#and figuring out the fucking TABLE OF CONTENTS on google docs

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

.

[kaydenverse]

grocery emergency

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader x john "soap" mctavish

18+ MINORS DNI

genre: smut with fluff mixed in

word count: 2.6k

a/n: i swear i'm trying to get more works out i've just had a rough start to my year so bare with me for the time being lmao but enjoy this that's been sitting in my google docs for like a month

content warnings: gender neutral reader, phone sex, excessive swearing, teasing, switch reader, switch simon, switch johnny, quickie, price is so done, gaz is a little shit

summary: why the fuck haven’t we as a society figured out how to teleport yet? johnny’s got somewhere he needs to be and it’s not standing in a hallway on the phone on base. 

“how much longer are we gonna be here, cap?” johnny questions as he lightly taps a stack of papers on the coffee table in front of him and straightens them out. he neatly sets them back down on the table before sitting up a little to stretch his back. 

johnny sits cross legged on the floor in front of the polished coffee table. although it would probably be better for his back to sit on the cushioned black leather couch opposite of him where kyle had been sitting before he went to grab a file price had asked for. but still he swears the floor is more comfortable. his tailbone is starting to hurt though, he realizes.

he’s still going to sit on the floor

“i’ve got one more folder and gaz is going to bring another one in a couple minutes,” price sighs, his office chair creaking as he leans back into it. “we should be done after those and you'll be free to go, son.” johnny’s heart swells a bit at the nickname but instead of telling price that, he huffs which makes the captain chuckle.

the five of you had gotten back from a successful mission in moscow, just a simple recon, a few days ago. now you had to do the boring parts of your jobs, the long debriefings and the piles of paperwork.

you and ghost had remained tucked away at the top of an abandoned building with your sniper guns to cover soap, gaz, and price while they had raided the warehouse across the street. because the three of them had been in the main action, naturally, they had more paperwork to cover than the two who kept look-out from a distance. 

but don’t get anyone wrong, of course the two of you still did a phenomenal job of dropping any and all of the strays who tried to escape the wrath of your three teammates. they were sorely mistaken when a bullet from your gun would lodge itself into their necks. 

johnny sighs as he picks another folder up and flips it open. his mind begins to wander before he’s even gotten halfway through the first page.

he’s thinking about this morning.

again. 

-

in all honesty, earlier that morning, johnny had deeply considered turning his car back around and called in sick because of how desperate and clingy his two partners had been while he had gotten ready. he to go in and finish up some leftover paperwork with price. he had swatted both your hands and simon’s away from dripping past the waistband of his pants. 

“stop it.” johnny said sternly as he grabbed your wrist when your fingers began to work their way down his happy trail yet again. “i’ll be gone for barely half a day, maybe less, we’re almost done with everything. you can wait.” he snickers. you groan in defeat and slump forward so your right cheek presses up against his back. simon leans in the doorway of the bathroom with his arms crossed over his chest. 

he would gladly stay and let your hands wander all over him but he knows he’ll be at least an hour late because johnny likes to take his time with you in the mornings. price wouldn’t be too excited about the late arrival. not after the last time that happened.

“i’ll just fuck simon then.” you resort, your voice still laced with drowsiness from having woken up to johnny’s 7 am alarm. you still keep your arms locked around johnny’s waist and one corner of simon’s mouth perks up at the suggestion. the messy blond hair atop Simon’s head that curls around the tops of his ears and the sleepy look in his eyes only makes your sexual frustration grow. 

“no.” johnny says, plain and simple. he combs a hand through his mohawk. “wait until i get back home, both of you.” he locks eyes with simon through the mirror he’s standing in front of. 

simon hums with his head held high as he strides over to the two of you. he kisses the top of johnny’s head, catching a whiff of johnny’s eucalyptus scented shampoo. he then kisses the top of your head that smell like your own shampoo. he makes sure what he murmurs to you is loud enough that johnny can hear too.

“you can fuck me all you’d like once he’s left for work, darling.” simon’s sleepiness adds an extra gruffness to his already deep voice. that alone nearly made johnny call price and ask to do the paperwork tomorrow.

nearly. 

“sure, go ahead.” johnny turns around to face the two of you. “but if you do so and i find out, i won't let either of you cum for a week.” the almost cold tone of his voice as he speaks and the cocking of his head makes you go weak in the knees and simon grins. “and i always find out.” 

“not always.” simon says in a very matter of fact way. the grin that plasters across johnny’s face is devilish. if simon hadn’t grabbed ahold of your hip when he’d kissed your head, you’re almost sure that your knees would’ve completely given out from how wonderfully taunting johnny looked. 

“i pay good attention to detail, lieutenant, i always know.” he gives you a peck on your lips then simon’s before slipping out of the bathroom to finish getting ready for the day. 

-

johnny is pulled out of his thoughts when his phone begins to vibrate on the table. normally he would  let it send whoever had called to voicemail due to his current task but his heart jumps when he sees your contact name and the contact picture of you smiling softly at the camera. in that photo, he can tell you're looking at him and not the camera because of the look of adoration on your face. 

he glances up at price who nods to let him take the call. you don’t often call him when he’s at the office and you’re home. you’d usually just text him and let him respond when he can so he assumes it must be important if you’re calling. 

“hey, what’s up-“ johnny is almost immediately cut off by you speaking. 

“can si and i please fuck? we were going to wait until you got home, i swear to god we were, but i feel like i’m going to fucking explode right fucking now. you can stay on the phone if you want to.” you’re so straight to the point that a cackle from simon can be heard through the phone. 

johnny is ridden speechless for a few seconds at such a forward request. he can hear the desperation in your words, you’re not even trying to be subtle at all. he blinks before he speaks again. 

“sorry cap, grocery emergency.” johnny stands up to excuse himself. price is a tad confused but lets him go to solve the problem. johnny eyes clock above the door before walking out into the hall. 

“you’ve got seven minutes. go.” johnny leans back against the wall with his free hand shoved into his pocket. immediately, johnny can hear the two of you begin to shuffle around. he can also hear the sloppy kisses that are exchanged between the soft thuds of clothing hitting the floor. 

“simon,” you say in a stern manner. “let me ride you.” the bluntness in your voice makes johnny exhale a small laugh. 

you will forever be a stubborn one in bed.

“but-“ simon sounds winded, sounds like you’d refused to let him take his lips off yours to breathe. 

you had. 

“ah,” all shuffling on the other end of the phone ceases at the sound of johnny’s voice. he hums in approval as the scot waits until a new recruit, who’s name slips johnny’s mind at the moment, to quickly shuffle past him and down the hall. they exchange a silent nod of greeting before the recruit disappears around the corner. “listen to them. since you decided to be such a brat this morning.” he then continues in a slightly hushed tone. 

johnny can clearly visualize simon giving the phone a glare that he just knows simon just gave as he allows you to settle in his lap. the phone falls silent again and johnny grins proudly.

you’re both waiting for his next call of instruction. 

always so good for him.

“well? hurry it up, you’re losin’ time.” johnny glances down at his watch to see you’ve both got just over five minutes left. the shuffling resumes followed but a pleased groan from simon. johnny knows that kind of groan from the many times he’s pinched simon’s nipples. 

“no teasing,” simon’s voice has pitched up ever so slightly. johnny shivers delightfully at the small detail. “no time for that.” 

“so needy.” you coo which you then follow up with a low moan. when the wet sounds of you picking your hips up and then quickly dropping back down spills through the speaker of johnny’s phone, he swears his knees almost buckle. he leans his head back against the wall and stares at the ceiling. 

you’d both prepared for him to give in, touched each other before you’d called him.

he makes a mental note to praise the two of you on this silly little scheme later on. 

oh, how he wishes he was there. 

oh, how he wishes to sit himself on the end of the bed and watch his partners desperately pull orgasms out of each other. 

oh, how he wishes he can see simon’s glossed over eyes peak over your shoulder and moan out a whiny ‘please touch us.’ to johnny. 

“stop trying to hold your tongue, let it out si.” your sultry tone makes johnny let out a shaky breath.

oh, how he wishes he were there. 

simon groans as the wet sound over the phone picks up in pace and volume. johnny clicks the volume up on his phone two clicks. any louder and anyone who were to walk by would very clearly hear sounds that one certainly wouldn’t make at in grocery store. 

“three minutes.” johnny glances down at his watch again. he could swear his soul left his body for a second when he hears a faint gag followed by a chuckle from you. 

“so fucking pretty sucking on my fingers like that.” your voice is much closer to the microphone now. you’d picked up your phone and held it as you ground your hips down onto simon’s. johnny can now clearly hear simon’s panting and shaky groans. 

simon always likes to joke that if anyone, and i mean anyone, somehow knew just how pathetic simon could get at the hands of you and johnny, he just might have to kill them.

 he’s obviously kidding.

maybe. 

“johnny,” simon breathes out and johnny thinks he’s about to collapse. the name is muffled, almost slurred really. your fingers pressing down on simon’s tongue force him to sound like that. 

why the fuck haven’t we as a society figured out how to teleport yet? johnny’s got somewhere he needs to be and it’s not standing in a hallway on the phone on base. 

unbelievable. 

“you gonna cum for us, si? come on make it quick, you’re down to two minutes.” johnny hums and both of you make a noise of pleasure at that. the drop in johnny’s tone makes his accent sound thicker in the best way possible. on top of that, the time limit is exciting you far more than either of you had anticipated.

“fucking-“ you’re words fizzle out into a whine when johnny hears the way simon begin to meet your bounces on him. that skin-on-skin noise that johnny loves to hear so much grows louder. “i’m gonna fucking cum.” he then hears you drop the phone. he can picture the way you start shaking atop simon when your incredibly pleased sob fills johnny’s ear. 

“there you go, just like that.” simon sighs as your fingers slip out of his mouth. he wraps an arm around your hips to move you himself. johnny’s hips twitch at the rasp in simon’s voice. he’s starting to wish he didn’t leave you both on edge this morning. 

he should’ve known his two bratty partners would  both do this to him.

“45 seconds or i’ll make you stop and i’m not touching either of you until tomorrow instead of when i get home.” johnny keeps his voice flat to hide how needy he’s starting to get.

that’s a lie.

that’s a lie and all three of you know it. 

he’d have his hands on both of you before the front door is even fully closed and locked regardless of how long you take. 

not even a full two seconds later, you’re squeezing your knees around simon’s waist. “come on pretty boy.” you moan out as you fall apart. and that pet name has him spilling into you seconds later. johnny can feel the tips of his ears burning bright fucking red. 

he’s hard now and there’s nothing he can do about it until he gets home to you two.

“finished with 15 seconds to spare.” johnny’s makes sure you can hear the smile in his voice. “i’m impressed.” 

“well having been on edge from this morning really helped.” you’re panting and feel like mush in simon’s lap. 

“you’re an arse for that by the way.” simon grunts. johnny snickers and shrugs his shoulders. 

“you liked it though, both of ya did.” johnny points out and takes the beat of silence as confirmation.”but seven minutes are up, i gotta go.” he says reluctantly. he feels like he should stick around for aftercare for a bit but he is unfortunately needed elsewhere. 

damn that all of that paperwork, why can’t it fill itself out? 

but he knows you two can take care of each other. he smiles at the thought. 

“you brats both did so well. i’ll decide if that little plan is punishment worthy or not later. that was a genius plan by the way.” johnny chuckles. his heart swells both of your laughs. such wonderful sounds. 

“i love you, johnny.” your voice is back next to the speaker again. his heart somehow manages to swell even bigger when you kiss the phone. 

“i also love you, mctavish.” simon adds. he kisses the phone as well but only because you silently insisted that he did. he pretends to hate doing that. 

“i love you both too. i’ll be home soon so please be good until then.” johnny says, kissing the phone two times for his two favorite people.

“be good until then” you playfully mock the mohawked man’s accent. simon can’t help but snort at that. 

“very funny.” johnny chuckles. “and please actually go to the store, we need more milk.” he doesn’t notice kyle standing in the doorway of his office a few feet away with a file in his hands until he hangs up and turns to walk to price’s office door again. johnny’s face flushes at the amused look on his teammates face.

“how long you been standin’ there, mate?” johnny shyly slipped his phone into his back pocket. 

“opened the door right when you were telling your brats how well they did.” kyle teases. thankfully, that’s all that kyle says before opening the door to price’s office and walks, leaving the door open for johnny to follow him back in. 

but, kyle will be bringing this back up later over comms next mission. 

and price is going to question his life choices when he has to get the four of you back on task.

he pauses so he can quickly… adjust himself… before opening the door to price’s office again. 

“groceries sorted out?” price raises his eyebrows at the sergeant who once again seats himself in the chair across from his desk. 

“sorted out.” johnny nods, praying that price can’t see how red his ears are.

price sees, he always does. 

johnny flushes even harder at price’s next words while kyle erupts into laughter. 

“now let's get this paperwork sorted and quick so you can get home to help with those so-called “groceries” yeah?”

[ciaraloves]

how to "get shit done": uni work addition

hi loveliest people so this is a sort of guide to how i get through uni work without going completely insane (make no mistake there is still some insanity present). I hope you find it helpful, or at least entertaining,

(disclaimer cause this is the internet: these work for me, they may not work for you)

table of contents:

a. date it

b. set reminders

c. how to stay on top of it

d. how to get on top of it if you aren't already

e. learn when your brain needs a break

f. uni is a full time job, treat it as such

A. date it

okay the first thing i do at the beginning of every semester is put uni dates in my calendar.

Term dates: when your term starts, when it ends, and your holidays. this is not just for information purposes but also so you have something to look forward to. additionally, it helps later on when you have to plan out assignment and test dates.

Assignment/ test dates: scour through the course outlines of all your courses and put every single date into your calendar. every assignment, every test, anything you have to submit goes in. that includes things like "weekly quizzes". make it a recurring date and chuck it in there.

B. set reminders

so i usually do this in my calendar but if you have a reminders app, or prefer other ways to set reminders then use that.

these reminders are not to make you feel bad for not doing work, it's to hold you responsible for your work. if you know you spiral at the idea of seeing a reminder when you haven't done work, this strategy may not work for you. don't give up, something will work. keep trying and have patience with yourself

if you know something is approaching it's easier to plan your life and your tasks around it. if you never know how long you have or you're always scrambling to figure out when something is due your mind is so focused on the dates it has no time for the work

Assignment reminders:

2 weeks before // 1 week before // 3 days before // 1 day before // 10 minutes before // on time of event

Test reminders:

1 week before // 3 days before // 1 day before // 1 hour before // on time of event

I know this may be excessive but if you're someone like me who constantly forgets things, it is very helpful to keep yourself on track

okay trust me you got this! i promise it's not as bad as it looks. right onto readings and assignments.

C. how to stay on top of it

do one reading per course per day: this is non-negotiable. trust me it is the easiest way to get through readings for a week.

if you have four courses of five readings each you will end up doing four readings a day from Monday to Friday. it is workable and you can do it. uni is fucking difficult and everyone has a story about why they're there but i promise you if you're there, the selection processes decided you were capable enough to handle it. and you are. if you can, start a week earlier so you're a little ahead otherwise it's totally okay.

2. start research for assignments 2 weeks before it is due. this will give you time and space to sort through what is relevant, useful, or should be discarded.

i have a folder for each assignment where all my research goes. within this folder there are three other folders: a. done and dusted b. too long/ not relevant c. could be helpful if i cared enough

and as i go through each paper/article/etc. i sort it into one of the three folders

while i am doing my research i also have a google doc open (shortcut that saved my life btdubs: "doc.new" directly into the browser search bar) that i write notes on.

a. things i think will help support my arguments b. things i found interesting c. themes that keep cropping up in the literature (advantages, disadvantages, limitations, concepts, theories, future directions) d. things i disagree with and will either argue against or find some way to bitch about (seriously have fun with your assignments) e. statistics

3. study notes should be your understanding of the topic:

it is beneficial to write the heading and then write as much as you can on what you know even if it's random words muddled on a page. then fill in using lecture notes, anything in your readings you found helpful, and obviously your course sources like textbooks.

the most important piece of advice i can give you for study notes is: MAKE THEM FUNNY AND WITHOUT FILTER you do not have to sound professional, you do not have to sound like you're writing a textbook. i am dead serious:

here's an excerpt from my clinical psychology study notes in 3rd year: Persistent Complex Bereavement Disorder: set a boundary between what we would consider to be normal and appropriate grieving behaviour and what we could consider to be disordered or inappropriate grieving behaviour. (literally the dumbest thing i've ever heard? Who are we to tell people they’re grieving wrong????)

D. how to get on top of it if you aren't already

If you’re already behind but you’re attending class, leave the work you’re behind on in the past. (yes that was meant to rhyme).

Spend one weekend going through lecture slides and lecture content only. Don’t worry about the readings for the lectures, just leave those. If you don’t understand what’s happening then go and do readings. Skim the abstracts of those readings and if they look like they’re not going to help you don’t do them.

Reach out to your lecturer or tutor or supervisor and say:

“Good day [name/honorific] I am struggling to understand [this topic] despite working through the lecture notes and readings on it. Please may I have some guidance as to how I can better understand this. (alternative: please can I see you during your office hours for a brief explanation and further resources to help me better understand the topic) Hope to hear back soon! [sign off]”

then apply all this to the above on assignments and study notes.

E. learn when your brain needs a break

sometimes you really just have to shut down. sometimes your brain is saying "if you don't give me a break right now i am going to do it for us and it is going to get ugly". please listen. do whatever you need to.

a. sleep for an entire day, hell an entire weekend.

b. binge watch something

c. read something

d. go out

e. go on a hike

f. stay with a friend

g. visit your parents

F. uni is a full time job, treat it as such

i cannot stress enough that uni literally is a large, possibly the biggest part, of your life. it is very difficult to sideline it without getting overwhelmed.

however, that doesn't mean you don't deserve time off. give yourself insurance, free healthcare, an understanding boss. you are not a robot. you are living, and alive, and you need many things to keep you that way. work alone is not going to help. but play alone is not going to help either. find the balance that works for you by listening to yourself. and then stick to the balance.

goodluck beautiful beans. i believe in you wholeheartedly <3

if you have any questions my ask box is always open. and if you want more detail for anything let me know!

[goodgirlofglory]

Silver fox and the Captain - Chapter 7 (finale)

Chapter 6 - /Masterpost/

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 4,3k

Warnings: Explicit content, explicit language, explicit sexual content, SMUT, ANGST, FLUFF (the whole shabang), angsty feelings of being unworthy and undeserving, oral (m receiving).

Summary: Standing at a cross-roads, will you dare reach out and accept the love and security you do not think yourself worthy off, but is offered to you either way?

Note: This is kinda weird, this last chapter has just been sitting finished in my google docs for MONTHS while I stupidly thought it was just a first draft still. So, I could have finished this series a long time ago, but ey, better late than never, right?

This series is such a fun, little darling for me. Thank you so much for reading🦋

They were offering you a job. With S.H.I.E.L.D. With the Avengers! Not as a team member, per se, God knew you were no superhero. But as a member of the accompanying S.H.I.E.L.D units that worked around the Avengers on smaller and larger missions. 

“I could use someone with your skills of stealth and theft out in the field, to gather intel while the flashy guys do their thing,” Fury had said, that proud smirk back on his lips. 

Black Widow had snorted at Fury’s last comment, and you had felt Hawkeye’s eye roll from across the table. 

Fury had laid the offer on the table - an honestly astounding salary, your own quarters in the compound and some standard access to tech and equipment, on level with a tier one S.H.I.E.L.D agent. Then, he had asked you to think about it before he left the room with a swivel of his leather coat and that had been that. The room had immediately cleared of everyone except you, Steve and a few of the Avengers. 

Black Widow had approached you where you sat shell shocked, your hand still in Steve’s grasp. 

“Silver Fox,” she had greeted you. 

“Black Widow,” you had answered, your voice a mere croak. 

“Call me Natasha,” she said, giving Steve a wink before departing the room. 

You now paced back and forth in Steve’s room, mind rambling. Steve sat patiently on the edge of his bed, eyes tracking your movement, brows drawn slightly down in that concerned expression you still struggled to believe was genuine.

“I just don’t get it,” you said for probably the fifteenth time, “why would he do this? Why offer me this job?” you said incredulously. 

“He told you; he could use someone with your skills,” Steve said patiently, like he’d said all the last times you’d asked. 

“Yeah, but how could he possibly trust me? How could any of you trust me?” you asked and you knew you were lashing out, your tone loud and accusing.

Steve remained calm where he sat, forever the perfect rock for you. Fury’s comment about stealing hearts rushed to the front of your mind, and you felt your cheeks heat. Steve raised himself off the bed and came up to you, warm, broad figure looming over you, cupping your face in his hand. 

“I trust you. Fury trusts my judgment. Do I have any reason to doubt my judgment?” he asked, soft like a lover’s murmur. 

You wanted to blindly protest. No, he had no reason to doubt his judgment, you wanted to believe that as much as him. But there was this incessant voice in your head needling you. Was it true? Could you really measure up to these people? Could you do the switch from morally gray mouse scampering about in the shaddows to a good, team playing member of fucking S.H.I.E.L.D? You wanted it, God did you want it. But… some part deep down whispered that you were delusional. This world, this shining, good and kind world, Steve’s world - it wasn’t for the likes of you. You didn’t belong here, and you didn’t deserve their regard - didn’t deserve Steve. 

“What would happen if I said no? To the job?” you asked instead of answering Steve’s question, looking up into his breath taking baby blue eyes, saw how the pupils expanded as you looked into them, how reverently he looked at you. Like you could ever deserve to be looked upon so lovingly. 

He sighed, pondering your question for a bit, his brows dipping down in the most adorable frown that had your heart clenching. You regretted the question only because it made him look anything other than happy, content or immensely pleasured. For the barest of moments your fingers itched to tear his clothes off and swallow his dick, just to put his mind on other things. 

“Honestly? I don’t know. It’s hard to erase the past. And while there is literally no public dirt on your name, hell, it doesn’t even show up in any database we have -”

“I’m really good,” you interrupted. 

He huffed, fondly exasperated by your cockiness as always.

“Yes - but S.H.I.E.L.D knows. Fury knows… I know,” he said. 

And there it was. Though you had been a ghost for most of your life, even ghosts have baggage from lives lived. No public government or organization had any claim to have you persecuted, but S.H.I.E.L.D had. They knew enough, knew all they had to to take you down - and rightfully so from their point of view. Steve knew it all. You’d spilled everything to him in between the sheets during the last month, a proverbial word vomit that had left you trembling with the relief and the foundation-rocking vulnerability of laying your life and soul bare like that. Steve, the literal angel, had taken it all, wrapped you in his protective warmth and murmured soothing words of comfort and forgiveness each time until you felt shaky for whole new reasons. 

You were shaking slightly now, hearing from his lips that your past might have unavoidable consequences no matter how much he personally forgave you. You knew this of course, had always known you would be toast the minute someone got their hands on you. Hell, you were supposed to be dead now, if Steve hadn't intervened…

He wrapped his arms around you, hugging you to his broad chest, propping his chin on the top of your head, rocking from side to side. 

“I tried to convince Fury to let you into a victim protection program. Get you a nice home and job here in the states, let you live a normal life. But he wasn’t entirely convinced. Told me letting you out of your sight now would be stupid. Keep your friends close -”

“-But your enemies closer,” you finished around a lump in your throat. 

He pulled away so he could look into your eyes again. 

“I like to think you’re a friend in this scenario. Selfishly, I would also like to have you close, preferably only as far as down the hall,” he said, stroking a thumb over your jaw. 

“So?” you pressed, needing to know what Fury would do if you said no to the job. 

“So…maybe prison. Maybe some intel exchange with the US government, let them take you. Though that will be over my dead body, fox,” Steve said, and the fierceness with which he said that last part made you believe him. 

The guilt that followed was gut wrenching. The responsibility Steve felt over you left him careless for his own self preservation. Could you trust yourself not to drag him into your unforgivable messes? Could you escape your past and baggage, and not let it unfairly bleed over into Steve’s life?

Distracting yourself from that question, you lifted up on your toes and kissed him, opening your mouth to his tongue.

“Fury will want his answer pretty soon,” Steve murmured against your lips after another kiss that had your hands clinging to his shirt.

He saw your smirk and had already started to shake his head slightly before you spoke, though he was smiling. 

“Then let’s make him wait,” you murmured, your smile matching the one Steve reluctantly let spread on his own lips, though he tried to look reproachful. Adorable. 

You sucked him off on the couch that night. He looked powerful where he sat reclined, his bulged thighs spread wide - virile and strong, potent and capable. From your position on your knees between his legs, he loomed like a mountain, able to snap you like a twig with the barest of effort. All of that made the sounds you pulled from him that much sweeter. 

You suckled noisily on his heavy ballsack, lathering it lovingly with spit before sucking it into your mouth, and Steve’s cock bobbed where it lay on your face. Small “ah” - sounds escaped him, so soft compared to the commanding tones that usually came from him. It made your pussy throb. 

Pulling back, you took his cock in your hand. The tip shone with precum. You stuck your tongue out, flicked it on his frenulum and was rewarded with another glob of leakage oozing from his tip and into your mouth. He moaned above you, one of his hands making its way into your hair. 

“Fuck, f-fox, oh,” he gritted out as you sank your mouth on his length, working the part you couldn’t fit with your hand. 

Your other hand cupped his balls, rolling them on your fingers, letting your fingertips dip even lower. He moaned hoarsely, and you saw in your periphery that the couch cushion was dangerously close to ripping with the way he was fisting it. 

You slobbered on, basking in the sloppy, wet slide of saliva and precum, the hot weight of Steve’s cock on your tongue, the twitches of it as you hollowed your cheek on the upslide. He slid from your mouth with a small, wet pop. 

“I want your cum in my mouth,” you said as you mouthed down his shaft, looking up at his scrunched up face. 

“God,” Steve moaned, throwing his head back, his cock throbbing in your grasp. You were still rolling his balls in your hand. He was really sensitive there, you’d had the pleasure of discovering. 

“Will you give it to me?” you asked as you mouthed your way up to the head again, giving it an open-mouthed kiss. 

He looked back down at you, and you could feel him straining to keep in place, thigh muscles bulging trying to keep his hips from pistoning up, seeking the heat of your mouth again.

