#he took it way too far and i deeply wish he’d quit it with the we statements

[a-sketchy]

the thing about yosuke’s shittiness around here (up close and personal, the campout) is that the vast majority of it isn’t doing literally anything for his character. i completely think yosuke’s shittiness is important to his character, but it’s by and large reflections of his own insecurities and flaws. he’s insecure about his masculinity and sexuality, he’s lame, he’s selfish, he’s obsessed with the idea of women, his mouth moves faster than his brain, he doesn’t like himself, and he cares way too much about the societal ideal of ‘normal’. but it’s really important that he’s self-aware! he knows when the things he says are shitty, he knows he’s lame, he knows he’s selfish, he knows he’s putting up a front of being carefree and normal. but there’s absolutely no self awareness here, there’s no recognizing he went too far and apologizing the next day, there’s no regret, there’s not even any self-deprecation, and there’s absolutely no compassion or empathy like he has in serious moments. a lot of what he says is just mean for meanness’s sake, in an execution incongruous with previous behaviour. it’s not even funny!

[aemonds-sapphire]

Inexperience

Summary: You have often wondered how it feels to pleasure a man, so you take it up with Aemond.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW. Inexperienced reader. Friends to lovers (if you squint). Handjob. Masturbation.

Word count: 2k

Part II

“You’re doing it again.”

Aemond’s velvety voice snapped you from your intrusive thoughts state at once.

Inwardly scolding yourself, you shifted your attention back to the embroidery in your hands.

You weren’t being exceptionally subtle when it came to staring at him.

And Aemond’s observational skills were far too perfected for your own good.

“I apologise,” you said quietly.

Even from the corner of your eye you could see an intriguing smile on his lips as he lifted his eye from the book. “As you wish, my lady.”

You felt a rush of heat pool in your face. Even after years of growing up with Prince Aemond and tearing down any walls that were built from the unavoidable hierarchical imbalance, he would always know how to get under your skin.

The two of you would spend long hours in the fireplace room after supper, enjoying the calmness and silence. You’d be entertained with your embroideries while Aemond took his time diving into history and philosophy books.

A very intriguing young man he was.

In fact, he was just as intriguing as he was perceptive, which was why it didn’t surprise you that he had caught on to you occasionally glaring at him.

Not just him.

His body.

Quite frankly, the burning curiosity inside you begged you to just ask. It could be considered improper, but your mind kept wondering how.

How did he do it?

How did it feel like?

What was the worst that could happen should you ask these questions?

The matter of intimacy was all but known to both of you. He’d often invade your dreams with kisses and moans, but you didn’t dare reveal any of that to him. Sometimes, when about to doze off, you’d wonder whether it was reciprocal.

Not that it mattered. Your father would one day marry you off to some lord in some decaying castle never to cross paths with Aemond Targaryen ever again.

So you might as well ask and it was apparent that your body language betrayed your forced calm demeanour as it was enough to get his attention.

“Why are you so tense?”

You jolted in your seat, nearly jabbing the needle in your finger. “I am not tense at all,” you offered a smile.

“Lying is very unbecoming of you,” he said, flipping through a couple of pages. “Whatever is on your mind, you can share with me.”

You straightened in your seat, lowering your faze to the flowers you were carefully threading with your needle. Given the current circumstances, embroidery seemed far more inviting in comparison with having to deal with a suspicious Aemond.

“Take your time,” he said, not tearing his eye from the book and drumming his fingers on the padded armrest.

“I… it is nothing, Aemond.”

If you thought that was enough to shake him off, you were dead wrong. Instead, Aemond heaved a deep sigh and closed the book on his lap, staring intensely at you.

You tried your best to ignore his penetrating glare, but all to no avail.

“Do you take me for a fool?” he asked, but there no hint of annoyance in his voice.

If anything, he seemed deeply amused.

“What do you—”

Aemond interrupted you at once. “I’ve noticed the way you’ve been staring at me as of late.”

You looked at him wide-eyed. “Staring?”

“Subtlety isn’t your strongest suit.”

His eye was studying your every move and you had to be the inside of your cheek in frustration. More at yourself than at him, if you were being honest. You knew he wasn’t who was easily fooled, but you had also not expected that all the glaring had become that noticeable.

