#you can kind of read this backpedaling as a response to that. he realized his subconscious went too far so he tries to reign it back in

[harmonicabisexuals]

house telling cameron "if your condo doesn't let you buy fire insurance, would you go homeless?" in "both sides now" is such a false analogy lol. no you wouldn't, you would just find another condo!! but ofc that solution is unthinkable to either of them bc it would make them face the fact the only other "condo" (relationship) that would make her happy is house.

plus it's easier for house to believe that it's better for her to be in a relationship with chase even though it's obviously not working out because then house can pretend she's happy and better off without him and not feel guilty about not being able to love her the way he knows she deserves— and cameron can believe she's free from house and that she is actually capable of having a "normal" functioning relationship.

but in reality, this only ends up making both of them miserable because the cameron/chase relationship is only a pale approximation to whatever tf house and cameron had and that's why they keep going back to each other to play mind games and goad each other into admitting they miss each other. but they'll forever be stuck in the cycle of dancing around each other and not saying anything real because both of them are too scared to take that leap of faith and admit how much they actually care 🤪

[actualbird]

Before the actual ask, i have a suggestion: maybe add some general non-tot asks/req rules? bc i'm writing this rn like "this may be uncomfortable but i don't want to make you uncomfortable but i don't know if it will make you uncomfortable but-" 😭😭😭

now um, my ask:

i'm currently getting struck by gender dysphoria at very random moments and i don't like it. thing is, i don't know what my gender might be since it goes both ways and I was wondering, if you wouldn't mind sharing: how did you figure out you're trans?

hi anon!!! lemme go thru this one by one but first, i wanna preface everything with: dont worry, none of this makes me uncomfortable and you said nothing wrong. theres nothing here that cause for panic on ur end, it's alright, ur alright :D

okay so

on general non-tot asks/req rules:

i do have these rules!! theyre just not as Many as my tot-specific ones, but on my rules page u'll find these in the 2nd section :D

theyre like, reaaaaally general but the overall rule for all other asks is basically "be nice, i cant read tone well, and dont spam" so no worries, ur all good. i dont wanna make these rules any more specific because everything else seems like a case to case basis yknow

and now to the bulk of my answer

on trans stuff:

short answer on how i found out i was trans: it made me happy. god, it made me so happy and it makes me happy to this day.

long answer: come with me, anon, through my gender journey through the years....JKSDHVFKJSDHVKFSD

ok so for the longest time i knew i wasnt completely woman aligned in the gender department. like, from ages 14-20 i had identified as a bunch of different genders. first i identified as bigender, then i backpedaled and went back to just having "she/her" in my bio because i had a Moment Of Panic wondering "no no the Genders are for people who Really Truly Identify (whatever that means) and i shouldnt co-opt these terms because im not even sure what i am!! im not allowed to identify as bigender until i really figure it out!!*", and then for a while i identified as nonbinary, and then the pandemic happened which i think hilariously due to the lockdowns had the cool side effect of many people figuring out Personal Things and at some point in 2021 i was like ".....hey im a guy, actually. it makes me happy to be a guy"

*sidenote 1: this "but am i allowed to?" worry is a common thing i see a lot from other people also going through their journey of questioning their gender, and i wanna talk about it specifically later on in this response, but bACK ON TOPIC FIRST---

sidenote 2: yes, like a pokemon trainer, i have collected the three starter pronouns. she, they, and he. KJHAVFLASVFALSJK

backtracking through the other genders i had identified as, i'd chosen them all at the time for similar reasons: joy. i identified as bigender because i felt recognized for the first time, an identity where i could be both feminine and masculine. i identified as nonbinary because i adored the comfort of that freedom and that fluidity. i identify as a trans guy now because i realized that i can find joy in being a guy and still enjoy expression of "non-guy" things because guys who like pink and frilly fashion and plushies is still a valid and real type of guy, it's the type of guy i am. and these are more on the positive markers of gender expression, the opposite of gender dysphoria: gender euphoria, the happiness when gender stuff feels just right

btw, you are indeed using the term gender dysphoria correctly. that simply pertains to any kind of distress or upsetness due to gender things Not feeling right. within that definition, theres no requirement for you Already Having To Identify to use it, because otherwise thatd mean anybody who found out they were trans only after experiencing gender dysphoria was using it incorrectly, which seems rather silly. and even if the definition Did have that requirement.......who cares? JKHDFVSKDJHFVKSD i mean that in the most genuine and sincere way ever, because so long as it is harming nobody, who cares what word you use? sure, a Bunch of people care actually, and a bunch of people will pitch a fit policing on being allowed to use certain gender words and whatnot. but in general ive taken to trying to remember that like.....gender stuff is a Personal thing. it is the business of the Person Themselves, as it is our identity. it is up to us to define it, to explore it, to make our own choices on it. and well....generally, people who think your expression is any of their business is, at best, nosy, or at worse, a bigot.

i went on a tangent there sorry VSDFLJBFL, but my point is dont worry, youre using the term right. if youre feeling Not Good because something about The Genders doesnt fit, yeah thats dysphoria. and im so so sorry youre experiencing this, because it sucks

i said before that my main marker for realizing gender stuffs was the presence of a positive emotion, instead of the presence of a negative one. but i also experienced gender dysphoria, it just wasnt as big of a thing in my own journey. for me, it was less of a wrongness and more of a vague...discomfort. like wearing shoes that dont fit. it's fine some days but other days i couldnt stand it but my legs still work and i was much more focused on the times i Did find figurative shoes that fit immensely well.

.....oh something i think that wld be important for me to mention is that i kinda....somehow always knew i was of Another Gender. but i kept hesitating and kept backtracking because, kinda like what you say, it went both ways for me

im a guy. but i also really liked things that are traditionally seen as feminine, i still do. ive got a closet full of lolita fashion dresses, mixed in with the ridiculous amounts of plaid shirts ive got. throughout my life, i was never really regarded as masculine by other people, more often i was seen by others as some kind of manic pixie androgynous being. and these things, they made me hesitate. how can i be a guy if so much of who i am is seen by others as Not-Guy stuff?

well, eventually it's cuz i figured that what others think should have nothing to do with who i am and who i choose to be. relating back to what i said about Genders being a personal thing yknow. why was i so worried about what other people thought of a thing that only concerned me?

yknow one of the most gender affirming experiences ive ever had in my life was back was i was in college. i was just going out and about for a group work thing, and the classmates along with me were rowdy manly cisguys and i was feeling low and it showed, i was all meek and sad and shit. and then this lady came up to me, and i didnt get to know if she was a transwoman or a femme presenting gay man, but she sat with me and chatted with me and eventually she asked

(this convo happened in filipino but roughly translated it went)

her: do you want to be a boy?

me: yes (i answered so instinctively. at the time, i was identifying as nonbinary, but she asked a question and i gave my honest answer. yes. yes i did.)

her: well, youre very handsome! youre more handsome than any of them //gestures at the cisguy classmates

and that stucks with me to this day. another queer person asking Me what I Wanted, and affirming that. didnt matter that i looked like how i looked, that i obviously wasnt as objectively or normatively masculine as the cismen around us. what mattered was what i wanted, and i was handsome for it, and that was that.

after that we just talked about pop music, but i felt so good the rest of the day

now...on the unwritten question here of "how do you (as in, anon, or any other reader out there) know you're trans (or any kind of other gender designation)?" or if you already know you are some other gender, how do you figure it out? who do you ask?:

im sorry for how cheesy or seemingly unhelpful what im going to say next is, but i cannot stress how crucial it is: the only person who can ever answer these is You. ask yourself what makes you happy, what would alleviate your discomfort, what would cause comfort, what youre drawn to, etc.

but if i can give any unsolicited advice on that....itd be to make sure that the person youre asking, the person who is giving the answer, is really You. not the thoughts or opinions of other people, not the rules of what is considered 'norm', not the fears or the worries circling around the question, dont ask those things dont find the answer in those things. the person to give the answers is You.

and btw!! You can change sometimes. and sometimes your answer can change too, and thats okay if ever that happens. all my prior answers to this question changed in through life, and it doesnt mean any of my prior answers were wrong (sans the time i backpedaled, because then i wasnt getting the answer from Me, i was getting the answer from Worries). it just meant that those were the answers for Me when i was at that stage of my life.

tldr: i figured out i was trans because it made me so damn happy to be and also because i stopped giving a shit about what other people thought

i hope this response makes sense and that theres something in here that can help you out. im wishing you the best, anon <3

[winterscaptain]

long shot.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic - no context required

a/n: this is in response to this ask in kind of a loose way, and also fulfills kiss prompt #6 (on a falling tear). i sat down and wrote this all in one sitting this weekend and it makes me smile SO MUCH. tell me what you think! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it :) this one takes place in au!december 2012

words: 2.3k warnings: alcohol use/mention, allusions to sex, language

summary: “i couldn’t have dreamed you into existence because i didn’t even know i needed you. you must have been sent to me.” - kamand kojouri

It’s a rare early night off in December and you all make the ill-advised choice to go to the bar closest to the base for some drinks and dancing, completely forgetting that academy graduation is tomorrow. 

There’s part of you that feels aged by the whole thing. Even newly-minted agents your own age look fresh-faced and about a decade younger than you feel. 

When you all walk in, there’s a bit of a hush, a lull, in the conversations around you. You find eyes on you from all directions and realize your faces are familiar ones, and in the case of Aaron and Dave, almost-famous ones. 

Aaron pulls you further into him, almost shielding you with his body as you navigate through the crowd that parts before you. It seems like an eternity before you find a table, but Derek, Aaron, and Spencer hold down the fort while the rest of you manage drinks. Strategic postings at either end of the bar is likely going to get you the best return, so you fan out accordingly. 

It’s unsurprising in the least when the bartenders make a beeline for you all, getting your orders down and drinks started over the shouts of NATs - many of them already blasted with three or four shots under their belt. 

While you wait, you can still feel a fair few pairs of eyes on you. You meet one pair, set in the face of a rather handsome new agent about your age. He smiles at you, and you shift your eyes away from him, your expression unmoving. 

He apparently takes that as invitation enough. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him as he winds his way to your side. 

You meet Aaron’s eyes across the room, and there’s a smile in them. You offer the smallest twitch of your lips and a wink. Watch this. 

Oh, I’m watching, his eyebrows say. 

“Hi.” The young agent finally reaches your side and offers his hand. You take it. “Agent Mark Sullivan.” 

You smile thinly and introduce yourself. “So, I take it you’ve just received an assignment?”

He laughs, making an attempt at charm. “Alright. You’re a profiler,” he says with confidence. “What gave me away?” It’s a challenge.

It’s also a long shot. A really really long shot. 

There were plenty of people in the vicinity that would be reeled in by his warm smile and handsome jawline, but your fine man (currently sprawled back in his chair with an arm on the back of the chair and a hand over his mouth to cover his smile) stands head and shoulders above the rest, sometimes literally. 

“Well,” you start, making a show of eyeing him from head to toe, “Your papers are still in your pocket and you’ve left your ID tag on, against academy and bureau regulations.” 

He startles and snatches it off his lapel, tucking it into his pocket. 

With a little smile, you soothe his embarrassment - it’s a play only designed to endear yourself to him. “It tells me you’re proud, excited. I felt the same way when I received my assignment and credentials. It’s a significant accomplishment.”

You can’t quite tell in the irregular darkness in the room, but he looks almost like he’s blushing. “Thanks.” He collects himself after a moment, putting his bravado back on. 

Your eyes flicker to Hotch once, twice. He’s still watchful. Amused. 

“So, I was lucky enough to see your lectures with the BAU and I must say...it’s impressive.” 

He says that like it’s some kind of validation. 

I need validation from this clown like I need a hole in the head. 

“Thanks. I’m usually rather modest, but I think it’s alright to say the BAU is a very fine unit.” If you’re honest, you’re talking about one particular unit chief’s...um...unit, specifically, but that’s neither here nor there.

He smirks. “What would you say if I told you I got a placement on one of the BAU teams?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Really? That’s quite the accomplishment.” A pair of arms wind around you and a kiss is pressed to your temple. 

It would also be a lie.

You smile and flip in Aaron’s arms, completely ignoring poor Mark. “I was just getting you a drink,” you explain, gesturing vaguely to the bar behind you. 

“I see. Did you get me -”

“Double scotch, neat, aged at least fifteen years? Yes, sir.” 

He smiles. “You know me so well.” 

“I sure do.” You pull him down by his tie and plant a firm kiss on his lips and shove him off with a smile. “Go. Sit. I’ve got it.” 

You turn back to Mark with a breathless sort of laugh. Aaron always makes you feel a little flushed and you’re happy to play it up for the benefit of the moment. “Sorry about that.” 

Mark, you find, is reconsidering his strategy. His face, while still outwardly warm, harbors a kind of calculated look to it that would almost be funny if you weren’t so eager to see what kind of trick he’d pull next. “So, Hotchner?”

“What about him?”

Mark shrugs. “I dunno. Doesn’t he have a kid?”

You nod. “Yep.” 

“And he’s a widower, right?”

“Yes.” 

Mark laughs a little. “Wouldn’t it be kinda nice to, I dunno, have some fun for a little while?”

You frown at him, and your drink arrives at the hands of the frazzled bartender. You pull the fifty from your sleeve and pass it to him with a smile. After a sip, you ask. “What do you mean?”

“It seems like a lot to take on, you know?” He backpedals upon seeing your squint. “I mean, I’m sure he’s a great guy, but wouldn’t it be nice to have someone...I dunno -” He restores his confidence and leans on the bar. Again, his moves would probably work on someone else, but you were a lost cause. “- easier?”

Aaron’s scotch arrives. You pick it up in your free hand and shrug somewhat breezily. “Maybe.” 

You brush past him, leaving Mark a little confused and a bit stunned. When you return to the table after much jostling, you take a seat right on Aaron’s lap and pass him his drink, reclining in his arms. Scanning over the crowd, Mark’s frowning face sticks out like a sore thumb and you try not to look too smug. 

Other than Rossi, the rest of the team is already out on the dance floor, so you know Aaron doesn’t mind having you close. 

He sets his scotch down and wraps his arms around you kissing the underside of your jaw. You lean into his touch and smile. 

There’s nothing easier than this. 

+++

There’s something a bit sulky about Aaron when you settle next to him in bed. You squint at him, looking for his eyes as they follow the loose pattern on the bedspread. 

“Hey.” You bump his shoulder with yours. “What’s on your mind?” 

He shakes his head a little, still not meeting your eyes. “Nothing. Just thinking.” 

With a roll of your eyes, you throw the covers off and sling a leg over him, straddling his thighs. You tap your palms on his pecs on-beat with your begging. “Come on. Tell me tell me tell me tell -”

“Jesus, alright!” He cuts you off with two hands over yours, his thumbs running fondly over your knuckles. “I just…” He huffs, already a little frustrated with himself for feeling put out. 

You slide your hands out from underneath his, running up over his collarbones and shoulders to find the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I couldn’t help but overhear…”

You let all your breath out in a huff. “Oh, Aaron. He’s a stupid NAT who knows the only way to come after you is to come after your history.” You kiss his cheek and tuck into him. “He was trying to be a big-dick boy and it didn’t pay off for him.” 

There’s a halfhearted laugh from underneath you, and his hands wander across your back. “He is right, though. It would be easi-”

“If you say ‘easier,’ Aaron Hotchner, I’m going to lose my shit.” 

He sighs, and you pull back, tipping his chin up with a finger. 

“Hey. I love Jack. He is not an added weight in my life. He does not make my life harder in any way. Your son,” you emphasize with taps on his lips, “is the light of my life and I wouldn’t ever want to be without him.” 

Aaron’s eyes get a little misty. For his sake, you ignore it and continue. 

“I never feel like a replacement for Haley. I’ve never once minded leaving room for her in our lives because she’s my friend and I love her and I love you. I loved you before we lost her and I’ve loved you long after. This baggage keeps my feet firmly planted on the ground.” 

Aaron takes a deep breath, and his voice has the smallest of wavers when he speaks. Before he even starts, you concede to let him share what he’s feeling, if only to rebut it. “But you could - you could have so much. You could have someone ten or fifteen years younger who - I don’t know - could do things with you that thirty-somethings do. You wouldn’t have to spend your weekends at soccer games or your evenings rubbing Icy Hot on my bad knee or dealing with me on rough pain days or raising your voice because I can’t hear shit on my right side.” 

He shakes his head, and you brush the tears that fall with your thumbs. “You could have - You deserve, so much more...” The rest of his words go unspoken, but you hear them anyway. 

You deserve so much more than me.

Your eyes sting and you blink rapidly, letting your tears wet your lashes. Leaning forward, you kiss away his remaining tears, shifting your weight to wrap your legs around his waist and get as close as you can. 

With your head on his left shoulder, you whisper, “Aaron, I don’t want someone ten or fifteen years younger. I don’t care what I’m doing on my evenings and weekends because I get to spend them with you.” 

You pause for a moment. “And, I don’t need boys. I’m done with boys.” 

You lean back, looking him square in the eye, or at least trying to. “I have a man who has silver in his hair because he worries and is in his mid-forties and it doesn’t fucking matter. I have a man who is the subject of so many crushes and fantasies at the academy it makes me want to vomit.” You laugh a little at your own joke, but he’s still focused on the seam of your shirt at your collar. Changing gears, you bring your hands to the sides of his neck, feeling his pulse jump under your thumbs.