“A-anything,” he panted, his hand stroking through your hair as you gave him your undivided attention, savoring it. 

“Good,” you sighed with pleasure around his cock. Steve’s hair was a mess of tousled, blond tufts, there was sweat on his brows and his chest heaved under his unbuttoned shirt. His brows had that furrowed look, and color sat high on his cheeks. Your panties had to be ruined by now.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmured against the head of his cock, still kissing it wetly, and another spit of precum drooled from the tip, wetting your lips further. He put his other hand through his own hair and laughed a bit incredulously, helplessly, as you sank onto his cock again, working up a rhythm that would bring him to the brink.

The thrill of having him at your mercy like this was intoxicating. Pleasuring him was intoxicating. Being allowed to see him in these private moments of intimacy was intoxicating, addictive in a way you felt powerless to resist. You wanted to be on your knees for him forever. If only you could. 

The sound of the couch cushion being shred open under Steve’s grip alerted you a split second before your mouth was flooded with his essence, salty and sticky on your tongue. You eased him through his orgasm with your mouth, eagerly swallowing everything he gave you while his huge form trembled on the couch, his soft moans turning into even softer whimpers. You could feel your heartstrings going taut, your blood rushing to pool hot and tender in your chest. 

Later, when he had paid you back seven or eight times for the orgasm on the couch, you rose sticky and sweaty from the bed to wash off before going to sleep, already missing his warmth as you tiptoed to the en suite bathroom. 

Washing your hands after a quick rub down with a warm cloth, you found your own eyes in the mirror. You froze like a deer caught in the headlights. 

What the hell do you think you’re doing? 

Standing there, covered in your own and Steve’s dried and drying love fluids, plump from a month of leisure, hair clean but messy from an afternoon in bed, eyes filled with a childish amount of giddy hope. You suddenly felt foolish. 

This isn’t for you. 

…

You stepped quietly back into the room. Steve was facing away from you, his head a messy, blond mop on the pillow. You knew he would reach for you once you dipped under the covers - that, whether asleep or not, he would reach until he found you, pull you into him and curl around you like a cocoon. 

You dressed in utter silence, your instincts and stealth thankfully not discernibly dulled by a month of lazing about. You fished your readily packed bag from the air vent in the bathroom and walked back into the bedroom to slip out the window, going over the route in your head. Your bones itched to get it over with, though your heart was heavy like lead in your chest. You wondered when you’d get a full night’s sleep again…

“That’s it, then?” you heard behind you as you perched on the window sill, about to crack open the window to let in the chill, night air. 

Fuck

You steeled your expression and turned to find Steve, naked, sitting on the edge of the bed. His expression was so carefully neutral, it almost looked like a mask. 

You said nothing. Didn’t know what to say. Maybe saying nothing would help him let you go. Maybe it could hurt him enough to sever the bond between you. Something deep in your chest surged at that thought, clawing up your throat, screaming no, no, no…

“You don’t have to. It’s not too late,” Steve said then, and damn him for giving you a way out even now, when you so obviously were in the act of betraying him. Damn him and his forgiveness, his too good for his own good heart that you didn’t deserve. “I didn’t want to believe it, but you’ve been thinking about it all night, haven’t you?”

That surprised you. 

“How did you know?” you asked, going over every detail of that night, everything you said, any time you could have slipped. 

He huffed a laugh that wasn’t entirely not fond. 

“I can pretty much sense it by now. When you’re gearing up to bolt. Have experienced it enough times, that shift in the air, how your mind slips to the proverbial horizon,” he said. 

You felt your heart helplessly tug at that. Never had you felt guilty for how your actions affected others. It came with the job, that emotional numbness, the walls. But with Steve, your entire foundation threatened to crumble at his feet. You didn’t want to hurt him. Other than that, you were scared of the pain you yourself would feel at being separated from him. 

Steve sighed heavily, a slight tremor in the exhale of air. 

“I guess, if this is what you need to do, then I can’t force you to stay,” he said, and in that moment, it was as if everything but the two of you shrank away. He wasn’t talking about S.H.I.E.L.D or the Avengers, or the job offer, or your past, or the two completely different worlds you came from. In that moment, it was Steve, just a man, and you, just a woman, and you were leaving him. Abandoning him. 

You wanted to tell him it wasn’t him. It was you, and how much you didn’t deserve him, and how he needed to see that. You wanted to ask him how he meant to explain this fortune? How such a salvation as this could just present itself to you with no hindrance after everything that had come before it? You wanted to cry, but you had forfeited such weaknesses now. Just like you were forfeiting love.

You turned, cracked the window open, and smelled the crispy, night air ripe with summer. 

“I know who I fell in love with,” Steve murmured behind you. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed at all. You were suddenly glad you had your back turned to him, for you had no control over the way your eyes widened, nor how your heartbeat kicked into hard gear. In love. Another beat of silence. He was waiting for you to answer him. You didn’t, as unfair and cruel as it was to him. “You’re always welcome back to me, fox,” he said then, and you amazed even yourself with how you managed to slip out the window then, feet sure and silent as they padded across the roof. 

There was a cacophony of noise in your head. Voices screaming to go back, to tackle Steve and kiss him, to suck his soul out of his dick and never let him leave your bed. Voices that wailed in grief and told you to fling yourself from the roof before your heart fell out of your chest. Voices that screamed how unworthy you were of his love and if he wouldn’t see that, you would have to deny him. You scrambled your will to shut them all up, and channeled all your focus and determination to the task at hand; get out of the S.H.I.E.L.D compound undetected. You told yourself you could cry then, well knowing that the moment you crossed off the base and into the US wilderness, you would probably never know a moment’s peace for the rest of your life. No matter, you could carve your heart out and leave it in the ground later. Now you needed to move. 

Deftly, you slipped from shadow to shadow, making your way across the vast building that was the compound. Your feet grew heavier the longer away from your room and from Steve your feet took you. Your breath rattled in your chest, disturbed not from the running, but from how off you felt. Off kilter, off balance, it all felt wrong. But you had to do this. Had to prove to yourself you could escape, that you could do it. 

You swallowed painfully and climbed down the building in steady leaps, lowering yourself the last way with the rope from your bag, carefully moving within the blind spot of the security cameras on the north west corner of the office part of the building, where no one would be this time of night anyway. 

Trekking over the large, green area was the most risky part of the route, but with steady routes from bushes to larger groups of trees. No flood lights, no alarm, no guards with guns. You reached the fence lining the entire base, and got out the wire cutter you’d snagged from maintenance and began making a large enough hole to crawl out. 

In quite a bit of disbelief, you came out on the other side of the fence and started running immediately. With only a small flashlight and the moon in the sky in front of you, you stumbled through the thick forest surrounding the base, your breath the only sound in the night. 

At last, the trees opened to a clearing, and you halted, slowing, slowing, slowing until you stood completely still, staring ahead. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, though you were barely winded. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Your body was all wrong, seemed to squirm, your nerves moving this way and that, protesting where you were, what you were doing. 

I know, I know, you thought to yourself. I don’t want to leave, either. But…but…

But what… 

But what?!

You stared ahead, blindly. 

But. What?

What was the reason for leaving? 

In love. 

The world grinded to a halt for a long moment.

You turned on your heel and started walking. Your walk turned into a run. The moon at your back, back through the trees. You climbed back in through the fence and used the tongs to fit the piece you’d cut out haphazardly back in place. You made a mental note to come back and secure it better soon. Moving back through the shadows, you found your rope on the office side of the building and climbed it to the top. Packing the rope with you, your feet carried you across the roof of the compound, the same way you’d come. Your head was completely silent, your breath steady, your feet sure, your heart a sound beat. Only when you sidled down to the window of your bedroom, did your heart pick up. It was still open, the lights still on. 45 minutes had passed maybe. 

With the same sort of instincts that had always led you in unsure situations, you slipped back into the room. 

Steve looked up from where he sat with his head in his hands, still naked on the edge of the bed. His eyes, wide with surprise, met yours dead on. They were wet. His cheeks were shiny with tears. He was crying.

“Fox?” he said, his voice but a whisper. 

The sob escaped you before you could do anything to stop it. It flew across the dead silent room, an ugly, choking sound that had you so exposed your skin crawled. You threw a hand over your mouth as if you could trap the sound after it’d left. 

Steve rose to his feet. 

“I’m sorry,” you exclaimed, forcing your hand away from your mouth. “I’m so sorry,” you said again, and now there were tears in your eyes. There was no point in trying to keep them in, you knew that. 

Steve took one moment to assess you before he stormed up to you and pulled you into his arms. You pressed your face to his chest as he wrapped his arms, his strong, warm, capable, safe arms around you. Your own arms went around his torso, clinging to his back, shaking. 

“I was scared, and stupid. I act so stupid when I’m scared, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I came right back when I understood how stupid I was acting, please, I’m -” you rambled in between wracking sobs, speaking into Steve’s sternum, your tears smudging on his skin. 

He shushed you quietly, rocking you back and forth softly. “It’s okay, little fox, I understand,” he said, kissing your hair as you sobbed on. He shuffled backwards, dragging you along a bit crookedly before the back of his knees hit the mattress. He toppled back with you clutched in his arms and you fell onto the mattress that still smelled faintly of your mingled scents from earlier that night. 

You lay there for a long while before your breathing evened out. When you at last had gathered the courage, you lifted your head from Steve’s chest and looked into his eyes. They were still a bit red rimmed, his cheeks and nose a bit splotchy red, but they shone now, with something you could only discern as happiness. The guilt flushed your system anew. 

“I made you cry,” you said softly, reaching up a hand to cup his face. 

He leaned into the touch and smiled just a little. 

“Yeah, but I knew you’d be back.”

That made you bristle a bit.

“What? No, you didn’t. I didn’t even know I was coming back,” you protested. 

He shrugged, jostling you a bit in the process. 

“Well, I didn’t know you’d come back so soon, but I knew I’d see you again,” he said, and he was utterly convinced. 

He’d play the long game, if he had to. Would find you and steal moments with you like before, maybe take you back to the compound to do it over again, if that would help. You saw it in his eyes, his determination. His devotion. 

“I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve any of this,” you mumbled, those dreaded words of truth like bile in your throat. 

Steve huffed, fondly exasperated. 

“Fox, if you don’t deserve a little bit of safety and comfort after everything you’ve lived through, who does?” he asked. 

“Yeah, but I’ve done things. Bad things. You’ve said it yourself,” you argued. 

“Y/N. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. The world isn’t black and white. There are no completely good people and no completely bad people. It took me a long time to realize that myself,” he said. 

You didn’t have an answer to that. Hadn’t really thought about it that way. You weren’t entirely convinced, but you knew one thing. This was where you wanted to be. If you looked away from deservedness and karma and social justice or even blind, stupid luck - this was where you wanted to be. And for the first time in your life, you could actually just reach out and take what you wanted. 

Steve kissed your forehead, squeezing you tighter in his arms, and you leaned into it completely helplessly. It felt like you needed his touch to breathe. 

“How far did you get?” he asked. 

“About two miles off base,” you said, closing your eyes, pressing your ear to his chest to hear his heartbeat. 

His breath caught for a moment. 

“Really?”

You snorted. 

“Yeah, you should work on the security in this place. Anyone could just walk in.”

He huffed, arms tightening around you again, and you could almost feel the smug pride rolling off him. 

Proud of me, you thought with that spark of giddy joy that spread molten within your chest.

“Maybe we won't tell Fury about that. I can work my way around upgrading the security,” he said and you giggled. 

There was a moment of silence, a content and peaceful silence that felt so good you wondered how you could be so stupid as to ever let this go. 

“Do you have your answer for Fury?” Steve prompted after another minute of content silence. 

You lifted your head and kissed him. Kissed him long and lingering and as sweetly as you could. 

“Well?” he prompted when you eventually broke away. 

“Nag,” you murmured against his lips. 

“Hey, I’m nothing if not persistent,” he said, smiling against your mouth before nibbling your bottom lip playfully. 

“I know,” you said, “I know who I fell in love with.”

[wizisbored]

11. Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

a few years ago i was awful about sticking to chronological order but that was mostly because i wasnt actually posting fic, just fucking around with my Situations, so i kinda didnt have a reason to write anything that wasnt the scenes i was most interested in. once i got into actually posting my stuff i got into the habit of writing in order a lot more because im actually trying to tell the full story chapter by chapter now. i do sometimes still skip ahead to different chapters and write scenes im particularly hyped for or have a really solid mental picture of in advance but more and more often im just doing it in bullet-point outline form. i think thats actually because my idea of characterisation and motivation and all that changing throughout a story has improved. most of my stuff is very much focused on characters and character dynamics, and because my outlining is pretty loose if i try to skip ahead i dont know exactly where that characters attitude towards the situation and other characters is going to be by that point. to take netherborne as an example - its hard to skip ahead in that fic because i dont know exactly what lydia and beetlejuice's dynamic is going to look like at any given time. sure, i have a rough idea of how it evolves, but i cant pin down exactly how theyd talk to each other or what theyd tollerate from one another. i kinda just let these things naturally evolve as i write them, so skipping ahead puts me in a bit of a void. hence, i mostly only outline.

i do do small jumps fairly often though, as in a paragraph or two. if im getting really stuck on writing a particular moment in a chapter ill often just stick a bookmark there and skip to the next part i feel like i can write, and come back with fresh eyes later. i use a table of contents extention in google docs so its pretty easy to just put a header called 'bookmark' wherever im currently writing. the first chapter of runnign iorn actually has three right now - one because i havent properly figured out how to open it, one because i havent fully figured out how to finish beetlejuice's first scene, and one where im up to with lydia

(from this ask game)

[thedawningofthehour]

Now that you've said how long this story is gonna be, can you say how much of it did you have planned before either writing or uploading it? Could you share your process for plotting everything out and all that?

When I first started writing? I had jack shit planned. I literally had an idea in my head of Donnie being captured by Draxum and being a little fucking shit and wrote that out for funsies. I do this a lot-I have a lot of projects in my Google Docs where I wrote 2-5, maybe 10k words at the absolute most and got bored. I just didn't get bored with this one. I kept having ideas and refining them in my head while in the shower/trying to go to bed. I had written most of Donnie's table content and I'd say the first two-ish chapters of Leo's POV? before I really considered posting it.

By the time I started seriously revising with the intent of posting, yeah I had a general series of events solidified in my head and was vicariously imagining the 'big scenes' before bed like a Netflix show. (For writers following along, every writer has a different approach to plotting and it's really more of a matter of finding what suits you best, but do have a general idea of what's going to happen next and where you're going. Don't go "oh, I'll figure it out as I go along"-ya won't. You can always change the destination if you do think of something better, but don't rely on having a brilliant brain blast moment at 3 AM) I have added more as time went on-Bella was seriously supposed to be a super minor side character where it would never even be stated that she was Draxum's niece, (I was actually going to kill her off-screen) and she just took life and beat me over the head with my keyboard. And I did alter arc 2 a bit to give Mikey a bigger role because I do love him, even if I shaft him a lot, and his philosophy is going to play a major role in everyone else's character development. (that's gonna be my excuse, this is all about character development! And Mikey is perfect the way he is)

As far as my process for plotting...you guys seem to be under some impression that I'm the captain of this ship. Buddy. I am a stowaway watching and listening and frantically writing it all down. I do not steer the ship. I do not even guide the ship. At times I whisper to the characters and suggest they move in a certain direction, and a good portion of the time they tell me to fuck off and do what they like. I know I'm literally the author but I have no control over these things. Certain things just Happen. I don't plan it. It just pops into my head and won't leave me alone.

[birlwrites]

how do u organize ur 100+ notes pages for ur dark lord wip??? i have so much respect for u omg!

aghskfgjhjfd thank you so much!!

first of all, a bit of context: i, as a person, love organizing things. spreadsheets are my first love (although i don't actually use them for my planning doc - i DO use them for various related planning things though, like characters' class schedules!). this is important because any kind of organizational system is going to require maintenance as you keep going, and i enjoy doing that maintenance, which means i have a lot of patience for it (although i don't think this is actually particularly labor-intensive?)

but the short answer is, a table of contents in a google doc!

(EDIT: this is all about my planning doc, but i also organize my doc where i actually write the story with section headers - i write out the chapter number in heading 1, in words instead of numerals so google docs doesn't automatically turn it into a numbered list, and then i include D at the end of the title if it's done, and P after that if it's been posted, so i know where to go in the doc to work and where to go to grab the next chapter to post!)

the planning doc started out as a stream-of-consciousness conversation and then later my beta and i were like 'oop it's going to be impossible to find stuff in here, let's add headings.' when you add headings to a document, google drive will automatically put a table of contents in a sidebar, and then you just click on the heading you want to jump to it in the document (if you don't know how to do this, i included a guide for how to use headings at the end of this response)

HOWEVER. the issue with this technique is... there are well over 100 headings and sub-headings in this document. as in, i started counting, got to 100, saw how many were left, and went 'ugh fuck it.' and if you're adding things in a relatively stream of consciousness way, the order of the sections may not.... make a lot of sense. (ex: a subsection about barty and sirius parallels is in a section about regulus's relationship with emotion. i'm sure you can think of HOW those two things are linked, but if i were just looking for the barty and sirius subsection, i have to say 'regulus and emotions' would not be my first choice of section to look at)

that's where the table of contents comes in. i created another section at the beginning of the document to hyperlink to every topic, organized in a way that makes sense - so the section overall is called 'topics organized by category' (needed a section header for the table of contents so i could jump to it with the sidebar) and there are subsections for character-, worldbuilding-, plot-, and meta-related stuff

but! i still couldn't find anything, because each subsection had too many things linked. so then i created more subsections. i'll list out exactly what the subsections that i use are at the bottom, for those who are interested, as well as how to do all of this in google docs

(also this got REALLY long lol so i'm putting the rest of it under a cut)

so, for example, in my 'characters' section, there are sub-categories for sections and subsections about regulus specifically, sections/subsections about regulus's relationships with other people, sections/subsections that go into detail about other people, and sections/subsections that talk about a lot of people or are more general. so if i know which section i'm looking for, i can pretty easily figure out which category it's listed under, and then i just go to that category and find the proper hyperlink!

(when you use headings in a google doc, you can then hyperlink to those headings, the same way you'd hyperlink to a link - just highlight the text, add a hyperlink, and then in the little search bar that comes up, search up the heading you want. it may also pop up on its own - google drive looks at the text you've highlighted and if it matches (or almost matches) a heading in the document, it'll suggest that heading to link to)

so! i can go to the top of the document and then pretty easily find the section that i'm looking for and jump to it using the hyperlink. some of the bullets (they're all bullet pointed) have annotations (which are just sub-bullet points in normal text) explaining the section a little more

i wound up also making the sub-categories into sub-headings so that i could jump to them too, because the table of contents is over 3 pages long. oops

and the final component in keeping things organized: hyperlinking to relevant sections within other sections! this is something i started doing after there were already a TON of sections, so it's very non-comprehensive, but when i remember, i'll add a note at the top of a section or subsection that's just 'related sections: ' and then list out any related sections and hyperlink them

so, for example, in my 'regulus and evan' section, at the top i link to a subsection about how regulus's relationship with touch and physical affection impacts them (which is in a larger section about reg's relationship with physicality in general), as well as a subsection about evan and flirting (which is in a larger section that's just about evan)

and then in the evan section, i link back to the 'regulus and evan' section, but i also link to plenty of subsections elsewhere that discuss the rosier family, and quidditch, and so on and so forth. and sometimes i'll link to other sections randomly in the middle, instead of at the beginning of a section, because as i was typing i realized i should link that one too lol

but the stream-of-consciousness way of planning is good because it lets you think of things organically. so that's why this process is built around working WITH that and helping to be able to find stuff later, rather than trying to regulate where things are discussed, because that just makes it super hard to think of anything

(have you ever been in a discord server with a lot of channels, and inevitably you end up discussing something in one channel that should probably be in another, because that's how conversations work? and INSISTING on perfect adherence to the channels would stifle the conversation. so you have to roll with it)

HOW I CATEGORIZE:

(this way of breaking things down helps me find stuff pretty quickly, so i'm sharing it in case it helps anyone!)

CHARACTERS: exactly what it sounds like. sections that focus mostly on characters. my subsections are:

regulus (the protagonist(s))

regulus and others (the protagonist's relationships with other characters - this is specifically about *relationships*)

others (sections about specific other characters - i have many of these, but some examples are: barty, evan, lily, heather, maeve, jessica, and the list goes ON AND ON. focused on sections about individuals or pairs of characters - very in-depth, is my point)

general (what it sounds like - more general character-related sections, and character-group-focused sections. for example, there are sections about the junior death eaters, the marauders, and the extended black family, but then there are also sections that are lists of quidditch team rosters, dark families, an incomplete list of every oc...... AND there are also sections like 'appearances' and 'mannerisms' that just cover a ton of different people)

WORLDBUILDING: also exactly what it sounds like. subsections:

general (this is really just anything that doesn't fit into the other two categories. general worldbuilding stuff)

magical theory (this section is really 'internal consistency on the rules of your world'. like, if you were writing sci-fi, this section would be more about all the science that you're making up for your story, rather than all the magic i'm making up for mine)

logistics (lists of spells; layouts of certain important locations such as hogwarts and grimmauld place; lists of who's friends with who; membership of different sides in the war, etc)

PLOT: again... exactly what it sounds like lol. i don't actually have subsections for this one - instead i've sub-bullet-pointed some sections under other sections. for example, there's a bullet point that links to the general 'The War' section, and one indentation under that, there are a bunch of other war-related subsections that are elsewhere in the document.

exactly what a plot sub-category looks like will depend a lot on the story you're writing, seeing as... duh... it's about the plot lmao

META STUFF: the final category! this one also doesn't have any subsections. stuff that falls into this category is: anything that discusses overall story structure, writing style, themes, pacing, and an outline of what happens in the chapters i've completed (which really could have gone into 'logistics' - it's just so that i can remember 'did i already explain the solarium or do i have to do that in a future chapter?' and such things)

i also cross-list sections in multiple categories in case they fit in more than one (to minimize confused scrolling and hunting around). and i don't list every section and subsection in the table of contents - if there's a subsection that would fall into all the same categories as its overarching section, i usually don't list it b/c it would be redundant, but sometimes i do if that overarching section is very long

my other tip is to attempt to write VERY CLEAR section headers. they don't always have to be boring, although a lot of mine are boring. and i type 'regulus and' over and over because there are a lot of categories that are about regulus's relationship with SOMETHING. but it means that i can find (and sort!) those sections easily. but then i also have sections called 'vulnerability yay!' and 'repression<3'

and maintain as you go - when you add a new section, right away scroll up to the table of contents, categorize it, hyperlink it, and then use that hyperlink to jump back down to your new section and keep adding to it

USING HEADERS IN GOOGLE DOCS:

just a quick how-to guide for anyone who wants to do this but doesn't know how.

so! i'm going to explain how to do this on a browser, i'm sure it's possible in the app but i use a browser. open your document and look at the bar across the top where you choose the font, font size, color, bold, bullet point, etc. etc. etc. there will be a dropdown menu towards the left of this bar that will say 'Normal text'. unless you've already done something, in which case it may say 'Title' or 'Heading 1' or something like that. (it's next to the dropdown menu with the percentage number)

when you click on that, it'll bring up a list of all the heading styles you can use, in order (top to bottom - except normal text, which is at the top and doesn't show up in the sidebar outline. also you can't link to it) of what... priority they take? like, 'subtitle' would be nested under 'title' in the sidebar document outline. similarly, 'heading 2' is nested under 'heading 1', and 'heading 3' is nested under 'heading 2', and so on.

so if you want to use a heading style, click the heading style you want and then start typing. you can also type it and then select it and change it to the heading style you want by clicking the heading style you want (you may need to hover over it and then click the 'Apply' option when it shows up)

for sections, i use heading 1. for subsections, i use heading 2. and for subsections nested under those subsections, i use heading 3!

another fun thing: you can change what the heading styles look like! make the font look how you want it (you can change font, size, color, alignment, and maybe other things too but those are the ones i know about for sure). then select it, go to the heading style menu, hover over the heading you want to change, and then click on the 'update heading to match' option when it shows up! then every time you use that heading style, it'll automatically change the font etc. to match.

i find changing the heading styles fun to make it match the vibe of the story lol, but i don't always do it because i tend towards vibes that go with fonts that are. uh. hard to read. (hello calligraphy)

ONE LAST THING: if you're working on this document with anyone else, be sure to talk to them about a way to track new changes/let each other know what you've changed. when your document is small and manageable, people can potentially just scroll looking for new stuff - when it's over 130k (oops lol), that is not feasible. so maybe you comment on anything new, or you send each other messages with lists of what you've edited, etc etc etc (and you'll also need a way to distinguish which one of you has typed something - choosing a font or color for each of you to type in can work for that)

if you want to experience the behemoth of a fic that is the result of all of this labor, check out a taste for hard victories!

[docockbrainrot]

i think i want you (to leave)

Summary: We’re all running from something. Sometimes, metaphorically. Sometimes, literally. Literally running, from the very strangely hypnotizing supervillain that seems hellbent on ruining every bit of your life he can get all eight of his limbs on.

Pairing: Doc Ock X Reader/ Otto Octavius X Reader

Content: Slow Burn, NSFW eventually, 18+, Female Reader

AO3 link here!

Previous Chapter

Chapter 7

renegade// taylor swift & big red machine

Your outing for coffee didn't go as planned- go figure. Nothing could just be easy for once. There was a time in your life when you could quite literally just leave your apartment and not be harassed by creepy evil scientist masterminds- but apparently those days are behind you.

Upon returning home with half a latte in hand that you set down on the coffee table, you decide that you deserve answers. And a lot of them. Otto has stalked you nonconsensually for the last time- now, you hope, it's your turn to do some digging.

You plop down onto the couch, laptop on your thighs, feet kicked up onto the table besides your drink as you study the search bar on your home screen, fingers poised above the keys. You glance over the lip of your computer, the paper coffee cup staring back at you from where you placed it. You’re frowning without even thinking about it. Yeah. Things are definitely getting out of hand and you want nothing more than to take the reins back on your own life.