“It is nothing,” you said, feeling droplets of sweat coating the pads of your fingers, staining the coloured thread.

“You keep staring at my hands. Why?”

He had beautiful hands, indeed.

“For no reason.”

“Lie to me one more time and I will not have you riding Vhagar with me again.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He clicked his tongue. “Do not try me.”

Your heart clenched as your felt trapped. “It’s nothing much,” you lowered your voice and glanced around to make sure no unwanted visitors were present. I was just wondering how it feels when you... uh... when you... do it.”

Aemond’s eyebrow arched. “Do... what?”

You weren’t sure if he was genuinely unaware of the implication, or if he was just pretending in order to get you riled up. However, were willing to bet on the latter.

“Hmm... you know...” you said, feeling your face burn hot from embarrassment. “How does it feel when you… hmm… pleasure yourself,” you finally managed to get the words out but quickly added, “Just curious… because… hmmm… just curious and—”

You cut yourself off, realising you were now rambling.

Tense moments ticked by and you noticed Aemond Targaryen was visibly amused. “Is this your subtle way of asking me to touch myself in front of you?”

Panic immediately hit you hard. “Of course not! Why would I want to see that? How — how is that—what? — I was merely wondering.”

He placed the heavy book on the table by his side, as his lips curled into a smile. “I wouldn’t mind it.”

You shot him a death glare. “If you don’t want to tell me just say that.”

“I do not indulge in such depravities.”

“Lies,” you threw at him in disbelief. “I do not believe you.”

“Lies? Well, it does take one to know one, I reckon.”

You bit the inside of your cheek once at the remark regarding your earlier failed attempt at deception.

“There is no need to get tense,” Aemond said, standing up to take a seat in the nearby velvet-padded settee.

“I’m really not.”

“We all have urges, I suppose,” he then shrugged, staring at his own hands. “I have never done this with someone else. It could be… interesting.”

“You could simply tell me how it feels or how you do it,” you said, mouth turning dry. “Besides, we would not be doing anything here.”

“Why tell you when I can show you?”

He could not be serious…

“The doors are closed,” he said, extending one hand to you. “No one comes here this late at nigh. Come here.”

Your feet brought you to him before you could even process what was happening. “I was having a serious conversation and you’re now talking about your… your…” you pointed at his crotch as you say by his side.

This time he arched an eyebrow at you. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. Weren’t you the one who wanted to know how it feels like?”

Point taken. “Yes, but—”

“So what do you want me to talk about?” Aemond asked, lips turning into a devious grin.

“You are being vulgar.”

“You started this conversation, my lady,” he pointed out. “You’re the one who’s being vulgar.”

There was no way around it. You were definitely making things worse for yourself. This had started off innocently enough, but he was easily bending the conversation to his will.

You decided to ignore his remark and had your eyes on the lit fireplace in front of you, determined to enjoy the way the flames danced around and burned through the wood.

But Aemond was relentless.

“I can show you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You awaited for him to quickly take that back as a joke, but that moment never came.

He was dead serious.

“No, thank you,” you breathed, still not daring to look at him.

In all honesty, you wouldn’t mind taking a peak, but you couldn’t just admit to that. What if it made things awkward between you? What if you had crossed a line you weren’t sure you could go back from?

You kept your eyes firmly locked on cackling fire, but you could feel him shift beside you. It was probably a bad idea to dart your eyes to the side to watch as his legs lazily sprawled out from the settee, with and one hand resting on his belt.

You jolted when you saw him extend his hand to you. “You may touch it.”

This was definitely not what you had in mind. “Uh...”

He chuckled briefly. “It is my hand, not my cock.”

Your chin nearly dropped at his crass words and you frowned. “It’s simply genuine curiosity.”

He chuckled. “And I’m here willing to satisfy that curiosity. We have shared a friendship for many years,” he said, voiced coated in tones of warm honey. “If you are to learn about such things, I’d rather be the one enlightening you.”

It was such an unexpected and truthful statement, you felt your heart soar.

But as satisfying as it was to hear such words from him, you still had a shred of dignity left. “What if someone comes in?” you hissed in a low voice, eyes roaming across the room.