“I have no need for boys because I have a man who treats me with kindness and respect. A man who is thoughtful, who isn’t afraid of himself. A man who knows himself, who loves his son, who invited me into his life when he didn’t have to because he’s brave.”

A couple more tears fall down your cheeks and you frame his face with your hands. “You love better and more courageously than anyone I have ever known.” 

You sniffle a little. “Aaron, honey...I love you. I wouldn’t want anything else, or anyone else, for my life, to be my partner, my best friend, the person I love. Odds have it that you’ll be my husband and the father of any other kids we might acquire and that we’ll grow even older and grayer together.” 

You let a little facetious smirk cross your lips. “And I’d like you to look at me and tell me I’d be happy with some dickhead named Mark with a business degree who wears shoes well-outside his pay grade.” 

That does it. 

Aaron smiles and pulls you to him with a hand at the back of your head. Your lips meet and you can taste the saltwater, but it doesn’t matter. 

He pulls back to look at you, and he really looks at you. His eyes roam hungrily over your face as if trying to memorize every line and curve and lash and budding wrinkle he finds there. 

You simply melt in the dark brown of his eyes, watching him take his time. 

Even then, as you expected, there is some doubt - not in you, of course, but in him. “Really?”

“Really.” You hold up your fist between your faces, pinky extended. “Pinky promise.” 

He smiles a little and links your pinkies together, twisting your hands to kiss your knuckles. Your hands drop into your lap and another little smile crosses your face. 

“What?” He asks.

You shrug. “I’m also thinking about how thirty-something-year-old boys absolutely suck in bed. I can pretty much guarantee that you’re better at - well, just about everything.” 

He closes his eyes and smiles, looking the picture of a happy house cat in the sun. You draw closer, running your nose along his. He leans toward you and captures your lips again. 

The next few hours? Don’t worry. They’re spent proving your point.  

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou

[sbtlns]

Home, part nine

Warnings: NSFW, smut

A/N: this is the final part of this series! this is set at the same time as 9x09. I hope everyone had a great holiday season and wish everyone a very happy new year!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven Part Eight 

As the smoke cleared and the persistent whine of the fire trucks’ sirens finally stopped, Castiel absentmindedly thanked the firefighters, looking beyond them to your trembling form crumpled on what was left of your front stoop. The trucks drove off as he made his way to you, unsure of how to begin to comfort you. His shoes came into your line of vision and you sniffled, wiping a stray tear away as you lifted your head to meet his apologetic stare. You saw the sympathy and inexplicable guilt swirling behind his brilliant blues, and gave him a small smile, prompting him to hold his arms open, eager to hold and comfort you.

You let out a shaky chuckle, standing to gratefully melt into his embrace. Strong hands gripped you tighter to his chest and rubbed up and down your back, engulfing you in his warmth. “You know, it’s funny,” you said after a moment, pulling away just enough to look up at him. Castiel gave you a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow to prompt you to elaborate. “It’s like I’m finally getting the closure I didn’t know I needed. I’m-” you paused, searching for the right word. “I’m almost relieved. It’s like a fucked up ending to a fucked up chapter of my life,” you explained, glancing up at Castiel, whose expression softens at your words. 

“I’ve always admired your tenacity, the steadfast determination you have to create a silver lining out of utter devastation,” he murmured into your hair, holding you closer. You stay like that for a while, finding comfort within each other’s embrace before you finally wriggle out of his hold. 

“We can go apartment hunting tomorrow, the realtors are probably closed by now and besides, I don’t think I have it in me to look at any tonight,” you sighed, reaching for your phone to check the time. When you glanced back up, you’re met with a knowing look. Furrowing your brows, you stood a little straighter, unsure of what Cas could be getting at. “What?”

Cas looked back at you and sighed. “I think it’s time to call Dean, Y/N,” he said gently. You bristled at the thought. 

“Yeah and what? Beg him to let us back in the bunker? I don’t think so,” you scoffed, not believing the incredulous suggestion from the former angel. You turned on your heel, not wanting to continue the conversation.

“Y/N,” he said softly, putting his hand on your shoulder to stop you from walking away from him. You sighed, releasing your tensed muscles. Deep down you knew he was right but you didn’t want to admit it. You knew that you couldn’t keep giving Dean the silent treatment, declining his calls and not responding to the numerous texts he’d sent you since you left. 

“I know,” you said finally, turning around to face him. “I know,” you repeated. “But,” you started, smoothing the wrinkles from the front of his flannel, “We’re gonna have some fun first.” Castiel catches the glimmer of mischief in your eyes before you shift to your tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. 

Castiel sat anxiously in the car as you drove the two of you to the old dive bar in town. He wasn’t too keen on social interactions, as he’d stated before that his “people skills” were “rusty”. However, after shooting you a quick glance and seeing you smile while humming whatever song was currently playing, he felt himself smile and relax a bit. Soon enough, you pulled the truck into the lot and hopped out. Taking a deep breath, he followed suit. 

Castiel followed closely behind you as you made your way through the establishment and into an empty booth. He sat down and shrunk into the vinyl, suddenly overwhelmed at the sound of music blaring from the jukebox and dozens of people talking loudly over the music. He flinched as two bikers barreled past the booth and again at the sound of glasses clinking at the bar. 

“Hey, angel, relax” you cooed, taking his hand from across the booth. His wide eyes found yours and you watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest start to slow. You flipped his hand over in yours, lightly tracing the lines of his palm, further soothing your overwhelmed lover. A pang of guilt suddenly washed over you as you remembered how apprehensive he is in places like this. You looked back up at him and gave him a soft smile. 

“We don’t have to stay,” you murmured only loud enough for him to hear. “We can leave whenever you want,” you said, giving him an earnest look. His features softened even further and his tensed shoulders slowly relaxed. He gave you a sheepish smile. “No, I want to stay. It was just...overwhelming at first,” he assured you, tightening his fingers over yours. 

You opened your mouth to speak again when suddenly you heard a high pitched squeal followed by your name. You tensed and whipped around as a familiar face came bounding towards the booth. “Liz?” you blurted out, somewhere between a question and an exclamation. You sprang out of the booth in time for her to throw her arms around you, the momentum almost sending the both of you to the floor. You pulled away beaming at each other with I can’t believe its and is it really yous falling from your mouths. You watched her eyes glance from yours to Castiel’s and back, quirking up an eyebrow. 

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Cas this is Liz, we went to school together. Liz this is Cas, my-” you cut yourself off, suddenly self conscious and acutely aware at the fact that neither of you had taken the liberty to label your relationship. Castiel glanced between you and your friend, settled his gaze on Liz, and extended his hand.

“Boyfriend,” he finished for you proudly. Your heart leapt in your chest and you beamed at him. Liz accepted his hand and shook it. 

“Cas, huh. Is that short for something?” she inquired, taking back her hand. 

“Castiel,” he clarified. Her brows furrowed, wheels turning in her mind, before they shot up. 

“Castiel” she repeated gleefully, turning to you with a smile. “Like one of the angels we read about in theology!” she exclaimed. At this unexpected revelation, Castiel’s brow furrowed as he shot you a questioning glance. You felt your cheeks burn, refusing to meet his stare. You opened your mouth to try and backpedal from the subject but she kept going. 

“You know,” she said, turning to a very confused Castiel. “Castiel was probably my favorite angel to learn about. Angel of Thursday, right?” she asked turning back to you. You gave her a stiff nod, still not daring to look over to your former angel. “I always thought the translation of his name was fitting, shield of God, you know, seeing as he was probably heaven’s greatest warrior.” She continued singing the angel’s praises, not noticing the soft blush creeping up his face, nor the well of tears threatening to spill over his lashes as he stared at the two of you with an awe-like wonder. 

She abruptly cut herself off, chuckling, and put a hand on your shoulder. “I’ve blabbed on enough. It was really nice seeing you, Y/N. Text me and we can catch up more!” She gave you one last hug before disappearing back into the crowd. You stayed facing the direction she ran off in, feeling the former angel’s stare burning into you and unwilling to turn to meet it. 

“Y/N,” you heard him say in a strained voice from behind you. Taking a deep breath, you turned to face him, careful to avert his gaze. “Look at me...please,” he implored softly. Mustering whatever courage you could scrounge up, your eyes slowly lifted to his. His brows were softly furrowed with a whole range of emotions swirling behind his wet eyes. You were surprised to see he wasn’t angry as you had anticipated. Instead, he looked at you in a mix of adoration and confusion. His upper lip twitched as he struggled to form a coherent sentence for you, his mind racing and crowded with too many thoughts.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally settled on. You bit your lip trying to find the right words. 

“Well, to be fair, you were kind of terrifying when I first met you,” you admitted sheepishly. His eyebrows rose slightly and the corners of his lips tugged upward. He closed the distance between you, placing his hands softly on your hips, tugging you even closer.

“You thought I was terrifying, hm?” his voice now several octaves lower than usual. You gulped, becoming increasingly aware of the heat pooling between your thighs. Castiel smirked, enjoying his obvious effect on you. He hummed, watching you struggle to form a response to him, eyes darkening with lust. Castiel leaned down, breath ghosting your ear and hands tightening their grip on your hips. “I’d like to test that theory, if you wouldn’t mind,” his words like velvet, contributing to your intoxicating arousal. 

He released his grip on your hips, took a step back from you and looked around the bar, feigning disinterest to mask his lust blown eyes. “Unless of course you would like to stay,” he said smugly. 

“No!” you croaked out, cursing yourself for sounding so desperate. Castiel’s smirk grew at your sudden outburst. You cleared your throat, trying to regain some composure. “I mean, that’s okay, the beer here is crap anyway,” you said cooly. Castiel narrowed his eyes at you, seeing through your obvious attempt to hide your eagerness. Luckily for you, he was feeling merciful. He tilted his head at the door. “Shall we then?” he proposed, taking a step towards the door. You practically tripped over your own feet trying to follow him out.

The two of you got back into the car and you pulled out your phone to get directions to the nearest motel, cursing under your breath when you realized the closest one was still a 20 minute drive. Sighing, you turned the key in the ignition and started your drive to the motel. Castiel’s ears perked at the sound and placed a calming hand just above your knee, giving you a comforting squeeze. You caught his meaning, be patient. 

About 10 minutes into the drive, his hand made its way up your thigh tantalizingly slow before making its way back down to your knee. You gripped the wheel tighter, trying not to focus on your growing arousal. On the next upwards stroke, Castiel shifted his hand to the inside of your thigh before bringing it back to your knee, causing you to jerk the wheel slightly. Castiel let out a light chuckle, continuing his ministrations. On this pass, the tips of his fingers barely brushed past the apex of your thighs. You let out a sharp sigh, shooting him a quick look of annoyance. “Cas,” you said in a mock warning, but he saw past it. 

“Hmm?” he hummed, bring his hand back up to your clothed sex, lightly tracing everywhere but where you wanted him most. Castiel enjoyed watching you squirm, trying to focus on the road in front you you while also desperately wanting to chase your release. He could only imagine how soaked you must be at this point, the thought contributing to his own growing arousal. He could feel his pants tightening and looked down at the bulge steadily growing. Swallowing a growl, he returned his attention to teasing you, trying to ignore the blood rushing to his hardening member.

“Cas,” you gasped, slightly panting at this point. He looked up to see your knuckles gripping the wheel, brows tilted up and gaze still locked on the road. “Please,” you said in a strained whispered. He hummed again, lowering his hand back down to your thigh, the opposite of what you were asking. An involuntary whimper escaped your lips and you shot him a quick confused glance. He stared straight ahead with a smug smile on his face. “Patience,” is all he said.

The remaining three minutes to the hotel were torture. As soon as you pulled into the lot, you yanked the door open and struggled to keep yourself from running to the front desk. Castiel gave you an amused smile and followed you into the lobby. 

“Single, please,” you said as you thrust your card toward the woman at the desk. She quirked up an eyebrow glanced between you and Castiel, smiled to herself, and checked you into a room. You took the key from her and quickly found your way to your room. Upon entering, Castiel closed and locked the door behind him before turning to you with an almost predatory look. 

“Strip,” he commanded firmly. Your eyes widened at his sudden dominance and your fingers began blindly ridding you of your clothing. He watched you undress with lust blown eyes, savoring every inch of your body. “On the bed,” he instructed as the last article of clothing left your body. You vehemently nodded and scrambled to the bed, waiting for his next instruction. He shrugged out of his flannel and tshirt, slowly undoing the buckle of his jeans as you licked your lips in anticipation. Stepping out of his jeans he made his way over to the bed and crawled over you. You gasped as his cock brushed against your center as he made his way up to kiss your neck. Supporting himself on one elbow, his free hand roamed down you body to cup your aching heat. A moan slipped past your lips as he ran a finger through your soaked folds.

“My poor honeybee,” he cooed in your ear. “Absolutely dripping for me, hm?” he just barely grazed your clit, and you moaned again, bucking your hips fruitlessly. The coil in your belly was overwhelming, every nerve in your body already on fire from pure need and his teasing. He grazed your clit again, eliciting a choked sob from your trembling body. “You’ve waited this long, honeybee, what’s a little while longer,” he teased in a honeyed voice. The thought of waiting one more second set your heart racing. 

“Cas- please..not tonight...need you now. Please,” you strained, palming him through his boxers. With a grunt, he obliged, peeling himself off of you to rid himself of the last article of clothing separating the two of you. He chucked them into the corner of the room and crawled back up to you, catching your lips in a deep kiss. Your tongue swept his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He happily granted it, deepening the kiss and gently rocking his length against your pussy. 

You reached between you to line him up with your entrance and rocked your hips up, imploring him to sink down. Castiel slowly lowered himself into you, breaking the kiss to choke out, “is this alright?” before continuing. 

“Nngh Cas yes,” you moaned. “Please move,” you begged rocking your hips again. Castiel slowly pulled himself out of you before snapping his hips back in. A surprised moan left your lips as pleasure shot through you. He continued this, grunting and panting against your neck. His body twitched with restraint and you pulled him down into a kiss before releasing him and whispering, “let go, angel.”

His eyes widened and lifted his eyebrows, silently asking are you sure? In response you smiled and looked up at him through your lashes before wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer to you. His hips faltered for a moment before he lowered his head and began snapping his hips against you faster. A string of moans fell from your lips as he murmured praises in broken Enochian. 

“Y/N,” he panted, “I’m-” he strained. You brushed the hair out of his eyes and raked your nails through his hair.

“It’s okay Cas, me too, just-” a surprised moan cut you off as he wedged a hand between your bodies to begin tracing rough circles on your clit. The added stimulation was enough to push you over the edge, waves of pleasure washing over your body. Feeling you clench around him was enough to send Castiel over with you, both panting as he sloppily thrusted inside of you to coax the two of you through your climax. Once he regained the ability to move consciously, he slipped out of you with a grunt and collapsed beside you. 

The two of you laid there panting for a moment in post orgasmic bliss before he drew you close to him, your head resting against his chest and your body melting against his. “I love you, my honeybee,” he murmured into your hair. “I love you too, angel,” you sighed contentedly, before drifting into a peaceful slumber.

You woke up the rays of sunshine aimed directly toward your eyes through the blinds of the motel’s window. You grumbled, tucking your face closer against Castiel, using him as a shield against the rays. He chuckled at your grumpy state, weaving his hands through your hair to soothe you. You hummed contentedly at the welcomed contact, snuggling closer to him.

“As much as I would enjoy laying with you like this all day, my love,” he placed a kiss to your temple. “We need to inform the Winchesters of our situation,” he said gently, knowing it would only add to your morning grumpiness. As he predicted you groaned against him. He let out a light chuckle, gently detangling your limbs so he could get up. You groaned again at the loss of contact, moving to sit up straight and pushing stray strands of hair from your face. You watched as he gathered his clothes and made his way to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

You sighed as you rolled over and picked up your phone, squinting at the harsh light. You scrolled through your contact list, finger hesitating over Dean’s name but instead scrolling past to get to Sam’s. You didn’t want to give Dean the satisfaction of hearing you ask to come back home. Jaw set, you clicked on Sam’s name and listened to the dial tones until you reached his voicemail. You furrowed your brows and checked the time, 8:30, you thought, Sam is definitely back from his morning jog by now..what gives?

You begrudgingly scrolled back up to Dean’s name and clicked on it with a huff. He picked up on the second ring and spoke before you could even greet him. 

“Come home,” he said in a weak, hollow voice. You felt your stomach tighten at his tone.

“Dean-” you started but he cut you off.

“Please. Come home. Bring Cas too. I...just-please” he said strained. Your heart sank with worry. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked, desperate to know what could’ve possibly happened to flip the tables and make him beg you to come home. He was silent for a moment.

“Something happened,” he choked out. “I just,” his voice cracking. “I just need you both to come home. Please.”

“We’re on our way.”

~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @antoniamarie1989-blog @transparentfestivaltiger @tinymalscoffee @dark-as-love 

[taeslovehandles]

I never meant to target you and I'm sorry you felt that way. You properly tag everything and adhere to the "don't like, don't read" rule. I don't follow you nor you follow, because we simply don't vibe together and that's okay.

But there are posts that are on the more "innocent" side that do represent fat people as a joke and it's like they don't even realize it because it's something so well ingrained in our fatphobic society.

For example, all the characters are having fun except the fat one or referring to someone as "twice his size" (like... If they want to say he's huge, they should just say it, not imply that there's a "right size" for someone to be).