Nerves make you feel as though you’re about to get caught red-handed doing something you shouldn’t be, as you type his name into Google, feeling nothing short of absolutely ridiculous at the same time:

otto octavius

You hesitate for a moment before hitting the ‘Enter’ key and a sea of search engine results flood your screen. It’s mostly news articles, you decipher quickly just from the initial scan. A few YouTube videos that look grainy on the thumbnail, probably captured from phone cameras, glimpses of hero versus villain action. Your mouth feels dry as you hover the mouse cursor over an article link titled

Esteemed Research Scientist Involved In Horrific Accident, 1 Dead and Several Injured

Mm. Promising. Click.

You aren’t sure why, but you’re immediately caught off guard by the photo of him at the top of the page, smiling, in a very cozy looking grandfather-esque sweater. He looks… kind. Gentle. Uncomfortable, your gaze catches the next image- a very pretty older woman, with intelligent eyes and delicate features. You feel as though you already know where this is going, but you reluctantly get into the article anyway, scrolling slowly, mind racing to process the information.

She was his wife. You already knew that, in a way. The wedding ring on his finger was a dead giveaway that still unsettled you to dwell on. She was killed during some kind of fusion experiment he was showcasing- the technical, science-y terms are mostly lost on you, but you get the gist. The electrical malfunction left him disfigured… You learn a new word: “Actuators”… Bank robbing… Location unknown… Authorities are offering rewards for tips in regards to his whereabouts. You snort in amusement. Very tempting. You look at the coffee again and feel a softening in your chest.

With a sigh on your lips, you lean forward to snatch up the cup and take a sip. It’s mostly lukewarm, toeing the line of ‘cold’ now, but it’s still delicious. And confusing. Why is he being so… nice to you? You’re pretty sure he’s using you- he thinks your connection to Oscorp can benefit him somehow, judging by this ‘favor’ that involves company blueprints. But none of it really makes sense. He could just threaten you. He could just threaten literally any Oscorp employee- he clearly doesn’t care about the people he hurts along the way. For fucks sake, you just watched a video on the internet of him literally throwing a fucking Buick across 2nd Street.

The elusivity of this man is frightening, you have to admit. How hard can it be to find a huge man with eight limbs who scales- and destroys- buildings? But then you think back to this morning- Otto really just strolled down 9th Ave like he didn’t have a care in the world. What’s his endgame here? Sure, yeah, he’s robbing banks, whatever. Did his accident just drive him totally insane? It doesn’t seem likely- everything he does is intelligent and purposeful. Well, mostly everything. He really should throw less cars. What does he need the money for? And breaking into Oscorp- there’s no money kept there. You feel like it should be making sense somehow, but it’s not, not at all.

Frustrated, you close the related tabs and drum your fingers against your coffee cup.

Well… good time as any to start job searching, you suppose.

---

Hours tick by and your butt is starting to feel like a permanent addition to the couch, numb and uncomfortable from not moving. It’s around the time you feel like maybe you should find something to eat or at least get up to stretch your legs when you make the mistake of looking up from your resume typing.

The window. It’s unlocked. And there’s a glowing red light staring at you from the center of its respective metal claw. Actuator you mentally correct yourself. Great. Twice in one day. New record.

You don’t even bother getting up and just watch with a very unamused look on your face as Otto lets himself in. He certainly doesn’t ask permission this time and you spare a moment to think ‘Oh good, at least he’s not a vampire. At least we can rule that one out.' Actually, you take it back- it’s not good. A vampire would honestly make a whole lot more fucking sense at this point. He’s holding something in one hand that looks very suspiciously like a very suspicious paper bag.

“I draw the line at letting you sell drugs out of my apartment,” you just wanna lay that out as soon as possible, tone blithe and reckless. At this point, you’re getting ballsy and you know it; what’s he gonna do- kill you? Apparently he needs you for something and while you might be totally in the dark about what it is, you are wholeheartedly going to be taking full advantage of your (probably temporarily) privileged status.

He scoffs and doesn’t bother closing the window behind him. You’re led to believe he must want this to be a quick meeting. “I’m not a drug dealer,” he feels the need to defend his dignity and you cock an eyebrow at him.

“Like that somehow makes you a better person? Mr. I-Throw-Old-Ladies-Off-Rooftops?” You can’t stop the eyeroll that punctuates your sentence and you shake your head, indignantly turning your attention back to your laptop, not certain that you’ll actually be able to focus on getting anything done, but more so that you don’t have to look at him anymore. Maybe if you ignore him for long enough he’ll just go away.

You spend a few minutes with just the sound of your typing between the two of you.

Okay, maybe he’s not going to go away.

“Jesus, fuck, Otto, are you just going to stand there all day? You’re like that creepy dude that sits on the corner of St. Marks Place and comes up to my car window and just fucking stares at me until the light turns green,” you grumble at him and the response you get is your laptop being slammed shut with just enough warning that you’re able to snatch your hands away before they get caught. He’s glowering at you over the rim of his sunglasses, leaning over you with his palm flat against the top of your HP, applying no small amount of pressure to the tops of your thighs. Ah. Good. You’re gonna be pissed if he cracks the screen. “I’m kind of busy here, you know, applying for jobs and whatnot. Since someone got me fucking fired, I have to do that now.”

“You’re really just a nightmare, you know that, kid?” He doesn’t sound angry though and you feel the brief terror that seized up in your gut start to dissipate. You try not to think about how close he is, for the second time that day.

“Personal space doesn’t mean much to you, does it?” You retort, but it’s playful and there’s a ghost of a smile on your lips. The smell of aftershave, leather, smoke, and metal fills your head, clouding your senses like a thick haze. You’re reminded of the cigar shop your dad likes to frequent when he comes to visit you. Okay, the moment’s ruined now that you’re thinking of your father and you yank your laptop out from under Otto’s heavy hand. He gets the hint, thankfully, and straightens up.

“And here I was thinking you liked it,” he smirks and you wish you were of strong enough body and mind to wallop him upside the head with your dingy computer. He tosses the paper bag onto the couch next to you and you eye it with all the trust of a wild dog being tossed food scraps.

“What is that.”

“A peace offering.”

You squint at him. Then the bag. Then back at him. But he’s already looking to make his exit, giving no good-bye, other than one of the actuators seeming to focus lingering attention on Chekov and Otto muttering a quick “Come on,” before they disappear, presumably to descend the fire escape.

---

It’s money, by the way. In the suspicious bag. And a burner phone with a single, unnamed number loaded into the contacts.

In addition to the very illegal-feeling operation that you want no part of, you're faced with the sudden realization, hours later, that he still wasn't wearing gloves.

And his wedding band was gone.

You aren’t sure what to do with any of this information, once again.

Great.

[nincompoopydoo]

LOVE IS STRANGE

PAIRING: Poe Dameron x reader WORD COUNT: 1.9k SUMMARY: The union of Ireca and Mohash may seem a typical cliche of love in comparison to your depressingly lonely state, but when a certain poster boy pilot emerges during the celebration, you wonder if love works in other underlying ways. A/N: I found this in my google docs, first written about a year ago. so, wohoo i present to you my first ever poe dameron content, i think? he's so charming and carelessly beautiful. please leave a comment and tell me what you think or what else you'll like to see from me 💖 gif by @john-seed from this gifst WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol and getting drunk, space swearing. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERLIST

Love is strange. Delicate yet fierce. So forceful that it manages to seep through the cracks created by bombs and gunfire of war. Unexpected at times, appearing out of nowhere. Yet, it’s beautiful because it brings those with beautiful hearts and minds together, entangled in the constant dance of intimacy and devotion.

It’s what Ireca and Mohash have.

Ireca was from the Logistic division, a mechanic herself and your colleague. She was to be married to her long-time lover, Mohash, a flight engineer for the Cobalt Squadron. As far as cliches go, wartime love falls along the lines of a romance cliche. Yet, war was all you’ve known. It’s what everyone has ever known. It’s common to develop some kind of a feeling other than the constant emotions during battle—fondness, the feeling of falling in love with someone. It’s truly what we stay alive for.

Maybe that’s why you hate it so much. The absence of the feeling that everyone describes as so fucking amazing that it completes you. You feel empty most of the time. It’s definitely the reason why you put all your effort into fixing things you can rather than complicated problems and issues that continue to reside in your mind, especially in the wake of midnight.

You find yourself sitting by the makeshift bar, tucked away from the crowd of friends and colleagues. There’s music playing, the sound of drums, and the seven-string hallikset reminds you of your brief visit to Naboo three cycles ago. You’re nursing a warm cup of something that tastes closer to acid water than alcohol.

Ireca emerges from the crowd with flowers in her braided hair. She approaches you with a bright smile and calls out your name wistfully. You shoot a strained smile her way, feeling the bags under your eyes weigh a little more. “What are you doing here all by yourself, huh?” she asks, leaning against the bar with a gentle pat on your shoulder.

“I’m just really tired. Last night was rough. Plus, I’m behind schedule.” you sighed heavily, running your fingers through your hair. She flashed you a smile of sympathy as you continued, “I’m sorry, Ireca. Don’t let me ruin your night. Go, have fun.”

She raises an eyebrow as you take another sip from your cup.

"Go. I'm sure you don't want to miss Mohash's special performance." You gesture to a drunk Mohash, who seemed to be searching for the woman. Ireca merely laughed. "Oh, it sure is going to be special." With a gentle touch to your back and wave, you watch her make her way into the swarm of bodies. You're left alone once again.

You’re still trying to figure out how Mohash even got hold of any sort of alcohol and managed to smuggle it into the base. Someone must have nicked it during one of the previous missions in the Mid Rim.

You rub your eyes, half-awake at this point; your cup is placed beside you as you rest your head against your folded arms on the table. Your mind is in a daze and incapable of irrational thought, deciding it would be best to just camp out here, by the makeshift bar, for the night. You were too tired to drag yourself all the way to your quarters, which felt like miles away, in the first place.

As sleep began to weigh heavy upon your eyelids, you suddenly felt a sharp tap on your shoulder. A soft groan escaped your lips as you shifted your head, still resting on your arms, just enough to peek at your sleep intruder.

It’s Poe Dameron. Commander and Black Leader. Incredibly talented, confident, and effortlessly handsome.

Ugh, you hate this guy.

Yet, you don’t feel so tired anymore.

“Are you drunk?” There’s amusement in his voice with a tinge of mockery. It made you realize the stun you were pulling. Classic Dameron. It was supposed to be a happy ceremony, but it was truly Ireca’s fault for manipulating you into coming tonight. Parties, events, and social gatherings were never right up your alley. You prefer spending time with machinery and your greasy hands.

Poe’s eyes are gleaming under the fluorescent lights, filled with concern, but you spot the smugness in his emerging smile. A flash of a thought, you kind of want to feel his lips on yours. The image immediately stings. You want to gag.

Poe is irritating, arrogant, and careless. Not charming. Nope, definitely not charming.

You straighten yourself, trying to shake off the burning image, shoving it to the back of your head. You lift your head, propping your elbow on the table and resting your chin on the heel of your hand. “You actually think I’ll even touch that bantha shit?”

Tearing your eyes away from Poe, you reach for your cup only to realize it was empty. He casts you a look. Your eyes shoot daggers with an extended pointer finger his way, “Don’t you dare say anything, flyboy.”

Poe raises his palms in defense, lips pursing. “Wasn’t going to.”

You catch a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, one hand discreetly reaching under his tawny leather jacket. Then, a bottle of Corellian whiskey emerges, shining under the lights of the Resistance hangar. Your face lights up at the recognition of the bottle, memories of your rare trips to Corellia, sharing whiskey drinks with your colleagues. It was the only planet you’d been to ever since you joined the Resistance.

You’ve only tasted Corellian whiskey once because of how expensive it is. You’ll happily get drunk to that in a heartbeat. Drink the worry and sorrow away with the lingering taste of frankly exorbitant whiskey.

Like a child with grabby hands, you reach for the bottle, but as your fingers brush his, Poe quickly lifts it to the air and away from you. He smacks your hand away. You whine, feeling a little lightheaded. The contents of the mysterious drink are starting to kick in.

What the blinkin' mradhe muck was in that drink?

“What do you want from me? It’s not like I have a drinking problem.”

He’s giving you that look like he’s judging you, but with a hint of amusement at the slight tug of the corner of his mouth. “You definitely have a drinking problem, but... i'll let you drink this on one condition.”

“For kriff’s sake,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, glancing away. “I’m not doing any weird wacky favors for you, Dameron.”

He scoffs, expression bewildered. “Hey, I don’t ask for weird wacky favors,” He articulates his words with a defensive tone, index finger stretched to your face. You simply smack it away as Poe clicks his tongue and continues to clarify his proposition. “All I’m asking is for you to fix my ship.”

Your wide-eyed gaze flies to him, shaking your head furiously. “Oh, no, no. No. Never in a million cycles. Never in a million millennials. Nuh-uh—”

“Hey, quit being dramatic. It’s a simple job.”

Your eyes grow even wider, voice raising. “A simple job? You fly that ship of yours like we have hundreds of spare ones. I’m not putting all my time and effort into fixing a lost cause.”

“But you haven’t even—”

“No. I’m not fixing your ship, and that’s final.”

Poe blinks and you’re back to fussing over your empty cup. The chatter of the crowd grows louder as a group of pilots of the Cobalt Squadron began rendering verses of an unknown traditional drinking song to your ears. You steal a look to only find Ireca and Mohash amidst a dance, tangled in each other's arms.

He eyes closely, noticing the turn of your lips, trained eyes deem melancholy. He knows the face of a loner very well—usually recruits with lost family and homes. They enlist in a mass community of freedom fighters for the restoration of good in the universe, and to finally feel a sense of familiarity and belonging. He doesn’t know much about you but he knows you don’t truly have anyone to depend on but yourself. It’s the reason why you’re constantly fierce.

Poe clears his throat, shifting closer to you as he watches the way you carry your gradual gaze to hold his. They then flit to the space between the two of you, raised eyebrows acknowledging the weird close proximity of his presence to yours.

“Look, you’re the best mechanic there ever was and probably ever will be. So, fix my ship, and you get to have this Corellian beauty. All of it.” He sways the bottle in the air, but you don’t look at it.

“You know, that’s bribery.”

“Yes, and it’s working.”

You scoff. “No, it isn’t.”

Poe laughs. “Yes, it is. I can see it in your eyes.”

Another scoff, you look fully aggravated. “How dense do you think I am?”

“Oh, very, but let’s not get into that.”

Bickering was the only language the two of you spoke fluently when you found yourselves tangled in a conversation with one another. Thrown insults were spoken lies—saying you hate each other when you know that isn’t true. Well, at least you don’t mean it and you hoped Poe didn’t either.

You’re exhausted, physically and mentally. For once, kindness and acceptance seem to be the easiest route.

A sigh passes your lips as you blink up to the ceiling, sending a silent prayer for blessings from the Maker above. “You’re right. I am dense. Truly dense. So, yeah. Okay. I’ll fix that stupid X-Wing of yours.”

Poe blinks, dumbfounded. “Wait, really?”

With a roll of your eyes, they meet his very own wide ones. “Yes, really. Only because you complimented me. Now, hand me that Corellian whiskey before I change my mind.”

He then makes a sound that resonates between a cough and a pleasantly surprised laugh, eyes crinkling with delight. Poe happily and absentmindedly passes the whiskey to you, still reacting like your agreement is some sort of object of ridicule in the best way possible.

“Wow—Maker, you have no idea what kind of trouble you’re saving me from. If the General ever found out—man, pfft. Thank you. Thank you so much—”

A swift and unexpected motion, he is reaching you, palms clasp and either side of your face, and plants a quick peck on the side of your left temple.

Poe isn’t thinking straight.

There you are, mid-swig, lips so close to the rim of the bottle with eyes so wide. You steal a steady glance at the pilot whose expression seems to reflect yours. His hands are still on your cheeks. He’s unbelievably close to you and he’s staring with that stupid look of his.

‘Maker, preserve me.’

A cheer erupts from the crowd from across the space and just like that, the moment is gone. Whatever the moment even was. His touch is no longer on yours and his gaze shifting away.

The tension, however, is still very present.

You finally take a swig of the whiskey, wanting to ease the sudden tightness in your chest. You hum at the stinging sensation on your tongue. You catch a glimpse of Poe from the corner of your eye who busies himself with tapping his fingers nervously against the surface of the bar.

Then, in an awkward motion, you stretch your arm to him, offering the drink.

A beat. His gaze shifts between you and your hand. When he finally gives in, a smile curves upon his lips, fingers brushing against yours. They’re delicate and you smile at him. It's small, but it makes his heart skip a beat and you wonder to yourself about the strangeness of love.

[pocket-void]

A Cup of Coffee

A/N: I am so incredibly relieved to have finished this, but anyways! This is the second fic for Smaller Sides to Life, and I hope it’s alright. (Might make a mini list for that eventually) ^///^ I feel better about this story after thinking about it, and honestly I’m pretty content! Thank you and I hope you have a lovely day/night. u///u

Pairing: Loceit Words: 3596 Content: Flustered Janus because it just kind of turned out that way akjefabekf, it’s mostly Janus’ POV, there’s like a handful of swear words, it is fully light hearted u///u Summary: Janus and Logan always share the kitchen in the morning, being the earliest ones to rise. They never really talked, nor were they ever close, but it turns out that maybe they both have wanted to be.

Google doc if you like reading Cambria font or something, since I haven’t quite figured out Ao3 and don’t know if I ever will. >///< Also I believe uh, @sophiexteresa you wanted to be tagged...?

“Tssss...ouch.”

Sometimes a morning is about as good as a cup of coffee.

Some days it’s rich, fulfilling, and satisfying; a perfect and refreshing way to start the day. A cup that wakes you up with a gentle spreading warmth and wraps you in its delicate aroma that soothes your mind.

Other times however, it’s bitter, bland, and too watered down to really be properly enjoyed, resulting in a disgusting aftertaste that lingers just at the back of your throat; a constant reminder of what could’ve been, a better cup of coffee. It’s doubly worse when the coffee is not only bad, but also way too hot. The only possible benefit of the harsh sting that comes from the first sip is that it completely numbs the taste buds, effectively nullifying the admittedly awful flavor of the beverage, which of course will inevitably come creeping back regardless because there never truly is an escape from the shame and disappointment that is failing to make something as easy as a cup of joe. 

Perhaps the simple truth was just that Janus was not very good at making coffee. He was never going to admit that, obviously. Heavens no, he’d rather down another cup of scalding bean water before that ever happened. It’s not like he’d be able to taste it right now anyways, with his stupid numb mouth and all. Still, the fact that he couldn’t seem to keep something as simple as coffee consistent was definitely an odd flaw that weighed heavily on his stubborn pride, much more than any petty insult ever could. Perhaps it was the simplicity of it all that made it feel like such a thorn in his side. Hypothetically, one should be able to follow a procedure each and every morning and end up with a, if not identical, similar tasting brew each time. Well evidently that was not the case with Janus, much to his chagrin. Out of the seven days in a week, he could maybe make a decent pot only during two of those days; maybe three if he was lucky. Over the course of a year he has drunk more overheated, burnt, and under extracted cups of coffee than he could even bother to count, which he didn’t, because it was frankly beyond embarrassing at this point. If coffee wasn’t such a crucial part of his morning, he wouldn’t hesitate to label it the absolute bane of his existence. Curse those pesky grounded beans.

“...Are you alright?” A voice calls out from the other side of the kitchen. Seated at the dining table just a few feet away was Logan, halfway through a book just like he was on most days. His own empty mug casually placed atop a scattered collection of papers that no doubt contained endless notes on various facts, vocabulary words, and details of the coming week’s activities.

Of course, how could he ever forget the second most embarrassing part of his already lackluster mornings. The fact that the only other intelligent person in the living space had to watch him do this ridiculous charade every day. They’re the only ones who’d ever be awake at this time of day, as such is the fate of two people with actually proper sleeping habits. He has no clue how Logan manages to bear witness to this laughable display with a straight face, though perhaps the man was just not really paying attention. As he was, more often than not, too absorbed in hastily scribbling down notes about whatever topic had caught his attention that week to probably care about Janus constantly burning his delicate tongue over and over again. Which, to be fair, was a good thing. Wasn’t it? Totally. Right. Of course he wouldn’t want Logan to see him act a fool, why was he even asking. It’s not like anything he was doing was ever going to be as interesting as whatever the man was reading up about, as disappointing as that was. Not that it mattered currently, seeing as how for once he did manage to notice and- Aw shoot he completely forgot about that didn’t he.

Janus simply makes a face and squints, lips still slightly parted as he held his tongue between his teeth. He sighs and, with a mildly sarcastic gesture of one hand, replies with simply “Yes”.

Logan responds by raising an eyebrow, gaze still remaining firmly upon him.

Now maybe it was the way the gentle sunlight filtered through the slightly fogged up windows, or the way the dust danced under those soft golden beams, but the sight of Logan seated at the table somehow seemed to shine with an almost unfair ethereal glow. Now if only the reflection of his glasses didn’t also obscure his eyes...

Janus blinks. “Oh it’s just great.” He finally complies, rolling his eyes and ignoring the fact that he was probably just blankly staring for the past few moments. You know, like a fool. Which he was not. “Nothing big, just the usual.”

“The usual.” Logan repeats, sounding rather unimpressed. To which the snake reacts to by immediately placing a gloved hand over his heart.

“What? Don’t believe me?”

“Quite the contrary,” The other shuts his book. “I am well aware of the fact that you tend to make this mistake on a nearly daily basis.” 

The record scratch was almost audible.

“You-” Janus practically stumbles at the revelation that Logan was, in fact, actually aware of his struggles with the abominable coffee machine and its products’ disastrous burning touch. Memories of his daily mishaps slowly begin to flood his mind, and as he recalled each and every previous morning, the sound of nails being hammered into what might as well be the coffin of his tattered pride echoed louder and louder in his ears. Well it was either that, or the blood that was currently rushing through them from his suddenly racing heart. For a moment he wasn’t even sure how to respond, but the creeping heat that soon invaded his face was all too prevalent to ignore; a burning sensation rivaling even that of his tongue. 

In hindsight, he was perhaps the foolish one to not expect someone as perceptive as Logan to notice such things. Maybe it was wishful thinking at best. But surely nobody could’ve foreseen Logan ignoring the mistakes he was making even after taking note of it, right? Logan, who’s known to instinctively attempt to remedy mistakes when he saw them. Logan, who gets way too caught up in silly errors and misunderstanding figurative statements. Surely he would’ve said something, anything. But he knew? He knew and he didn’t say anything? He knew and he just watched as he made a fool of himself every day? What would’ve been the purpose of that? Was he secretly mocking him? Did he find this amusing? Janus winces. That thought perhaps stung more than it should have. 

He quickly turns away with a flick of his capelette and pretends to occupy himself with cleaning up the counter. Focusing his attention to the obnoxious yellow of his gloves rather than the gaze he still felt on his back. “Ah, so you knew.” Janus mumbles, managing to muster up his best attempt at remaining casual. “Did you even need to ask, in that case? Didn’t think you would be paying attention to whatever I was doing.” Honestly—now ain’t that a joke—he wasn’t really even sure what else he could say to that. “You have better, less mundane things to be paying attention to, no? Surely I’m nowhere near as interesting as the books you oh so love to stick your nose in.” The soft chuckle that emanated from behind just made him want to coil up into a ball and dissipate even more, but he stands his ground. He’ll just...get through the morning and subsequently try to never think of this moment ever again. He’s totally fine. 

“I wouldn’t say you aren’t interesting, Janus.”

Ok nevermind, maybe he isn’t-

“I beg your pardon?” Janus almost instantly snaps his head back towards the man at the table. A decision he immediately regrets as he locks eyes with a softly smiling Logan—gently leaning forwards as his chin rests upon crossed hands—and Janus feels his composure once again fly right out the window. 

“I said I find you interesting.”

He takes a deep breath. “Don’t repeat that, I didn’t hear you.”

“I said-”

“No no, I didn’t mean that, actually stop.”

Logan quirks his eyebrow yet again, in the snarky yet triumphant way that showed when he knew he was right about something. While the confidence was admittedly charming, Janus for one really wishes he’d stop doing that. Especially right now.

“Would you like me to elaborate?”

“As a matter of fact, I would.” No he fucking didn’t, why the hell did he say that. He nods curtly, setting his coffee cup aside as he awkwardly leans against the counter for support more than anything else. Ignoring the fact that he wanted nothing more than to leave this current predicament, he hoped to god, the bastard, that the panic settling in his bones wasn’t showing on his face.

Logan smiles a little. “Well personally, I rather enjoy our time in each other’s presence during the morning.”

He enjoyed his company? “Well I certainly wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I’ve also observed that you tend to have great difficulty making your preferred morning beverage the way you like it, correct?”

Ouch. “No?”

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Logan replies without pause. “While I find your persistence admirable, I think we’ve reached the point of reasonable doubt a good while ago.”

“Mhm, yeah, great. Great. And are you just going to sit there and humiliate me, or are you actually trying to make a point?” Suffice it to say, he was not a big fan of hearing about it.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to offend or belittle you in any way.”

Janus scowls. “So what? Have my mistakes finally bothered you enough to actually speak up about it?”

“Well, I had anticipated you asking for assistance one of these days, but it seems like I have underestimated your tenacity.” Logan adjusts his glasses as he opens up one of his notebooks. “Truly a miscalculation on my part.”

“Miscalculation?” He gives a weary glance at the notebook. Logan had tons of them; each one having a different color or pattern that denoted their specific purpose. A sudden realization hits him as he gets a brief glance of the yellow cover. “Have you been observing me??”

“For the past few months, yes.” The man looks back up with a click of his pen. “Is there a problem?”

Is there a problem? How the hell does he just say these things? Of course there was a problem! How in the world was he supposed to live this down knowing that Logan didn’t just notice him every morning, but also was most likely taking excessively extensive notes? He was beginning to think that his attempts to make himself less conspicuous in the morning had subsequently led him to be less perceptive about what the other was doing instead, and that was an irony that he did not want to think about right now.

“Well I simply don’t see any benefit for you in doing that.”

That actually seems to make the other take pause. “There is no benefit.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“There is no benefit.”