“We can be discreet,” he said. “Have you forgotten the many times we hid under beds after raiding the kitchen? No one would ever find us and those apples tasted ten times better.”

The memories of your shared youth tugged gently at your heartstrings.

“But we’re not hiding.”

Aemond brought a finger to trace the back of your hand. “We don’t have to. Not anymore.”

You swallowed hard hand watched as he offered you his hand at first. Without failt, your heartbeat sped up instantly, but you did your best to ignore it as you inspected his hand. His palm was turned upwards, giving you access to his warm skin.

“Can I...?”

Aemond had his head on the backrest, half-hooded eye still on you. “Yes.”

Holding the back of his hand in yours, you let your index finger slowly drag across it.

You could have sworn you heard the faintest sound come from him.

His skin felt really warm to the touch, nearly

“Is this alright?” you asked, halting briefly and studying his face.

“Carry on.”

But then something else in your field of vision caught your attention.

The hand he had resting on his belt drew you to look a bit further down and—

“Aemond?” your sudden gasp had him staring at you. “How are you...”

He bent his neck to stare down at the bulge in his pants. “I have no control over it.”

You wanted to be outraged, but this made you feel empowered and did wonders to your ego. You wanted to let go of his hand and be done with... whatever this was.

But you didn’t dare break contact with him.

If anything, the grip on his hand only intensified.

“Keep going… I can get harder than this.”

Gods. His hoarse voice immediately caused your thumb to resume the soft strokes along the palm of his hand.

The tension in the room was palpable, and you were no longer bothered in concealing how much your body craved more of him.

And just like Aemond had promised, you were able to see his cock growing harder and even twitching slightly each time you applied a certain amount of pressure on his skin.

Your breath was coming out in shallow pants.

You wanted more.

No.

You needed more.

Apparently, the feeling was mutual as he had his fingers on the buckle of his belt, tugging on it. The sight had your mouth watering. The not so subtle bulge was clearly making him uncomfortable in a way and in eye you detected undeniable lust.

You couldn’t help but shift closer to him, and the motion triggered him into undoing his belt. Once he got it out of the way, he unbuttoned his pants.

He heaved a deep sigh of relief at sudden relief of tension.

“Maybe we should stop?”

“Do you want to?” he asked, gently fiddling with the waistband of his pants.

No. “It’s just... what if someone—”

“You keep sabotaging yourself,” he groaned in exasperation.

“But... if someone comes in...”

He growled. “I will behead them.”

Your eyes widened in sudden horror.

“I am not being serious,” he finally added, offering you a grin. “Just enjoy this.”

In one switft motion, he pulled the fabric down, freeing his hard cock.

“Oh...”

You had never seen one before. It looked intimidating and you tried to do something other than just glare, but you couldn’t quite believe in what was happening just yet.

“Such a pretty mouth...” he observed as his eye dropped to your lips and wrapping his fingers around himself.

Your clit was pulsing as your walls clenched and pushed out more and more wetness to coat your folds.

Aemond started pumping his cock in a lazy rhythm, eye fully locked with yours. You saw a few beads of a clear liquid pooling around the tip.

“Keep touching me…”

“I... I...” you sounded like a fish out of water.

He tightened the grip on his cock, forcing more of the liquid to come out. That’s when it started sliding down and onto his knuckles.

“Keep going…”

It was clear he was getting impatient and the strain in his voice hit your brain, causing you to straighten before bringing the palm of his hand to your lips.

You made sure he kept his eye on you when you started pressing soft kisses to each finger.

“Good...” he praised and encouraged, bringing the palm of his other hand to rub on the tip of his cock.

He had his wetness smeared across his skin and you kept on kissing him until he dragged his hand down to pump his cock once again.

“Let me feel you,” he panted, squeezing himself tighter. “I want to feel you.”

You presse one last kiss to the palm of his hand. “What?”

It was his turn to grip your hand. “Let me fuck your hand.”

Oh… Gods…

You felt a load of wetness leak from you it’d be a miracle if you managed to somehow finish this without having your own dress completely soaked.

He guided you down to his crotch, letting go of his cock only to have your own hand wrapping around him, drawing a beautiful hiss from him.