I don't think authors should censor themselves, just acknowledge the role they play in how fat characters are perceived by the community they write for.

-🍓

First of all, since you obviously haven’t blocked me, you could have come to me via direct message. This is not a topic that needs to be brought out into the public eye even more than it already is. I have worked with anons before, I would have been the last person to reveal who you are. You could have made a trash account to message me in dm’s, but since you didn’t, I will reply to you here.

I want to make one thing clear. This will be my last response on the topic. If you do not like me as a member of the community please use the block button and filter me out, because I will stay. I have many friends here, and know that many people enjoy my content. Just because a small handful of people don’t appreciate dark themes in fiction, the contents of which they can easily protect themselves from, won’t make me falter.

Now, I want to debunk this ask because your ‘apology’ actually made me very upset.

I know you don’t mean it when you say you are sorry because you’re backpedaling on what you’ve told your friends and it really rubs me the wrong way. You could have owned up to your mistakes and apologized sincerely like others had but you continue to play victim and excuse your behaviour with tales of your own trauma, projecting your own insecurities onto my blog and thus hating me.

I know for a fact that you despise my blog, especially my writing, because you do not like how “obviously skinny people write about weight gain.”

Honey.

I couldn’t be any further from skinny.

I don’t mind sharing my actual weight, which has actually gotten worse due to COVID. I weigh 490lbs. I am morbidly obese. I have always been morbidly obese. For you to come and be “nitpicky” about a genre you don’t even enjoy? Why are you even reading my fics then?

The way I write about obese people, their struggles with literally everything… that comes from real life experience. I write this to share embarrassing and exhausting daily life tasks I personally struggle with.

A skinny person would never write some of the stuff I do, because they simply don’t know. They don’t know how scary it is to hear the line “we are going to a restaurant.” They don’t know how scary it is to go into that new restaurant, scan the chairs and think “Shit, am I gonna fit? Is the chair gonna creak? Is there enough space for the next table? What if I won’t fit?” A thin person doesn’t have to think this way.

And, let me tell you something else. Yes, I agree. The world is fatphobic.

In one of my recent posts I talked about movies and shows where they make fun of fat people because I hate it. Because it is REAL LIFE. And I am all for the body positivity movement and I do believe that all bodies are beautiful, because they are.

You do not know me personally.

And that leads to my next point. If you personally have issues with the phrase “twice my size”, then that is on you. And guess what? I cannot count how often I’ve heard lines like that my whole life.

“Oh wow two people would fit in one of your pant legs.”

“Wow, you are so fat, I could use your pants as a tent.”

So trust me, I know. I KNOW. But anon, this is the important part for me. Everyone processes trauma differently.

Inked ch3? Or literally any story I have written with a fat character being forced, insulted and talked down to like they’re dumb? That’s what I have been living with my entire life. Most of these stories, some obviously more extreme than how I had experienced them since it’s fiction, have been recordings of trauma I have went through.

My own dad force fed me. Forced me to eat food and gain weight. My first boyfriend was a feeder that manipulated me into gaining more weight and took measurements. Called me pig names and abused me. Hit me, manipulated me into having s** with him and then let all of his fantasies out on me.

I don’t make this shit up. I hate my brain for being so twisted now, that I actually find it hot and arousing. It’s weird. I know, but that’s how it is.

I’ve also never had friends in school. Not even kindergarten. Why? Because my “fat incased body could spread like a virus.” I was being bullied like JK was in Pondus.

I had hot water thrown at me, got glue put on my seats and hair, had my hair ripped out and even got a cigarette burn mark on my arm. Just because I was fat. Just because of how my body was shaped.

I was strangled and locked into a small locker for a night. I was almost killed for running away from my abusive dad from his car and had to listen to things like, “You are going to die when you are 30. No one will ever love you and your body.” That I have trust issues now and am paranoid about everything and everyone.

Those dark stories. I use those dark stories to try to work through my trauma. And yes, it may be absurd to you. It may disgust you, what I write. But sadly, most of it? Most of it really happened to me. To me and other people I’ve talked to as a friend or seen online. Most of what I write will be dark because the human species is made up of terrible creatures.

Fatphobia is an important topic, and I am happy the media has been slowly getting better about it, that people accept us more. But my writing is how I work with my trauma. If I can make fictional characters feel the same things I had to feel, that makes me feel better.

And I’m not hurting anyone with it. So how is it wrong?

I do not support any of this behaviour in real life. I never bullied anyone, I always try to speak up for my friends and tell people if they are being assholes. Because I hate them too and it makes me angry when good people get shit when they do nothing but breathe.

And how @pudgecuddles already said. I don't need you to advocate for body positivity and all that shit when you go out of your way to bully someone that may have experienced the same shit you have. I do not know you or what you went through in your life, but I am sorry. I’m sorry you feel like my stories aren’t okay to write, but this is how I work on my trauma and I need you to respect that.

I’ve said this before. We don’t have to be friends, or even talk to each other.

Just be neutral.

Block me. Filter me out. Pretend I don't exist. But, whatever you do, don’t make posts that call me out while making it obvious you’re talking about me, with the cover that you are advocating against fatphobia. That’s got a name. Cyber-bullying.

Have you hurt me with those posts? Yes you have, but I’ve never wanted bad blood. As you may have noticed, it wasn’t me that made a post. It was my good friend. Because I told her how exhausting it was and she knew about the posts back then.

I have a good idea of who you are.

I remember you.

But I kept my mouth shut. Because this community is my home and the last thing I wanted was for the people who like both of our types of content to feel like they have to choose sides.

In the end, we all rub one out to fat gay boys in a band. No user is better than the rest, and if there are topics you do not enjoy, there is a button for it. No need to drag everyone into it with posts. It’s exhausting and irritating.

Now, I do not accept your apology because you lied to me and I also do not feel like you meant it sincerely knowing what I know now after reading some dm’s. But I also won’t sit here and start shit.

This is my last post about this.

Please block me and enjoy the content you do like.

Nonetheless, I hope you have a nice day and a lovely weekend. Whatever you are experiencing or going through, I hope it gets better. Because even if you hate me personally for creating content you do not support, I’d say that I am a really friendly and nice person.

I do not believe that anyone deserves to be bullied like that and talked down in official posts. It happened before with a friend of mine and you probably remember that I did speak up about it.... But apparently no one learned from it. I really hope this time you do.

Insult me and shit talk me all you want in dm’s, but don’t do it publicly. No one deserves that kind of hate or passive aggressiveness. No one. Since you sound like someone that went through a lot of shit too, you should know better. You should know how it feels to be bullied and what damage it can cause.

I’m already depressed enough and I have bad lows. Let me write my erotica and just enjoy it? That’s all I want? I am a part of this community just like you were. You leaving because you did not like my content, is not my problem. If you cannot block me or ignore it and go so far as to read them and then rant about them negatively, what do you want me to do? I won’t leave the scene just because you don’t like me.

So, you either trash talk me in dm’s from now on so that I do not see it, or you block me. The latter of which would be the more mature thing to do. The more humane thing to do. Because talking behind someone’s back is just as bad.

Again, I don’t know why you felt like it was necessary to send me an ask with lies in it when I got screenshot proof of something else you have said/issues with, so don’t backpedal on me. I know Hun. I know already.

At least stick to what you said and actually apologize or, if you can’t, just block me.

But this ask? This ask just upset me.

Have a nice day.

p.s: The fact that this even needs to be talked about is so absurd and ridiculous to me. The whole thing is a petty party in my eyes that isn't even worth anyone's time? Do people on here really not have any other issues right now or am I in the wrong movie?

[authoressofdarkness]

His Perfect Model (Chapter 2)

This… Peter’s reactions, how scared the omega smells… god, it bothers him, so much more than he realized. But it’s too late to take it back, isn’t it? What could he really do? Call the guy who scheduled the shoot back — assuming the number even worked again, which it might not — and demand his money back? Peter had just begged him not to go back. As scared as the omega might be of him, he’s more scared of them.

Notes: I updated this on AO3 yesterday, so I wanted to do it here too before I forgot. You can read it there instead if you prefer.

Some talk of non-con, abuse, and brainwashing in this chapter, but nothing explicit. 

He begins packing while Peter is still out of it, and manages to make short work of it. Camera supplies and toy back into the boxes and out to his car, and the rest is still attached to Peter’s shivering form, looking miserable and scared and small, still tied to the chair and awaiting his fate when he returns.

The omega jumps when he feels Tony’s hands on his shoulders, smoothing over the tense muscles there gently before moving around the front of him. Now that he’s not in the confused haze of pleasure, he just looks scared. “Alpha, I-“

“Hush, honey.” Tony starts undoing his bonds, and the moment he’s free, Peter tries to spring from the chair, but he’s still swollen and sore, and stiff from hours spent in the chair at this point, and barely manages to get to his feet, stumbling forward and easily being caught in Tony’s waiting arms. He whimpers.

“Alpha, please-“

“Let’s not start with the begging until we get home, yeah?” It comes out more insensitive than he means for it to. He tries to make up for it by gently smoothing back the omega’s messy curls, but Peter flinches away from his hand.

“I-I don’t- I don’t want to- wanna go home -“

“I’m going to take you home. With me.”

The small omega looks at him with wet eyes. “No… I just, I don’t want it, Alpha… don’t belong to you, don’t want to, please-“

Tony catches his chin, gently. “I just paid a lot of money for you. I’m fairly certain you do belong to me.” He pauses, looking him over. “Unless, of course, you’d rather go back with the two alphas who brought you here…”

He takes a gamble, saying so, figuring that if he’s right about it being a trafficking ring, the last place Peter will want to go is back to them. And it’s true, apparently.

“No!” Peter grabs his arm, eyes wide and wet. “Please, alpha, I-I’ll be good. I’ll do anything, just- please don’t send me back there.”

Okay, maybe he should have expected that kind of reaction, but he hadn’t. He sighs, cupping the omega’s face gently. Peter flinches, but doesn’t try to pull away this time. It gives him a dull sense of satisfaction. “Shh, it’s okay, Peter. If you are a good boy, you’ll never have to worry about it. Here.” He grabs his discarded slip — a poor excuse for coverage, he knows, but better than making him ride home naked — and pulls it back over the omega’s head, ignoring his flinch. Then he takes his wrist, tying them in front of him with the rope, and, after a long moment of thought, the blindfold follows. He figures that Peter will be less inclined to try something if he doesn’t know exactly where he’s at.

Peter whimpers. “I’ll be good,” he promises, though in response to Tony’s statement, or all the bondage, he’s not sure.

“I know you will, honey, it’s okay.” Tony picks him up carefully, and carries him out the back entrance to his car, laying him in the backseat. “Just relax there while alpha drives us home, okay?”

The only response he gets is a soft sniffle. He sighs again, getting in the front seat.

This… Peter’s reactions, how scared the omega smells… god, it bothers him, so much more than he realized. But it’s too late to take it back, isn’t it? What could he really do? Call the guy who scheduled the shoot back — assuming the number even worked again, which it might not — and demand his money back? Peter had just begged him not to go back. As scared as the omega might be of him, he’s more scared of them.

It makes the thought process of his choice feel a little more validated, even if it doesn’t make it feel right , and it doesn’t take away the sour feeling in his stomach.

The ride back to his place seems to take forever — not least of all because it is kind of a drive from the city. Tony lives in the countryside, in a spacious but out-of-the-way house, thanks to all his money. At least it’s easy for him to get in his gate, pull up to the house, and not have to worry about anyone seeing the little omega when he takes him out.

Peter is shivering harder when he takes him out, though he doesn’t feel much colder to Tony. He thinks some of it has to be shock, or fear. Either way, he can’t do anything about it until they get inside.

He carries him in, leaving his equipment in the back at the moment in favor of taking Peter straight up to his room and trying to get him calmed down, some.

He sets him down on the bed when they arrive, taking off the blindfold, first, and then moving to the rope. Peter flinches when he pulls out his knife, again, but he just uses it to slide between the pieces of rope, undoing the knot easier.

He closes up the knife again and sets it on his bedside table with the pieces of bondage, then carefully joins the boy on the bed. He studied him for a long moment before speaking. “Alright.“ He reaches for Peter, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Let me get you out of this, hm? I bet you’ll feel better after that.”

Peter sniffles, but doesn’t say anything, quiet while Tony peels the slip off of him. He sets it aside. “H-how… I mean…” His eyes flicker to Tony’s face, then dart away quickly. “How do you want me, sir?”

Tony frowns. “What?”

Peter backpedals quickly. “I- never mind, I’ll just-“ he flips onto his back, opening his legs and putting his hands above his head, eyes squeezed shut. Waiting.

Tony’s mouth goes dry at the sight. Both because of how pretty Peter is, but also the implication. How sad and frankly terrifying that is. He’s never considered himself a rapist. Yet here he is, an unwilling omega naked next to him in bed. He just paid for him, he just… hell, he’s a criminal, now, technically. And really, there’s nothing to stop him, is there? This is...

He takes a shuddering breath, putting a hand on Peter’s thigh and gently closing his legs. “No, Peter. I’m sorry I scared you, but that’s not… we’re not doing that, not tonight.” Not tonight . That he could handle. But much else… well, he’s only human, after all.

“We’re not?” Peter looks helplessly confused, eyes wide and wet. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course not. But aren’t you sore?” Tony helps him sit up, gently, and runs his fingers through his curls. “You were vibed for quite a long time, honey. You’ve got to be tender.”

Peter sniffs again. “I mean… I guess so… it’s never mattered before, though.” He looks down.

The alpha’s words float back to him. He hasn’t been. He’s fresh meat. Had that been a lie? It didn’t really matter, now; he isn’t sending Peter back, that’s for sure. He may have to get him tested, though, which would be an interesting time.

It’s an awkward question, but he has to ask. “How many people- … I mean-“ God, it sounds even worse than he imagined the second he opens his mouth.

Peter gets the gist of it, though, even without him finishing. He quirks a shoulder, eyes still red, though not seeming upset by the question itself. “I, uh… dunno, really. They put us through… training to break us once we arrived. That’s probably why I never notice the soreness now, really. But it wasn’t… real people. Just toys. So we couldn’t be considered damaged goods.”

That made sense, in an awful way. Why Peter was so afraid of the alphas but yet so docile. Why he’d immediately gotten wet — and scared — at the feeling of the wand. He’d probably experienced something similar before.

And sick as it was, the alphas had the right idea with their training . The first thing he’d asked was if Peter had been used by someone else, though not in so few words. And the omega hadn’t — even if he’d been through a hell that was comparable, maybe even worse.

“I… see.” Tony watches the omega silently for a moment, mind going miles a minute as he tries to process all of this. “Well, thank you for telling me that. And I’m… really sorry this all happened to you.” Unsure what to say after that, especially when he didn’t receive much response, he stands abruptly. “Let’s go get a bath.”

Despite his fear and the dreariness of the conversation, a hint of brightness shows on the omega’s face at that. “A bath? Really?”

“Yes…? Would you like that? Or do you prefer the shower, or…?”

Peter bites his lip. “I… I haven’t really had a proper bath or shower in… uhhh, a while. Either would be really nice, but… I do like baths.”

Tony nods. He holds out a hand, helping the omega out of the bed, and guides him to his bathroom, careful to be slow, gentle. He’s suddenly realized that the omega could be hurt and he’d have no idea, and of course, with how wary Peter still is, he should make it so he doesn’t feel rushed, or so he doesn’t make any sudden moves and startle him. It’s the least he could do.

“Right. Okay. Um, feel free to start the water, I don’t want to make it too hot or anything. You want some salts? Bubble bath? Any smells you like?” He hurried to the cabinet, eager to busy himself with something .

“Oh, um… whatever is fine.”

Tony manages to retrieve some lavender scented salts and bubble bath from under the counter — things he only kept around for certain shoots, maybe the occasional one night stand — but he’s relieved to find that he has them, now. He turns around, adding some to the water that Peter has just managed to get started.

“There. I’ll leave them here, so you can add more if you want, but I don’t want the smell to be too overpowering.” He set them on the side of the tub.

Peter looks up at him, eyes wide and surprised. “You’re not staying?”

Tony blinks, confused. “I… do you want me to?” He had assumed the omega would prefer to be on his own. As scared as he was, why would he want Tony in the tub with him?

Peter flushes and looks down. “I, uh… I mean, I just assumed…”

“I understand, sweetheart. But I…” I’m not going to hurt you, is what he wants to say, but really, hasn’t he already? Won’t he, probably, again, at some point? “If you don’t want me to stay, then I won’t,” is what he finally says after floundering for several seconds. “You are allowed to bathe by yourself.”

Peter bites his bottom lip. “I just… I don’t like being alone,” he admits, meekly, looking up at the alpha through his lashes. “I don’t wanna… I mean, I know it’s not fair to ask you to stay and not do anything, I just…”

Tony shakes his head. “I told you, Peter, we’re not doing anything tonight. Period,” he says firmly. “That’s all. But if you want me to stay, I’ll stay.” He sits down on the counter, pulling his phone out and starting to fiddle with it.

He isn’t really sure what to do. He doubts the omega would really want him to watch him, but he doesn’t want him to leave, and he certainly doesn’t want him in the tub with him, so he just… messes awkwardly with his phone.

After a while, the omega stands, pulling the plug and wrapping his arms around himself. “Am I allowed to have a towel, alpha?”