“You really need to stop repeating things when I-” Deep breath Janus, deep breath. “I’m not actually asking you to- Nevermind that, why are you doing this then?”

Logan lightly taps his pen against his chin. He shrugs. “I just wanted to figure out the best method of assisting you.”

“Oh and why would you ever care to do that?”

There wasn’t an immediate answer. Just a quiet, all encompassing silence interrupted by only the occasional distant chirping of birds, as the two remained where they were in the kitchen on what was supposed to be a typical Tuesday morning.

Truth was, he didn’t want to hear it. And for one moment, just that moment, time seemed to slow. As Janus stands by the counter, with the bittersweet smell of his still cooling cup of coffee gently wafting his way and his eyes still focused on the twinkling starry blue that was Logan’s eyes, something within him was absolutely terrified. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know why. Or perhaps he did, but for the sake of himself he had never dared to acknowledge it. He couldn’t. How could he? His world sat upon an ever delicate balance, and he was not one to step towards any risk of tipping that scale. So he never did. As much as he wishes he could. To be important. To be just a few feet closer. To be just one seat away. To be sitting at that table, silently listening to Logan rant about the latest book he oh so loved to stick his nose in, and to take a sip out of a cup that was not his own. As much as he wishes he could. But no, he couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

Yet a part of him still hopes, and he curses himself for it.

Every part of his body is telling him to get out right now. To run. To spare himself the agony being here instead of literally anywhere else. To save himself before whatever words that were about to leave Logan’s mouth completely shatters the status quo that he was already accustomed to. He knew he was hoping for too much, it was too late to take anything back, and at this point even if it were just a kind hearted gesture from a well meaning acquaintance, he didn’t think his currently pounding heart could bear the affirmation of what he already suspected. It was frankly a lose-lose situation. A situation he should’ve known better than to get himself into. A situation where he knew the best solution was just to leave.

Which is why within that moment, just one moment in which time had seemed to slow, when Janus is suddenly pulled back into reality as he now finds himself glancing upwards at Logan, who was now standing a mere two feet away. He instinctively attempts to take a step back, but his heel taps against the counter, clearly surprised at the sudden shift in positioning. Had he really been that lost in thought? Janus finally breaks away his gaze to look to the side, holding his breath as if he were bracing for whatever the other had to say next.

“Am I not allowed to?” The unexpected softness in Logan’s voice was so incredibly unfair, and it obliterated any guard that he could have ever possibly put up. 

“I- No, you just...” He inhales rather sharply. Get a grip. “Just why would you-”

“Janus.”

He looks back and suddenly they’re face to face, barely a few inches apart, and within moments he completely forgets how to breathe.

Logan laughs. He laughs. With a tenderness he has never seen etched across the man’s typically serious face. Janus stares, completely mesmerized by the beautiful yet admittedly confusing sight, and forgetting about just why he was so flustered not too long ago. He feels his hand be slowly taken into another as Logan lifts to hold it within both of his own.

“Would you mind if I made your coffee tomorrow morning?” He asks, voice barely a whisper and lips still curled in an enchanting smile.

It was a request that barely registers itself in Janus’ mind, but he quickly manages a nod after swallowing practically nothing; his mouth suddenly dry. The only thing he could focus on was just how darn close those lips were, or how deep his eyes were, or how he still smelled faintly of chamomile tea, or- “Please.” He states, with whatever remaining dignity he had left.

The other seemed pleased with the answer, and the silent understanding that was present between them felt almost too nice to be true, yet it managed to put all of his worries to rest. Part of Janus wishes time could stop right here, with his hand delicately held between Logan’s and his heart quietly swelling within his chest; the other part promptly snaps him out of that ridiculous fantasy to focus back on what was actually happening. Logan hadn’t yet moved from where he was.

“Uh…” Janus lightly bit his lip, the next thing almost paining him to suggest. “Could you perhaps...let go now?” 

“Of course.” Logan says, loosening the hold on the other’s hand. An admittedly disappointing gesture, but it’s not like anyone was going to admit that. “There are still tasks that we must both attend to.” But before he steps back to return to his seat, he gently leans in to lift Janus’ hat and plants a soft kiss upon his forehead. The expression Janus showed as a result is surely priceless as his eyes grow wide and heat instantly flares across the rest of his face yet again. He couldn’t even get a word of protest out before Logan walks away after a small pat on his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“...Right.” He replies, and promptly excuses himself from the kitchen as fast as humanly possible. He genuinely didn’t think he could handle staying there for much longer. His head was still spinning from everything that had happened, and the simple promise that was to be fulfilled the next morning sat heavily on his mind for the rest of the day. Did he know what he was doing? Was it on purpose? Was he allowed to believe in what he hadn’t thought was possible before? Janus places a hand over his forehead, the feeling of warm lips touching against his skin still rather fresh in his memories. Maybe, he could allow himself to enjoy it? What a dangerous thought, but ever so enticing. Here he thought that he could avoid it forever, and eventually it would be forgotten. Like a fool. Which he just might be.

It was something he’d probably never escape, but was it a curse? Or a blessing? Or perhaps it was neither, since neither of those things exist. But alas these feelings did, and if he couldn’t throw them away, then he’d have to keep them.

The next morning inevitably came, and with great anticipation Janus pauses a few steps before entering the kitchen. He places a hand over his heart, as if the action would somehow manage to soothe its wild rhythm, and takes a deep breath. He enters, hesitant and still groggy from just getting up, completely not knowing what to expect.

Logan was there, as usual, sitting at the dining table, papers scattered all across the surface and eyes attentively scanning through the pages of yet another book. It felt almost like a crime to disturb his concentration, but a new detail catches Janus’ eyes. A second cup, placed but a foot away from the other on the table; the area around the mug being mildly less cluttered as if to make room. 

Janus finally steps forward to make his way to the table, his arrival being politely greeted with a “salutations” from the other, and immediately given an offer to sit.

“Here?” He gestures, giving a tentative glance towards where he was used to standing. A comfortable distance away, by the counter. But now that safe haven seemed so far away.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With that he pulls out a chair and takes a seat. His eyes wander towards the various papers that cover most of the table’s surface. Notes, facts, and schedules, just like he always imagined. The confirmation of being correct about something never fails to amuse him. He sneaks a peek at Logan, whose gaze also shifts up from his book without lifting his head.

“Reading about coffee today are we?” Janus chuckles.

“There can be a surprising amount of depth to any subject.”

“Hmm.” Janus hums. “...Tell me about it.”

And so he does.

While the two sit in tranquil harmony, with Logan explaining the intricacies of coffee, from its history to its benefits to its various methods of consumption, and Janus patiently listening while staring down at the drink that was poured for him beforehand, in the cup that he has always used each and every morning before. Amidst the pleasant atmosphere and the comforting voice of another, he eventually takes a sip.

It was perfect.

“I’m pleased you like it.” Logan comments, noticing the content expression on his face.

“You really did your research huh.”

“It took a few months. It was difficult to gather data when there was no consistency in the methodology that you used.”

Janus coughs and glances away again, but he hears the small chuckle underneath Logan’s breath.

“I can walk you through the process one day if you’d like.”

“I think I’d rather leave it to you.”

“A wise course of action.”

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.” Janus mumbles, smiling a little to himself and completely accepting defeat in that regard. 

Sometimes a morning is about as good as a cup of coffee. And now, sitting here at the table under the gentle light of the rising sun, perhaps every following morning could be similarly warm, fulfilling, and just as perfect as well. 

After all, every cup was now going to be just the way he likes it.

[foundthe8wing]

Okay, doing this over here because my main tumblr is usually a place for me to vibe and I don’t want all the bullshit tied to that account, but basically: I’m really angry and disappointed with the dndads cast for how they’ve put a lot of the minors in their fanbase in danger. Everything below is a repost from twitter (with permission from the OP, crypticjoy), and I’ll link the thread in a reblog. 

Under a cut because it’s long and potentially triggering (content warnings for grooming, sexualizing minors, and sexual assault)

[OP tagged the relevant cast accounts; I added slashes here bc I’m not sure if those same urls exist on tumblr and I don’t want to be randomly tagging people over here]

5:49 PM Sep 5, 2020

“I don’t usually do this, but: the way that the cast of @/dungeonsanddads engages with their audience is actively dangerous to minors, and they need to get it together. (cw for discussion of grooming, sexualizing minors, sexual assault)

First off, there are some iffy jokes and situations in the podcast itself. I’m not going to get into all of it right here, but have a google doc: [doc will also be linked in reblog]

Yes, the kids in #dndads are fictional, but that doesn’t mean this stuff doesn’t affect real kids listening. a. it normalizes talking/joking about kids in that way and b. There’s a lot of inconsistancy and confusion on the lines they draw--

Paeden saying “baby” is weird but Ron sitting in Terry Jr’s lap isn’t? I’m confused. You know who the fuck relies on that type of confusion and unclarity? Fucking predators

And I’m not saying every in-character decision has to be perfectly moral or acceptable, but the way the cast, out of character, discuss what’s weird and what’s not sends a lot of mixed messages. And that’s legitimately dangerous.

So then you take all of this, and you add a patron discord server that lets nsfw discussions run virtually unchecked--you create a fandom space that allows adults to discuss kinks, and porn searches, and just, all this other stuff, with teenagers...

... and it becomes a breeding ground for grooming and abuse.

The creators aren’t responsible for babysitting their fanbase or for how people engage with their content outside of their spaces (though, again, I’d urge them to be very careful about what kind of messages they’re sending)

But  they ARE responsible for taking basic steps to keep the spaces that THEY create and engage with safe.

“But the rules for the server say 18+!” The rules say you have to be 18 *or have parental permission.* They also say to keep things PG-13. That’s vastly different than establishing something as an adult-only/nsfw space.

“Minors shouldn’t be joining/listening anyway!” The cast can’t control who listens and neither can I, but there’s a difference between knowing teens are listening to you discuss sex with your adult friends vs facilitating conversations between teens and adults on those topics.

“If people are uncomfortable they can just leave.” First off, this situation isn’t just uncomfortable, it’s unSAFE. Second: fuck that. It’s not on minors to set and maintain boundaries about this stuff; a lot of them literally do not know how

Not because they’re stupid, but because they’re young and inexperienced. It’s the responsibility of adults to set and enforce healthy boundaries around sexual discussions, and this particular group of adults has done a fucking terrible job

(Maybe don’t encourage listeners to DM you about kinks! Maybe especially don’t do that when you’ve communicated, intentionally or not, that making and escalating sexual jokes is a really good way to get a reaction from you guys)

I get that they didn’t expect to have so many young listeners, but to be aware of that fact and make no adjustments whatsoever is irresponsible and it WILL lead to someone getting hurt. Does their “young, thirsty, female” audience only exist to them when they can laugh about it?

And let’s be absolutely 1000% clear: this isn’t an issue they’re unaware of. The stuff I’m talking about is an ongoing problem with how their server is run, but it came to a head with one specific situation very recently:

They released a bonus, patron-exclusive episode about the dads taking the bdsm test. Given the general state of the server, I was worried about where those discussions might lead, so before it dropped, I reached out to @/anthony_burch to express my concern

He told me he raised the issue with @/fwong and Ashley, meaning at least three members of the dndads team were aware of the situation, and decided it didn’t warrant any type of preemptive action on their part

(alternatively, it means Anthony lied, which would be a whole separate issue)

[Image ID: a discord DM conversation from Sep 1, 2020, between a crossed out username and reverendanthony. It reads: 

OP: heyyyyy have you guys considered that releasing an episode focused on the bdsm test is almost inevitably going to lead to a bunch of 15 year olds sharing their results in your server because you might want to get ahead of that before someone gets hurt

reverendanthony: oh holy shit, really good idea

OP: thanks, I know it's easy to veer into that territory just because of the nature of your show but I wanted to bring it to your attention because I figured you don't want to create a situation that's like, actively dangerous (and for the record I'm willing to discuss what I think would make it safer but I'm also not going to assume you want/need my input, obviously you can handle it however you see fit)

reverendanthony: No, thank you for bring it up, I really appreciate it -- I just raised the issue with Freddie and Ashley

OP: Good to know, thank you /End ID]

I’m not overreacting. I have seen this shit happen, to my friends and to myself, and watching the dndads cast take absolutely no meaningful action to prevent situations like that from occurring directly under their noses makes me fucking livid

I can guarantee that the #dungeonsanddaddies fanbase includes both predators and survivors of abuse, grooming, etc (including those currently living through it), and I need them to think very, very hard about which group they’re prioritizing.

And I need that choice to be evident through more than just their words, because it doesn’t fucking matter how much you “really appreciate” that I brought up my concerns if you do fuck-all to address them.

It doesn’t matter how many times you say the word “consent” if apparently everyone was okay that “Darryl gets sexually assaulted” was almost a plot point played for laughs.

(His dare from Scam  would have been rape, straight up. Just because no one said the word doesn’t mean it wasn’t coercive and gross).

I’d like to think the @/dungeonsanddads cast isn’t intentionally encouraging abuse, but they’re sure as hell enabling it, and they needed to get their shit together ages ago, because they’re not the ones their negligence hurts.”

Quote retweet by OP 6:51 PM Sep 7, 2020

“So, they updated the rules for the patron server, but I want to be really clear that from my perspective, it’s way too little, way too late. 

The new rules don’t adequately address the core issues and they certainly don’t absolve the cast of the harm they’ve already caused. 

[Tweet includes 2 screenshots: one of a bot asking people to click thumbs up to confirm they’re 18+ (or have a parent’s permission) and agree to the rules, and one that includes two of the rules. It reads: 

“This is an 18+ space. Them’s the rules: per Patreon’s policy, you must be 18+ or have parental permission.

Use language as if you’re at your parents dinner table. Don’t get people in trouble because of your SPICY POSTS. Keep conversation polite. NSFW content is not allowed!”]

(and before anyone says I should bring up my concerns privately, a quick refresher on how well that went last time I did it:) 

[links back to the “(alternatively, it means Anthony lied . . .)” tweet from the original thread]

So hey, @/fwong, some thoughts:

1.The rules are vague and unclear: what /exactly/ do you mean when you say “NSFW content is not allowed!” when the content of your show itself is so often nsfw? And how are you planning to enforce this?

Does it mean you’ll shut down the MBIC conversation that is literally just kink discussion? I need you to be clear on where the line is, because, again, predators rely on that confusion. Don’t give them a gray area to play in. 

For an example of a more clear policy, it’s pretty easy to say, “yep, ‘Henry gets pegged’ sure is a sentence we said on our show and you don’t have to pretend it’s not, but if you’d like to discuss it in any more detail at all, you need to move”

2. Remember how I said I needed to be clear on whether you’re prioritizing survivors or predators? While I doubt it was intentional, the language you’re using here is prioritizing predators.

It’s not “don’t get people in trouble,” it’s “don’t make people uncomfortable.” It’s “we all have a responsibility to make sure this space is safe for everyone, especially the younger members of the community.”

You’re setting people up to be afraid of expressing concerns for fear of “getting people in trouble” or “inciting unnecessary drama.” Even if it’s not what YOU meant, it’s very easy for those words to be manipulated, so +

You absolutely have to be explicitly clear that if someone expresses their discomfort, you’ve got their back. Being safe is more important than being polite. 

3. I need every cast member to take responsibility for their own actions. I’ve gotten no indication from any of you that you understand the ways in which the in-show things I brought up were harmful.

Acknowledging that harm is important not just because of the immediate effects of that content, but also because it implicitly sets an example for how similar complaints should be dealt with going forward.

When someone says “hey, I was uncomfortable that you seem fine with the Glennary ship, because she reads as very young to me,” I don’t need a dissertation on how the perception of characters can evolve due to your improvisational nature

I need to hear “oh, I interpreted her differently, but you’re right, we should have been more clear, and I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” Because your responses to your own mistakes set the tone for any other situations like that going forward.

How comfortable is someone going to be with coming to you, or Ash, or any of the mods about someone making them uncomfortable if they’ve seen that when people call YOU out, they’re argued with and shut down?

Don’t tell people you’ve “made it clear that you won’t go there” when they tell you that you ARE there. Listen to them and do better. 

Set the expectation that people will be respected when they raise their concerns. “If you want to come at me you have to bring the heat” is not an appropriate response on a subject that made people genuinely uncomfortable. 

In essence: set people up to be supported and protected, not dismissed. 

[It’s like a matriosche of tweets over here. This one links to another thread, also by crypticjoy. That thread reads:

A non-comprehensive guide to keeping discord servers safe for minors:

1. Make designated channels for nsfw/18+ discussion. Generally speaking, this is a lot more effective than banning those discussions altogether, because it’s a lot easier to say “hey, can you move this conversation?” than “hey, I need you to stop”

In fandom spaces, it’s usually a good idea to have separate channels for talking about nsfw fiction vs discussing your personal sex lives.

2. Give everyone minor/adult roles; make sure your 18+ channels are locked to people who don’t have an adult role. It’s important that there’s more of a barrier there than just checking a box.

3. NSFW channels shouldn’t necessarily be a free-for-all; be aware of people’s boundaries and respect them (for example, r*pe jokes aren’t funny or okay, even if you’re not making them around kids)

4. Explicitly state in your rules that people should feel free to come to mods if anyone is making them uncomfortable. Actually listen to people and resolve the situation if they do approach you.

5. Make it clear that creepy behavior via DMs or other means is also not tolerated--you can’t control what people do outside your server, but you can make the choice to not allow people like that in your space

6. Make sure mods are on top of things BEFORE people have to say anything; sometimes being a mod means being willing to be the “asshole” who shuts things down before they get out of hand, even if they’re not asked.

Be generally aware of signals that people are uncomfortable or that things are escalating too far, and address those situations sooner rather than later.

*It should be noted that safety involves a lot of components beyond just containing nsfw discussions; this thread just happens to be focused on that one specific element.

oh also! It's a good idea to provide resources on grooming so people know what to look out for [links to some resources; again, this’ll be in the reblog]]

So, @/dungeonsanddads, if you’re interested in anything beyond just having a flimsy excuse you can point to to cover your own ass, I’m gonna need you to try again.

Sorry I can’t be nicer about it, but I’ve given so many benefits of the doubt I could be running a successful charity, and this isn’t an issue I’m willing to drop. 

10:02 PM

Thought I was done but actually I've got a few more questions: to what extent were @/HeyBethMay, @/WillBCampos, and @/mattLarnold included in conversations about this issue/the new rules? Is this something your whole team is involved in?

Have you discussed what you're doing on a team and individual basis to keep your fan interactions safe, and are you on the same page about how much it matters? Are you holding each other accountable? Is everyone okay with where this ended up?”

[teddy-bear-surprise]

Chapter 2: The First Assignment

Link to the table of contents and disclaimers: 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐲 ✷ 𝐌𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢

A/N: Sorry for the long wait :( I just started writing the third chapter so that should be up relatively soon too... It was supposed to be a part of this chapter but I had to separate it bc google docs starts crapping out after like 10 pages

Mitch and Marcel exited the foyer after a long introduction and walked along the clean marble hallway. As Stilinski followed Marcel, he cautiously scanned the walls admiring the outdated yet stylish design. The heels of his oxfords clicked vibrantly with each stride, echoing against the tall ceiling. As their steps approached Genevieve’s hiding spot, she scampered back into her sanctuary. She stole a quick glance into the hallway, locking eyes with Mitch.

The sudden and unintended eye contact with Celestin’s daughter drove a stake through Mitch’s heart and invoked the dozens of warnings that Didier and Hurley had drilled into his head the prior week. Whatever you do, Stilinski, don’t engage with his daughter. Hey, Stilinski, remember that Marcel Celestin will literally rip you to pieces if you fuck up. Don’t forget: if Celestin even suspects you might be interested in his daughter, you’re deader than dead.

Mitch averted his eyes and gave his head a quick shake, ridding himself of the ridiculous internal commentary. He clearly understood the severity and danger of his employment, but he struggled to wrap his head around the notion of a father as overprotective as Marcel. Mitch never had anyone worry about him like that. When he joined the CIA, he was only able to do so because of his complete lack of family, friends, and life. He had always seen himself as expandable to a certain extent. Stilinski would put his life on the line, time after time, because he just could not fathom anything more important than his mission. In attempting to understand Marcel’s neuroticism, Mitch realized that Marcel’s mission was handing off his “business” to Genevieve, and that– like him– Marcel would stop at nothing to see his mission through. Even so, Mitch questioned the validity of the horror stories he had been bombarded with regarding the Celestins.

A lock snapped loudly, bringing Mitch out of his trance, as another one of Marcel’s employees opened the door for them to enter Marcel’s grand office. The walls were lined with glimmering trophies from Marcel’s past and photographs of him and Genevieve; Mitch was struck with surprise to see a mafioso’s office look so ordinary. The floor here was no longer made of stone and was instead a smooth dark wood. In the center of the room there lay a large, illustrious rug with a heavy mahogany desk sitting atop it. On the wall behind the desk, two grand windows brightened the room and gave it life.

Marcel continued walking in front of Stilinski, making his way to the looming chair behind the desk. He sat himself down, motioning across the desk, and told Mitch to take a seat. Mitch pulled out a chair and rested his body weight on the arm as he lowered himself onto the seat. He then leaned forward and looked at Marcel, waiting for further instruction.

“Stilinski,” Celestin began, “After Didier assesses your physical abilities today, I have a job for you. Tomorrow, I want you to take my daughter, Genevieve, to Paris. It’s been years since she’s been to the city and I’m having a soireè next week so she needs a new outfit. Your job is simple, keep her alive, make sure she gets something nice, and obviously don’t fuck up.”

“Of course, Sir. It would be my pleasure.” Mitch replied immediately, though his mind was churning.

“Let’s consider this a gesture of good faith. You get her there and back in one piece and you get to keep your job, you fail and… Well, I think you know what happens then, don’t you?”

Stilinski took a deep breath, “Yes, Sir. I am aware. Thank you for this opportunity, I won’t let you down.”

Celestin nodded his head towards the door, indicating that Mitch should leave. “Good, I wouldn’t want to lose another half-decent guard to incompetency.”

Mitch nodded while he got up and walked to the door. As he reached for the knob, the door swung open and he came face to face with Genevieve. Again. He looked down at her, unintentionally, before quickly backing away and letting her pass in front of him. She kept her eyes on him for another second before waltzing towards her father’s desk.

“One of the guards gave me a note telling me to meet you down here, what’s going on?”

“You know what, Genevieve, you got here just in time. Stilinski, stay here for just another minute and shut the door, will you?”

Stilinski closed the door again, “Yes, Sir.”

“Genevieve, I want you to meet our newest guard, Mitch Stilinski. He’s going to take you into Paris tomorrow to pick some things up for the event I’m planning for next weekend.”

Genevieve turned and glared at Mitch, slightly squinting her eyes, “Really?”

She had not meant it in a rude way, but she was truly shocked that her father would let the ‘new guy’ take her into the city.

“Sorry,” Genevieve continued. “That sounds like a brilliant idea father.”

Marcel smirked and waved his hand, dismissing the both of them. Mitch re-opened the door, holding it open for Genevieve. She walked past him without so much as a glance. Genevieve slipped back into the library, slamming the door loudly behind her.

Mitch, as confused as ever, shut Marcel’s door quietly. He walked rapidly away, trying to figure out where the gym was. He eventually found it, the first door to the right of the foyer, and saw Didier patiently waiting inside. Didier was leaning against a padded wall, wrapping his hands, dressed in a black t-shirt and sweatpants.

Didier greeted him nonchalantly, “So, Stilinski, how’s the first day going?”

“It could be better. Celestin already gave me an assignment and I don’t know if I’m anywhere near ready to take on this kind of responsibility.”

“Well then, you better learn soon.” He chuckled at the quip and rolled his eyes, “I kinda figured that out on my own, Axel. I’m gonna go change but I’ll be back in a minute.”

Stilinski stumbled into the locker room, trying to find the locker with his number on it. When he had been tattooed with the crow on his neck, he was assigned a number. Mitch had been given the number 7 following the death of the original number 7 in a gruesome shoot-out. The number was hidden within the bird’s eye, forever marking him as one of Celestin’s disciples. He scanned up, down, and across until the number 7 caught his eye. It was hidden in the far right corner of the locker room and when he opened it, it contained the same black shirt, pants, and hand wraps that Didier had. Mitch carefully took off his suit, hanging it in the locker, and put on the black ensemble. He wrapped his hands quickly as he walked out of the locker room.

Mitch and Axel sparred for over an hour, neither one could seem to knock the other down long enough to win. It seemed that, though years ago, Hurley’s training had stuck in their minds. Both of their hands were covered in bruises beneath the wraps, only a few punches away from dislocating a knuckle. They panted heavily as they threw punches and kicked at each other with sweat dripping into their eyes. Mitch approached Axel, hoping to win the match with a final punch, but Didier was more experienced and used Mitch’s own momentum against him. He punched Stilinski sharply in the jaw, knocked him onto his back, and held him down with one knee.

“5… 4… 3… 2… 1… I win!” Didier lifted his knee from Mitch’s chest as he stood up.

“You know,” Began Stilinski, “I would normally be mad that you beat me, but I’m so tired right now that I couldn’t care less.”

“Yeah right, Stilinski. I know I hurt your ego.” He held a hand out to Mitch.

Stilinski stood up, “I’m serious, the jet lag, the sparring, and the weird threats… I’m exhausted from all this shit and it’s only day one.”

“You’ll get used to it. Why don’t you tell me more about this new assignment of yours while we do a few miles on the treadmill?”

“Great, running and talking. My two favorite things. I’ll agree to it this once, but only because I don’t have the slightest fucking idea about what to do tomorrow.”

A few rooms down, Genevieve continued obsessively daydreaming about her outing to Paris. She could hardly even remember what stores she used to shop at in the city, let alone how to dress for an event as nice as the one her father was planning. Along the bottom row of the library shelves, there was a handful of fashion magazines, they were all a few seasons old but she figured they would hold up well enough. After all, how much could fashion really change?

Genevieve leafed through the pages, dog-earing the outfits she thought might be appropriate for the occasion. She closed her eyes, letting the sun seep through her eyelids as she pictured herself walking down the long staircase in a shimmering sage dress.