The sudden urge to kiss him took over your senses, and just as the thought flooded your mind your body promptly acted in it, and you crashed your lips onto his.

He was definitely caught by surprised, but had no problem reciprocating the same hunger and lust you felt for him by having his tongue against yours.

You allowed him to guide your hand up and down his cock with his own, feeling his grip increase. He set up a very slow rhythm as if making the most out of this moment.

“Tighter...” he moaned in between a sloppy kiss.

Your fingers promptly squeezed around him. He had been leaking so much that it didn’t take long before your own hand was drenched in his wetness.

It was hard to focus on his cock when he was completely robbing you of air, refusing to break the kiss.

When he finally let go of your lips, you saw him staring down at his cock fucking your hand. You could feel his breath come out in pants when he started lifting his hips to set a new tempo.

“Is… is this how you do it?” you said innocently.

Aemond’s eye closed shut and that was the best reply he could have given you.

You absentmindedly brought your free hand to roam under your dress and to your undergarments. Your wetness was sipping through the fabric, your pussy clenching at the thought of one day having him take your maidenhead.

You didn’t even notice that he had undone his coat and lifted his shirt, exposing his abdomen as it flexed with each snap of his hips, a sheer coat of sweat forming as he sped up.

“Are you tighter than this?” he groaned.

How could someone be this… alluring?

He kissed you again, his hand gripping yours tighter once again.

But you needed more of him.

You pushed him away for a moment so you could swing one leg over his waist, effectively sitting on his crotch. Lifting your dress, you revealed your soaked undergarments. Aemond was shamelessly glaring at the stain that was spreading across the fabric.

“Be quiet,” you told him, squeezing his cock as a warning.

“I said nothing,” he said with a knowing smile.

You needed the friction on your clit and this new position would grant you that. With each thrust from him, your clit was being pressed gently, and you couldn’t help the deep moan that slipled through your mouth.

Aemond finally let go of his grip in you and brought both hands to frame your face, once again draining your lungs from air as he pulled you into a scorching kiss.

You never thought you’d be this close to release, but that was the least of your concerns. You wanted to watch that beautiful man unravel before your eyes.

He kept on thrusting into your hand, and when he pulled away you knew he was close. You took some time to admire how his beautiful face twisted in pleasure, mouth parted into laboured gasps.

“Faster...” he urged you and you were more to glad to oblige.

You were now familiar with what made him groan deeper, gasp louder, and roll his hips higher. It took him only a few more moments before his thrusts started faltering, and he had to bite the back of his hand to keep himself from groaning out loud as hot spurts of cum started shooting against your undergarments. You shuddered as the head of his cock pressed into your clit and his warm released sipped into the fabric.

You tumbled forward to rest your head against his shoulder, not even concerned about the mess.

“That was…” he let out, chest heaving rapidly.

“Can we do this again?”

You felt his chest rumble into yours. “Give me some time to recover… you just emptied me…”

-

Part II

[wow-thisismylifeiguess]

So so, amnesiac Soap who doesn’t remember a large chunk of his childhood. Maybe even up to his early teens. Doesn’t remember that he met Ghost when they were kids and that it was the best summer of his entire life.

As adults, Soap meets Ghost for the first time…as far as he knows. Ghost, of course, recognizes Soap immediately. He replays those memories of the cute little Scottish boy he’d met during the few occasions he allows himself to reminisce.

When Soap acts like he doesn’t know Ghost at all, it hurts just a little bit, but it’s been years, right? Maybe that summer wasn’t as memorable for Soap as it was for Ghost. That’s fine. Really. It’s /fine/.

Ghost tries to keep his distance the way he does with everyone he’s ever met but Soap worms his way in despite Ghost’s best efforts. It’s almost exactly the same as when they were younger, the way a young Johnny had seen a young Simon sitting alone in the park with bruises on his arms and instead of asking about them or poking fun, he simply tugged on Simon’s wrist gently and asked him to play.