Tony looks up at the sound of the plug being pulled, and his eyes travel the length of Peter’s body before he can help it. It makes his mouth water, but- fuck. No, Tony. Have some self control, like really-

He forces himself to focus at the sound of Peter’s voice, and gets up quickly. “Yes. Of course. Here.” He retrieves a towel, then walks over and wraps it around him, carefully helping him out of the tub. He guides him back into the bedroom. “I’ll get you something to wear, just… stay here, yeah?” He disappears into the closet, not even waiting for Peter’s meek affirmation behind him.

He’s got absolutely nothing that isn’t going to be giant on the omega in his closet. Putting him in his clothes feels… wrong, in the situation, even if it scratches his possessive alpha itch. Which is all the more reason why he shouldn’t, but it’s all he has for tonight. They’ll figure something out tomorrow for clothes. And… for the rest of this mess he’d put them in.

He shoves the thoughts away again and goes back out to the bedroom. “I don’t… have much that will come close to fitting you, so I apologize, but you’ll have to sleep in something of mine. And it’ll be big.” He tosses a pair of old boxers and a tee shirt down on the bed in front of him. “I’ll… leave you to it.”

The omega just thanks him quietly, not stopping him from walking out of the room. Which is good, because there’s only so much self control Tony can exert in one day. And they both need food, anyway; Tony hasn’t eaten in hours, since lunch before the shoot, and it’s probably a safe bet it’s been even longer for Peter.

Tony makes his way to the kitchen. He has no idea what to do for food but ordering in would just take too long tonight and he has no idea what Peter likes — or if he would behave around someone else — or really anything he probably should know. Feeling a bit lost, he just makes a plate of sandwiches for them to split, grabs two waters, and takes it back to the bedroom.

Peter is, thankfully, dressed when he gets back to the bedroom, sitting back in the same spot on the bed and picking at the hem of the overly large shirt. A possessive thrill rolls down his spine at the sight, but he bites down on the little pleased growl that bubbles up in his throat instinctively. Peter probably wouldn’t appreciate it, and frankly his lack of control is not the most funny thing to him either.

Tony settles back down on his side of the bed, setting the food like a peace offering between them. “Here.” He pushes a bottle of water over to him as well. “It’s not much, I know, but please eat something.”

Peter looks surprised, and a bit confused. “Oh… but I didn’t do anything to earn it.”

That hit Tony in the chest harder than he expected. He physically winces a little. “You don’t… have to do anything to earn food here, Peter. Or a bath, for that matter. I just want you to eat. Tell me when you’re hungry, or thirsty, or whatever, okay? I just want to take care of you.” And he does, from some place deep inside him. Any amount of lust he felt this morning towards him feels like nothing in comparison to how small the omega seems to be beside him, the sadness and the desire to protect and comfort that Peter makes him feel.

“But why?” The omega looks so helpless, confused, that it makes Tony’s heart ache.

“I… I just do, okay? Can you eat, please?” He picks up a sandwich of his own to accentuate the point. “I’m going to eat, too, and then we’ll sleep, okay? We can talk more in the morning about all this.”

Peter still looks confused, maybe a little worried, but he reaches over to pick up a sandwich, timidly, as if expecting Tony to yell “Sike!” or try to take it away from him. Tony rubs a hand over his own chest, idly. He should probably get used to that dull ache over his heart if he’s going to keep Peter around, it seems.

They eat in silence, partially because they’re both exhausted and partially because Peter still looks like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop and Tony’s too afraid to startle him with any sudden movements or words to even try to make conversation.

In the end, Tony eats two and a half sandwiches, but Peter doesn’t even finish one. Tony eyes him a little skeptically. “You know I wouldn’t have given it to you if you weren’t supposed to eat it all, right?”

Peter flinches a little. “I- I just don’t get to eat much very often so I’m- kind of full but I can try to finish it…” He reaches for the sandwich again.

Tony grabs his wrist gently to stop him, and of course Peter jumps. Tony waits until he settles a little to speak. “You don’t have to force feed yourself, Peter. I just wanted to make sure you were genuinely full.”

Peter gnaws on his bottom lip. “I-I am, sir. But thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He sets the tray aside. It’s mostly empty now except for the remains of their last sandwiches, and he’ll deal with that in the morning. “Okay, well… I’m going to go brush my teeth and get ready for bed. You’re welcome to do the same once I'm done.”

They do just that. Tony goes first, and then Peter, hesitantly, heads in after him, and returns a few minutes later. Tony turns off the lights and settles in the bed, and the omega slowly follows. “I sleep here?” he asks.

Tony nods. “Yes.” For now, at least. He wasn’t really prepared for a guest, and he thought this was probably the safest place for the omega. “Come, get comfortable. I’m just going to sleep, and you should do the same.”

Peter nods, but doesn’t respond. Tony sighs softly and settles down into the bed. After a few minutes, he feels as much as hears Peter follow suit, and much to his surprise, the omega shifts toward him, not quite touching, but closer than he’d expected him to get.

He closes his eyes and doesn’t say anything. It’s actually kinda nice to drift off to the smell and feel of the omega on the other side of him.

If only their meager peace would even last until morning.

Taglist: @snowstark @serrabloodsong

Let me know if you want to be added!

[captain-cerrillo]

SSV Berlin - The Welcome

from x, before x and x (what are timelines)

Isaac hesitated outside the semi-private hallway just before the wide entrance to the Berlin's CIC. He told himself it had nothing to do with the woman who also waited, intentionally absorbing what little bit of peace and quiet was left as the ever-present chatter from a fully staffed crew had already started to set in.

The quiet thunder of life was only just beginning to rumble in the Berlin’s bones once again. He knew it wasn’t appropriate to stand so close to her but he told himself it didn’t count as long as they weren’t touching.

“Are you ready?” Eva wore all black with the exception of the signature N7 stripe. She smiled over her shoulder at Isaac as she reached up to tie her blonde hair out her face.

“No,” he responded honestly, heart breaking for each the inches between them. Her face fell and he backpedaled.

“Eva,” he breathed her name, not just unwilling to keep it off his lips but, arguably unable. “I-“ He sighed and cast a glance at his favorite eyes. What he saw there broke him.

For days he’d been back and forth, both terrified and hopeful that beyond all of their friendly conversations she might also be crazy enough to want more.

One moment he was certain. As certain as he’d ever been about anything at all. Her slim fingers wrapped around his solid wrist as she led him to slide his fingertip across her skin, sharing parts of herself too intimate to name. If she had held onto him just a moment longer, he would have kissed her then.

Other moments, with wild hair and tired eyes, half hard at the sight of her and wearing his thin grey shorts, she’d look anywhere but at him. But, still, he slept with her Balrog drawing taped to the wall next to his bunk.

“When I was a kid, I used to dream about moments like this,” he blurted suddenly, poking at the stiff collar of his dress blues. “Ten year old me would be very pleased.” He gestured to his uniform, the shining bars on his shoulders, the vague electronic glow of the CIC ahead.

He tilted his head to watch her watch him, blue eyes blazing with questions. “It’s weird to be standing in front of everything you’ve ever wanted only to realize that there’s actually something you want even more.”

He watched her process, golden brows knitting as she chewed on his words.

In what was probably the must irresponsible, impulsive thing he’d collectively ever done, he closed the space between their bodies to rest a hand on the wall next to her head. He had to stare at the wall because the look in her eyes threatened to pull him under. But, this close, he didn’t have to wonder how mutual it was anymore.

If he didn’t do it now, he wasn’t sure he’d ever have the chance again. If he didn’t do it now, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay again. But if he did, it might ruin everything.

“Okay,” was all he said.

Her lips were even softer than he’d imagined and he had spent a lot of time imagining. She tasted like cocoa peanut butter protein powder and smelled like flowers and the way her body opened to him made his rigid. He broke away while he still could.

“I need to know you.” His eyes held hers, hesitating for a heartbeat, “As intimately, as you want me to.” He knew she knew that he didn’t mean just physically. He hoped she knew he’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted to hear her sigh his name.

Ensign Davis cleared her throat behind them. “We’re uh. Almost assembled, sir.”

-

He shifted on his feet behind the largest terminal in the CIC, suddenly aware of the familiar burden of duty that had somehow all but escaped him as he had foolishly indulged in infatuation with a subordinate (he could hear his mentor's voice in his head) over the scattered past few days.

But he couldn't find any regrets.

He quit fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket to still with his hands folded in front of him, a practiced perception of calm. He squared his shoulders at the sound of boots approaching.

The wonder and pride in the XO’s wide eyes almost made the reality check worth it. She was a warm leader and Isaac watched her whisper, mumble, and even giggle greetings to the scattered staff who congratulated her and introduced themselves as she made her way past.

Isaac cracked a smile at the way Eva quirked an eyebrow when Marie stopped to look around the illuminated CIC. It wasn’t unlike the expression he imagined on a child finding everything they wanted waiting for them under a Christmas tree.

He tried not to study the figures crowded around the Commander. Just when he wondered if Hunstman set the standard, he met the little one with no shoes and disturbingly perceptive eyes, and then the hulking cretins after that had broken any sort of Phoenix mold he might have formed in his mind.

Isaac waited for Marie to soak in her moment, only gesturing lightly to the empty spot at his side when she finally caught his eyes.

-

“First, I want to say welcome.” He paused to take in the eyes that looked his way and all the ones that didn’t. He wasn’t technically in command of anyone that wasn’t wearing an Alliance uniform but the speech was another task on his checklist, so he droned on.

“The brass has decided that the SSV Berlin is to be our home for a little while and I hope you’ll take that responsibility seriously, with respect to both to her crew and her spaces. Like it or not, we are stuck together for the foreseeable future. Let’s do what we can to make it easy.” He paused for a breath, eyes crinkling at the corners when he scanned over the jittery curly-haired kid.

“Rules and regs are pretty standard but I hope you’ll bear with me for a few exceptions.” He sounded like he was reading a script, present but completely disinterested. He spewed off a list of important things to know about the ship’s structure, performance, logistics and its chain of command - ending with the very important fact that XO Miller, as official Alliance Liaison, would be the only go-to for Phoenix related questions, concerns, or issues of any kind with no exceptions.

He wasn’t allowed to say how much he hoped they’d defer to her for most things but, he hoped that part came through.

“This time tomorrow, we’ll be in the Ismar Frontier, Attican Traverse, on the edge of Outer Council Space for a test run. The Berlin took some damage at Terra Nova a few months ago and we’re not clear for free range until everything checks out. After baseline drills, all boots in, a small team will be selected to run intel recon at a Cerberus lab on a local cluster moon with the XO. That’s as far as our orders go, so far, but I promise to keep you apprised as information becomes available.”

It was possible he’d said all that in one breath.

“Just make sure you let the Ensign know when you’ve settled on a bunk assignment and if you find your assigned station ill-equipped or, lacking in any way," he threw a heavy, pointed look at the new doctor with her gleaming metal arm, "see Requisitions Officer Marazano.”

Isaac was tired but pleasant and a part of him wondered about all the adventures to come. “Marines, your shift schedules and rotations should already be in your extranet mailboxes. Chow’s on in an hour and we can all take the night to settle in.”

He couldn't help the way he glanced over to Eva, stifling the thrill of her eyes. "Dismissed."

[alpacaparkaseok]

Mine

5. Draw me like one of your French girls

Genre: Min Yoongi x oc

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3.3k

At this point, I’m seriously considering commissioning my own fanart.

It all started the next morning at our first press release. Somebody had the bright idea to show me some fanart that’s been rolling in the past few weeks of a certain k-pop rapper and I. Not gonna lie...we look good together.

Too good.

Then again, everything about Min Yoongi has seemed pretty good since I woke up to a couple more texts from him this morning. I passed out after his late-night/early morning apology, but he sent another text not long after.

4:32 MYG: So does this mean I’m forgiven? Bong-cha made it sound like you enjoy holding grudges.

9:02 MYG: Morning. I hope everything goes well with you today...is it alright if I keep texting you?

9:02 MYG: Just so I can keep tabs on everything. I don’t want this to get too out of hand for you.

Obviously the poor man is just as worried about all of this as I am. I couldn’t help but give a sleepy chuckle when I woke up to his messages.

So far, I’ve done a wonderful job of ignoring how nice it felt to wake up to a good morning text.

I’ve also done a great job at keeping calm and breezing past any weird questions from the current press conference I’m in. That is, until a Korean reporter (I have a hunch they’re from Dispatch) pipes up not only with a question, but with visual aids!

“Cara, do you mind if I ask you a question? Would you like a translator?”

Reminding myself to be gracious and kind, I shake my head. “Go ahead. I should be alright without a translator, thank you.”

The reporter nods, shuffling forward until they pull a paper out of their file in hand. She gives me a sickly smile, passing the paper up to our security guard who does me the honor of bringing it right to my outstretched palm.

“This is one of the newest renderings, I was just wondering how you have been feeling about this entire situation?”

I already guessed what this was going to be about, but the picture in my hand confirms it.

It’s fanart.

To be honest, it’s very well done. It’s a watercolor, the artist placed us walking along a rainy sidewalk. Hand in hand, Yoongi’s gummy smile on full display while I look down at my toes.

Sebastian whistles beside me, clearly as in awe of the artwork as I am. Before me the reporter still wears her smile, waiting for a response. I pass the paper down the line, allowing Rhea to get a chance to admire the fanart.

Maybe it’s the boost of confidence I received upon reading Yoongi’s text this morning that has me grinning back at the reporter with a saccharine smile.

“Did you draw this? It’s very well done.”

Not everyone can understand Korean in this press conference, but the few that do start chuckling. The reporter blanches for a moment, smile faltering.

“N-no, but if you could answer the question-”

I’m sure I look very disappointed as I look down at her. She definitely works for dispatch; she practically reeks of it. Maybe that’s what gives me the boldness I need as I realize that I’m not even her direct target; Yoongi is.

Yoongi’s nice. I don’t think she is.

“Oh, everything is going fine. Honestly, I should get in touch with this artist. They’re very talented.”

The reporter’s eyebrows flick up, sensing a new method of attack. “Were you thinking of commissioning your own?”

“Honestly, I might consider it. Maybe it’ll make my aunts quit hounding me every Thanksgiving about my love life.”

With that, the paper is handed back to the security guard, but the reporter motions for him to keep it. Confused, he hands it back to me. I turn it over so I don’t get caught staring at it during the conference. That’s the last thing Yoongi or I need right now.

As the reporter takes her seat again, I can’t help but feel a little triumphant. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

🌙

12:22 ME: I never said you were forgiven, did I?

As soon as we get out of the press conference we are ushered into a van which takes us to another interview. I figure that now is as good a time as any to text Yoongi back, seeing that this morning I woke up late and was too flustered to come up with a response.

“Who are you texting?” Sebastian asks. “Is it your friend that always calls you?”

I consider lying to him for a moment, but realize that it might actually be nice for him to know. He can keep me from being unrealistic when I start to fangirl.

He may also help me to keep that promise I silently made a while ago: to not go so easy on Yoongi. Right now, it’s proving harder than expected to dislike him.

“Nosy.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “You’re grinning at your phone like an idiot, that only happens when you get texts from me.”

“Ha! Right. It’s a secret...kind of. Don’t tell anyone.”

“I’ll try my best not to.”

Taking an unnecessarily big breath, I spill my secret that I’ve kept for approximately 12 hours.

“It’s Yoongi.” When there’s no immediate reaction from him, I backpedal. “Also known as Suga?”

Before Sebastian can respond the ping of my phone pulls my attention away.

12:26 MYG: Oh good, you responded. I was getting worried you were actually mad. So is it alright if I keep texting you? I don’t want to mess with your schedule.

“You’re smiling again.”

I look up to see an annoyed Sebastian Stan. He’s not very good at sharing attention, and it would appear that Yoongi is no exception.

“How strange, I didn’t realize.”

12:27 ME: That’s fine.

12:27 ME: But I am mad!!

12:28 MYG: Hahaha sure

“Cara, we’re here.” Sebastian says as he clambers out of the car. I follow after him, pocketing my phone.

There’s a few cameras outside waiting for us, but we’re able to make it inside the building without too much fuss. Once we make it into the room where we’re supposed to have one of our interviews, Sebastian pulls a paper out of his back pocket.

“What’s that?”

He smirks at me, unfolding the paper. It’s the fanart from earlier. I didn’t even realize that he’d pocketed it.

“Tell Suga I say hi, at least.” He poses with the papers just below his chin, giving the best puppy dog eyes he can muster up. It’s rather convincing, if I’m being honest.

“You weirdo,” I mumble as I snap a photo. I’m quick to send it off to Yoongi, captioning it.

12:37 ME: Sebastian says hello.

Our interviewer is just about to come into the room when I receive a response. Not having the self-restraint to put my phone away, I quickly take a look. Sebastian peers over my shoulder, curious as well.

12:40 MYG: Winter Soldier!!!

12:41 MYG: Hi. Did he draw that?

I cackle, quickly translating the message. Sebastian looks appalled. “I have better things to do than draw fanart!”

“Yeah, like write fanfiction, right?”

He grins at me. “Obviously.”

12:42 ME: No, but he says he’s writing fanfiction.

12:42 ME: We’re about to start an interview rn but I’ll tell him to send you his rough draft later. 😏

Interviews pass, and it isn’t until I’m finishing up dinner that my phone pings with another message from Yoongi. I nearly impale Sebastian with my fork as I lunge for my charging phone; he’d come into my hotel room to eat dinner with me.