In her mind, the ideal dress would be fuller than full, putting at least two feet between her and everyone else; it was to have a laced corset bodice covered in lilac petals and small beads; and the straps would hang loosely off of her shoulders, brushing her skin ever so slightly. Unfortunately, however, Genevieve knew that it would be impossible to find such a dress on such short notice. She continued flipping through dozens of magazines until dinnertime, jotting down the names of certain shops and designers that were based in Paris, and hoped that one of them might be able to produce a miracle. Soon after, Genevieve’s night came to a close and she drifted off to sleep dreaming about the following day’s adventures.

“Genevieve, my darling, it’s time for you to get up. You’ve got to go into the city to find an outfit. Remember?”

Marcel sat down on Geveieve’s bed, rubbing her shoulder softly. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. At only seven in the morning, the sun had just begun it’s work and shone weakly along the horizon. Its rays reflected off of the curtains and into Genevieve’s eyes, causing her to turn away from the window.

“Yes, I remember.” She sighed with uncertainty, “Papà, I’m not quite sure I’m up for this today. This seems like such a big step to take… for me, and for the new guard.”

Genevieve’s stomach churned and her heart began beating quickly. Suddenly, it felt like the whole world– despite its beauty– had put her into a chokehold. She breathed with shallow gasps, never seeming to get enough oxygen. Her arms grew weak and she laid back down, praying that the horrible feeling would subside.

Her father’s eyebrows furrowed together, “You’ll be okay, my darling. I would never let anything happen to you. I promise.”

Marcel got up and opened Genevieve’s door, calling out for someone to bring a glass of water.

“But what if something did happen? What if…”

Marcel cut her off, “I know you’re anxious. I know, but give it an hour, and then you can decide if you want to go or not.”

His words, while not very helpful, provided some comfort. For some reason, Genevieve had a nasty habit of developing nauseating anxiety in the early morning. It had been happening since she was a child, but as she had not woken up before nine am in many years, she had grown unaccustomed to the feeling. It used to just set her back by a few minutes, only occasionally proving to be a real problem. Now, however, Genevieve felt like she had been hit by a two-ton garbage truck.

The same man who had brought her lunch yesterday walked in with a tall glass of water. He handed it to Genevieve who sipped on it slowly.

“Well, I’ll be in my office if you need anything. I’ll check back in an hour to see how you are. Sebastien, let’s go.” Her father patted her head and walked out, Sebastien closing the door behind them.

Genevieve sat up and leaned against the wall, breathing deeply and naming everything in her vicinity. She saw her bed, her hands, the door, the windows, and the glass of water on her bedside table. Her skin felt the cool fabric of her bed, the cold glass between her palms, the single feather poking out of her pillow, and the wall behind her head. Her ears could pick out the faint sound of voices outside, birds chirping, and the wind blowing. With each inhale, she could smell breakfast being made in the kitchen mixing with the fresh scent of her bedsheets. Taking a sip of water, she noted that she didn’t quite taste anything, but that always seemed to happen when she got to the last step.

During the next fifty-five minutes Genevieve’s breath became more natural and her heartbeat slowed. Still leaning against the wall, she bent over to place the empty water glass on her bedside table, wondering why she held onto it for so long. Her father came in soon after as if he had telepathically sensed her newfound calm.

He sat beside her, taking her hand in his, “So, was I right? Are you feeling better now, Genevieve?”

“Yeah, I guess I do feel better.” She let a small smirk take over her face.

“See, daughter, all you needed was some time. That is our most precious resource. Not our money, not our network, not our assassins… It’s the one we take the most for granted, our time. One day, you’ll see just how little time we really have.” Marcel let go of her hand, “Now, you go on into the city to find something nice to wear.”

Genevieve stood up and ushered her father out. She figured it was time to get dressed since she had already wasted so much time. After changing, she brushed her teeth and rushed downstairs, hoping to make the most of her time. While Genevieve was not necessarily excited to be going shopping, it was an opportunity that she had not been able to experience in a long time.

Her father led her to a car that was waiting out front with Mitch behind the wheel. He tilted his head down by an inch when he noticed her as a sign of respect. Genevieve slid into the back seat quietly, pulling her backpack over her knees. As she looked back towards him, Marcel shut the car door and gave her a soft smile. He patted the side of the car and Mitch slowly drove away, the sounds of gravel crunching beneath the tires. Genevieve turned solemnly towards her home, watching it shrink into the horizon. This outing was a new type of adventure for both herself and Mitch, and neither of them knew what to expect.

[eddsworldwritingrequests]

Tordedd please!! Maybe angst? But anything really, I’m just deprived of tordedd content 😫

(How did y’all know I love TordEdd >=0 Also I’m really sorry for how long this took, quarantine caught all of us off guard in my household so I’ve been trying to get back on my feet. AND my girlfriend has been staying over with me and she doesn’t know I run this blog.

But in all seriousness, I hope you forgive me with this request! It was like 9 pages on google docs so aaaa---)

------

Quiet was something that Edd had gotten used to. He didn't do it constantly, but staying up was a routine that had gotten a little too familiar for the brunet. So familiar that the dark bags under his eyes showed its prominence. 

Coffee was basically an all time drink now. Of course, it would never overrun the amount of Cola Edd drinks on a daily basis. Hell, he even pours the drink into the actual coffee sometimes. However, it certainly was something that he depended on nowadays, especially for moments like this. 

He didn't mean to stay up. He never usually meant to, but Edd couldn't sleep lately. Everytime he did, he found himself staring at the ceiling for an hour and a half. Which is what happened tonight, which lead to where the tall man was now sitting. 

Edd tilted his foot back and forth, ticking it with the seconds that passed on the hanging clock. Fingernails tapped against the hard surface of the table, the brunet closing his eyes peacefully. His coffee was brewing, and while the man wanted so desperately to fall asleep, he knew he wouldn't be able to. So, might as well stay awake and be productive. 

Tom and Matt were probably dead asleep, which is reasonable considering it was 2:30 in the morning. Matt usually fell asleep early, which was good for midnight shenanigans, but that meant the ginger was usually the first one awake. Tom liked to stay up late as well, but he usually only did so because he was out at some bar. Or in some stranger’s bed. Once he gets home, however, he drops so quickly, sleeping like a log. Edd sometimes wonders if he comes back alive, even.

Edd blinked his eyes open halfway, watching the coffee maker lazily. It was whirring, making a low buzzing sound. He wondered why he was still awake, why he couldn’t sleep when his body so desperately screamed for a rest. The light thrum of the refrigerator, the ice maker rumbling every now and then, the damn coffee maker buzzing. And that was all he heard, the little "vrrrr" from the machine, the occasional wind creaking the windows, and the sound of the kitchen fan turning slowly. 

That's all he should've heard. It was late, and as far as he was concerned, Edd was the only one up. 

Until he heard a crash. 

Glass shattering, the noise disappearing just as quickly as it had sounded. It was just long enough for Edd's tired self to process, however. Mostly because he was suddenly on his feet, chair having been scraped back. 

He stood still, quiet as he listened. The machine was still whirring, the fan slowly turned. He didn't hear anything else. It had gone completely silent again, as if whoever broke the window had just… paused. 

Edd finally moved after a minute of silence. Socked feet tiptoed their way into the living room, staring with wide eyes at the entrance. Down the hall was the front door, where the broken window presumably was. And towards the person who most likely broke it. 

The brunet came another step forward before pausing by the wall, hidden behind the corner of the living room entrance. Another sound broke through the silence, the sound of feet crunching glass. 

It made Edd freeze in his spot, lips held tight. He was scared to breathe, as if whoever had broken in could hear his noise from all the way in front. Whether they were closer now or not, Edd didn't dare to breathe too loudly. He was still in his spot, heartbeat stuck at the base of his throat. 

He could hear the steps coming closer, lightly treading down the hall. They were so light that Edd almost lost track of them, but he managed to keep up. Keep up as he heard them come to a slow stop near him, around the corner of the entrance. 

Fuck. Fuck, the kitchen light was on. It seeped past the living room, glowing on the floor. They could see it from the hall, just lightly, but they could see it nonetheless. 

Edd cursed under his breath, hearing the footsteps quickly retreat. He couldn’t help but spring into action upon hearing a voice, a soft “Shit” coming from the dark. Without thinking, Edd leaped from around the wall, ignoring his every thought that begged him to just let the man leave. That’s what it sounded like he was doing.

Whatever his thoughts, though, Edd couldn’t help but wonder what kind of adrenaline lead him to harshly grab hold of the figure around the corner, eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of brightness.

"Who--" Edd couldn't finish his statement, grip slipping from this random man's clothes. They started to wriggle out of Edd's grip, trying their best to flee, but the brunet just held them tighter. He pulled them back, arms locking around their chest, heavy breathing now sounding as he tried to get the wrestling figure under control. 

Holy fuck, this was easier than Edd thought. Just locking his hands a certain way secured the other, the immense force the cloaked man gave was almost nothing. It also didn’t help how Edd was a whopping 6′4, bigger in size in all ways. He was practically hovering over the shorter man. Not by much, but by way over than enough.

It wasn't until Edd looked down and processed this familiar face that he really loosened his grip. Just enough for the struggling man to notice and pause. 

Edd stared down, and as he did so, the other looked up to meet him with grey colored eyes. Bright, even in the dim setting. 

"Tord?" Edd questioned, voice quiet. He stared at him with such wonder and confusion, arms dropping from him. It took him a second, but Tord eventually regained his composure, stumbling forward and whipping around. He was standing straight in front of Edd. Eyes wide. "What are y… Tord, is that you??"

The other man smiled slightly, giving Edd the stupidest face the brunet's ever seen. It was dorky, that small gap in the Norwegian's front two teeth presenting itself. He raised his hands slightly, looking embarrassed that he had been caught. Especially over the fact that he had pathetically tried to fight Edd off of him. 

"Heeeey, Eeeeeeeeedd…." Tord gave a low chuckle, quickly glancing down the hall behind himself. Edd also took a quick glance behind him, catching eye of the open window and shattered glass. Ah, shit. "Long time no see."

"Y… Tord, what are you doing here?" Edd questioned, coming forward slightly. He raised his hands, waving them slightly. He didn't exactly know what to do with them, didn't know if he should hug Tord or pat him. He was confused. But those nerves didn't disappear. God, no. "I haven't-- You didn't tell me you were coming to visit. It's been years."

"Yeah, I, uhm… I was going to surprise you! I thought I'd pop in last minute, visit since… I had a, uh, dip.. In my schedule." Tord smiled, words lacing over perfectly with a sense of genuine thought. "I, uh, couldn't find the spare key that we used to keep. So I… broke… the window.."

Tord cleared his throat. "Whoops."

The brunet stood there, looking up at the broken window past them. His eyes flickered from Tord to the front door, then back again. He gave the other a smile back. "You didn't bother to check the door?"

"Well, I would've assumed it was locked."

Edd snorted a bit, shaking his head. "Tom got back from a bar about an hour ago. He usually forgets to lock it." Edd pointed past the other, towards the front. 

Tord glanced over his shoulder. And, low and behold, his eyes landed on the handle, door held open a bit and, indeed, unlocked. 

"Oh." Tord stared. He huffed, frowning a bit before looking to Edd. "Well… Shit, aha, surprise! Sorry to wake you up."

"No, no, it's fine. I was already up." Edd waved off, smile slowly forming across his face. 

It was a surprise, it sure as hell was, but Edd couldn’t help that sigh of relief to flutter from him. He was excited, the hands that were raised in the air coming to slowly pat at Tord’s shoulders. 

The other stared at him with a weird look, as if Edd was crazy. And, Edd believed he was. Mostly because it had been so long since Tord had visited from who knows where, and the feelings that whirled in his chest didn’t seem to change. That warmth seeping into his cheeks as his lips parted into an excited grin before pulling Tord in again.

He hugged him. Tightly. Arms wrapping around the other, pulling him in close. He forgot how much he loved feeling Tord tense in his arms. He never really seemed comfortable with big hugs like these anymore, it was clear from the occasional visits, but the Norwegian still returned them nonetheless. Always returned Edd’s big hugs with a tight one of his own.

“You could’ve at least called a couple hours beforehand. The living room looks like shit.” Edd grumbled, a light-hearted annoyance lacing through his words. 

He could almost feel the way Tord’s laugh flowed over his body, shaking a bit as he huffed out loudly in response.

“I used to live here too, you know.” Tord’s low voice droned from the fabric of Edd’s shirt, face pressed into his chest. “You really think I care about a dirty living room? You should see my living room.”

Edd snorted, shaking his head a bit as his arms loosened around the other. He couldn’t help that rush of happiness surge through his arms as he felt Tord look up, not yet stepping back from him. He had the chance to, but he didn’t.

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Says the one who broke a window to get in even though the door was already open. And unlocked.” Edd piped, shooting the other a prodding stare. “I mean, you could’ve at least--”

“Okay! Okay, I get it, stop teasing me.” Tord complained, finally pushing away from Edd. A small grumble came out, hidden in the midst of Edd’s light chuckles. “God, I forget how annoying you are.”

“Ah, yes. I’m the annoying one.” Edd hummed, grinning at the other before whipping around, leading Tord to the kitchen once more.

The Norwegian followed his footsteps, shooting back another comment, going quiet to listen to Edd’s response. His low grumble, little laughs huffing along his words. Edd was a big man. And in return, that lead to him having a naturally deeper voice. Not by much, but when he’s up in the early hours of the morning, a little like this time, the rumble of his voice box settles at the base of his throat. Too tired to put emotion, but just enough given to make Tord.... feel things.

It was a while since he visited. Ever since he left, Tord made sure to never lose contact completely. He’d visit once every couple years, but it was never more than for a day or two. And he only ever saw Edd. 

Sure, Tord missed Matt and Tom, but it’s not like he really talked to them anymore. He never had Tom’s number to begin with, the little ball of fire blocking Tord whenever they got too angry at each other. Matt and him, no matter how tight they were as friends, just slowly... started drifting apart. Tord wondered why. I mean, Edd mentioned something about that memory erase gun, but the effects of that shouldn’t have lasted so long. Maybe the ginger was just afraid it’d be awkward to try and text him again. 

Matt was anxious sometimes. Sweet and bright as he may be, but a little nervous.

That didn’t matter, though. He’d always have time to chum up with the other two, but it was Edd who he enjoyed spending his time with the most. Sure, he didn’t exactly plan to “visit”, he was actually just ready to pick up his little... toy. 

The thought made his smile droop a bit, eyes flickering back to the hallway that lead to his room. It was locked when he looked at it earlier. He wondered if Edd turned it into a storage room or something.

Thoughts were snapped back into reality as Edd asked him something, the Norwegian blinking for a moment. “W--What? Sorry, I wasn’t, uh..”

“It’s alright. I just asked if you wanted some coffee? Unless you plan to head to sleep, but to be honest, you look as bright and alert as ever.” Edd chirped, picking up the steaming mug from the coffee maker. It was silent now, that buzzing noise it made now gone. 

Now that Tord could see him in better light, the first thing he noticed was the light stubble on the other’s chin. The beginning of a beard on Edd’s face, now hidden behind a mug as it was lifted to those lips of his. 

It made Tord shudder a bit, pulling his eyes up, bright and wide. Observant.

While that peach fuzz the other wore was a sight to see, Tord couldn’t help but lock his eyes on something else. Like the bags under those chocolatey eyes of his. And just how tired Edd actually looked.

Why was he drinking coffee so late? He didn’t plan to actually stay up, was he? And from the looks of it, he was making that before Tord had even broken in. Didn’t he say earlier that he was already up?

“Uh, no, I’m okay.” Tord responded, face kind of slacking at the thought of Edd having sleep troubles. His grey eyes flickered over Edd’s face for no more than a second before staring out the glass doors leading to the yard. “It’s pretty late to be drinking coffee, though. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Edd went a bit quiet, bringing his glass cup to his lips, letting it sit there. The void of an answer made Tord shift his eyes back to him, head still tilted towards the grass outside, but eyeing the larger male. All the while sitting down.

“I couldn’t sleep is all.” Edd murmured into his cup, shrugging slightly. “Like always, aha.”

Tord let out an “ah”, slowly nodding his head along before pausing. Pausing because, no, that wasn’t “Like always.” Edd could always sleep without worries, no matter what happened. Back in highschool, he could get into a fight, have a quarrel with somebody, watch some disturbing video and still go out like a light. Edd never took longer than a few minutes to go to sleep. Or, well, that’s how Tord last remembered.

“Oh.”

“Haha, yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

Tord pursed his lips, eyes moving back to the clear view. He eyed the lawn, seeing how it looked untouched and normal like always. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous. From Edd’s happy expression, it was clear that no matter how long Tord had been away, they obviously hadn’t found out about his little secret room yet. They hadn’t discovered anything yet, which was surprising considering they must’ve done something to his room. Maybe while cleaning it out or moving stuff around they found that lever. It was actually quite surprising how they hadn’t seen anything yet.

Tord really wondered how stupid his friends actually were sometimes. “So, I couldn’t help but notice my room was locked. And how we have a second story now?”  Tord blinked his gaze back at the other, watching Edd yawn a bit before settling himself down in front of Tord at the table. 

“Yeah, Matt has a bunch of crap he doesn’t want to throw away so we got an upstairs and stuck him there. He became quite the collector.” Edd rolled his eyes at those words, bringing his coffee mug down to clink loudly on the wooden surface. “Collector my ass. He’s a hoarder. He hoards junk, not collects.”

Tord let out a soft snort, raising a brow as the smile on his face widened. That sure was different too. Matt being a hoarder, having to take up an entire floor to just keep track of all his junk. Tord shouldn’t be thinking that way, though. I mean, he practically had the exact same thing. Except Tord’s stuff wasn’t junk! It was… hmm.

“And my room?”

“Oh, that’s sort of…. Tom’s room now?”

Tord blinked at Edd. The brunet wouldn’t look at him, but the Norwegian waved his hand to try and grab his attention. Edd still didn’t look at him. He continued to stare into his cup, even as he drank from it. “I’m sorry, Edward. Did you just say that my room belongs to Tom now???”

“Maybe?”

“Edd!!!”

“Look! I turned his old room into a swimming pool, he needed a room and the upstairs doesn’t have sections!! It’s one room, I was not about to make him bunk with Matt.” Edd huffed loudly, frowning at the other as he finally looked up. “You’re crazy if you think I can keep Tom alone with Matt. Absolutely insane.”

Tord knitted his brows, looking confused about, well, everything. Did things change that much? Really? I mean, it’s not like he should’ve expected everything to be the same. Afterall, Tord was gone for eight or so years. Things were bound to be different. Even people, he guesses. “Where am I going to sleep then?”

“You’ve lived here, just knock out on the couch for a day or two before you go back, I’m sure you can manage.” Edd scoffed, letting his nails click loudly against his mug. “Or get a hotel room like you did last time. I’m surprised you came straight here to be honest. You haven’t been here since…. Well, since you first left.”

Tord watched Edd for a moment, watched Edd finish up his drink before quickly making his way to the sink. His chair scraped on the tiled floor slightly, the brunet going quiet after his statement. He turned the sink on, faucet spilling water into his now empty cup. Edd licked his lips slightly, feeling how chapped and dry they were. 

He looked uncomfy talking about the subject. Just saying the words “first left” seemed like it made Edd want to quickly direct the conversation another way. It hurt to see that look on his face. Made Tord uncomfortable as well to see just how tired Edd looked. God, why did he look so tired?

Tord fiddled with his thumbs on the table. He had an excuse already made up in his mind, an excuse that he had made up on the car ride here. It wasn’t true, it was really just an excuse to buy him more time, to give him some time to stay here until he got up and left. Tord could spill it now.

Seeing how Edd looked, though, Tord wondered if this was the right choice. He couldn’t take back all he had done but how could he just lie to Edd’s face? Especially if he was bringing his hopes up now only to crush him in the long run. It’s not like Tord can just stop being a leader to an entire damn army, no, he had gone too far. There’s no way he can take it back now.

He was going to hurt Edd in a few days' time, maybe even tomorrow. There was no avoiding it. They would see him come out of the ground with that robot one way or another, it’d take a miracle for them not to notice it. If Tord was lucky, he could get his robot then leave without any of them realizing it was him. He could escape, not say a word. They would never hear from him again and they would never know what happened to him. 

That is, if Tord is lucky. And lucky isn’t really in Tord’s vocabulary. 

“Uh… I mean…” Tord stared harshly at his thumbs. He hated himself for this, but hey, if he was going to break his heart later, then might as well make these last few days worth it. Right? “I was actually thinking about… moving back in?”

Edd twirled around faster than Tord could process, the Norwegian taking a moment to realize that the brunet was stepping back over to him now. He blinked once more, looking up at the other, watching Edd stand beside him with wide eyes.

Wide, beautiful, puppy-like eyes. Edd was so fascinating, wasn’t he? Tord’s favorite person, the only one who really bothered to keep in touch with him. The one who Tord just happened to fall in love with. 

Even after years, seeing that excitement in those eyes of his got Tord melting a bit. Except, he kept his composure. Kept his back straight as that worry in his own eyes crumbled into adoration. Tord couldn’t help but let a wobbly smile form on his lips.

“Really?” Edd questioned, the hopefulness in his voice lighting up Tord’s heart. 

He could feel it thump against his chest a bit faster, the Norwegian wanting so badly to kick his feet with joy. He could watch Edd make that face all day. And to think he was looking positive and happy like that at Tord, wow. God, it was enough to make Tord almost forget about the fact that he really was about to throw their relationship away once he grabbed his robot. That little expression made him almost forget about all he was going to do. 

“Y...Yeah, I came back here because, uh… I’m moving back in.”

“You’re moving back in?”

“Yup.”

“Like…. For real? Real-real?”

“Yes, Edd. For real-real.”

The brunet let out a breathy squeal, doing his best to keep quiet in his excited state. He flailed his hands slightly, waving them around before pulling a laughing Tord up from his seat. “Stop laughing, this is serious!”

“I am being serious, haha. You’re the one flailing like a damn bird.”

“I am not a-- a bird.” Edd scoffed, letting his hands drop. “And can you really blame me for being excited???”

Tord smiled brightly, stumbling as he tried to push in his chair while taking an awfully close step to Edd. He ignored the loud scrape from the chair, ignored how close he was to the brunet. All Tord really focused on was that smile that framed Edd’s face so perfectly. So much so that it made Tord’s heart jumble up in all these mixed feelings of his. “I guess I can’t.”

Edd smiled. That was how it could be simply put. He smiled, and Tord smiled back. And it wasn’t until Tord took another step forward that Edd really took the chance to scoop him up in his arms again. Bringing him so close that Tord had to lean up in the slightest to hug him comfortably.

Big arms around him, Tord smiled. Hugs weren’t his thing, he wasn’t used to being touched and prodded over. Granted, his dads usually liked to smother him, but other than them, no one dared to hug him. Except these idiot friends of his. And Edd.

Edd’s hugs were the best. They made Tord feel safe and he absolutely drowned in the feeling it gave him. He would stand in his arms forever if he could. But Tord’s job didn’t let him do so. He couldn’t have this. And the thought suffocated him.

Edd loosened his grip, prepared to step back, but he paused. Only because Tord’s own hands came around to squeeze him tightly. And he didn’t let go. 

“Not yet.” Tord muttered, voice quiet. He let his head rest on Edd’s shoulder, fingers moving lightly across the back of his shirt. He brought himself close to him again. “Let me just stay here for a bit more.”

Edd bit the inside of his cheek, but he made no objection. He only nodded, a soft little hum escaping him to show his joy before resuming his previous grip.

Tord closed his eyes. He took in a deep breath and stilled his hands, letting them rest around Edd instead of trying to pick and jitter. He wanted to stay here. Enjoy Edd’s hugs until he couldn’t anymore. 

He’d pick up his robot tomorrow. Or maybe the day after that. Tord knew he had to do it soon, but maybe he could delay it. Afterall, it was going to be hard to look into Edd’s face and tell him he never cared about him. That he only came for his equipment. 

Tord was going to miss this. He was going to miss his friends. He was going to miss him, miss Edd. He was going to mess this all up soon and Tord could feel himself grow queasy and the scenarios that piled in his head. God, he was going to break his own heart. He was going to leave Edd behind. 

Just a bit more time in his arms. That’s all Tord asked for, really.

“So… are you going to kick Tom out of my room or what?”

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Catch

Whumptober 2020 Day 1: Let’s Hang Out Sometime Prompt: Waking Up Restrained

Summary: MarkBop wakes to find himself kidnapped, and soon realizes he's only there as bait for someone else.

Warnings: Violence, non-main character death (one offscreen, one onscreen but non-graphic)

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

~

A moment ago, MarkBop was taking a walk in the city, not far from Ego Inc. Now, he’s groggily waking up in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by an unfamiliar pair of people, tied to a chair and gagged. He tries to scream, but the gag smothers the sound. His side stings like it’s been burned, his head aches. He doesn’t recognize either person in front of him; one a severe-looking man and one a short and prim woman, both dressed like scientists, complete with lab coats. They stare at him without emotion in the face of Bop’s growing panic.

“Good, you’re awake,” says the man. “Perhaps my associate and I can ask some questions while we’re waiting for your friend to arrive.”

Friend? It’s then that Bop notices a table beyond the two people, where an object is vibrating loudly. Bop recognizes the sound of his phone, buzzing as someone tries to contact him. Probably Bing, Bop guesses. Are these people trying to get Bing? Also on the table is a folder, a laptop, and a couple harsh-looking tasers. One is a simple stun gun, the other a high-tech, futuristic-looking device. Bop is certain that the pair used the stun gun on him, for the fancier taser looks as though it would’ve stopped his heart in an instant.

A taser like that could cause Bing serious damage.

“I’ll take your gag out if you agree not to scream,” says the man. “If you do scream, we’ll very easily make you quiet again.”

Bop doesn’t doubt them. He nods numbly. His mind is swimming, not just from his headache. He hardly knows what’s going on, nearly too overwhelmed to think. The gag is removed from his mouth and he whimpers.

“What–” he gasps, “Why, what–”

“How much do you know about the androids?” the man asks.

“A bit too on the nose, don’t you think?” pipes up the woman, speaking for the first time. She’s moved to the laptop, and is looking at the screen as she talks. “This is a top-secret mission, after all.”