Soap likes Ghost immediately. He’s an odd guy, definitely, and the way he stares is heavy on Soap’s skin, but there’s this itch in the back of his head that makes him feel like he’s known Ghost for a lot longer than he has. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, there’s been odd moments of deja vu ever since the incident that caused his memory loss, so he doesn’t think about it too deeply, just prefers to live in the moment and appreciate the relationship he has with Ghost.

Finally, while taking a break after returning from an assignment that took several months, they’re outside smoking together, trading w cigarette back and forth. Soap asks about Ghost’s childhood and it makes the bigger man freeze.

“Ah, sorry sorry. I know that’s a tough question. Shouldn’t have asked.” Soap backtracks, and Ghost is quite for a while. There’s slight tension between them but nothing to make either of them leave. Ghost breathes out a thick cloud of smoke.

“Not great. Abusive dad, a mom who couldn’t do anything to protect herself, and a younger brother who would do anything to not be the target so he shoved the attention onto me instead.”

It’s Soap’s turn to be quiet and Ghost doesn’t blame him. It’s probably not the answer he thought he’d get.

“I’m sorry, Si.”

Ghost shrugs. “It’s fine. They’re all dead now.” He blows out another lungful of smoke and turns to look at Soap. “What about you?”

Soap gives him a wry smile. “Wish I knew.”

Ghost’s eyes go wide. “What?”

Soap shrugs before turning to look up at the sky rather than meet Ghost’s eyes. “Was involved in a real bad accident in my teen years. Anything about my life just,” he waves his free hand in the air, “vanished into nothing. Forgot everything and not a single thing’s come back to me ever since.”

“Johnny…” Ghost chokes out. It makes sense, suddenly. Why Soap never joins in when the team gets into one of their reminiscing moods, why he always asks questions instead of sharing his own stories even when given any other opportunity to talk their ears off, he takes it without hesitation. It also makes sense why when he saw Ghost, he’d looked at him like he was a stranger. Ghost feels something heavy in his gut.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. We’ve both had a rough time, LT. Just happy we’re both here in the present, yeah?” Ghost nods because he can’t do or say anything else. When Soap smiles, it’s genuine and warm. The sergeant pats him on his shoulder. “Glad you agree.”

[sendmetosanfran]

Let Me Try Again pt.4

Aziraphale had not expected to see Crowley so happy. The demon sat across from him with a broad grin on his face. To Aziraphale, it was endearing. However, he thought that it scared the waiter. She had taken their order and then hurried away, throwing concerned glances at the two.

“I hope their tuna is fresh,” Aziraphale stated as he sipped a glass of lemon water.

“If not, I’m sure that we can miracle you up something better,” Crowley replied. His arms were crossed on the tabletop as he looked at his angel. He’d been able to kiss him. He’d spent so long wishing for that contact. Crowley wanted more but didn’t wish to be greedy.

“I suppose you’re right,” the angel responded. He could feel Crowley’s eyes on him. His fingers tapped as he glanced between Crowley and the room. Still, the demon’s gaze never relented.

When Aziraphale thought of being admired, he thought of how people wandered through an art exhibit. They would stop in front of a particular piece that caught their eye and stop to examine it. Their eyes would travel across the exhibit, taking in every detail. He had occasionally wanted to know what it would feel to be that artwork. However, he had never thought about the gaze staying in one spot too long and burning a hole in the canvas.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly.

“Yes, angel?” Crowley asked, voice sounding like it was melting. Aziraphale’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Are you alright, dear?” the angel questioned. He had never seen him like this before. Sure, he knew that Crowley had admired his form a bit in the past, but this was on a different level.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you’ve been staring at me quite a bit,” Aziraphale stated, hoping not to hurt his feelings. Crowley’s smile shrank a bit but did not disappear. Now, it looked small enough that perhaps he wouldn’t scare the waitress. The demon seemed to hesitate before responding.

“I’m just…Well, happy. We’re on an actual date, angel. I was afraid we’d never get to do this,” he answered. Aziraphale gave him a soft look while holding his hand out over the table. Crowley took it in his and squeezed gently. They fell into a much more comfortable silence as they waited for their food.

It was Aziraphale’s mind that began to search for an answer now. If they were on a legitimate date, did this change anything? Sure, he had assumed that Crowley had known they were casually dating the whole time. He had assumed that the demon wanted to take things slowly and not worry about any type of label. Perhaps he would be inclined to do so.