“Watch it!” Sebastian grunts, shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming rate. We were promised lunch by Rhea earlier but it ended up just being a small snack as she was whisked away by a long-lost friend. The two of us managed to control our hunger for as long as possible, but Sebastian wasted no time calling up some food for us before we even got back to the hotel.

We barely beat the delivery boy here. He wasn’t all that surprised that we were American. Sebastian had tried out some very choppy Cantonese. What did end up surprising him was that he was delivering a meal to the Winter Soldier. I was able to sneak into my room undetected while the boy’s eyes were bugging out as Sebastian signed his hat.

“Sorry,” I mumble around my food.

9:12 MYG: I’m still waiting for the rough draft.

I translate the message to Sebastian, who cackles and promises to get started on it as soon as possible.

9:14 ME: Sorry, Sebastian said he’s still trying to write it. I’ll let you know when it’s ready!

9:15 MYG: That’s alright. I’ll be patient.

9:15 MYG: I saw a clip from your press conference today.

My stomach lurches as I realize what clip it was that he probably saw. Does he think I’m some crazy fangirl now? I mean, I might be. But he doesn’t need to know that.

9:18 ME: I didn’t get you in trouble, did I?

Sebastian notices my change in expression and shoots me a worried look. “Everything alright?” I shrug.

“Yeah...I just hope I didn’t get him in trouble with what I said at the press conference today. I think that reporter was trying to go against him somehow.”

“He’s a big boy. Did he say anything about it?”

I look back down at the messages even though I already know what he said. My stomach lurches again as I see the three little dots at the bottom of the screen.

“No, not really. He just said he saw a clip or something. He’s typing right now, though.”

9:20 MYG: I thought I was the worrier. No, you didn’t. How was the rest of your day?

“What’d he say?” Sebastian grabs our cartons of food, tossing them into the wastebasket.

“He’s just…”

“Are you blushing?!” My friend stares at me from across the room, eyes wide. “No way! You like him!”

“No! No I don’t!”

“Yes you do, don’t lie to me! You’re so into him!” Sebastians hurries back over grinning wide. “Wow, he must be a good texter.”

That really is helping my blush. “Nooo, he’s not. He’s just nice. That’s it. It’s just fun having someone nice to talk to, you know? He feels really bad about everything and - Sebastian quit it - and it’s just sweet of him to care. That’s it.”

Sebastian stops looking at me with his puppy dog eyes and leans back in his chair, a contemplative look overtaking his features. “I thought I was nice to talk to.”

I pause for a second, breath getting caught in my throat. “Y-you are. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He shakes his head, giving me an award-winning smile. “No, I know. Aren’t you going to respond?”

“Oh! Yeah!” I focus on my phone again. There’s an uneasy feeling rising in me at Sebastian’s comment, but I brush it off for now. He’s always been bad at sharing his friends. He’s the same with Anthony Mackey, I’ve seen it up close.

9:25 ME: True, I’ll let you worry. My day was good, just finished up dinner. How was yours?

“There, I-” I look up proudly only to find Sebastian’s chair empty and the door clicking shut. “...I did it.”

MYG: It was great. Got lots of work done.

MYG: Have you decided if you’re going to come to the festival or not? Also, Bong-cha says hi.

ME: Wow, she can’t even tell me herself. No respect. No, I honestly didn’t even think about it today...but I’m pretty sure we’re all going either way.

MYG: Haha she’s not happy with your comment.

MYG: She’s reading over my shoulder, I promise I’m not reading our conversation out loud. Is your director making you go?

I just miss the chance to respond as my phone lights up with an incoming call.

“Bong-cha, quit reading my conversations you little weirdo.”

“Hey, how’s it going with you? I’m great, thanks for asking.”

“Are you still in the room with everyone?”

“No, just left. You should see Yoongi right now, though.”

“Why?”

“He looks like a kid in a candy store every time he gets a text from you. It’s adorable.”

“Yah!”

My friend’s cackle soars through the phone, and I swat at the air as though I could somehow get her to stop.

“Please tell me you guys are coming to the festival.” Bong-cha’s sudden change in tone has me pausing, chewing on my lip.

“We are. Why?”

“Come stay with me!” Bong-cha shouts. I jump up, a grin already working its way onto my face. “It’ll be just like old times. And, I was looking at the schedule you sent me...there’s a couple of nights where you’re done relatively early. We could go do something fun!”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. My phone is buzzing with incoming texts, but I ignore them for now. “Yeah, that’ll be fun. I’m not sure if I can come stay with you-”

“C’mon,” Bong-cha whines. “I never get to see you anymore. We’ll make it work! Oh, I’ve gotta go, Tae brought Yeontan. But let me know!”

With that, Bong-cha cuts the line and leaves me on the other side caught between excitement at seeing my friend and dread at having to come face to face with Yoongi. Texting is one thing; but actually spending time with him?

“Just be his friend,” I mumble to myself. Settling down, I attack my food once more. The space where Sebastian sat before makes me furrow my brows.

What’s going on with him? I mean sure, we’re really good friends. But we still see each other constantly, why would he be so possessive?

It’s probably all just in my head. My phone light up with the texts I received a couple of minutes ago while I was still on the phone, and this time I physically cannot restrain the smile that comes through as I realize Yoongi is still texting me.

MYG: Really no pressure about the festival. I know Bong-cha really wants to see you, but please don’t feel like you have to come and hang out with us.

MYG: We’re not even that cool, anyways.

MYG: Are you just hanging out with Sebastian tonight??

I stare down at my phone for a moment, the smile being wiped from my face. Plopping down heavily on my bed, I close my eyes and power off my phone.

Yoongi is nice. So nice, apparently, that I can’t even tell now if he’s trying to get me to stay away. The fact is simple: he’s a nice man who has a reputation to uphold and is trying to keep everyone happy. That includes me.

He’s nice for texting me and trying to make sure I’m doing alright. Any decent human being would do that. But there’s also the fact that I’m new to this game in the spotlight and I know that I’m not going to be able to keep my feelings out of this.

I take a moment to breathe, forcing myself to push away the impending panic that sets in. This is no way to live, and I know that I’m only setting myself up for heartbreak when someday I don’t wake up to a good morning text from Yoongi.

It’s only been one day of communicating and I can already feel myself getting too attached.

Powering on my phone again, I flinch at the new texts.

9:17 MYG: Bong-cha just told me her evil plan. 😩 Did she tell you about it on the phone?

9:31 MYG: Sorry if you’re busy! Just text me back when you can. Let me know about your plans for the festival, too.

Even though I’m itching to text him back and waste away the rest of the night talking to him, there’s another more pressing matter I have to face. Quickly getting up and leaving my phone there in order to fight the temptation, I grab my room key and head a few rooms down. A quiet knock and a few seconds later and Sebastian is opening up his door.

He looks down at me warily, and I feel almost like we had a fight because of the way he’s looking at me. Emitting a loud sigh, he shakes it off and grins down at me in a way that makes me question if I even saw the previous expression at all.

“Hey,” I mumble out weakly. Moving past him into his room, he follows silently behind me.

“Hey…?”

Without another word I land face first onto his bed, the action pulling a laugh from him. Good. His laugh reminds me that this is real. This friendship is real, and Sebastian for all his annoying teasing, is a true friend.

Bong-cha is miles away and busy. She’s also biased. So Sebastian is the next best thing.

“I’m freaking out,” the pillow muffles my words but I know he hears me loud and clear. The mattress dips on one side as Sebastian settles onto it, and a moment later a hesitant hand begins kneading the flesh at my shoulders. I let out a satisfied sigh.

“What’s going on?” His tone is gentle, and the sound of it nearly tugs some tears out of my eyes.

“I’m pathetic, Sebastian.” I clutch his pillow and bury my face farther into it. “I’m so pathetic! I’ve literally never met the man before in my life, and I’ve spent the last 24 hours sending a few texts back and forth and I already feel like I’d jump off a cliff for him!”

Sebstian’s hands pause in their kneading for a fraction of a second before continuing on. “I told you you liked him.”

I turn to look at him, and again I catch that wary gaze before he drops it. “Really? ‘I told you so’? Rude. I need help, Sebastian. It’s never going to happen, he’s just being nice, and I just need to be cordial and get through this. Right?”

He nods, contemplating a bit. “Sure. He seems like a great guy. But at the end of the day, the two of you are just caught up in a weird media frenzy and that’s it. Is that what you want me to say?”

“I guess.” I huff, flipping onto my back as I stare up at the ceiling. “Why do I like him though? Am I just desperate?”

Sebastian stands up and laughs. “No way. If you were desperate you would be falling for me, not some inconvenient, crazy famous kpop star.”

Somehow his words make me laugh, the feeling easing the panic a bit. “You’re right, I guess.”

🌙

I end up passing out in Sebastian’s room only to wake up at 3 am and find myself a little too close for comfort to my co-star. Gently untangling myself from his mess of arms and legs, I sneak out of his room and back to my own.

Half-asleep and looking the part, I groan at my reflection in the mirror as I try to brush my teeth. Pointing at my reflection with my toothbrush, I give myself a pep talk.

“You are not pathetic,” pause to spit, “you’re not desperate,” rinse out the brush, “you’re just friendly. You’re practicing making new friends, and Yoongi as well as all of BTS are a part of that. That’s it.”

So when I finally settle down into my cold and very empty bed, I don’t feel very guilty sending Yoongi a late-night text. He never texted me again after the last one I saw, and I easily brush off the feeling of disappointment and replace it with relief.

3:13 ME: Yeah, we’re going. No, I have no idea what the evil plan is. Do we need to come up with a counter-plan? And sorry I never responded...I was busy annoying Sebastian and left my phone in my room. Good morning! This is payback for your late texts last night!

I fall asleep easily after that, double checking that my phone is on silent before snuggling deep down into my pillows.

Honestly, what do I even have to worry about? Everything is going great with promotions, the movie is finished and should be well received, and in a couple of days I’ll get to go see Bong-cha and make new friends!

Into the silence, I can’t help but laugh. I’m not dumb enough to believe that everything will go as planned.

Especially not as my dreams take over and the only thing I can dream of is a man in a black suit, turning around to greet me over and over again. I can never quite see his face, but somehow I know him.

Even in my unconscious state, I lie to myself and say that it’s not Min Yoongi.

Previous - Next

Taglist is open! Ready to head to Seoul next time?

taglist: @taylorroe3 @eusticenatalie @agustneeds @oceandeep​ @prdshobi​

[frostedfaves]

Family Emergency

Pairing: Jake Peralta x reader

Summary: Y/N deals with a family emergency.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: death/suicide of a parent, grief, overall angst with soft and caring Jake mixed in

A/N: This is one of three versions of this concept that I wrote. Still debating if I want to post the others, so if you’d be interested in reading them let me know!

-

You watched the phone ring for a second time within the hour, Jake's goofy grin popping up and reminding you that someone was waiting for you to come home. Eventually you put the phone back in the cup holder and rested your hands on the steering wheel, looking back at the raindrops racing down the wet windshield. Upon reaching the apartment complex, you'd turned the car off immediately, but couldn't bring yourself to do anything but listen to the tiny daggers hit the roof and stare off into the rest of the parking lot through sheets of water.

It was 7PM now, a full two hours later than the time you clocked out from work. Jake knew this, which explains the third call your phone was now buzzing from. You wanted to pick up the phone and tell him that you were just outside, and that all you had to do was come inside the building, take the elevator up to your floor and walk into the apartment. That once you accomplished that, you would take off your jacket and explain why you were so late. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it, because that would make everything real.

You left work as normally today, interrupted by a call from the hospital before you could pull off. A nurse explained that your mother had been brought in from a suicide attempt, and that despite their best efforts, she wouldn't live past the next hour. You found yourself driving without thought, close to breaking all traffic laws as you sped off to see your mother alive one last time. You made it just in time to hold her hand as she flat-lined.

After making the necessary arrangements so that her body wouldn't be abandoned in the morgue, You left and began your trip home, almost laughing at the coincidence of a thunderstorm on one of the saddest days you'd ever lived. Aside from feeling mocked by the weather, you felt comforted by the fact that you weren't the only person clouded with gloom at the moment, certain that another heart was as heavy as yours somewhere.

Your phone rang a fourth time, this time Rosa's name appearing on your screen. She was your best friend (aside from your boyfriend of course) but she wouldn't pry if you asked her not to. You took a chance and answered.

"If you're breaking up with Jake, can you tell him already so he can stop calling me?" Rosa's voice filled the speaker immediately and you were suddenly brought to reality, a nice-sized lump forming in your throat. "Y/N?" Rosa spoke up again when you didn't respond. "What's going on, dude?"

"Tell-" you backpedaled, realizing saying Jake's name brought the same lump to your throat, and tried a different approach. "Tell him I'll be home soon."

"You okay?"

"Y-no, but don't tell him that yet. It's just...I'll text you or call you later or something, okay? Bye." You hung up after hearing a response, taking a deep breath. You finally tucked your phone into your jacket pocket to save it from the rain and took your seatbelt off, grabbing your work bag and stepping out of the car.

The rain was heavier now, but you moved as slowly as if the sun was out, carefully closing the door behind you and walking to the building in an almost dreamlike state. When you reached the door, you held it open as you slowly turned and locked the car, returning the keys to the safety of your other pocket as you kept going to the elevators.

When you reached your apartment, you unlocked the door as slow as you could manage without unintentionally teasing Jake with your entrance. You came in and when you turned around from hanging your coat and placing your shoes on the mat, Jake was standing across the room.

"I made your favorite soup. I figured your boss might've been holding you late, and wanted to soften the blow of your bad day," Jake spoke from his spot across the room as he smiled warmly but carefully.

You took a couple steps and dropped your phone and keys on the coffee table in front of the couch, still refusing to make eye contact with him. Still refusing to fully accept what was going through your head and tell it to someone else. So instead, you whispered a thanks in response, brushing a kiss onto his cheek as you passed him to head into the bedroom.

"Are you mad at me? Did I do something to hurt you?" You heard his voice again from the doorway as you changed out of your soaked clothing and felt a pain in your heart at the unsure shakiness in his tone, knowing you caused it.

"No. I'm sorry." You forced yourself to look at him, knowing that the longer you held it in, the more of a risk you'd have of losing him. As if you could handle two immense losses in one day. "Something...something happened, Jake."

He stepped over to you quickly, taking your hands in his and luckily succeeding in getting you to meet his eyes again. "What is it, babe? Talk to me."

"My mom killed herself." You felt another stabbing pain at the sharp intake of breath coming from the man in front of you. "I mean, she tried to. She did, but I still had time to say goodbye but, did I? I mean, I still don't know why she...how she could...I don't..."

You took a deep breath that was instantly shortened by the sobs that fell from you so freely, now that you were no longer holding onto the information, no longer the only one in the room who knows. You felt your legs giving up and you listened, grateful when Jake wrapped his arms around your shivering body and followed as you sank to the floor. He kissed your damp hair and whispered reassurances over and over again until everything was just one hushed noise to you. You cried until you were sure you ran out of tears and broke free from Jake's hold. Looking into his eyes and seeing his soft and worried gaze was nearly enough to send you spiraling again, but you held it together so you could speak to him.

"I don't know what to do, Jake. I mean I know I'm supposed to hold a funeral and invite relatives and accept pity glances for the next few months, but how do I deal with how much it hurts? I've never known how to process these things and right now it seems that's all my body can do is just ache. I feel so closed in and just...how do I do this?"

Jake placed his hands on either side of your tear stained cheeks, eyes watering as he watched you start to fall apart again. "I honestly don't know, baby. I really wanted to lie to you and tell you that eventually a day will come where you'll barely feel the pain anymore, but I really just don't know. And I'm sorry I can't help you figure that out, but I do know that I can be here for you, holding your hand through all the funeral stuff and the pity looks and whatever else comes."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to regain control and continue the conversation. "Babe, I can't ask you to go through that with me. It's too much." You let out a couple sniffles, smiling a bit as Jake rubbed away a few tears with his thumbs as he held you in place.

"Y/N, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't make myself available to you when you needed me most? I'd never forgive myself, especially because you've done the same for me many times since before we even started dating." He leaned forward to plant a feathery light kiss on your forehead, immediately giving a second one with a bit more pressure before pulling back completely. "We're in this together, okay?"

You studied his features, noticing the small crease between his brows, the watery and shimmering state of his eyes as he watched you, waiting for a response. His lips pressed tightly together. "Okay. Can you tell Rosa for me? I can't say it again. I considered sitting in the car all night so I wouldn't have to tell you. I wasn't ready for everything to be so real quite yet."

"I understand," he mumbled into your hair as he pulled you in again, kissing your head once more. "How about this? You go grab a bowl of soup and wrap up in your favorite blanket on the couch while I text Rosa and get your favorite movie set up in the DVD player? I think maybe you could use a distraction right now before you have to deal with real life tomorrow."

A real smile broke out for the first time in hours as you reached up to run your thumbs over Jake's jawline. "I'd like that. Thank you. I love you."

He grabbed one of your hands in his own, pulling it away from him for a second to kiss your palm before placing it on his jaw again. "I love you, too. Come on, time for Operation Feel Better. 1, 2, 3, break!" In one awkward motion, he pulled back and rolled away from you on the floor, crawling on his knees out of the room before he stood finally. His heart thumped happily in his chest at the sound of your laughter, grateful that he was already starting to succeed at being the rainbow that appeared in your clouds after the rain.