“It won’t matter what he knows,” the man replies, “It’s not as if we’ll leave witnesses.”

Oh, that’s not a good sign. Bop whimpers again and starts to cry.

“Answer the question,” the man says, unmoved. He takes out a clipboard from his lab coat. “Or you’ll be re-gagged or worse.”

“I-I don’t know,” Bop sobs, “They, I mean, they’re stronger and faster than people, and B–Bing is, um, he h-has malfunctions sometimes b-but he’s still really strong–”

“Confirms our haunch,” the man hums to himself, writing on his clipboard. “Anything else? Anything more specific?”

Bop realizes it’d be a bad idea to say anything more. He continues to cry, but shakes his head. The man frowns.

“Did I not just tell you–”

“Let it go,” interrupts the woman, “The target’s incoming. I’m getting into position.” She grabs the mean-looking taser off the table and walks away, leaving the room through a side door.

“Who’s the target??” Bop cries, even though he already knows.

“You’ll see,” the man says. He quickly re-gags Bop, and Bop is too overwhelmed to try struggling. He trembles in his chair, waiting and hoping.

He hears a door open from somewhere a distance behind him. Bop doesn’t know what the space behind himself looks like, but he can tell by how the sound is muffled that there’s still one more door between him and Bing. He hears a hair-raising crackle of electricity, a bang, a thud, a series of cracks, and a pop. Each sound makes him cringe. It’s hard to breathe through the gag, through his sobs. The slam of a door makes him jump, and he looks over his shoulder, afraid of what he’ll see.

It’s Bing, unscathed, but angrier than Bop has ever seen him. His eyes are neon orange, so bright they hurt to look at. His hands are clenched in fists. From the hallway he just traversed to get here comes a strange smell, not unlike burnt pork. Despite how relieved he is to see Bing, Bop can’t help but feel a little sick.

“How did you get past the taser??” cries the scientist, finally expressing emotion.

“I’m a fucking android, dude,” Bing snaps, “I heard your accomplice or whatever from a mile away. The taser never even touched me. It got her pretty good, though.” Bing takes a few steps into the room. “The real question is what you wanted me here for in the first place. That giant taser must’ve been for me, right?”

“I’ll never talk,” the scientist says. Bop looks back to him to see him backing away. Bing advances, walking past Bop to confront the scientist.

“You and that woman underestimated me, didn’t you?” Bing asks, intensely angry. “You guys thought I’d be an easy target for whatever the fuck you wanted from me, huh? Your mind’s about to be blown, dickhead.”

The scientist tries to run, but Bing grabs him, seizing him by his shirt color and slamming him against the wall. His head makes a loud smack as it hits the wall and snaps forward after. He’s too dazed to even cry out as Bing reels him back, getting in his face.

“Why did you guys bait me?” Bing asks. Bop can see him shaking with rage. “Why’d you take Bop?”

“No,” is all the scientist says, voice thready and weak. Bop suspects he couldn’t say more if he tried.

Bing yells in frustration and slams him against the wall again. This time, Bop hears a deep cracking as the man’s head hits the wall, and when Bing pulls him back, his body is limp and his head lolls. Bing pauses.

“Aw shit,” he mumbles, “I think I killed him.”

Bop starts sobbing again, thoroughly overwhelmed, and Bing immediately tosses the body aside to rush to him. He pulls the gag out of his mouth and breaks the ropes keeping him in the chair. As soon as he can, Bop throws his arms around Bing’s neck and buries his face in his shoulder. Bing hugs him back tight and begins stroking his hair.

“It’s okay, Bop,” Bing murmurs, “We’re okay, we’re both safe now.”

“They, th-they were gonna hurt you,” Bop sobs, “They were g-gonna hurt me, or kill me, I-I don’t know–”

“Shh, babe, it’s alright. Don’t cry, no one’s gonna hurt us now.” Bing sighs. “I wish you didn’t have to see all that, Bop, I’m sorry. And I wish I’d been able to figure out who they worked for or something before I killed them.”

“Th-There’s a file,” Bop sniffles, “On the t-table, maybe there’s s-something…”

“Oh nice, good eye,” Bing says, encouraged. He kisses Bop gently before helping him up from the chair and striding to the table.

Bing quickly finds the folder Bop mentioned, and opens it up to read as Bop follows more slowly, still regaining his bearings. He leans against Bing as Bing reads over the folder’s contents.

“‘Project Sunset’?” Bing mumbles, reading the first sheet. “What the hell is that?”

“I th-think those people wanted you more than m-me,” Bop offers, “With the taser, they must’ve wanted to…to do something to you.”

“Lemme see…” Bing continues reading. His eyes widen. “Woah, ‘android recovery’…‘observational research’…‘conditioning of first unit in-progress’…‘execute second unit recovery on…’”

“On what?” Bop asks, confused and unnerved.

“Today’s date,” Bing gasps. “Bop, if I’m the second one they wanted, and they already got one, I think…” His face falls. “I think these are the people who took Oliver.”

Bop can’t help but cover his mouth in surprise. Oliver went missing weeks ago, and not even endless searching by the other egos, the other Googles included, have succeeded in finding him. It would take an extremely well-executed plan to make him disappear, but a group of scientists with access to the kind of tech Bop saw in that awful taser could probably do it.

“Who are they?” Bop asks. Bing searches everything over, and grunts in annoyance.

“I can’t tell,” he mutters, “There’s no company names, no corporate logos, no nothing. I can check the pockets of the guys who kidnapped you, but if their docs don’t have company names, their IDs might not have them either. Or they could have fake names.”

“Maybe there’s something on their computer,” Bop suggests, looking over at the laptop, still closed after the female scientists shut it down to confront Bing.

“Good call, babe!” Bing exclaims, kissing Bop again and making him blush. “It’s gotta be encrypted to hell and back, but I bet the Googles can break into it. I’ll take the folder too, those guys’ IDs, the taser too…”

Bing does find an ID on the male scientist, but it’s not conclusive on its own. Still, Bing pockets it and leaves into the hallway. Bop is about to follow when Bing stops him with a raised hand.

“Wait for me a bit, alright?” Bing says. “I mean, you already saw what I did to the guy, and you really don’t wanna see what I did to the girl.”

It’s a little terrifying for Bop, sometimes, to remember how strong Bing is. To remember that Bing is an android with the power to kill in the blink of an eye. Bop’s never felt unsafe around him, and he knows Bing would never hurt him, but it’s scary to know what Bing can do. So Bop only nods and lets Bing go into the hallway alone.

He returns with one more inclusive ID in his pocket and the taser, now turned-off, in one hand. He holds the laptop and folder in the other arm. He turns around, back to Bop, and looks at him over his shoulder.

“Hold onto me and close your eyes,” Bing says, “And I’ll lead you out of here so you don’t have to see…anything.”

Bop only nods, and obeys. He holds onto Bing’s shoulders and shuts his eyes, following Bing’s slow footsteps down the hall. It’s horribly unnerving to hear nothing but both their footsteps on the ground, to smell that awful burnt-pork scent still in the air, and to see nothing at all. Bop knows Bing is walking slowly for his benefit, but he wishes Bing would hurry up so they could get out faster. Finally, he feels Bing stop and hears him open a door. Bop follows him out and feels the sun on his face. When he opens his eyes, they’re outside, and the door to the building – an abandoned warehouse – has shut behind him.

“Hey, we made it!” Bing says, smiling brightly, trying to be encouraging. “C’mon, babe, let’s go home.”

Bop doesn’t have to be told twice.

As he walks alongside Bing, though, he can’t help but keep glancing at the objects in Bing’s arms, and wonder what they’ll lead to.

[zukofenty]

always be my maybe

➜ Summary: The one where Zuko and Katara could never quite get their timing right. Especially when the universe throws a lost condom, thousands of miles, and a baby in their way. 

“I will literally french braid my pubic hairs and never open my pussy to anyone ever again if this condom doesn’t kill me. Please don’t let it kill me.”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, Celebrity Chef!Katara, Doctor!Zuko, Love, Rosie!AU 

AO3 @zutaraweek

“Go a couple rounds, leave Zuko’s dick up in a casket!” Toph screams into the microphone, undeterred by the various guests who stare up at her, mouth open and half-chewed, dry-as-fuck chicken spilling out. It wasn’t her fault, really! As soon as Zuko handed the mic off to her, he basically gave her free reign to spit a Megan Thee Stallion verse in his honor. “Sing with me, bitches! Look up the lyrics on Genius.com, Cheryl!” 

 “Sit down !” Katara squeezes out from clenched teeth, ripping the device out from the girl’s grip. 

 “I didn’t even get to the chorus, you fucking whore .” A bridesmaid nervously plucks the mic from their table and avoids eye contact with both of them. “What’s going on with you, bitch?” Toph asks quietly. She could tell Katara’s been doing her fake smile for the last twenty minutes. The girl was practically going to break her face open with how hard she was grinding her teeth. 

 “Just thinking.” Katara wants to smack herself in the face, pinch a nipple and bring herself to reality. Everything felt too real, and Toph could sense it. She’s the type to somehow sense when Katara shifts in her seat a certain way to covertly satisfy a cooch itch, and then buys her Monistat the same day. 

 She hates that she could never hide any emotion from her. Toph could always figure out the puzzle pieces that were Katara. One of the few to know the real her, besides Zuko. 

 Sometimes Katara thinks the younger girl knows her better than him. At least now. Especially now. 

 “About?” Toph takes an experimental sip from the wine glass, and gags. The juice tasted like Gatorade and cum. “Why the fuck would anyone want a dry wedding? Weddings are the only time you get to see your alcoholic uncle vomit all over the bride’s shoes, and then your closeted aunt has to wipe up the puke and her reputation from the floor while thinking of her secret girlfriend at home watching Tiger King .” 

 “That example was extremely specific and extremely unnecessary.” Katara brushes a crunchy curl, doused in hairspray, from her eyes. 

 “Sorry, I got distracted. I had dick on the brain, or whatever Rihanna said,” Toph mumbles, risking a bite of the chicken.

 Katara turns to see him at the couple’s table in the center of the extravagant wedding, and sighs. “And for your information, I was just thinking when will he penetrate my esophagus? You know, just girly things.” 

 Toph has the gall to slap the girl on the cheek. 

 Katara holds her stinging face, eyes narrowed in an unspoken threat for fucking up the parts of her face she didn’t set with powder (she was going for a dewy look, sue her). “Not fair! You were the one who called my throat the baby chute earlier today!”

 “Ok, throat goat. One, he’s getting married. Two, you’re sick.” 

 “My therapist will most likely cosign that,” Katara sighs. Toph holds Katara’s hand and leans her head on her shoulder as they watch Zuko mingle with guests. 

  This is the happiest day of his life. 

 Her best friend of twenty odd years was getting married. He looked so handsome, so happy. A suit that looked like it would cost someone’s rent and a half casually hugging his muscular frame. A blinding smile on his face, cheeks flushed from champagne and excitement. 

 When he turns her way, his smile grows impossibly wider. Toph clinks on a champagne glass with a fork, breaking it a la Princess Diaries , and Katara could feel the stares of nearly everyone in the room, ready for her speech. 

  It should be the happiest day of my life, too. 

  Right?

 Katara thinks she wants to cry. 

 //

 Now, how come none of those Judy Blume, coming-of-age books have a chapter on how to write a Best Woman speech for your best friend getting married to another woman, even when you were struggling with the fact that you might have been in love with him for the past two decades? 

 Bitch, what the fuck do you even start that Google Doc with? 

 Does she start at 4 years old? When Katara thinks Zuko is an annoying piece of shit?  

 But, you know, he’s her piece of shit. 

 Guys have hepatitis, or cooties, or whatever Sokka said, she couldn’t exactly remember. All she remembered was Zuko sucked. He stole her crayons and made fun of her Hello Kitty backpack on the first day of school. He was the stupid one, not Hello Kitty . Never Hello Kitty . She’d shoved his face into the playground’s wood chips, threatened to cut off his peepee for breathing down her neck with his retainer breath, and even stuck his head in between two slices of white bread and lovingly referring to him as an ‘idiot sandwich’ (Sokka let her watch too many Gordon Ramsey hosted shows while their dad was working late). 

 Zuko and Katara were practically inseparable ever since. 

 Or 10, when you were asking for trouble if you fucked with Zuko.  

 He was a tiny kid, glasses too big for his head. Hair shaggy, clothes too oversized for him (just the way he liked it). His dad had tried beating it into him that it showed weakness by not making waves, not being loud and proud. But, he was quiet by nature. For him, it was just easier. 

 Not stirring the pot, being the observer, looking in from the outside. He was just Zuko , he liked Wonder Woman comics and figuring out what other words besides BOOBIES he could spell with his calculator instead of actually doing his math homework, because he was bad at math. Bad at everything, really. Everything but band class. Even if he did hate that stupid fucking tsungi horn. 

 His mom would hide his report cards from his dad, especially the ones noting how shy he was (Mrs. Kim had used the exact words ‘very antisocial, very easy to bully’). Even when Ursa would ask him to try, try to make friends outside of Katara, he was always a stubborn little thing. Something you got from your father , she would say, the smile slipping off her face just the slightest.

 It was just more fun being by himself, the only exception he made was Katara. He spent his recess scribbling down a plot for a Love Amongst the Dragons Fanfiction and listening to Katara’s iPod he’d steal from her, just because he could , after she snuck it out from her backpack for the 10 minute break they had. It was the iPod she spent the last two Christmases saving up with Sokka for. Zuko insisted he could master Ludacris’s rap in Usher’s “Yeah!” and practiced the Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays she had custody of the device.

 Some days, Katara would sit beside him in her signature puffy blue jacket, struggling to fold herself to fit on the blacktop beside Zuko. The patented jacket her grandmother forced her to wear every single day obstructing her abilities. He snickers, but keeps quiet, content with plotting out a story that he would hopefully get to type out on the school library’s computers if his mom picked him up late again. She usually did, much to the dismay of the ladies at the front office. They typically hissed at him (which made him cry, to which they would have to offer him a cherry Otter pop so they wouldn’t face a lawsuit) and called his mom words he couldn’t repeat without getting in trouble (“Whore”). 

 Katara would babble on about her day, sometimes thinking of ways for his characters to die a painful death, or cooking up Fanfic plots for Beyoncé and Britney Spears to find love among the chaos of a zombie infestation. She always insisted she brought the creative range to their friendship. Some days though, Katara forgets all about him and plays handball with all the most popular girls in school. 

 Zuko’s jealous. 

 (Sometimes.) 

  She’s my best friend! He wants to scream in their faces. At the end of the day, he thinks he’s going to lose her. The day she realized she was too good, too cool for the likes of him. 

 “Chan, stop it!” Zuko squeaked, his notebook snatched from underneath his nose. The boy was always picking a fight. Your dad buys you a Motorola flip phone and suddenly you think you’re the shit. 

 The boy sneers at Zuko, flipping through the pages. “What do we have here? Are you drawing Shrek with boobies? You’re gonna jack off to that later, freak?” 

 Before Zuko could get a word in and defend his honor, Chan’s entire body was shoved to the ground, a dainty foot cased in a light up, white Skechers sneaker pressing into his face. Zuko couldn’t help his glee as Katara could barely be peeled off and stopped from repeatedly slamming Chan’s face into the hopscotch chalk court. “It’s all ogre now, bitch!” 

 She made sure to pin her detention slip to her Bratz backpack with pride. Zuko buys two treats that day from the student store before he walks her home. 

 “You’re my best friend, forever and ever,” Katara declares, head held up high. Zuko saw through it, though. He knows she’s scared of what Hakoda has to say, what Gran Gran has to say. So, he holds her hand tight, trying to relay his gratitude in the touch. 

 He licks at his Spongebob popsicle. The eyes had melted off and looked more like someone’s worst nightmare than an icy treat. Katara had wanted his cherry Otter pop, and he happily handed it over. “Pinky promise?” He holds out his finger. 

 Katara hooks her finger around his, dwarfing his tiny digit. Her outstretched smile stained orange. “I’ll break yours if you ever forget.” 

 At 15, Katara came to the realization that men have the emotional intelligence of a Souplantation crouton (may Souplantation rest in peace). 

 Growing up, with their dad and grandma always at work at their store, Katara was always in charge of cooking. No matter how many times she’d try to get Sokka to do it, he always insisted he was far too busy with taking out the trash, killing bugs, hating women. So, she was stuck with it, and honest-to-Rihanna, really liked it. Not that she’d ever let Sokka ever get the satisfaction of knowing it. It was her time to be alone, gave her the space to pop in a Cheetah Girls CD and pretend she won Masterchef with the struggle meal straight out of a Spam can she had to pound on a few times to get it to squeeze out from its gelatinous casing, or a whitewashed recipe she tried replicating whenever she catches a Rachael Ray rerun. 

 Though, Katara’s favorite time was chopping up the green onions under Ursa’s careful eyes, a hand always just there in realign the knife just in case she’d carelessly cut the green onions too big to garnish. Then, Ursa would then take out scissors because nobody had time for that. When his dad wasn’t home, Zuko’s mom opened up their doors across the street to the siblings, rambling about the next big painting she was planning as they scarfed down a home cooked meal. 

 Zuko was similar to his mom in that regard. They were the type of people who managed to make everyday moments larger-than-life, made it infectious, too. When it’s nighttime and he’s snuck into and snug in Katara’s room, he’d tell her dreams too big for anyone’s comprehension. Sometimes he dreamed he had tits that would leak chunky chicken noodle soup. Sometimes he’d ramble until her eyes are flitting shut and he’s left talking to himself and measuring his hand with hers, securing the leg she instantly throws over his waist. He’d like to think he was her only exception in the Souplantation crouton narrative. 

 Her bed is starting to smell like him, too. His favorite Costco brand shampoo and conditioner that he leaves in her bathroom, permeating her nostrils when she pulled him close. She even let him put up a Drake poster right next to her plethora of Rihanna ones, but only after he let her draw a penis on both his and Drake’s face. What he didn’t account for was her using a permanent marker, or the fact he couldn’t scrub it away from his cheeks for the next two days. 

 It was easy like this, just the two of them. 

 He’s there for all the birthdays and Halloweens and Christmases that left her not quite feeling whole. When things were hard, when things fucking sucked, when she wanted nothing more but to die. He was there, (stupidly) holding out his hand and willing to be the eye to her hurricane.

 At 15, Zuko decides Katara feels home.  

 At 18, Zuko had already been Katara’s many firsts. 

He was her first buffet partner, and brought back his Justin Bieber haircut just to pretend he was 12 so they could qualify for children's rates and a complimentary Oreo cheesecake because they were always celebrating his “birthday.” 

 Her first clubbing partner the second she turned 18, rubbing her back when any Beyoncé song with a Jay-Z feature came on because the second he cheated on Beyoncé, he cheated on everyone in the Beyhive. The first one to have to hold her as she hurled on his shoes, the first one to have to take her to get her stomach pumped. 

 The first person she tried to roll a joint with. 

  “I don’t need to learn that.” 

  Katara purses her lips. “And why not?” 

  He gestures to his face. “I’m too pretty. Only ugly bitches know how to do that . ” 

  Sokka thinks he needs to intervene when he hears Zuko’s tsungi horn case being chucked across the room . 

 The first person she (almost) fucked. 

 His family life was, for lack of a better word, fucked up. Katara had been witness to the drinking, the drugs, the crying. The nights where she sometimes didn’t know if the person standing in front of her was Zuko. She just wanted one night away from it all, just one night out on the town. 

  “That was kind of terrible,” Katara admits easily, wincing because she was sure he spilled Papa John’s garlic dipping sauce in his shitty Corolla’s air filter last Tuesday. He tried positioning his arm naturally underneath her head while their half naked bodies were pressed together, but he ended up smacking off her glasses. He even had the audacity to contently sigh as though he accomplished something, rather than just tangle her hair and give her a tension headache. 

  She felt lied to! Cheated! Bamboozled! Hoodwinked! All the Shrek and Y/N stories on FF.net could not prepare her for the fact that there weren’t any tongues fighting for dominance, or any mouths that tasted like cinnamon or musk or shit like that. It was just retainer to retainer and smelled distinctly of her awkward friend (cheese). It was sweaty and a lot of weird humping and felt like a visit to the gyno. 

  “Hey! I thought it was pleasantly average.” He clears his throat. “You know, besides the fact you farted mid-insertion and I started crying after 20 seconds.” 

  “You mean right after you came, right?” She says matter-of-factly. 

  He glared. “Is it my fault you have a gorilla grip pussy? Is it?” 

  “Zuko, you’re so fucking — ” 

  “What happens when you put a hot dog in the microwave for 2 minutes?” He crosses his hands and folds them over his lap like a professor waiting for a volunteer to answer the equation on the board. 

  “So in this metaphor, are you calling my pussy a microwave?” 

 But in true Zuko and Katara fashion, it was clumsy and a mess and could be erased with an emergency Burger King outing where they ate in silence and pinky promised never to speak of it again. 

 She wonders if Zuko should’ve been her first date to prom, too. 

 She wants to stop feeling so bothered . She couldn’t quite pin it, but lately everything he did frustrated the shit out of her. How he was taller than her now. How he didn’t need her to fight his battles because he goes to the gym now and wears a fake Gucci belt because he’s just so cool (brooding Asian guy is the trend, and Zuko thinks he’s the blueprint). How he said yes to going to prom with Mai, the prettiest girl in their grade.

 “Don’t look in there!” Katara yelps, a blush creeping on her cheeks. 

 “Why?” Zuko questions, taken aback. He was entirely too comfortable in her room.

 “Um. Maybe I don’t want a freak going through my dirty underwear pile!” Her eyebrows are halfway done, and she only has one eyelash glued on. She was stressed, scared her dress might not fit with how many of Sokka’s cookies she stress-ate because she just wanted the night to be perfect . 

 “Relax, what are a few discharge stains going to do to me, huh? If anything, it gives your pussy some much-needed personality.” Zuko wasn’t going to stop until he found his fake Gucci belt in Katara’s closet. 

 “Zuko!” Katara screams at the top of her lungs. 

 “Do I have to remind you about the time you broke our friendship bracelet while masturbating and I dug the bead out of your vagina like the good friend I am?” 

 She shoves him back from the closet, crowding in his space. That belt was going to remain in its rightful place. “Oh, fuck you! I took the fall for you when you opened your laptop in history class and forgot to exit from your “VIBRATING PANTIES” porn tab!” She pushes him before plopping on her bed. 

 Katara buries her face in her pillow at that point, too entirely embarrassed and body too hot to continue to look at his nonchalant face. He doesn’t quite remember when exactly Katara became so cute . 

 Pretty? Definitely. Fearless? For sure. 

 But blushing Katara, embarrassed Katara, cute Katara? 

 He thinks it’s because they rarely saw each other now, despite his patented place in her bed. His band, Hello Zuko, was aiming for at least a few dive bar performances to build a reputation, especially with their new title track “Tennis Ball.” Katara was a familiar face at their town’s soup kitchens.

  “Where are you going?” he would sleepily mumble as he tried taking his midday nap before late night performances.

  Katara’s hands are full with ingredients, swaying side to side and eyes red and drowsy. “Trying to temper chocolate. Why? What’s up?” 

 She never misses a performance, though. Comes to them with a sparkly poster doused in glitter, and t-shirts with his face on them and everything. He never misses a fundraising event, making sure to bring a steaming thermos filled with tea because Katara was never the type to remember to take care of herself, and always buys out her fundraising goodies (even her overbaked brownies.) 

 He pulls her up by her ponytail, cupping her face in between his hands. 

 “You look cute.” 

 “You look like the human equivalent of toeless socks,” Katara mumbles, face squished in between Zuko’s hands. “Why are you giving my clit piercing a kiss kiss right now? What do you want?” 

 Zuko shakes her head in between his hands. “Pinky promise me you’ll drop all penises to dance with me if they play any Usher song?” It was like he was in fifth grade all over again. “Call me a Nissan because I just want you Altima-self.” 

 She lets out a cackle, the sound nearly deafening. “Don’t worry, the DJ will get us falling in love again in no time.”  

 “Do you have to go with Jet?” He asks, pouting. He lays his head in her lap, too entirely preoccupied with picking at her pilling sweatpants to look at her questioning eyes. They promised they were going to be each others’ dates at the beginning of the school year. It was more fun going to dances with Katara. She knew how to do the worm and every lyric to every Rihanna song out there (but she refuses to sing any with Chris Brown parts). 

 “What? You know I like my men stupid.” She runs her hands through his locks, undoing the crunchy gel job that Iroh had painstakingly spent time on. Zuko didn’t have the heart to tell him it made him look like a youth pastor.

 “You do like your communal meat thermometers.” He wants to keep the hurt out of his voice. 

 She shoves him off her, getting up to put on the dress hanging off her closet’s door handle. “You’re going with Mai, remember?” She yells through the closed closet door. 

 “But the thing is, I’m not planning to fuck her afterwards at the shitty hotel like it’s some type of CW show with some old bitches playing teenagers!” 

 “Just say XOXO, Gossip Girl .” 

 He still resents her for getting him invested in Blair Waldorf’s headband collection. “It’s not my fault Jet looks old. He looks like he’s at least 27 for fuck’s sake!” His face grows more distressed as he spits out each word. He only said yes to going with Mai after finding out Jet asked Katara using some shitty poster that said “my heart is always running when I see you” with a box of Nike outlet sneakers after English class. 

 “I think you’re just jealous that I emptied my intestines for someone who is about to be in it within the next three hours. When have I ever done that for you?” 

 Zuko’s about to retort something until Katara slams open the door, flooding his eyes with a dusty blue, curve hugging dress that did weird things to him. Like make his heart beat out of his chest, and his throat all dry when he’s searching for the words to say. Looking for the right words that say he thinks it’s impossible someone’s smile could make sunsets brighter, make the stars twinkle even more, make the unthinkable just a fingertip’s grasp away. 

 “Can you see the outline of my underwear and/or desperation from the back?” Her spin has him bumbling like an idiot. 

 //

 He wishes it was Katara that night. Letting him shyly press his sweaty fingers into her waist as Katy Perry’s “E.T.” pierced their eardrums. He knows she would have pinched his nipples as punishment, all things considered. But the fluorescent lights of the disco ball would’ve highlighted how her pretty flush would dust her cheeks, and he would hold her close to his beating heart despite her complaining her foundation would stain his Target dress shirt, and everything would make sense. 

