y/N)? You okay, love?”

“I am much better than okay,”  You turned to see Douxie’s very concerned face, elated to find that you didn’t want to kill him anymore, “I’ll explain later,”

“Douxie,” Claire asked, calling your attention to her, “Where is the flying castle?”

“Oh, fuzzbuckets!  Well, it would appear we’ve had ourselves a temporal accident,”

“Which means?”

Douxie didn’t have time to answer before a sword was pointed at his throat.  It wasn’t yours though, so that was nice.

You looked around to see your little group surrounded by guards, all of them with weapons pointing at you.

“It means, that we are lost in time,”

“Motherfu-”

[broadstbroskis]

I’m desperate for childhood best friends to lovers with Kevin Hayes right now. If you’re feeling up for it.

i live for childhood friends to lovers. please anyone, if you’re ever soft for childhood friends to lovers, feel free to hit me up

—–

The earliest memories of your life are foggy, but they have two things in common: the chill of an ice hockey rink and Kevin Hayes.

Early on, it was your mothers dragging the two of you along to your older brother’s practices and games. You were youngest children forever doomed to tag along to your older siblings’ sports and activities, no matter how old you got.

Once you got old enough, they signed the two of you up for the skate class that would occur twice a week in the second rink behind where Jimmy and Colin had practice, which still left two days a week for you and Kevin to cause chaos when you weren’t skating yourselves.

And you and Kevin caused chaos. You were both charming kids, chatty and personable, running to each other the second you arrived and then managing to find trouble the second one of your mom’s looked away. The two of you could frequently be found giggling under the bleachers, doing a very poor job of pretending to look innocent anytime something went wrong, or trying to make games out of anything possible (that usually ended up getting shut down due to “being too dangerous”).  It took all of both your moms’ energy to keep Kevin from trying to run out onto the ice and join in on practice.

In hindsight, it’s no surprise that Kevin became what he was. He was always on the ice, always playing with a stick, always trying to get you to play hockey with him. “Come on.” He’d whine, when you refused to play for the third day in a row. “It’s a great hockey day.”

“It’s too cold.” You’d whine back.

“Well we can come in and have hot chocolate after.” You’d grumble, but give in, purposely making him work for most of the pucks you’d pass him.

And though your paths began to differ, as you both went on to different high schools, there was never a moment in time that either of you doubted you wouldn’t be there for the other. Kev was there when your high school boyfriend cheated on you the week before prom, jumping in to be the best date you could have imagined. You were right there along with his family, the night he was drafted, celebrating just as much his parents and siblings.

This was just…how you were. It was how you and Kev always were. Nothing seemed weird about it until you both started at Boston College, where suddenly the two of you were getting weird looks.

It’s at Kevin’s third home game of the season that your newest best friend and favorite roommate finally brings it up. You’ve been to every game so far, in a very large Hayes BC Eagles hockey jersey, cheering loudly, but this is the first game you’ve managed to convince her to join you for. You should have been more suspicious when she agreed so easily.

“You don’t have to like, hide this.” Steph says gently, almost too gently; you can barely hear what she’s saying over the roar of the crowd around you.

You frown at her, confused. “I have literally never hidden that I love hockey? I literally grew up on it.”

“No.” She groans frustratedly. “You and Kevin. We all love Kev!”

You give her a look. “Yeah, me too?” She lets out another noise. “Ok, could you stop being so cryptic if you’re going to get all annoyed?”

“You don’t have to hide that you and Kev are together!” She explains impatiently and as your jaw drops, she continues, but much more kindly. “Like, I get it. He’s going to be this NHL star. You wanted to make sure everyone  liked you for you. But really, I’m certain I speak for pretty much everyone we know except Julia and who cares about her anyway: we all love you.”

“Um, thank you.” You tell her, after the minute you need to recover. “I love you too. But Kev and I aren’t together.”

Steph’s jaw drops. “You aren’t?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

“You never?’

“Nope.”

“But-

“We’ve been best friends since before I can remember.” You explain. “This is just how we are.”

The look on her face says she doesn’t believe you but she does back off the issue. And though she never actually brings the topic back up again, you see that look on her face a few times.

Each time BC wins the Beanpot tournament.

The year they win the Frozen Four and you all travel down to Tampa to watch.

At graduation, when you’re doing your best not to sob throughout the entire day about having to leave your friends and Kevin keeps you tucked into his side for more than half the ceremony.

When he tells you that he’s planning on signing an actual professional contract with the New York Rangers.

“You’re doing what?” You repeat blankly to him, as he stands at the door of your and Steph’s apartment, boxes everywhere as the two of you attempt to separate your things to move out.

Kevin’s still grinning. “You heard me.”

“I think I did!”

“Take a walk with me?” He requests, looking over your shoulder.

You hesitate, not wanting to leave Steph on her own to do the work, but that hesitation is enough time for her to shout. “Yes! She will!”

Kev beams and you slip into the converse by the door, waving to her as you do, ignoring that look on her face. Outside, it’s a nice summer day, not overly humid, so when Kev slips his hand into yours as you walk out of your building, you don’t hesitate in lacing your fingers with his. “New York?” You repeat to him. “For real?” He nods. “Is that because it’s the closest you could get to Boston without actually being in town?” You tease. “Can’t be too far from those Pats.”

“It’s what was closest to you.” Kevin says, without any hint of teasing in his tone, so you stop walking immediately, yanking him backwards to look at you.

“Fuck off, be serious.” You tell him.

“I am!” He stares down at you. “I wanted to go somewhere I would play. I wanted to be close to my family. I wanted to be close to you.”

“Kevin.” You say, slightly hysterical.

He’s full on smiling, ignoring the hysteria, because he knows you better than you know yourself, but you know him the same, so you already know the next words out of his mouth. “I want you to come to New York with me.”

“Kevin!” You repeat.

“Don’t act like you’re not going to say yes.” He pleads. “Don’t act like everything we’ve been and everything we are hasn’t been leading to this.” His hand reaches for your cheek, thumb brushing across your cheekbone gently. “Tell me I’m wrong, YN. Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll stop. We’ll go back to the way things were.”

You can’t. “You’re not wrong.” It’s a whisper, because you can’t speak any louder than that and next thing you know, Kevin’s lips are crashing against yours.