-

Tags: @halfofwhatisayismeaningless @gaulty74 @ochrythum @xetherealbeautyx @marie-03 @makapaka11

[pftones3482]

Commission for @extrasensorious-zoroark, who asked for a Luca and Lance fic. Gotta admit, this one was a little tougher for me, just because we have less than an episode of content with Luca, but overall I think it turned out well.

Set post-Voltron, is otherwise canon compliant (sorry, couldn't think of a good excuse to keep Allura alive within the word limit). Under a cut for length.

~~

When word reached the paladins that Luka hadn’t, in fact, been lost to them like they had thought, it was a stampede to make it to the med bay, with Romelle at the head of the group.

Lance thought Romelle might have felt a bit responsible for Luka’s death – she was, after all, the last one who had spoken to her before Honerva had done…whatever it was she had done to kill her. She’d spent the majority of their time in space looking guilty, and nothing anyone said could snap her out of it.

After Allura’s death, of course, Lance had sat down with her, and they’d done nothing more than just sit silently and cling to each other.

Now, as they gathered outside the med wing in the Garrison, Lance leaned over to Shiro. “How-?”

Shiro shook his head. “No idea,” he murmured. “Doctors didn’t say what changed, just that she suddenly revived right after we left for space.”

“And they didn’t tell us?” Romelle snapped.

Shiro’s hand fell on her shoulder and squeezed. “We had to have our focus elsewhere,” he said, and Lance watched her expression relax.

The doctor appeared at the door, looking weary. “Thank you all for coming,” she said. “I’m Dr. Reynolds. Luka is stable, has been for several weeks, but she still refuses to speak to anyone. With Honerva gone, we don’t believe her at risk for relapsing and suffering as she did prior. We still think it best if familiar faces be let in.”

Her gaze turned to Romelle and then to Lance and he blinked, lifting his hands in front of his chest instantly. “She doesn’t know me, she-”

He remembered, then, the marks on his face, and his gut twisted. “N-No, I’m not-”

Romelle’s hand gripped his elbow. “Please, Lance,” she murmured, her voice cracking. “I need an ally in there. Just in case.”

He slumped, offering a weak smile. “Sure. Sure, I’ll go.”

He glanced back at his teammates as Dr. Reynolds led them inside, and they all gave him sad smiles that did nothing to quell the churning in his stomach.

When Luka laid eyes on the pair, she scowled and flung her pillow at them. Romelle and Lance both dodged easily, and the other Altean hissed at the doctor. “No. Anyone but them,” she spat.

Dr. Reynolds nodded quickly. “Of course. Another time, then.”

Despite not wanting to come inside in the first place, Lance felt his gut sink. He’d been feeling pretty useless since Allura, uncertain, and despite their history, he’d been hoping that maybe, just maybe Luka could’ve been helped. To see that she wouldn’t even try? That hurt.

He hesitated to follow Romelle out the door, setting his hand on the frame as he looked back to her and searched her stony expression. “Well. We’re here, if you need.”

She flipped him off.

~~

He went back two days later, some of Hunk’s fresh gumbo cradled in his hands, and hesitated outside her door. Lance hadn’t told anyone he was planning to come here, so if he got the steaming stew thrown back in his face, he’d have a lot of explaining to do.

Luka was reading something on a tablet when he leaned in the door, tapping his knuckles on the frame and offering her a weak smile as she looked up. “Um. Hey. I brought you some not-hospital food, if you want it?” he offered, holding up the bowl and spoon. “Fresh from my teammate Hunk.”

Luka sneered. “Oh, you mean from the people who only destroyed my home planet? The ones who now keep me imprisoned here? No thank you.”

Lance shifted on his feet. “W-Well if you decide you want it, I’ll just…”

He set it down on the dresser at the end of her bed and gave her what he knew was more of a grimace than a smile before bolting back to the hallway.

When he walked by later, the gumbo was gone and the bowl was outside waiting for pickup with the rest of her dishes.

Lance didn’t know if she’d eaten it or thrown it away, but something like hope lifted in his chest.

~~ “Dr. Reynolds said you liked reading,” Lance said, standing in the doorway of Luka’s hospital room with his arms piled high with Earth books that had survived the war. “I brought some of my favorites from…from before.”

Luka lowered her tablet and frowned. “You keep coming here. Stop.”

Lance licked his lips and set the books down, refusing to be swayed. “This one here is about the Greek gods? They were these ancient gods that people used to worship, a-and the book is about their kids. And this book is about a girl who is a necromancer – that’s like, a person who can raise the dead. And she gets sent to a group home cause people think she’s insane, but actually the whole group home is just teenagers with powers. A-And this one is-”

“Paladin,” Luka snapped, and Lance jumped in surprise. She softened, setting her tablet on her lap. “Stop. I don’t…”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers. Her marks glowed faintly. “Your team…destroyed my home. It doesn’t matter how kind you act towards me, you will always be the people who killed my family. Just…stop. Please.”

Lance winced, thumbing the cover of The Hunger Games absentmindedly. “Luka, I’m sorry. We didn’t do that, though. We never hurt your home. Honerva brainwashed you to-”

The tablet shattered against the wall next to his face with a sickening sound and Lance jolted away, the book smacking the floor next to the broken glass. Luka’s cheeks were bright red and her eyes were filled with tears, the sight of which made Lance's chest ache. “Don’t you ever speak her name, you little-”

Lance threw his hands up, backpedaling out of the room before she could say more. His heart was beating fast, too fast, too hard, and he was back to their paladin wing by the time he realized he was crying too.

~~

Despite Dr. Reynolds advising against it, Lance kept bringing her food. Kept bringing her books, especially when he noticed the slightly dog-eared pages of the ones she claimed to have never touched. He never spoke to her, just dropped off Hunk’s latest cooking endeavor and a new set of books, and then took the read ones back to the library.

His teammates noticed, of course they did, and eventually Lance found Keith at his side, pulling down books at the library and handing them over silently, Pidge knocking on his door late at night with a novel she’d just finished in her hands, Hunk approaching him with more Altean themed dishes. He appreciated the efforts more than they could ever know, more than he could tell them.

Luka was lost, just like he was. She’d lost so much, in such a short span of time, and Lance understood that pain. He just wanted her to realize that there were others in the Garrison who understood what she was feeling. Needed her to realize it.

He’d be damned if he let her spend her whole life locked up here. Not after getting it back.

~~

“Your friend is a good cook,” Luka said as Lance set down the Mexican food Hunk had made that day. He blinked, not having expected her to talk, and looked up. Luka offered him what could only be called a grimace. “He um…knows his way around the kitchen. The Fineom he made the other day…that was an Altean dish.”

Lance nodded, turning to face her. “Yeah. Coran showed him how.”

She pursed her lips. “Coran is…the orange haired Altean, yes?”

“Yes,” Lance confirmed. “Hunk wanted to broaden his cooking horizons, and Coran knows some of the oldest recipes. He’s awful in the kitchen though,” he said with a chuckle.

Luka’s lips twitched in what look suspiciously like a smile, and she looked down at the book on her lap – To Kill a Mockingbird. She’d long since stopped hiding that she was reading the books Lance was bringing her. “Your world is so young,” she murmured, which was a shift in topic Lance wasn’t expecting. “You have dealt with so much that Alteans had forgotten ever happened on our world.”

Lance looked back to the book and hummed. “Yeah. We’ve come a long way. Got a long way to go. Cleaning up after the war is helping with that, shockingly,” he laughed. “Humans were pretty blind to everything outside our solar system – I think finally being able to interact with other planets made us realize how stupid and petty we all were.”

“Pettiness and stupidity occur no matter how old the planet,” Luka said, and her tone was bitter.

When she looked up, her eyes searched Lance’s with a depth he couldn’t fathom. His mouth went dry, and she shut the book. “May I…join you for lunch today? In the canteen? W-With you and your friends? I think…”

She put the book down and clasped her hands together. “I think I’m tired. Of eating alone and being stupid.”

Lance felt his face relax into a smile, and he held out an arm for her to cling to. “You were never stupid. But you’re welcome to join us – I and my teammates would really enjoy that.”

She reached out with a tentative smile and took his elbow.

[beelsnack]

Hello! Since requests are open, can I please see the brother’s reactions to an MC getting their really long curly hair cut short? Not for any bad, reason, just because MC wanted to do it. Also if it’s possible can you use gn pronouns (they/them) for this? Thank you so much! Your headcanons are the best!

Aw, you’re so welcome! I’m always down for a hair-canon, lol.

Lucifer: It was quite an accomplishment to make Lucifer do a double take.

When they had left for classes that morning, they appeared as they always did - uniform slightly askew but otherwise fairly in order, school bag bulging with all of the books they took out from the library, and, of course, their wild tangle of curls wrestled back into a very precarious ponytail.

When they returned, however, their waist length hair now settled against their jaw, styled in a carefully messy bob.

“So that’s why you’re late.” he remarked in lieu of a greeting, rising from his seat in the living room.

“Yeah, it was time for a haircut, haha,” they reached up to rub at the back of their neck, unused to the cool air against the skin there. “It was starting to get kind of ridiculous.”

Lucifer reached out, wrapping a strand around his finger thoughtfully. “You look quite satisfied with it.”

“I feel like I’ve gotten rid of five pounds worth of hair.” they grinned. “Now maybe I won’t have to buy hair ties every week.”

“How frugal,” Lucifer laughed as he let the curl bounce back into place. “It suits you.”

Mammon: “Uh, human? Where did the rest of your hair go?”

The brothers’ barging into their room unannounced was such a common occurrence that they didn’t even look up from their homework when Mammon practically kicked the door in.

“A witch stole it so she could use it in some mystical voodoo bullshit.”

“Huh?!”

They turned their head towards the doorway, rolling their eyes fondly. “I got a haircut, dummy.”

Mammon looked like his heart was about cartwheel out of his chest. “You can’t joke about that kind of stuff!”

“Sorry, sorry,” they tried to smother their giggles as Mammon pouted, stomping across the room to plant himself on the corner of the human’s desk. 

“Why d’ya cut it, anyway?”

“Taking care of it was a pain in the neck. Sometimes literally.” they shook their head, letting the short curls slap lightly against their face. “Cutting it short makes it easier to deal with, y’know?”

“I guess...” Mammon subconsciously reached out to pet their head before he realized what he was doing and backpedaled. “U-Um, I, I don’t - “

“You can touch it, I don’t mind.” they laughed, reaching out and taking a hold of his wrist. “With all the times you let me play with your hair, it’s only fair.”

Mammon would be surprised if they couldn’t feel the heat radiating from his face as they tugged his hand towards their head. Their hair was naturally a bit coarse, and it was obvious there was still some product in it from the salon, but it wasn’t unpleasant to touch. And they seemed to be enjoying themself just as much as he was.

“...You wouldn’t actually let a witch take your hair, would you?”

“Not for free.”

“That’s my human.”

Levi: Of course the group chat was blowing up when he was in the middle of a cutscene.

He considered turning on Do Not Disturb, but that would involve looking away from the screen. Knowing these particularly devs, they probably hid some of the most crucial lore bits in the background of the cutscene, and with his luck, it would be the exact second he took his eyes off of the monitor.

When he finally regained control over the character, he hit pause and picked up his D.D.D. His intention was to skim over the chat to make sure it wasn’t anything super important and then silence it, but when he saw the message log, he found himself frozen.

Human: [image]

Human: What do you guys think?

They were sitting in a salon chair, sticking their tongue out as they took the selfie. Instead of their long, wildly curling mane, their hair had been skillfully cut and styled into a bob.

Asmodeus: Ooh, that style is perfect for you!

Asmodeus: Ever since Crystal from Sucre Frenzy cut her hair, everyone’s been copying her style, but it’s such a you look!

Levi stared at the picture, not even bothering to look at the comments from his brothers. It wasn’t fair, they were too cute! Not that they weren’t cute before, but now they were super cute and - 

His D.D.D pinged, this time as a text message.

What do you think, Levi? Am I as cute as Crystal?

It took him five attempts to actually get his hands to stop shaking enough to type a coherent response.

No way.

You’re cuter.

Satan: “Is there a particular reason why you’re staring at me?”

Satan leaned forward, resting his chin on the back of his hand as he took a drink from his coffee. “You cut your hair.”

“You’re just now noticing this?” they shot back, raising an eyebrow. “I hacked off nearly a foot of hair, Satan, you’re usually more astute than this.”

“In most human literature I’ve read,” he continued. “When someone makes a dramatic change to their appearance, specifically hair, there’s a significant reason behind it.”

“The significant reason is that I’m in literal Hell, my hair retains heat, and if I die down here it isn’t going to be because of my own fucking hair.” 

Satan paused, looking a bit startled before he snorted. “Fair enough. It looks good on you.”

Asmodeus: “You’re sure about this, love?”

They were settled down in front of Asmo’s vanity, staring into the mirror. “Positive. I’ve wanted to switch up styles forever!” they played idly with the end of a curl. “Besides, if nothing else, these split ends have got to go.”

“Oh, hush,” Asmo chided as he leaned over them to grab the scissors from the vanity. “You have, like, a split end.”

“You’re only saying that because you can’t see the actual ends of my hair.”

“Be that as it may,” he laughed when they wrinkled their nose at him in the mirror. “Now, you just sit back and relax, darling. Asmo will take good care of you.”

Beelzebub: “When did you cut your hair?”

They were so used to Beel wandering into the kitchen while they were on cooking duty that they didn’t even jump when he suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Literally like an hour ago. I was almost late to start dinner because the demon in front of me would not stop trying to chat up the hairdresser.”

They grinned at him, twirling around to show off the full effect. “What do you think?”

Beel hummed. “It’s your hair.”

They tilted their head, looking slightly confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “It means that if you like it, then I like it. I like it when you’re happy.”

Although it hadn’t been his intention, the blush that appeared on their face made him feel like he had just won an award.

Belphegor: “What’s the point of you having your own bed if you’re just going to steal mine?”

Belphie cracked open one eye as the human shut the door behind them. “I miss you when you’re gone.”

The human stared back at him, unimpressed.

“Beel got crumbs in my bed and I didn’t feel like cleaning it.”

“There it is.” the human sighed, flopping down on the bed next to him. When Belphegor opened his other eye, he immediately noticed something different.

“You got a haircut.”

“Figure that out on your own?” they blew him a raspberry as they took their shoes off and settled down next to him. As was routine, he rolled over onto his back and let them lay their head on his chest. 

“Any particular reason why?” he asked, stifling a yawn. 

“I wanted to see how it would feel to go one night without being suffocated by my own hair.”

“I thought you liked being choked.”

They punched him lightly in the stomach. “Shut up.”

He hummed, bringing his hand up to card it through their hair. “I like it. It’s more fun to play with like this.”

They sighed contentedly, relaxing fully against him. “You know that’s going to put me to sleep.”

“That’s the point.”

[scarabbai]

Adeptus Fragile! Handle with Care.

Rating: T

Relationships: Ganyu & Xiao | Alatus, Xiao | Alatus & Zhongli, Ganyu & Zhongli, etc.

Fic Summary:

Centuries have passed since the age of the Traveler and their companions, and the immortals of Teyvat—or what’s left of them—have moved on, living modern lives in modern times. The adepti of Liyue are no exception.

But when something rather unexpected happens, their modern life begins to get a little... too modern. One sunny morning, the great Conqueror of Demons, an accomplished senior in the ranks of the Adepti, wakes up and looks at the world with innocent eyes.

“Who am I?”

Archons, someone give poor Ganyu a break...

-

Chapter 1:

In which Xiao wakes up

AO3 Link

The first thought that comes to him when he wakes up is: Fuck, my head hurts.

The second one comes after, when he pulls the sheets tighter around himself and buries his face in his pillow with a groan: I don’t want to get up.

The third slams into him just as he’s about to fall back asleep: Wait, where am I?

He bolts upright in bed, shaking the sleep out of his eyes like a wet dog shaking out its fur. He regrets it when it only makes his headache worse, but the fact that he doesn’t recognize any of his surroundings when his eyes do a quick sweep of the room overshadows that.

Alright, this is fine. Everything is fine. Remain calm. Remain calm, uh...

The realization crashes down on him like a wave, leaving him cold and shivering.

He doesn’t even know his own name.

Okay. Okay, you know what? He can do this. He can work with this. First things first: get situated.

He makes a move to get out of bed, but with his legs tangled in the sheets, it ends with him taking a rather ungraceful tumble instead. His face burns with embarrassment when he lands on the floor with a thud, reduced to nothing more than a balled up heap of limbs. Frustrated, he kicks and struggles blindly, but it only gets him more jumbled up. He’s like a cat trying and failing to escape a blanket cocoon.

He huffs. Mortals and their needlessly irritating fabrics...

Wait, what? Where did that come from? He scrunches up his face in confusion, puzzled by his own thoughts.

Thankfully, he doesn’t need to think much more about it when he hears a knock at the door.

“Xiao,” calls a voice from outside the room, and his head snaps toward the sound. Shit, someone’s here. “Xiao, are you alright in there? I heard a loud noise.”

He doesn’t respond, not trusting his own ability to speak. What should he say? What should he do? And why is that voice, of all things, so familiar? It’s comforting, despite having no idea who it belongs to.

The knocking comes again, more insistent this time. “Xiao,” the voice repeats, firmer but concerned. “If you don’t say anything, I’m coming in!”