 “Did you cum?” Jet was absolutely pretty with an oh-so fat horse cock. Too bad he was like the Justin Timberlakes of the world, and always spoke unprovoked. 

 Katara scoffs. “Yeah, I came to my senses.” She flicked his forehead. “How would I do that? Tell me. How the fuck would a few thrusts and you panting your Sweet and Sour sauce breath in my ear get me off?” She shoves the sweating boy off her. “Can I say jk and will it make me a virgin again?” The hotel room had scratchy sheets and smelled like a waterpark bathroom. 

 He groaned. “I’m sorry .” He’s completely unremorseful. “Your tits smell like Cinnabon’s cinnamon rolls and I couldn’t help myself!” Katara is about to cut his dick off for breathing in the same vicinity as her, before a gasp stops her entire world. 

 //

 “Zuko!” she screeches, opening the hotel door with the same devastation as when Britney Spears discovered Ryan Seacrest wasn’t gay painting her features. 

 “You know what they say.” Zuko’s smirking, entirely ignoring Katara fuming. “Chlamydia is the powerhouse of the cell.”

 “You’re. A. Dick!” She says in between smacks to his head. Jet makes a speedy exit, still pantsless and clutching his suit to his chest, while Zuko mouths a ‘ call me’ to Mai, who amusedly waves goodbye to Katara. 

 “Oh god, this is exactly like the bead incident all over again.” 

 “ You’re not helping! ” 

 “Maybe we’ll find Atlantis up there too,” Zuko murmurs, concentrating on positioning the hotel’s mirror under her legs. 

 “Please, Rihanna. Have mercy on me.” Katara’s hands are in prayer mode as Zuko turns on his phone’s flashlight. “I will literally french braid my pubic hairs and never open my pussy to anyone ever again if this condom doesn’t kill me. Please don’t let it kill me. All those times I took an extra gummy vitamin were a joke . I never wanted to die, I just wanted to feel a little thrill in my life. Please—” 

 Zuko screams when the squelch of the condom splatters onto the mirror. 

 //

 “You’re wearing underwear under there right?” He likes the look of his blazer draping over her, buttoned to look like a chic, oversized dress and not because it was the easiest thing to throw over Katara to run and grab Plan B. 

 “No, because I would obviously let my fat cooter out, cute and bare and vulnerable in a Walmart.” 

 “A simple yes would have sufficed.” 

 She’s reaching for the box and wincing at the price when she feels a gentle nudge on her arm. “Ma’am, your entire pussy is out in a Walmart,” the employee breathes out pathetically. 

 “I am well aware.” She ekes out. 

 The employee eyes her up and down with a gaze that practically calls her a whore . “Please put her away.” Zuko’s face grows beet red as he tries holding back a laugh. 

 It was always easy like this. When the world was just Zuko and Katara, holding hands in her driveway while they watched the sun rise in his shitty Corolla. She’s still wrapped up in his blazer, he’s since loosened his cheap tie and his hair is sticking every which way. She likes his smile, especially now that it comes so easy. 

 He’s smiling a lot more now that his father is gone. Ozai essentially told Azula and Zuko to fuck off , and ran off to some big city to steer a hospital with too many controversies and too many white guys at the helm. Iroh came back from his meditation sabbatical, enthusiastic to take care of the siblings. Zuko seems a lot happier with Iroh around, and even spends nights sleeping in his actual bed. (Katara’s a little hurt, but keeps that to herself). 

 She wishes she could bottle up these moments with Zuko up and just hold them in her hands. Moments when they were still young and curious and still had time to wait for life to figure itself out. She wants to find a way to make these a permanent fixture, instead of memories that would fade with age. “Let’s get out of here,” he offers up, eyes starry. 

 “Yeah?” She folds her knees up to her chest, and he taps her under her chin to level their gazes. 

 “ Republic City . We can make something out of lives. Medical school, culinary school. Get out of this shithole. Get away from our past.” His smile is contagious. “Best friends, forever and ever, right?” 

 She’s so pretty, her wide eyes sparkling as they take in the rays of sun. She returns his smile. “Best friends, forever and ever.” 

 Katara remembers how Ursa would say Zuko always dreamt too big, his heart always wanting so, so much . 

 “It’s a blessing, but more of a curse,” she would note, with the wisdom only mothers are capable of possessing. Sometimes, Katara selfishly thinks the day Ursa left hurt her more than it hurt Zuko. They were impossibly close, to the point where Zuko even had to intervene when Ursa started siding with Katara during their arguments (he knows in his heart his Mother’s Day macaroni portrait of her was better). 

 She would wonder how the world could let her live like this, dangling something she’s always wanted right in front of her face, only to snatch it away. Wonder if it was easier to die, than live with a hole in her heart that seemingly doubled in size overnight. 

//

 “Zuko, please look at me.” 

 He’s mad, she could tell. With his pout and the way he was forcibly trying to squeeze his eyes in a glare. He’s been sitting in the same spot in her bed, eyes trained on tutorials on how to convincingly persuade your doctor to give you an adderall prescription and “who bit Beyonce” conspiracy videos. 

 “Well, what if I just wanted you to respect my privacy! For the first time in 15 years! Maybe I needed space!” She yelps after twenty minutes of the silent treatment. 

 Zuko sends her a look that has her freezing up on the spot. “Katara, you had a whole baby .”

 She felt thoroughly scolded, but she was stubborn. “And? What about it?” 

 “You had an entire one, and didn’t even bother to tell the godfather? When was I supposed to find out?” 

 Katara didn’t think that one through, to be honest. It was easy to forget, in between diapers that smelled like a fish sauce and an expired Vagisil smoothie, and balancing work. She lays down beside him, thoroughly exhausted after putting her little girl, Yue, down for a nap. “One, who made you the godfather? And two, I guess we’re just not close like that.” 

 “Look, I literally have your social security number memorized, and have practically given you a Pap smear. You really want to say ‘ we’re not close like that ?” He sends her a look that has her resolve faltering the slightest. “You did your pregnancy announcement like a Sailor Moon transformation sequence with before and after pictures of you being pregnant, and you didn’t think to fucking tell me?” 

 Katara gasps. “I had you blocked !” 

 “Azula’s a snitch!” He also got a glimpse of the photo of Katara in her hoe time dress that barely fit over her belly with the caption: how the mighty have fallen . He pauses, sucking in a breath of air for strength. The hurt flashes in his eyes and the only thing she could think to do was wrap him up in a familiar embrace. 

 At 19, Katara is so incredibly lost, and just wants her best friend by her side. 

 He’s busy, the summer before everything Republic City. Everytime she tries their house, Azula answers, rolling her eyes while clad in a Harry Styles shirt, because it’s a girl’s rite of passage to go through a One Direction phase and wear badly made merchandise from Hot Topic. He’s usually busy packing, or fucking Mai until she sounds like a car alarm during Fourth of July fireworks. 

 “Azula, no . You cannot kidnap Mai’s younger brother and trade him in for concert tickets to send a message.” 

 “Not even for floor ones?” Katara’s glare summed up her answer. “I used to look up to you,” Azula retorts, returning to her stan Twitter.

 She waits, waits, waits. The moans keep coming and she just rolls her eyes. Her stomach churns, mainly because she thinks Mai called Zuko’s dick The Pussy Penetrator every time he hit her g spot (you know what, good for her). But also because her scholarship to the university was less than she expected, and Hakoda didn’t want to cosign on a loan. She just wanted her best friend to be there for her. 

 She feels sick, sick enough to vomit in one of Iroh’s plants, while Azula rubs small circles into her back. 

 “You should’ve swallowed,” Toph reminds, bundling Katara’s thick hair into a ponytail as the girl hurled up her California roll. She’s so exhausted, she even leans her head against the Walmart toilet bowl, five positive pregnancy tests tossed carelessly beside her. 

 “Think it’s too late for that,” Katara grits out. “What are you doing?” 

 The last thing she expected was Toph’s hands gathering together in prayer formation. “Praying to Rihanna your period comes.” 

 Like many people her age, having a mental breakdown during a pregnancy scare and praying for a miracle in a public restroom was normal. But for the first time in her life, besides the time Rihanna willingly twerked on Drake at the 2011 Grammys, Ms. Robyn Fenty herself failed her. 

 “Fetus deletus that bitch! Fuck them kids !” She brings herself eye-level to Katara’s stomach. “Read the womb, bitch!” 

 “Did you just call my unborn baby a bitch?” Katara’s eyes are bleary from the smell of vomit and her future going down the drain.

 “You should’ve kept that bitch-baby in the drafts,” Toph sweeps the stray hairs from Katara’s watery eyes. “My cousin saved up for her abortion by running a pyramid scheme. I can get you her number.”

 Katara wanted to die. “I think I’m just going to crawl in this toilet and die. Call my brother if I don’t get flushed down all the way.” 

 “Again, I’m just a Walmart employee,” Toph snickers, helping the girl up. She’s rarely left her side since then. Their friendship just works, a pair of fuckups. The girl with the accident baby, and the Walmart security guard trying to figure out her own shit after running away from home. 

 “I should’ve been there!” Zuko reminds, tone heavy with betrayal.

 Katara remembered the few moments before he boarded the plane to Republic City. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to tell him to not get on the flight, to keep holding her like he did at the entrance of the gate. She had a kiss ready on her lips that he wasn’t ready to give, backing away when their faces were too close, when she was too close. He just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving with regrets.

 “I should’ve been there holding your hand, letting you call me names, and fighting nurses if they breathed too close to this precious angel,” Yue holds his pinky with her little fingers, almost as though it was a natural reaction. His heart simply seizes up at the gesture, and he holds her tighter to his body. She was wailing after waking from her nap, colic crackling her throat for the last three months and causing her middle of the night wakeups to be painful and frequent. But with Zuko, she’s all calm and perfect and polite and beautiful and angelic. 

 “Didn’t know you liked kids this much,” Katara shrugs. She leans in, and Zuko throws his free arm around her. 

 “I’ll have you know I am the resident expert in telling children’s stories,” Zuko insists. 

 “Like?” Katara quirks up her brow. 

 “Like Rumpleforeskin, the mythical man who can weave majestic golden fleece from the ends of his pubic hair.” 

 She smacks him upside the head. “You’re disgusting .” She curls in deeper into his embrace. He had that twinkle in his eye that could mean he was going to masturbate to this moment in the shower later, or he was in love. It renders her breathless every time 

 She hopes when he looks at her he doesn’t see the eye bags, or the titty milk leaking everywhere, or the permanent crease in her brow. She hopes he could still see her, underneath it all. When she was just Katara . 

 “I guess, not telling you was just my way of keeping our dream alive.” She pauses, stroking Yue’s barely there hair. “I keep thinking that one day I could find the time to go to Republic City, and I don’t know. Get a chance to just be me .” 

 “Do you regret it?” Zuko’s rubbing circles into her back until she gets sleepy and her heart feels too full. 

 “I don’t know.” She tries, quiet, almost ashamed. “I don’t know.” 

 //

 At 21, Katara feels like she’s at the top of the world. 

 Not only did she get promoted from girl wearing a dumpling costume outside handing out 15% off coupons that only worked if you left a Yelp review, to a server in a shitty dim sum restaurant, she was also accepted in the culinary program at the local university. It wasn’t Republic City per say, but Yue could attend the nearby preschool and go to the university-run childcare program afterwards while Katara was working. 

 She even got a hold of Jet, who refused to disclose his location or job. But judging by the copious child support mandated by some judge who hated men as much as Katara did, he was doing well. He sometimes Venmos Katara a few extra dollars on Yue’s birthdays. 

 Sokka and Hakoda, while hesitant to the little girl’s presence early on, spoil her absolutely rotten. When they think Katara’s passed out after her 14 hour days, they’re red in the face, screaming at Zuko over the phone about who was going to get Yue the Peppa Pig Playhouse (complete with flashing lights) she always talks about. 

 Hakoda even tries at therapy, wanting to be there for the apple of his eye. Sometimes, Katara’s hurt he never tried for her, tried in her childhood. She’s happy for him, nonetheless. 

  (Mostly) everything was working out.

 “How are both my girls doing?” Zuko would always sing-song during his nightly Facetime calls. Yue would scream and snatch the phone from Katara’s hands, delighted at the sound of her one and only Uncle Zuzu. He’s an extravagant gift giver, regularly sending Yue glittery Hello Kitty and Wonder Woman backpacks. He even buys her a whole iPad for her fourth birthday, already coming with child safe settings on and YouTube loaded with her favorites (namely, Barbie: Fairytopia ). He’s guilty he couldn’t come home, but then again, he rarely ever did. Too consumed with work, grad school applications.

 Katara can’t help but feel her heart pulse the slightest bit faster during those calls, even if she shuts it down as quickly as it comes.

  He’s so good to her . 

 She used to cherish those moments he used to tell her secrets, dreams, everything in those hours early in the morning before high school would start. With approximately 3,209 miles between the two of them, she wakes up to texts instead. 

 **

Zuko: I dreamed that I was being held at gunpoint by one of those thicc caterpillars from A Bug’s Life , and if I didn’t finish the MCAT in approximately 20 minutes, they would shoot me in the face. The dump truck ass of those ants were the bullets

Katara: Please block my number

Zuko: No. <3

**

 He’s all gentle smiles and eyes squeezing into little half moons just like Yue’s after he plays a game of Facetime patty cake and messes up on the beat just to hear the little girl laugh. 

 The next month, Zuko had decided enough was enough . He missed his girl. 

 His hospital, for the first time in a year, was letting him have the weekend off. So he books Katara a ticket straight away, because he thinks he’s going to die if he has to be around people who don’t know who Megan Thee Stallion is. 

 “Boys only speak two languages. English and emotional manipulation,” Toph reprimands, hugging Katara so tight she could barely get in a word. “Please remember that.” 

 It was her first time leaving her hometown in her life, her first time on an airplane for God’s sake. She’s jittery though, the cushioned seats Toph somehow upgraded her ticket to (after covertly whispering with the gate attendant) doing nothing to alleviate her nerves. 

 When she jumps in his arms in baggage claim, he breathes in deep. Her hugs have always warmed his insides, and he didn’t realize how much he craved it until he was greedy, pressing into her and refusing to let go despite her many protests.

 “Come here often?” he mumbles, smiling into her shoulder. 

 Her cheeks grew hot at his touch. “Occasionally.” She whispers back. 

 He decided there and then in front of Gate 3 they needed to make up for lost time as quickly as possible. 

 The college party is entirely too sticky, entirely too messy for a proper (extremely) late 21st birthday celebration. Her crop top and big earrings and glittery eyeshadow and endless curves has Zuko wondering how much he’s missed in the last few years. When she hugs him close to her and screams out Nicki Minaj lyrics, he doesn’t remember her being so soft and even prettier. Beautiful. Breathtaking, knocking the wind out his lungs if she as so much blinked. 

 She looks like any 21 year old, without a care in the world, just figuring out their life. He wonders what this version of Zuko and Katara was. 

 Maybe they got to go to Republic City together. Maybe they work in the same building, and are just letting steam off from work. Maybe they loved each other. It was dangerous though. He feels as though she’s caging him in, that grip on his heart sparking up again without his permission. Her fake lashes he saw her glue on in the airport bathroom flutter about, hands coming up to accentuate her words every time she tries to scream something in his ear over the pulsating music. He just grips her waist harder between his hands, holding her tight.

 //

 In a perfect world, all she saw was him. She wishes it was him. She sometimes thinks she sees Zuko’s eyes in Yue. She sees his smile. She sees his heart. 

 While they’d spent the entire night stumbling through the city, his girlfriend was home. Barefoot, pregnant. Looking like the cover of some women’s lifestyle magazine, stray curls escaping her bun to frame her face in all its angelic glory. Glowy and flawless and every bit beautiful. Different from the girl Katara caught crying in the kitchen.  “You can hate me all you want, you can talk shit about me all you want. But I love him,” Jin insists. “I’m his girlfriend , for fuck’s sake. 

 Katara has to stop herself from recoiling. She had a specific vision of their future. One that included doing taxes together and matching sweaters and teaching him her new macaroon recipe and Yue balanced on his lap. 

 But one look at Jin, and it becomes glaringly obvious how little she fit in with his new life. 

 “I don’t hate you, Jin.” It’s every bit sincere, but the girl doesn’t look convinced. 

 Jin rolls her eyes. A pointed look freezing Katara in her place.

 “Ok, I might’ve complained once or twice about your VSCO filter choice.” 

 “Yeah, Zuko sent a screenshot of your texts to me instead of you by accident.” 

 “God, you know he always fucking does that? To be fair though, M05 is too orange and is not a good look on anyone. You can do better, I know you can.” The two girls laugh. It was devoid of any genuine emotion, just meant as an attempt to fill the empty space between them. “If I had known. Fuck, if I had just known, I’m sorry, Jin.” She had no idea Zuko had a kid on the way, that they were still living together and determined to co-parent while their relationship was in a weird limbo. If she was Jin, she would’ve kicked someone’s pussy and made a scene and set something on fire. But Jin wasn’t that type of girl. Jin was soft and pretty and looked like she smelled like an interior designer's perfectly bleached asshole. 

 “Do you love him?” Jin seemed to shrink into herself, small enough Katara might miss her in a blink of an eye. 

 Katara couldn’t quite decipher the meaning behind the question. She thinks she’s too scared to. 

 Katara doesn’t know how to respond. She didn’t trust herself to speak. This Zuko wasn’t the Zuko she knew. She loved the Zuko who would steal people’s Netflix passwords off of 4chan, and cosplay as Todoroki at Anime Con to make a few bucks. Not the one who can afford sky rises in the big city. 

 He didn’t even tell her that his big internship in the city was for his father’s hospital, and he was next in line to running it. “You’re a lawyer with health insurance and your own Netflix account! You’re good for him, Jin.” Katara falters the slightest. “I just want to see Zuko happy.” 

 “Me too.” Jin says quietly.

 “Whatever, fuck Zuko !” She tries at extending the olive branch.  “I can’t believe you’re preggers!” She puts a gentle hand on Jin's belly, and her vagina immediately winces. “You know, your vag will never look the same, and you might grow a third boob in your armpit.” 

 “You’re lying .” 

 “Yeah, a lump of breast milk can form there, too!” Katara is about to scroll to the photo in her phone when Jin laughter breaks through the night. 

 //

 “I hope your dick gets bitten off mid-blowjob!” She whisper-screams, struggling with her suitcase until it smacks all at nearly every corner and edge. She was just making noise for the sake of making noise, but it made her feel better. 

 He didn’t expect waking up to a charge on his card for a flight booked in the last ten minutes, or Katara shoving his good mixer in her suitcase. 

 “You hate it don’t you?” He always loved it when Katara went into Hulk mode anytime a bully dared test her protective nature. While it was never entirely directed at him, he now understands exactly why Chan peed his pants. Katara was terrifying . 

 “What?” Zuko’s confused, rubbing an eye booger away. 

 “You loved it when I’m crying over Jet, crying over something, fucking something up in my life. Being mad at the world. You hate that I’m better, and making something of myself now!” She’s angry and grasping at straws. 

 Zuko furrows his brows, not sure where to progress from here. “Ok, run that by me again?” 

 The air vanishes when her stare cools over to absolutely icy.  “There’s nothing else I can give. So what the fuck do you want from me?” 

 He laughs, all hollow and almost mocking . “You know, I was afraid of you coming here.” He lies.  

 She stops in her tracks. “What the hell do you mean?” 

 “I thought...I thought you wouldn’t get this new me, because it’s different!” He protests. “See, this is exactly the reason why! You’re mad I can afford real Gucci !” 

 Katara recoils, looking embarrassed for him. God, were men so fucking stupid, and so proud of it, too. “Are you fucking serious.” 

 Zuko’s frustrated, running his hands through his hair. “What the fuck are we doing, Katara?” 

 “You tell me!” She demands. “I’m not that kind of girl, Zuko! I’m not that kind of girl that is going to break up a fucking engagement, or whatever the fuck you weirdos are doing!” 

 He throws up his hands. “I’m not happy! We’re not happy.” 

 “What? You think now that you’ve sold your soul to your piece of shit dad and you can buy jewelry that won’t turn your fingers green that I’m going to fuck you?” 

 “No! I’m not saying that—”

 Katara scoffs. “Then what the fuck are you saying? Grow up, Zuko. Grow the fuck up and just leave me the fuck alone .” 

 “You’re still Katara.” He throws his hands up in the air, trying to stop her. Even if he felt like his entire world was falling apart, there was one thing he would always be certain about. “I’m still Zuko. The same Zuko who loves you .” 

 Katara turns her head, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset. “The thing is, this isn’t you, Zuko.” Katara says with finality. “It isn’t you .” 

 When she gets home, she spots it right away. On their dining table, white paper folded neatly,  Yue was the type of little girl who looked to both sides of the street before crossing, repeating it  two more times to be safe. She always took extra care to make everything even, never a wrinkle in sight on her homework. 

 The Crayola family portrait that brought to life everything she’d imagined and more. Katara doesn’t have the heart to look for longer than a second. 

 //

 At 27, Katara’s pretending that it’s the happiest day of her life. 

 She didn’t think he would listen to her, you know, men rarely did anything right. Zuko, though, heeds her warning and only calls exactly two hours before Yue’s bedtime like clockwork. There weren’t any surprise texts to wake up to anymore, no more evidence of Zuko in her life. She doesn’t even find out about Jin’s affair with one of those Axe commercial guys until months later. 

 When she goes to unblock his number and text him, to try and talk to him, she gasps. She sees those grey iMessage bubbles, and she’s ashamed her heart splutters, awakening a feeling she thought she’s dampened. She puts her phone down for milliseconds, before checking it again and again and again. She finally threw the damn thing across the room when a week passed. 

 She thinks it’s for the better, especially when she was sure she finally got things right with Jet. 

 “ We’ll make this shit work together.” Jet reassures, gathering her close to him she could see every little detail of him. “Like Kanye said, ‘you’re a MILF, and I’m a mother-fucker.” 

 She covers her ears, pushing him into the restaurant’s glass door. “No thank you. No more non consensual reciting of Kanye verses.” 

 “Yeezy, breezy, beautiful, baby. Get into it.” Jet winks, and Katara feels herself gagging again.

 Then again, Katara always had a thing for stupid. And for three easy payments of $Penis.99, he had an all access experience to her pussy and her trauma. 

 “And he bought me those carrot cake cupcakes I always look at when we go to the supermarket but I never want to chance it because it could have raisins instead of nuts and I think I hate raisins more than I hate white men named Nathaniel.” 

 Toph jabs Katara in the forehead. “Wow, he spared $5 on some dry pastries, and your pussy was suddenly screaming pick me, pick me !” 

 “They were gluten free, too,” she points out. “Plus, my pussy doesn’t scream!” 

 “Oh right, my bad! It whispers!” 

 “ Toph !” 

 “Last night I heard it go wash me! Wash me!” 

 It felt good with him, though. It felt good to see him help Yue with math homework, making dinner in their little kitchen, pressing kisses to her in the morning despite her breath smelling like Khloe Kardashian’s earring backing pussy. Someone to come home to. 

 “Piece of shit, I’ll fucking kill you!” She was punching him over and over again until her knuckles were ripped raw, sitting straight on his throat. Beating him stupid in the middle of her shift. He thought he could get away with it. With Katara now stuck in the kitchen as one of the head cooks, and the fact he had a reservation in one of the private rooms for him and his secretary to go over...numbers, he didn’t think much of it. 

 Too bad Toph was too invested, and had a friends-to-lovers storyline to live vicariously through. 

 “Scram, fuglies!” Toph screamed to other customers who had already started chanting “WorldStar!” 

 Katara lost her job, lost her mans, lost a section of her eyebrow because Toph accidentally tried helping and swung the wrong direction. 

  “Catch me outside, how ‘bout that!” She yelps triumphantly, despite the fact Katara was cradling her own bloodied face. 

 And here she was, about to lose her best friend, too. 

 She accidentally Facetimed his old number, and spent the last hour mulling over her feelings with an executive of a porn studio who picked up mid-shoot. “Just tell him you love him!” The balding man is exhausted.

 “What do I even say? Do I tell him, ‘I think I’ve always loved you?’ Is that too cheesy? You know that feeling when your heart just—Oh my fucking god! Is that Sandy Cheeks from Spongebob ?!” She screams, slamming her hands over her eyes. The squirrel’s melons-for-tits would never be erased from her memory.

 He only has fear in his eyes when he looks at her. “You didn’t see anything.” Robert bites out, promptly hanging up. 

 In her post-Jet purge, she realized she wasn’t the type of ex dead set on destroying his things. After all, she was selling his light-up keyboard to pay for Toph’s birthday boob job. Her residual anger was instead, spent hacking away at the drawer he always kept locked. Until she found it.  

 A letter from him. 

 “ I’ve always been afraid that our friendship would’ve spilled over until all I could do is categorize it with four simple letters .” Katara whispers, eyes frantically scanning the paper. “And I’m done being afraid .” 

 “The four letters he’s talking about is D-U-M-B  B-I-C-T-H . Dumb bitch. The ‘bitch’ is silent.” Toph insists. “I can’t believe you let a balding bum, whose credit score tanked because he invested his entire savings in Shake Weight Milkshake making machines, knock you up instead of Zuko.” 

 “It was innovative at the time,” she whispers. 

 “Fill the void in your heart, not your pussy.”

 She's whipping out her shitty MacBook Air, and praying his email still worked. But when she calls all she sees is her.

 “You told me to come to Republic City and find him!” Mai exclaims, holding up her hand where a big ring blinding the fuck out of her. 

 She feels her heart crumble at the same time she crushes the letter in her hand. 

 “I did do that, didn’t I?” Katara winces. The time the model stopped by in their hometown, Katara was still happy and getting her pussy pounded regularly and let that shit get to her head. She thought it would be a blessing in disguise, and wanted to help Zuko out, too. 

 "Fuck." 

 //

 Their wedding looked ripped out of a 2014 Basic Bitch Pinterest board, and she’s definitely sure she couldn’t be happier. 

 “Why is her name spelled like ‘Mai’ and pronounced ‘May?’ Like, shouldn’t it be spelled like ‘Mei?’” 

 “Katara, you’re just being a bitch,” Toph reminds while Katara stares at the sign with their wedding hashtag in front of the photobooth with all the ‘YOLO’ signs and 2013 mustaches.

 “I am well aware!” She asserts, chin jutting out. 

 Mai’s New York Fashion Week ready body was gorgeous, perfect in Zuko’s hold. 

 Katara wished life was like a rom-com. Where she could burst through the doors, declare her love, piss on him in her ugly, big bridesmaid dress and mark her territory once and for all. 

 But life wasn’t a movie. Life was just this shitty piece of dumpster fire shit and was always fucking her over like the Target self-checkout line camera. 

 What could she do? Deliver some long-winded speech about how she would go to realign the stars in the heavens if it meant a chance to rewrite their fate? That she hoped she visits his dreams before his mind could settle into reality, the same way he visited hers and overstayed his welcome every single time? Make everyone uncomfortable and wonder if they boned? 

 Then again, she was never going to be the one to block her best friend’s blessings. Not on the happiest day of his life.

 “I think this is the happiest day of my life.” Katara says seamlessly. 

 Zuko sees it though, sees right through her and has to stop himself from reaching out to her. 

 “It wasn’t ever easy being Zuko’s best friend. I mean look at him now, getting married to someone perfect . He’s not even in the same ballpark, league, or hell, stadium porta potty as her!” 

 Zuko ducks his head with a brief pout that breaks Katara’s heart. Everyone laughs in spite of him, until he joins in, too. “You know, it’s easy to pretend that finding love is easy. You could find love in all the little things in your life. All the people, all the details. It’s easy to say you always, completely, truly love someone. Because that’s what we want love to be, right? At the surface, sure.” She folds the flimsy paper she had on hand, nothing was written on it anyways. “You want it to be perfect.” 

 “But the love everyone works so hard to get, is the love that’s hard . It’s the love that isn’t safe. The love that challenges, excites you, the love that will never have limits. The love that’s messy and beautiful all at the same time.” She looks at him, truly looks at him for the first time in years and all she could do was smile. 

 “It’s easy to find love, but it’s near impossible to find a soulmate.” She raises her glass. “Join me in a toast to the bride and groom. I wish you a lifetime of happiness.” 

 And while everyone is gathered out on the dance floor, she’s sobbing pathetically and smearing the winged eyeliner she worked so hard to perfect on the car ride there. Trying to stop any of the pain from consuming her. 

 She’s out on the rooftop of the venue, the cold air whipping her face as she tries lighting up a blunt. 

 “Are you getting high at my wedding !” Zuko is incredulous, and shocks Katara enough to drop the joint off the roof. 

 “On all things Fenty Beauty, bitch what the fuck?” Katara wipes the tears from the corner of her eyes. 

 “The flower girl wanted to see her mommy.” But Katara sees right through Yue’s little act. Pretending to sleep so she could be held by Zuko (me too, girl. Me too). 

 It felt dangerous, the way she could toy with his heart, his own personal defibrillator shocking it back to life. She’s pretty even with red-rimmed eyes, with the fake smiles he knew was trying to appease him to leave her alone. If anything, all it does is make him want to kiss her until her troubles are gone. 

 He wanted to do a lot of things at that moment. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin, tell her that above all else, he missed his girl the most. But, he had everything on his plate and then some. 

 “The chicken was dry as fuck.” He blurts, wiping the sweat from his face. Only Katara could send him back a few decades. “I wish you could’ve catered it.” 

 “Yeah?” She laughs and wants to call him out for stalking her company’s Facebook page. “Remember you tried my new recipe and you vomited all over the front row at your fourth ever Hello Zuko performance?” She misses his messy hair, when he didn’t look so clean cut and rich bitchy. 

 “I didn’t know you weren’t done cooking it!” 

 She shoves his head, and he joins her, dangling his feet precariously off the roof. 

 When she’s here with him, when he has her in his hold for the first time in years, he sees his whole life with just a glimpse in her eyes. And all he wants to do is build a machine and reverse all the time that’s passed them by. 

 “I made a mistake.” Zuko breathes out, eyes nervously darting around. 

 As sure as he was that Nicki Minaj deserved a Grammy, he was sure he loved her. 

 “W-What?” Katara blinks at him. 

 “I made a mistake, Katara.” He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck, carding his hand through his hair. Looking every bit devastatingly handsome. “I realized something. After the speech, after just, everything.” 

 “I realized I just can’t have my cake and eat it, too.” 

 Just like that, just with the way he built her up, it comes tumbling down. 

 “So what are you saying?” Her heart was on the verge of cracking in half and he didn’t even know it. Because all he could pin her with a look she couldn’t read, and she thinks if he was a smarter man he would’ve at least pretended that it hurt him to hurt her. 

 But it did. 

 It broke him, ripped him in half to see her face turn to steel right before his eyes. 

 “What I’m saying is, after all these years.” He doesn’t have it in him to face her. “I think I have to finally let you go, Katara.” 

[kitten-keith]

Horrid Self Indulgence

Wrote this long thing and now it’s gone cause I posted it to the wrong account and copy paste didn’t work so /fuck me/ anyway.

The whole following fic is purely self indulgent garbage, thus the name (it’s even called this in my google docs because I HAD A PLAN for what I was doing and it was supposed to be insanity) though as usual things get derailed and Idk. I had wanted to get into the hijinks of this concept but lost steam after starting the second bit. But the first bit can stand alone. ish. I guess.

Idk. It’s all completely ridiculous though so idk have fun.

Klance, slightly intoxicated, sharing a bed, Keith is uncomfortable AF and Lance is trying to be chill about it. Weird head shit and accidental rituals. You’ll see. Seriously. Horrid self indulgence.

-----

It was a pleasant moment between comrades that went horribly, heinously, horrifically wrong. 

And if that’s what bonding with Keith friggin Kogane gets him then absolutely not, never again.

It was such a simple stupid fuck up. How was he supposed to know?!

They were at a dinner, stumbling awkwardly through an alien planets customs, trying unsuccessfully to pretend they were okay with the garbs they’d been forced to wear and that the food didn’t make them nauseous when Lance had made the biggest mistake ever and looked at Keith. 

See, because he was the leader his attire had to display this-this—nobility. And god, Keith was anything but noble. He was sitting to the right of the planet’s leader, Allura across from him, and he looked like they might as well have sat him at the kids table with how his brows furrowed and he looked at the ground like he was trying not to cry.

His face was red enough to match the silk scarf loosely clinging to his shoulders and his thumbs rubbed absently over his ungloved hands. He was bare aside from the scarf and a darker one wrapped around his waist for modesty that he’d had to fight for. Apparently this planet had no concept of an external penis or whatever and needed to be educated on human biology before they gave in to Keith’s demands. 

The whole thing was about respect, leaving yourself bare to show you had nothing to hide, but to remind everyone of his station the locals had him decked out in jewels from head to toe. They were braided into his hair, dangling from thin chains across his chest, Lance was positive there was some sort of jeweled sandal decorating his tiny delicate toes too. 

(And not because he paid attention to that sort of thing. Just. Ya know. Shiny shit.) 

Allura was actually dressed about the same though being a woman with no external penises she was actually way nakeder than Keith. And, as she was a full on princess they’d given her a whole slew of silver that had strategically covered all necessary bits that Lance’s mother might have flinched at. 

Not that Allura seemed to give a fuck in the slightest and even seemed to enjoy it as she spoke animatedly to the world leaders, the jewels on her body making small clinking noises with every movement. 

Lance had spotted perfect (and he means perfect) dark nipples exactly 16 times since they’d all sat down to their meal and absolutely couldn’t take it anymore so that was when he’d turned his attention to Keith. 

And somehow had been unable to turn away from him since.

The other Paladins were stripped some and given a few shiny baubles. Lance himself was wearing flowy pants slit up the sides over the dark boxers he’d thankfully been allowed to continue wearing. A couple gold plated necklaces and an arm band and he was good to go. Lance has no issue being topless and actually kinda liked the style. Hunk was a bit more uncomfortable, same pants, same boxer treatment (his were white with yellow suns on them, Lance clapped him on the back for unintentionally matching.) 

Hunk had the same kind of jewelry too but try all he might he couldn’t drop his hands from where they were wrapped around his chest.

He said he was cold repeatedly but lance figured he was just self conscious and offered him plenty of wolf whistles back in their dressing rooms because “man hunk you wanna bench press me later cause those arms are making me weak~!” 

But sadly it didn’t seem to work. 

Pidge was an interesting sell. Same bottom situation in her signature green but she’d also managed to get away with a pair of socks that she was no longer wearing on her feet.

They were providing just a hint more cover for her chest after she’d wrapped Lance’s, Hunks’s, and her own scarf around herself like a makeshift halter top. The locals hadn’t liked it and Allura had tried to explain that female breasts were nothing to be ashamed of but Pidge’s size and thus assumed age had granted her the “let the child be” excuse. 

And sure, Lance was a grown man who was all for equality and free the nipple and aaallll that jazz but if they had forced his pseudo baby sister to go topless he might have lost his absolute shit and gotten them all sent back to the castle. 

Not that that would have been the worst thing at this point because then he wouldn’t be staring at Keith like this— to avoid staring at Allura! Of course— and then he wouldn’t have gotten elbowed in the side by the Pidgeling and gotten the funny look from Hunk and nah man okay. 

Lance wasn’t ogling the leader of voltron. 

He wasn’t. 

He was just. 

Uh. 

Worried about him. 

Yeah, that’s right. Worried. 

Which was what lead him to follow Keith’s retreating form the second they were allowed to adjourn for the night. 

It’s what compelled him to bump his shoulder and wave a hand in greeting. 

And maybe that pout had something to do with Lance’s laughing, throwing his arm over his shoulders, and ushering him to his room for the night. 

“Come on dude, I've got something for you, stashed from that one planet with the abomination? You know the one… Kell? Krell? It’s good okay, better than what they just tried to feed us. Take the edge off.” 

Take the edge off. 

Famous last words? 

Keith groaned and wrapped his arms around himself tightly but nodded and willingly turned off course from his own room. Lance wondered if this was so easy because he’d been so beaten down by the day or because he actually found solace in Lance’s company. 

He didn’t have the nerve to ask and instead simply sauntered into his room, leaving Keith to stand idly by the newly shut door. 

“It tastes better than nunville but it’s a little stronger so you’re gonna wanna sip at it okay?” 

Keith nodded but his eyes looked glassy, like he wasn’t actually listening. 

Lance moved to his temporary rooms vanity setting and shuffled through his bottles of toiletries. When they’d decided to indulge the locals in their customs and stay a few nights basking in their hospitality Lance had been told to pack quickly but he hadn’t forgotten anything important. This included the little silver pouch that he’d somehow barely touched since keeping it with him all this time. 

He opened the pull top with his teeth to take a small sip before offering it to Keith who was still standing right against the door as if he was afraid to move. Considering how loose the scarf around his waist looked, he might have been. 

He did look… good though. 

Remarkably so. 

Amidst the finery and the sheer and silk fabrics, his hair in a loose braid over one shoulder and that almost permanent flush across his cheeks, he was beautiful and adorable and stunning all at once and it was doing ridiculous things to Lance’s chest. He almost regretted taking the sip that he did because he worried about what he might let slip aloud, looking at Keith like that, but as the alien substance travelled down his throat and warmed his body he kept his wits. He felt the buzzing under his skin but retained his sense. He was here to offer Keith a moment to relax. Nothing more.

He walked over to Keith and instead of handing him the pouch he resealed it and held it softly under one arm as he reached out with both hands for Keith’s waist. 

Keith flinched so hard his back hit the door, “what are you doing?!”

Lance rolled his eyes, pushing closer and grabbing on to the scarf around his waist tugging and tightening it for him. 

“Looked like you were having trouble.”

Keith’s flush was so hot Lance could practically feel it.

Poor thing. 

“Right… thanks…” he stayed against the door but took the pouch when Lance offered it. 

Lance turned to walk over to his bed and make himself comfortable and by the time he turned his attention back to Keith the boy was swallowing.

“You remembered what I said about that stuff being hard hitting… right?”

Keith shrugged.

Took another sip. (This one looked more like a sip at least. Maybe Lance wouldn’t have to carry him back to his room later.)

He sealed the stopper and looked around the room briefly before walking in the straightest line imaginable to sit on the foot of Lance’s bed, holding the pouch out to him again. 

Lance considered it, wondering if it would help or hinder his case to not make a fool of himself with Keith looking like that and decided why not. Besides, he could pace himself, unlike some people. 

When he finished taking his last sip, feeling the warmth and the contentment sitting in his stomach as he leaned back on his elbows on his bed, he hummed to himself and shut the top, putting it to the side. 

Keith shuffled around so his back was to the bed post and he placed his hands over his lap uncomfortably.

“So uh. Was—was that it?”

“Chill Keith. You’ve been looking so tightly wound today I figured you could use a break.” 

Keith visibly paled and moved to curl in on himself but thought better of it. His thumbs started to track back and forth over his fingers though. Bad sign. 

“Relax!” Lance demanded, stretching the vowel sounds to make it more playful. 

Keith neglected to heed this order and instead looked away. 

“Look, I doubt it’ll cause any problems, everyone knows their customs made you uncomfortable. Here, if you want you can go ahead and get under the covers.” Lance reached behind him and pulled up the bed sheets. It would help his own situation too. Cover Keith and that pretty skin of his up. Put that beautiful body away because his own was starting to get ideas he didn’t need. 

He remembered Allura looking just as beautiful if not more so and it helped for a second to feel better mentally but he was still fighting not to be turned on next to half naked (that was being generous) Keith. 

“That might actually be… are you sure? I could just— leave. I could leave.”

Lance rolled his eyes. 

“Would you chill if you left or would you stay up all night worrying about the kinds of impressions you’re leaving?”

Keith was silent. His thumb disappeared behind his pointer to dig his little blunt nail into his middle. 

“Get in the bed. Let me tell you stories.” 

Keith’s eyes lit up at that and for a moment he started forward to crawl across the bed toward where the sheets were up, but he stopped himself again. 

Lance sighed.

“Feeling exposed?”

Keith nodded.

“You know we showered together back at the garrison right? I’ve seen you naked. Completely naked. And lathered.”

Of course, this was before Lance’s full sexual awakening and before Keith had filled out like he did with those abs and thighs for days but uh— that wasn’t a necessary addition to the conversation it just wasn’t. 

Keith still flushed like a tomato and it made Lance’s little traitorous heart do a flip.

“Right right. I forget you didn’t even remember me from the garrison.” Lance offered sardonically, trying to shift the mood. 

Keith bit his lip. Man, even that looked good. Lance wanted to bite that lip. He could just see it. Lip to lip with Keith Kogane groaning out. Lance’s hand on his shoulder pushing him back on the bed, the other reaching beneath him to get a nice big handful of that round perky ass—

Okay. 

Okay maybe Keith shouldn’t get under the covers. 

Maybe he should leave. 

He should leave. 

He should—

Keith started to mumble something when Lance turned away and shut his eyes. 

“Alright you have ten seconds, go on princess.”

It was silent for a moment. 

Lance squeezes his eyes shut tightly because this was the exact opposite of what he was supposed to be doing.

“10.” 

But he was doing it.

“9”

There was the sound of Keith shuffling behind him, pulling up the sheets more and crawling into bed. He was getting comfortable by the time Lance reached 3 and Keith spoke up telling him he could stop. 

Lance nodded and turned around so he could face Keith, continue conversations, see if he could find a relevant story in his brain about his family or something simple back home that would help Keith unwind. 

Instead he was struck a bit dumb by Keith snuggled under his (always color coded) blue bed sheets, his inky black hair splayed out on the pillow. Lance had always thought Keith’s eyes were this remarkable shade of blue but surrounded by all the blue in his bed Lance realized he was wrong. They were clearly more of a violet, wide and staring at him under lashes that were too long and too elegant for a guy who made a living kicking furry alien chinchillas in the face.

And with that thought came the image of Keith kicking ass, those muscle toned legs under skin tight space suits…

Now basically bare and in his bed. 

Naked. 

Naked Keith in his bed. 

Naked Keith in his bed staring at him expectantly like— like—

Right. Right he was waiting for a story. 

Okay. 

Lance flopped onto his side, too close to Keith but in an effort to remain comfortable and casual it had to be done, and went back to racking his mind for an idea that didn’t involve pressing his body as close to Keith’s as physically possible. 

Something jingled as he went down and he remembered the abundance of jewels that had been decorating Keith’s body. 

There were still a few left in his hair that he seemed to not care about but it looked like the little jeweled sandals were there, as were the ones that had decorated his arms.

It took him a second but Lance scooped them up and put them on the bedside table before getting comfortable again. 

“Oh okay so, let me tell you about the time my big sister Veronica brought home the biggest stupidest “boyfriend” she could find…” 

Lance could see Keith smile just beneath the blanket. 

He reached out and started to pick the jewels out of Keith’s hair as he spoke, occasionally running his fingers through it. If Keith had a complaint he didn’t voice it. Besides, just because it was styled stupid didn’t make it any less soft.

By the time Lance got to the big reveal of the story, the part where Veronica had hired the guy to piss off their dad over an argument they’d had about Veronica’s openness to bringing a girlfriend home (maybe, in the future), Keith had completely knocked out.

And for some reason, Lance thought that was alright.

They could totally just. Sleep in the same bed. No problem.

With Keith wearing nothing but a silk scarf.

He thought this was a perfectly good idea as he showered and put on a fresh pair of boxers and crawled under his sheets to the sound of Keith’s light breathing.

He was a little dizzy, but forgot that the biggest after effect of inebriation was poor judgement, and easily curled up next to Keith.

Keith, who was just awake enough to take Lance’s hand.

Lance thought it was adorable.

Because Keith was adorable. 

And Lance wanted to be touching his skin like this (sort of) anyway.

It worked for him. 

He was sleepy too.

So sleepy he lapsed almost instantly into dreams.

Dreams of Allura dancing just out of his reach. Of her nonchalance at his flirting and efforts to be noticed by her. Making him feel useless. Undesirable. Unworthy.

He was so pathetic.

Keith’s voice was in his head. 

Telling him how kind he was. How sweet he was.

“I couldn’t do any of this without you Lance.”

“I need you.”

“I hope you know that. I hope you know that—if you could see yourself how I see you…”

“Lance you’re so…”

“I want…”

“I wish…”

Keith was at his side. Mumbling those nothings into his ear in little breathy sighs. 

It felt nice. 

It was nice to hear. 

Nice to feel Keith pressing in beside him.

“I wish you could see what I see in you… love yourself as much as I do...Lance, I…”

Well this was awfully self indulgent of him. Dreaming of a Keith who would say those kinds of things. As if the real Keith capital L Loved him. 

Like Lance hadn’t spent years trying to get his attention the same way he had with Allura too. 

As if he hadn’t gotten shot down with every attempt to—

“I liked you then too! I was just… afraid to let anyone in…”

“Liar, you didn’t even remember me.”

“That was the lie…”

“That was…?”

“You were so cute… always trying so hard… always going the extra effort to make people smile or laugh… I always thought you were…”

“You liked me back at the garrison? Like... one smoothie two straws, like-like…?”

Keith turned away, rolling onto his side. Face probably flushed a deep crimson again. Man he was so cute…!

“Like write your name in my notebook with a bunch of hearts, like-like… yeah.”

Extremely self indulgent dream. 

But Lance was gonna take it.

He squeezed himself close to Keith’s body, wrapping an arm around his chest as Keith jumped.

“And now you…?”

“Now I…”

It was silent. 

Lance tried to ignore how perfectly Keith’s ass cheeks felt pressed to his crotch.

He felt naked.

Naked Keith in his bed. Saying all these pretty hopeful things...What a perfect dream…

Lance gently bumped his hips. He couldn’t help it, and it was his dream after all right?

Keith was silent, but reached a hand back to slide down Lance’s waist, breathing loud.

Was that how Lance’s mind worked? Show me a love confession followed by an immediate bone. 

Lance’s wet dreams were clearly things of substance.

“Do you love me?”

He bumped his hips again. His dick hardening fast.

Keith’s fingers dug into Lance’s boxers, applying just enough pressure to drive him forward, keep him pressed to his ass.

“I do… do you…?”

“Hmm… never thought about it before.”

Keith made a low unhappy noise.

“I def love your face… your so fucking pretty face…” 

Keith went silent again. Lance ground his hips against him and his hard cock was finding a very comfortable place right between his cheeks. 

“And I love this body...your ass is heaven, Keith, wish you could feel this...” 

Keith was definitely naked. Naked enough that Lance was desperate to get out of his boxers. 

How could his dream provide him perfectly naked love confessing Keith and not leave Lance equally perfectly naked?

Sense, where was it?

“I love how brave you are… stupid and reckless and it drives me insane with worry. But brave.” 

Keith backed into Lance’s lap, rolling his hips and made Lance’s mind stutter.

“I love how—how much you care about things even when you don’t show it… I love your laugh…”

He could feel Keith’s entire body against his front, a single useless silk scarf around his waist, the rest probably lost somewhere in the bed. His hand found one of Keith’s nipples and he started to slowly rub his fingers around the nub causing Keith to raise his chest into the touch a bit more with a small high pitched sound.

“I love how you hum during flight simulations and I always leave coms open so I can hear you…”

With Keith raising his chest for Lance’s hand it gave him a moment to slip his other hand underneath him. He pinched his nipple between his thumb and forefinger once before sliding that first hand down the span of his body. Feather light touches over the ridges of his abs, loving the way Keith twitched and rocked harder back into Lance. 

“I love how unbelievably dense you could be sometimes, you’re such a mess you’re perfect—” Lance moved his head so he was right against Keith’s ear for the word “perfect” but lost his nerve when he dropped his face into the back of Keith’s neck, “What am I saying… of course I love you.”

Did Lance have feelings for Allura? Yes. Did he wish she’d reciprocate? Yeah. 

Did Lance feel guilty about indulging himself in a dream with someone who he also had some very strong (possibly stronger) feelings for? No, not at all. 

Because real talk? If Keith had said half of this in real life Lance’s heart would have combusted and he would have kissed the life out of him by now—

Because that was just what Keith did to him sometimes. 

He just… blew his mind with how much he could make Lance feel. 

Christ.

Good lord.

He hadn’t taken advantage of the opportunity to kiss him yet. 

He reached up with the arm that was beneath Keith, his hand spreading wide over his neck to grab his jaw and tentatively guide him to face him. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Keith’s hips ground back hard as he laughed, “you’re asking that now?”

He was right. 

Besides, kinda stupid to ask permission from a dream right? 

“Stupid stupid me, right?” 

“Stop that.”

“Right let’s get to the smooching.”

“Yeah alright I take it back.”

“If you love me you have to love all of me.”

Lance could practically hear Keith rolling his eyes. 

“Hey it’s my dream—“

And it was absolutely superpowered. Maybe there was something in his drink that had different properties on this planet because when Keith parted his lips and lifted his head they had never looked so inviting in his life. He had to stop himself mid sentence to dive for those lips.

Smashed up his nose a little bit on Keith’s cheek which he was sure he would have felt too if this wasn’t a dream but Lance didn’t care because he was kissing Keith Kogane.

And yes. He’d had plenty of dreams where he’d kissed Keith. Plenty of dreams where they’d made out on the rec room floor or the garrison showers or had sex in reds cockpit. 

But they had never ever felt like this.

His brain practically fizzled out. 

He felt Keith’s tongue against his and then suddenly it was gone.

Felt like he was falling, disoriented. Someone (Keith?) reached out to catch him. Dug little blunt nails into his arm in panic.

“Lance—what—“

The dream shifted. Lance was alone, floating in an empty pool, naked and confused and annoyed.

The water was cold but didn’t make him shiver. 

There was a splash in the distance, and Lance hoped it was Keith but he couldn’t see anything. Time passed and he started to lose sense of where he or the water began. 

He’d have given anything to be back with Keith. 

What a shitty way to end his dream…

When he woke up his throat was dry, like he’d had too much to drink the night before and his head spun a bit. 

He sat up and found he was on the far side of the bed where Keith had gone to sleep. Didn’t even see Keith, so maybe he’d gotten up earlier and Lance had managed to settle into place where his body heat had been. 

Of course that was for mere moments before he glanced to the opposite side of his bed and found… himself?

He also realized very suddenly he was buttnaked with only a silk scarf tied loosely around his hips and his hair was long enough to tickle his shoulders.

He looked down at himself and saw the expanse of absolutely flawless Keith body, down to the little dark hairs just under that useless scarf.

Lance wasn’t sure why he did it, but he reached down to grab himself in his palm (Keith in Keith’s palm??) And was immediately overwhelmed by the sensation of it. He had to bite his lip to keep quiet and fell back on the bed hard as his hand tightened to seek out the feeling. He was partially hard already and from the feeling of it he must have been suffering all night.

But excuse you Lance. This isn’t your body what are you doing? 

Dreaming? Still? Could have sworn he was very much awake now…

He forced himself to stop, noting quietly that he was absolutely not going to forget what it felt like, and looked over at his own body. 

Had to be a dream. 

Had to be.

He shut his eyes, letting his finger tips graze over the inside of Keith’s thighs because dream or no there were so many nice things about that he was gonna keep doing it.

Well until someone shook him awake (again?) 

It was strange seeing an expression that was so clearly Keith, puzzled with furrowed brows and tight lips, on his own face. 

But there it was. 

Staring at him like he was the strangest mystery in the known universe. Which, to be fair, if he was still wearing Keith’s face he kind of was. (And kind of had to be considering he definitely wasn’t the one wearing his own face.) 

Keith (you know, it felt like Keith and acted like Keith, but he really didn’t know if that was Keith) was the first to register the shock of the mornings revelation. Lance actually felt kinda slow and confused. Maybe he’d drank too much— no wait, Keith did. 

Anyway.

So. 

Keith started screaming. And Lance started screaming. 

And maybe that wasn’t a great idea while guests on a diplomatic mission in another world palace with your comrades in arms down the hall while you’re both pretty naked and in bed together. 

But uh. 

Fun morning.