He struggles harder in response, but his awkward flailing gets him nowhere. He slumps in defeat. Apparently, this is his life. Whoever he is, bested by a very long and very tangled roll of cloth.

When the door opens, he freezes. A girl with light blue hair steps into the room. She has a gentle and earnest look to her despite the worry written all over her face, and...

Are those horns on her head?

There must be some kind of next level pathetic expression on his face because when she glances over and sees him looking the way he does on the floor, her first reaction isn’t laughter. Instead, she gasps in horror and rushes over, kneeling down and fretting over him in a way that makes him tense up and abandon the idea of wriggling free. He shrinks away and hides his face from her big, purple-pink-whatever colored eyes—they make him feel guilty, somehow.

“Xiao, what’s going on? What happened?” She reaches out but seems to rethink her decision, pulling her hand back before it can touch him. Is he poisonous or something? “It must be the karmic debt again... I’ll call Zhongli, he’ll know what to do.”

She’s back on her feet almost instantly, but before she can turn and leave, some unknown impulse—fear? Loneliness? Just the need for an explanation?—has him reaching out.

“Wait,” he pleads, and the sound of his own voice surprises him somehow. “Don’t go...”

The words stop her in her tracks. He can’t identify the emotion in her eyes when she slowly leans down again to take in his teary-eyed expression, but he thinks it might be uncertainty. Or suspicion? Maybe it’s just intense focus. He’s not sure what that something is, but he’s pretty sure now that he’s bad at reading people.

With that same look of scrutiny on her face, she cautiously reaches out and places a hand on his forehead. Her skin is cold to the touch, and he fights the urge to flinch away. He’s learning very quickly that he’s unused to physical contact.

Despite this, something inside him relaxes as the coolness spreads from his head to the rest of his body. She’s trustworthy, he decides. He may not know who she is or why her presence is so soothing, but he knows this.

Is she family? She feels like family. He does have a family, right?

A thoughtful—and somewhat displeased—hum breaks him out of his thoughts. Expression blank but eyes curious, he blinks up at her while she puts her hand to her chin and frowns at him. She seems troubled.

“Xiao–” She cuts herself off, worrying her lower lip in uncertainty. Dimly, he realizes she’s been referring to him by that the whole time—Xiao might be his name. “You’re... acting a bit strange this morning. And you came stumbling home last night, and you went to sleep when you never do, and...”

She sighs. Heavily. She sounds so distressed it makes him feel a bit sick in solidarity.

“I don’t mean to pry or overstep, but...” She pauses, unsure, and that inexplicable feeling of guilt returns to him in her brief silence. “Are you alright? I think there might be something wrong...” A look of alarm crosses her face, and she quickly backpedals. “Not with you, of course! I’m just saying...” She fidgets a little, but when she meets his eyes this time, her resolve seems stronger. “I’m just saying if you’ve gotten into any trouble, you can tell me. I’ll do my best to help, wherever I can. It’s the least I could do.”

He stares at her in response. She stares back, wilting a little.

Definitely family, he concludes. A doting older sister, perhaps.

Awkwardly, he realizes her silence means he should answer her somehow, but instead of replying with something intelligent or actually explaining himself, all his stupid mouth blurts is, “Good morning. Are you my big sister?”

He immediately wants to bury himself.

While she balks, caught off guard by his clearly uncharacteristic statement, he panics. More foolish nonsense spills out of his mouth, and between her confused spluttering and his inability to form proper words, their attempted conversation dissolves into an unrecognizable mess of half-formed sounds. It’s as if he isn’t used to speaking or hasn’t spoken in a long time, and this failed speech of his is making up for it.

In the end, none of what they attempted to say was actually comprehensible. He takes one look at the pure confusion—and maybe even a little horror, but he has a hard time telling—written all over her face and knows he has to try again. It appears he’s bad with words as well. Shame and frustration settle in his chest at this discovery.

The first thing he manages to come up with is, “Sorry.” He buries his face in the fabric wrapped around him, feeling small. “I don’t... know what’s happening,” he admits, and he hopes the note of fear in his voice is muffled. “I don’t remember anything. I don’t know who you are.” His eyes sting with tears. Suddenly, he feels pathetic. “I don’t even know who I am...”

Saying it out loud breaks something inside him—it all feels so much more real now, and he‘s so confused, so lost. What is he supposed to do? Who was he? Why did this happen? Frantic thoughts swell like rising water within him, and he sobs, drowning. He doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know.

The question that says it all falls from his lips like tears:

“Who am I?”

- - -

Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad.

She doesn’t know what she expected from this morning, but it certainly wasn’t this. It certainly wasn’t waking up to find Xiao—whom she greatly respects—in... whatever state it is he’s in.

He had called her big sister. Her! The big sister! The sheer disbelief she felt at those words—if anything, Xiao is the senior. His rank in adeptal affairs is higher than hers despite their ages, and their interactions have always reflected this. And if that wasn’t jarring enough, what he revealed next sent her reeling.

No memories. None at all. Can you believe that? The Conqueror of Demons with sudden amnesia? What is this? What has her life come to?

She realizes, belatedly, that Xiao is crying. He’s crying right now in front of her when he had never once showed an ounce of vulnerability before her in the past, and the sight is shocking.

Well, no time to lose. She has to do something, even if she’s not sure what exactly it is she should do.

Swallowing down her nerves, she tries to sound as gentle and reassuring as possible when she shushes him and murmurs, soothingly, “It’ll be alright, Xiao, it’ll be alright... You’ll be okay.”

As she says this, she awkwardly reaches down and—the act kills her a little inside—pats Xiao lightly on the head. Despite his sobbing, he calms slightly. That alone is enough to make her nerves fade just a little, and she takes the opportunity to help him out of the blanket bundle he’s gotten himself into. With careful hands, she unwraps the sheets tangled around his body, peeling away layer after layer until he goes from sad spring roll to just Xiao.

As she pulls back to assess her handiwork, it really strikes her how... small Xiao is.

He hasn’t gotten any shorter or thinner, his facial features are unchanged, and overall he looks the same as he did yesterday, but the way he holds himself now makes all the difference. His emotions are out in the open as he wipes at his tears, his heart unburdened by memory, his eyes innocent. Without the millenniums of suffering and coldness that defined him, he feels so young.

He’s just a boy, she thinks as she pulls him into a hug. He resists at first but settles into the embrace soon after, resting his chin on her shoulder. Mindful of the way he shakes with quieting sniffles, she rubs little circles into his back. The action seems to soothe him.

Ganyu considers the situation. This is okay, actually. This is alright. Zhongli-dàrén will help her figure out what has happened to Xiao when they go to him, but she can handle this for now. She can manage this.

Responsibility is a self assigned fate that has always fit her like a glove, and this is just another to add to her list of duties. Surely it won’t be that hard to look after her new little brother?

“Your name is Xiao,” she begins, voice soft. “I’m Ganyu.”

She feels rather than sees the nod Xiao gives in response. It makes her smile as she pets his hair.

“And you’re right, Xiao-dìdì. I’m your big sister, and I’ll take care of you.”

[lady-divine-writes]

Teaser for “A Demon on his Knees”

So, I’ve decided to unleash the floodgates of all the BDSM fantasies I have yet to write for these two and focus on a vast array of scenes and situations. This is the first thousand words of one of them (not to be confused with A Dalton Boy on his Knees for anyone reading that. I hope to have this done and up soon ;)  )

***

Tell me about your dirtiest sexual fantasy.

Crowley reads the text message and laughs out loud.

Two months.

Aziraphale has only consented to using his new cell phone for two months. To top it off, it’s probably the hundredth phone Crowley has gotten him. But seeing as they’re on lockdown and his landline has been less than reliable (through no fault of Crowley’s, he assures him), Aziraphale finally relented when the latest iPhone popped up on his desk out of thin air, activated and ready for use.

Two months is how long it took Aziraphale to discover sexting.

Either that, or now that the Nope-ageddon is over and they have time to explore the 6,000-year-old friendship Aziraphale claimed they don’t have, Crowley has become a worse influence on him than ever.

Are you serious? Crowley texts. Why would you, a principality, want to know that?

Aren’t you the one always telling me to broaden my horizons? Get a little more daring? Besides, it’s just sex, Crowley. It’s not that big a deal.

Crowley’s eyes pop open wide at that, genuinely trying to remember when that conversation could have come up. Since he can’t, he can only conclude that yes, he is becoming a bad influence, without even realizing it.

How do you know I even have a dirty fantasy? Sex is a human indulgence. I may tempt them to it, but it’s not something I bother myself with.

Crowley presses send and waits - as in, he stands completely still in one spot and stares at the screen until he gets a response back. And when it does come through, he selects it so quickly, he nearly cracks his screen in the process.

Because I know you, my dear. You are an extremely curious demon. Even if you haven’t indulged in said fantasy, you probably have one.

Crowley grimaces at his phone. Smart ass angel. Fine. Maybe I do have one. Why do you want to know what it is?

Crowley waits again, a little longer this time. Gripping his phone in his hand, he feels a long, troubled sigh fill his body - Aziraphale’s sigh from miles away.

Because I’m a curious angel. And it’s been far too long since you and I have seen one another in the flesh.

In that instant, Crowley softens.

Alright, alright. Just … give me a second.

Take all the time you need, my dear. A warmth shoots up his arm - the warmth of Aziraphale’s smile, the one that comes with that fetching little wiggle he does when he gets his way.

Crowley crosses through rooms from his living room to his office and sits down on his throne. The bed would probably be more apropos for this conversation, but not conducive to coherent thought.

Not when his knees are already buckling and his face flushed.

I do have one fantasy, Crowley texts. But you have to swear that if I tell you, you promise not to judge me.

Why on Earth would I judge you?

Because that’s what angels do. And whether or not you want to admit it, I know you, too.

A substantial pause, and then - You have my word. Now, please. Go ahead.

Fine. Crowley clears his throat, even though he’s not actually speaking. I’m in a room somewhere …

Somewhere? Nowhere in specific?

No. Nowhere in specific. Crowley swallows hard. He makes a few mistakes typing the next few words, and it annoys him to realize his hands are shaking. Eyes closed, hands tied behind my back, and I’m waiting with the door cracked open. Someone walks in – I don’t know who (which is a huge and blatant lie because he does know. He’s known for thousands of years. There’s only one he trusts to do this … only one he wants to do this …) and frankly, I don’t care. I don’t have a relationship with him. I’m not paying him to be there, not tempting him either. But I am expecting him … or someone. Basically, I’m offering myself up for grabs to anyone walking by.

Crowley pauses a second, mouth dry, heart racing in his chest. It’s his biggest fantasy, but it would also be punishment. Punishment for things that he’s done in Hell’s name.

Punishment for not having the courage to go after the things he wants.

How horrible would it be to have some random human wreck him instead of the one he wants so much, he’s ready to claw his skin clean off his body?

And then?

Crowley grins, for a brief moment thrilled that he’s lured Aziraphale in to his secret erotic dream.

He fucks me, entirely unconcerned with who I am or what I want. I’m just there for his use, his pleasure.

And that doesn’t frighten you? Surrendering control? Being at his mercy?

Seeing those words makes Crowley’s heart beat faster. That’s exactly what he wants.

He wants to surrender control …

… but only to Aziraphale.

But how does he let that nugget of information slip without being too obvious?

Yes and no. I’d like to believe that whoever he is, he’s not interested in ending my existence, not showing up with a bucket of holy water to dunk on me. He’s just there to use me. He fucks me, he comes, he leaves, and that’s pretty much where the fantasy ends.

Crowley’s cock has gotten hard while he’s been texting. He squashes his erection with the palm of his hand, staring at the end of his last message, waiting for a reply.

And you’d give that kind of power to a human?

Crowley’s thumbs hover while he tries to find an answer to that question, one that won’t reveal his hand. I’m not saying that necessarily …

That seems rather reckless of you, my dear.

Crowley’s heart sinks as he types back - Yeah. Well, that’s part of the point.

And it’s not a temptation? Not to reap souls for Satan? Just something you want?

If I manage to kill two birds with one stone, I imagine that’s good for me in the end. But no. It’s just something I want. For me.

And you’ve never done this before?

No Crowley texts, holding his breath, wondering what Aziraphale is getting at. Not once.

The message he gets back speeds his heart into oblivion.

Do you feel like making that fantasy a reality?

Crowley raises an eyebrow. What do you mean?

I mean it’s been two months, Crowley. And I miss you terribly.

You would do that? Crowley asks, almost incredulous. You would come to my flat right now, after months of protesting that it would be setting a bad example, to engage in what you admit is reckless behaviour?

Crowley hits send before he has a chance to consider the tone of his message. It sounds cruel when he reads it back, unfair to berate Aziraphale when the realization of this fantasy is all he’s ever wanted. He expects Aziraphale’s next message will be him backpedaling with a Silly me. You’re right. I apologize. I’ll talk to you later. But the message Aziraphale sends is a single word that makes Crowley’s heart clench in his chest.

Please?

There are several auto-responses waiting in a row underneath Aziraphale’s plea, and without having to think (which he hasn’t been doing much of anyway) Crowley hits one.

It doesn’t even require him to hit send, ergo no second thoughts.

Yes.

[dougiewonderland]

Confessions (Nolan Patrick)

Warnings: fem!reader -- I usually try and keep the things I write as neutral as possible, but I have this image of an older male reporter asking about a "lovely lady" so I figured I'd stick with it since it was in my head. Sorry if you're masc or nb!

~~~

You watched from home as post-game interviews started after Philly won 5-1, your best friend Nolan being responsible for two of those goals. Nolan was the third interview aired, and you could see the pride and happiness in his eyes and body language. He might not be one to smile a lot, but you can read his emotions from other queues he gives off. And you're proud of him--he did a wonderful job on the ice tonight, and you were excited to spend the night eating takeout and watching your favourite show with him as was your post-game tradition.

You were filling out your online takeout order when his interview came on, and as you rushed to finish your order so you could pay attention to Nolan on your TV, you almost missed one of the questions a reporter asked him which took him by absolute surprise. Most questions were about how he played or how he felt when he scored, not about you.

"So we noticed you with a lovely lady on Carter Hart's Instagram story yesterday. Is there a chance the fans will get to meet this new girlfriend of yours soon?" a reporter asked. You knew they meant you. You had gone to a small barbecue Nolan hosted yesterday to commemorate the start of the season and the end of the warm weather, and you knew what story the reporter was referencing. It was you, Nolan, TK, and Carter standing and joking around. You can't say you weren't hopeful--to the untrained eye the look Nolan is giving you looks like one of love and adoration. But you knew better--it's just the look he gives to you, one of his best friends.

Nolan just looks at the reporter like they have 3 heads, before snapping out of it and clearing the air, "That's Y/N, fans have seen her before. She's just one of my best friends and a close friend of the team." As he backs away from the mic to give Claude the chance to step in, the reporter insists there's more.

"But the way you're looking at her, it's easy to assume there's something else." Nolan looks at Claude who just took his spot at the mic, Claude thankfully stepping in and saying that Nolan explained your relationship and that's all there is to it.

Nolan mouths a thank you to him before heading off to the locker room to change and head to your place. He knows you were watching the interviews. He knows you're going to bring it up because you're not one to shy away from awkward situations like this. He just hopes he doesn't blow his cover and crack the lid open on just how much he does have feelings for you.

You frown a little hearing his response. You had hoped, just a little, that maybe you were right and that he was actually looking at you with the same kind of feelings you had for him. But you knew from the beginning of your feelings for him growing that you weren't his type and that he would forever be just a friend, just your best friend. And you were okay with that, he was an amazing best friend and it wasn't something you were willing to give up for the sake of your feelings.

---

You heard Nolan's special knock on your door just as you're getting plates out for your takeout that had arrived a few minutes earlier. You open the door for him, a smile on your face as you see him standing there with a few drinks and snacks from the convenience store three doors down.

"You know you can just come in. I leave the door unlocked for you," you say as he heads in and places everything down on the coffee table.

"But then you wouldn't know if it was me or a stranger breaking in," he comments back when heading over to you and the takeout in the kitchen, half-serious and half-joking. You nudge him with your elbow before grabbing your food and heading for your couch, Nolan close behind.

"Congrats on the win tonight, you did amazing," you beam at him before digging into your food.

"Thanks. Let's just hope this luck continues all season," he replies between bites.

"It's not just luck, it's also skill. Which you have a lot of. You'll do great."

"You're too sweet. I could be the worst player in the league and you'd still tell me I'm the best," he jokes at you, a soft smile gracing his features from just enjoying being around you.

"You know that's not true. I'd still say you're good, but not the best. That honour goes to TK no matter how good or bad you are," you retort, prompting a shallow glare from the man next to you. He knows you're saying it as a joke to irritate him, but with how much you've been using TK as your way of teasing him, he can't help but think you might have a thing for his friend.

"He likes you too, you know," Nolan mutters, not realizing he said it aloud.

"Who? TK? And why did you say 'too?'" you ask, confused by the entire statement.

"Yeah, Teeks. He's liked you for a while but wouldn't say anything because of how close we are."

"Oh... well that's...unfortunate..." you trail off. TK is the only one in the team circle who knows you like Nolan, and that's only thanks to your tired inebriated self spilling it one night during a post-win celebration with the team. You didn't even remember saying it, but TK coming up to you the next time he saw you and teasing you with 'Soooo, Patty huh?' while nudging you incessantly with his elbow let you know you slipped up hard.

"Why is it unfortunate?" Nolan asks, snapping you out of thought.

"Because I don't like him back that way. And he knows who I like. I feel terrible now," you confess with an exasperated sigh.

"He'll get over it, he said it was just a small crush. But wait--you don't like him? Then why-" Nolan stops, not wanting you to know how much your teasing got to him.

"Why what?"

"Why do you always use him to compare me to?"

"Because he's your best friend and the person you're closest to in the league. If you were closer to Claude or Hartsy I'd use them, but you and TK are joined at the hip so I use him. It hammers in the tease better when you use someone close to the person.

"But you know I don't mean it, right? Yeah, he's a great player, but so are you. You're my favourite player, always have been always will be. I don't actually think he's better than you. You're both amazing and have your strengths on and off the ice," you continue when you notice the look of hurt in his eyes. Thankfully, your reassurance helps ease him a bit, but you can still see something there, something you can't quite read.

"I know, I know. I know you're joking when you say it, I guess you just used him so much recently that I jumped to the conclusion that you liked him. And to be honest, I was a little insulted that you didn't tell your best friend--me--you liked him. And now I'm insulted you haven't told me who you like and even TK knows," Nolan jokes.

You turn away from Nolan with a blush on your cheeks, hoping he doesn't notice. "It's not that easy. It only came out when I was drinking with you guys last season, otherwise no one would know," you say, trying to put as much authority in your voice as you can despite how flustered you feel.

---

As the night goes on and you finish your food, you and Nolan progressively get closer on the couch and start cuddling, as is normal. But you can't focus on the show as you notice how rigid and uncomfortable Nolan feels, like he doesn't want you laying on his shoulder. You move away to give him space, causing him to pause the show.

"Is everything ok?" he asks, a concerned look on his face.

"What's going on? Do you not want me to lay on you? I can move back to my spot if you don't want me near you," you say defeatedly.

Nolan pulls you back to him and wraps his arm around you, rubbing your arm lightly. "That's not it at all. I'm sorry, it's just... the interview today got to me a little bit and you haven't said anything about it. Normally when something awkward like that happens, you make a joke about it and we move on but you haven't said anything and...I'm sorry it's stupid I shouldn't be so nervous," Nolan carries on.

"I didn't say anything because you kind of said all there was to say during the interview, plus the conversation about TK made it kind of awkward to say anything about it or joke about it anyway," you answer him, looking down at your lap to avoid looking at him. He made it clear you're just a friend and you don't want to have this conversation. You already avoided it once today, you're hoping you can avoid it again.

"Awkward how?" Nolan asks, looking at you intensely.

"A reporter shipped you with me and you shipped me with TK. It's just been an awkward situation altogether. How did you feel getting asked that?"

"It was definitely surprising, especially because you're on my Instagram already."

"You know, my friend from work made a comment about how you're looking at me in Hart's story, too. I laughed it off because she's always been shipping us. It's how you've always looked at me," you say, either hoping for him to change the subject because he's uncomfortable or for him to say what you've wanted him to say for almost two years now.

Nolan just looks at his lap, an extra dusting of red appearing on his cheeks and neck. After sitting there in silence for what feels like hours, he manages to speak barely above a mumble. "You know, I'm glad Claude was at the mic and answered that second comment for me. If I was there, I would've frozen like a deer in headlights and would've given way too much away."

"What do you mean 'give too much away...?'" you ask cautiously.

"I... your friend and the reporter, they're not entirely wrong." Nolan confesses. Your eyes snap up to look at him. He notices and immediately starts backpedaling. "I mean-- no wait-- that's not-- fuck."

"No, what do you mean?" you press. 'Well at least this will answer all your questions fair and square,' you think to yourself, knowing you were already in deep.

"I... what do you think I mean," Nolan mutters, thinking he just messed everything up.

"I'm not sure what I think you mean, but I know what I'm hoping you mean," you confess, causing Nolan to look up at you curiously. "I'm hoping you mean the same thing as why I couldn't just tell you, my best friend I tell everything to, who I like."

A light enters Nolan's eyes for the first time since this conversation started and he leans in closer to you. All he can muster is a small "I-" as he alternates his look between your eyes and your lips.

You were never one to be as bold as you were about to be. But you two were here, and there was no turning back, and he was leaning in, and he was looking at your lips, and you just couldn't hold back anymore. So you filled in the remaining space between your lips and kissed him with all the passion of your feelings for him over the last two years.

You didn't expect him to reciprocate. Or to take your face in his hands and pull you closer. But he did, and at this point in time everything felt perfect.

[seekingseven]

Hey Seeking! I love you <3. Can I request a drabble of Hyrule and/or his Zeldas interacting with the townsfolk? They deserve a lot. Thank you.

Linked Universe Prompt Requests #6!

Sure!

(You can also read the fic here on Ao3!)

~~~~~~

You wake up with flies on your face and sweat on your neck. Slowly, you sit up, hay clinging to the sides of your face, and your back aches. It's from sleeping on the hay again, Brother says. He's mumbling, as always, and the leather of his boots squeak as he slips them on. They're the new ones, with the blue stitching and the white soles. The colors feel exorbitant, uncouth; you ask why he's wearing them, and his response is a snort and a half-swallowed instruction to hurry up and get ready.

Snorts, grunts, whispers; recently, Brother seems to be talking less in words and more in sounds.

You get up without much complaint, combing your hair between your fingers and pinching your cheeks. You hope you look decent, good, at least; the horses have already drunk all the water in the trough, and there's no other place in the house your reflection would agree to meet you. A ticking hums at the back of your mind, like a hammer bumping against a nail. You're forgetting something. Right?

Breakfast is corn paste and milk, but it tastes good. Everything tastes good, these days; only recently had the dairy trade reawakened in Hyrule, thanks to the hero's persistence, the queen's charisma, and the princess' cleverness, and a life lived largely without milky pastries had only two chapters—before dairy, and after. The second was always best.

You smile to yourself. There's a knocking from the next room, and Brother pops his head in. He asks if you're ready. You say yes, cheeks still pink and mouth sticky with paste, as you lick the last droplets of milk off your upper lip. He's unimpressed. When isn't he?

Do you even know where we're going?

Of course, why else would I get ready?

In reality, you don't, and it's only because of the hammer-nail dinging at the back of your head that you know you don't. And Brother knows too, but he doesn't seem angry. His eyebrows are flat on his forehead and the bag over his shoulder is fatter than usual. There's no grimace on his face. The crows feet around his eyes are smooth.

You glance at the window. The sun still hadn't risen.

It always seemed to arrive late on usual days.

We don't have all day, Brother insists, and his foot is out the door. He snaps his fingers once, twice, muscles snaking along his arms like desert cobras. You get up slowly and place your plate to the side, then wipe your mouth on your sleeve. Brother scolds. You roll your eyes, pull your hair up to the top of your head. Pinhead pores on your scalp ache from the sudden movement. The door slams shut behind you.

You look ridiculous with that ponytail, Brother remarks. You snort, then point out the identical one sitting on the crown of his own head. Exactly, he insists, but exactly what is left up for the wind to decide.

The grass is soft and wet, the kind that doesn't crunch. Fairy dust drifts on the air. The clouds above are knotted and whorled like old wood, bleeding blues and pinks, and a gentle smear of light peeks over the horizon. You slap away a mosquito from your arm and follow close behind Brother's shadow. You hope he'll say something about where you two are headed; he won't, of course, but you'd first feign confidence than confess ignorance.

It's just as your feet begin to ache that a shadow falls over your head. You look up, the Darunia Town sign looks down. You glance at Brother. His eyes are fixed on the ground. His mouth is twisted strangely around the corners; you notice with a flinch that he's smiling.

Frankly, it doesn't look good on him.

You say as much. He doesn't stop. Something red has flushed his cheeks; sunlight, maybe? You know for a fact he hadn't drunk anything compromising during your walk. Laundry lines flutter overhead as street vendors call out prices and advertisements. A few of them approach you. You wave away the strangers with your clipped Rutonian accent and hurry over to acquaintances with rupees in hand. Three bread rolls and one bottle of strawberry jam later, you click back to Brother's side. He's still smiling. Your eyes narrow. His remained focused on the main road, only flickering up now and then to fixate on something across the distance.

You follow his gaze, squint, and gasp.

Three figures, slim and shining, and you know their names.

Them? you cry, voice tight. It cracks on the 'e'. How did they get here? Aren't they supposed to be at the palace?

If it had been anyone else, on any other day, perhaps if the sun wasn't as bright or the figures on the hill weren't as golden, Brother might have snorted. But he turned to you with his wrinkled smile and sunburnt shoulders and answered—with words, too.

They came to visit the village.

You look to the hill. You can see the outline of the hero's shoulders from where you stood, the familiar plume of brown hair and the white outline of light against his back. A silver sword shone at his side, naked, but there was no malice to its glint.

Us? Why, what do they want with us?

They don't want anything.

Are you sure? you ask, but you know it's true. You can see their faces now, two pale, one dusted with sunlight, and you see the softness around their eyes. A crowd bubbles around them, children and mothers and fathers and cousins, clamoring for attention, tossing stories into the air and hoping one of the three would catch their words. You stop, backpedal. Brother is still walking. You watch him go, melt into the crowd, and you only notice that you've been wringing your hands together when your knuckles begin to burn.

Hero, Princess, Queen...what could they want with you? A forest dweller, farmer; there's a piece of straw sticking to your cheek, you realize, and you pull it off with unnecessary haste. You look away. Your body follows, turning, and you can feel a white flag wagging from the back of your head. You slap it down and hurry off. Faintly, you hear Brother calling. You ignore him.

Where are you going?

This voice, it isn't Brother.

You turn, slowly, and a distantly familiar face looks back. Freckles, a cut across one cheek, a flower of scars on one shoulder and a caramel-sweet smile sitting atop caramel-dark skin. He smiles. You don't; you're too busy gaping. You know this man from stories and legends and paintings on cave walls; to see him in front of you is an honor you know you don't deserve.

Sorry, sir, you begin. He cuts you off with a disarming smile. His eyes are brown, you realize, like chocolate melting. Like yours.

You had always thought they were blue or violet—why, you didn't know.

No need to call me sir, he says. His accent sounds like your own, and you recognize the stitching of his tunic as that of an amateur. You respond, but with what, you can't remember, because you're overwhelmed with the realization that the hero is just like you.

You must have said it aloud, because his eyebrows fly upwards, then flutter down as he laughs.

Just like you, well, of course! I'm only a man, nothing more than that.

Just a man? you ask, and you feel your confidence coming back. The hero winks, and you snort before continuing. Well, then, how about a few drinks? Tell me your stories, and I'll pay your tab.

My tab? his eyebrows are raised, and you can see that shining smile coming back on his face. It reflects on your own. Grinning, you gesture to the tavern across the street. The sounds of clinking glasses and domestic rebellion against the nine o'clock sunlight swell from within.

A drink for a story, the hero muses. I don't know if I'll have anything good enough, but I'm intrigued.

You expected his response, but you're still surprised. You ask if he's sure, he insists he is.

Alright then, you ask. What'll you take?

Nothing fancy—just the usual; a beer and some chips.

Beer and some chips, you muse, and you smile as you realize that his usual is the same as yours.

~~ Fine ~~ I hope you enjoyed! Thank you so much for reading! [Previous Request] - [Next Request]

[soundsaboutrighttumblr]

another ramking meta - morning after and more

also titled: The morning after - What is happening King?

Sorry this is long and kinda all over the place but.

I loved that scene? I think it fits so well with both characters? Lemme explain. The knowledge we gained in that earlier tent scene about King tells so much about his entire character. Because I think a main source for King’s struggle may be the role he assigned himself with Ram. Roles and behavioral mindsets are a powerful thing. Have to take a big swing with that one, here comes: King is a nurturing soul, a caretaker, the one who knows, who’s clever and a good student, who guides, who’s responsible, who gives out advice among his friends. So very often he finds himself in the role of tutor, of soft-spoken guidance, of support, of voice of reason even if a quirky one, it’s just his nature and how he fits with people. You can get used to such roles and overlook that they are not all that makes you up.

So for King it started out with Ram as a spark of interest in that silent boy, a challenge also, a playful one over all. I think at the point where King tells Ram’s brother that he is just playing with Ram in a friendly way because he appreciates his weird character, that this is truly what it feels like for him in that moment. He may be even platonically flirting at those times, because it feels like a fun dynamic between the two, and Ram’s reactions are interesting to King, it’s a playful exploration of another human being, that you click with. He might be oblivious the potential of catching actual feelings I believe, that maybe the seeds have already been sown, that this has potential to be more than just a fascination, that it maybe is already starting, that he feels actually drawn to Ram, attracted. That Ram might actually respond that way. Oh, what a word that fits them… attraction, the pull towards each other.  

Then situations arise, so many of them, where King can be helpful to Ram in so many ways, and he falls into his natural role of tutor, supporter, of big brother, because he is just good like that, and also because it brings him closer to that fascinating person, he’d very much like to figure out. Then problems get more serious for Ram with his father’s affair, things actually hurt and hit close to the heart and taking care of Ram in that situation, I think that might also be the time when King realizes just how much he cares, how much he is invested himself. The more serious matters provide the atmosphere to get a sense of how deep the care and affection really goes, how important they’ve become to each other.  But it is in a time when Ram needs; needs support. And so that is the role that King puts himself in. That he decides Ram needs. A supporting friend, big brother figure, not someone who might get distracted by his tattoos and eyes and neck and the racing heart it might cause in him.

That’s when the holding back everything beyond starts. The feelings that are surprising and unsettling King with how much they WANT now,  but that he decides are not part of the perceived deal made with Ram,  the deal King decides Ram deserves in this time of distress, the ‘this is what you get out of this relationship, support, and comfort, not messy feelings from a kind of overwhelmed human disaster with needs himself’-deal.

The senior-junior/big brother-little brother dynamic plays a big role with it I believe, and correct me if I am wrong with this, since it is not my culture, please do. (But I think it also plays into Ram’s behavior, because Ram never actively takes a step of taking things further, he is always just asking and waiting for King to take that step if he is willing, he offers and amps up the intensity in his eyes, and it kind of backfires in that way that it makes King so flustered that he backpedals, because what King gets is that he is freaking important to Ram in those moments, but what it does to King is amp up his sense of responsibility for Ram, to fill that important role responsibly, as a supporting friend and brother.)

So yeah, long rant short, King feels that he is in over his head, because Ram is just so important to him, and he puts such high standards of responsibility onto himself, that coming in there with needs of his own feels like he is betraying the trust Ram puts in him to being the source of comfort and guidance that he thinks Ram deserves. He doesn’t want to bother Ram with worries about a sick King, so he keeps silent about his fever. He will remove his needs from the picture whenever he’s able to and it takes actually being knocked out by a wooden stick, or having a fever, or being drunk to let the lines blur... and still he will try and not bother Ram with it, and push him away when he has a fever from an infected head wound, because he thinks it is better for Ram’s needs. But of course Ram makes it not easy for him, because he is such a protective caretaker person himself, and that’s when King stumbles and slips up occasionally in his resolutions because caring Cool Boy is a force of nature? 

But it really needed those 14 felt concussions, infections, fevers, medications, and alcohol to get King so inebriated that he could break out of that headspace for a moment, and confess to his own wants and still being so angry about it all, about failing what he set out to do, failing Ram. It needed that inebriation together with Ram upping the ante, trying to pull King closer, to touch, to be in his space bodily, to aggressively take care of him right back, to make King’s fluttering feelings so hard to ignore and hold back, for King to lose his balance; for King to push back so hard and out of proportion it had to collapse somehow.

Whew. Whew.

But old habits die hard. So I think what is happening in the morning scene is a falling back exactly into this. King looks at Ram sleeping, and goes: Oh, how freaking beautiful he is, and oh neck tattoo, and arms, and flash backs of lips on lips, and smell good, and HE IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME, and… am I doing right by him? What did I freaking DO?

King is panicking again, struggling with the sheer weight of the responsibility he feels he has for their dynamic, their relationship, that he fears he might have crossed a line, second guessing Ram’s motivations, and probably even fearing he pushed Ram into something he didn’t want. Or need.

So he jumps at conclusions that get him out of that acute stress of change, of potential and responsibility, and he puts words into Ram’s mouth.

I actually believe Ram was going to say something like, I was playing cards with P’Tee, and then we came back to the tent and we kissed, dry like that, but Ram is also stalling with his answer because he senses King is almost vibrating out of his skin, he is reading King’s cues and giving him the time to react and interrupt, and when King jumps to conclusions, in that excited and relieved voice, he just goes with it and gives King space and time. Never once does he plan to let him off the hook though, because Ram gets King, I believe, and he is exactly what King needs even if King might not have realized that himself.

King needs a person like mountain that brings themself back into the picture whenever he’s pushed out for his own good, that gives him time and space but doesn’t let him off the hook. This is physically so well represented in that Tent scene, when Ram just keeps coming back and building himself up in front of King, Even when shoved time and time again.

Like he just builds himself up again before King when King is about to leave for his grandma’s. Just watching and waiting, being intensely present – and yeah King’s face then, he FEELs that presence and wants it, even looked for it - just being there, giving King another chance to react, to act, reading his cues, caring so so much. He will again and again, with that text, and when they meet again.

Because I think Ram’s feelings have already settled, he is IN this, and he will wait for his messily human disaster boyfriend to arrive there in his own time, with all his needs and character quirks and insecurities, and fricking heck this couple.