“Crowley?” The angel asked. Crowley hummed his response. “What would you consider us?”

“What do you mean?” Crowley questioned. His thumb rubbed over Aziraphale’s knuckles.

“Well, are we friends, or would you like to call us something else?” Crowley seemed unsure of how to respond. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. He knew this was the angel he had been in love with for centuries and that they were out to dinner. He wasn’t sure if he needed anything else.

“Um, well,” Crowley began before pausing again. Something in the angel’s eyes shifted as he seemed to think more deeply about the matter.

“What else could we call each other?” He asked, suddenly very concerned with the topic. Crowley braced himself for the potential whirlwind. “I’m sure that people would view us as boyfriends, but can you really call us that? We aren’t even human, much less human men. Friends is good, but it’s hardly romantic. Partners sound too much like business.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, pulling his attention back. “I just consider us to be ‘us’. I don’t think we need any fancy words for it.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” he replied. Crowley gave his hand another squeeze before pulling it away. Crowley picked up his water glass to take a drink. Aziraphale chewed his bottom lip as another thought popped into his mind. He leaned towards Crowley.

“Would you consider us ‘lovers’?” He asked quietly. Crowley’s eyes blew wide.

“Two tuna rolls?” the waitress asked, holding two plates. Crowley couldn’t hold back as his water spewed from his mouth onto the table. He coughed violently, covering his mouth with his hand. The waitress and Aziraphale watched in distress, unsure of what to do.

“Are you alright, dear?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley gave another cough before grabbing a napkin and cleaning up his mess.

“I’m fine,” he choked out. “Very sorry,” he added, looking to the waitress. She gave him another concerned look before setting their plates down. “Can I get you anything?” she asked, and he shook his head. She walked away as Crowley’s face turned a bright red.

“Are you sure that you’re okay?” Aziraphale questioned. Crowley cleared his throat, aware of the eyes that watched him. He knew their attention would be back on their own dates soon.

“I’m okay,” he answered. “No, I don’t think we can call ourselves ‘lovers,’ angel.”

“Why not?” Aziraphale replied, sounding disappointed. Crowley gave him an incredulous look before leaning towards him to whisper his answer.

“Aziraphale, we’ve never had sex.”

“I know that,” the angel replied. Crowley wasn’t sure what was happening. “Can’t lovers just be two people who love each other?” The demon took on an even deeper shade of red. Aziraphale had just said that he loved him. His jaw dropped a bit as he stared at the other man.

“What?”

“Well, we are in love, aren’t we?” Aziraphale questioned. Crowley was still too stunned to say anything. The angel tilted his head slightly, examining his face. “Crowley?”

“You love me?” That was all he could get out in a strained voice.

“Yes, dear. I thought we had established that.”

“Angel, we did not establish that. We haven’t established much of anything. Hell, this is our first date. You can’t just- We haven’t…,” Crowley stammered before letting out a growl. He pointed a finger at the angel. “You can never say that I move too fast for you ever again!” Aziraphale rolled his eyes before smiling softly. He gently grabbed the pointing hand and held it.

“Well, I’m doing it now. I love you, Crowley… Are you steaming?” Aziraphale asked as small trails of steam came from the demon’s shoulders. Is this what happened when he was flustered? Crowley ignored the question and took a deep breath. He squeezed the angel’s hand as he steadied himself.

“I love you too,” he said quietly. He pushed away the idea that demons were not meant to love. He knew what he had felt for a long time. There was no getting rid of that to make anyone else comfortable. It was just different to say it out loud. Aziraphale smiled broadly.

“It’s wonderful to hear you say that, dear.”

“I still don’t think you should call us lovers.”

“Hmm. Fine, I’ll think of something else.” … They left the restaurant after about an hour of chatting between themselves. Aziraphale was perfectly content with the quality of the sushi roll and had decided that they must come back the next time he was back from Heaven. Crowley made sure that the waitress received a generous tip. The thought of himself spitting his water on the table made him shiver in embarrassment.

“I’ve missed the city,” Aziraphale commented as they walked hand in hand down the sidewalk. The streetlights were not as bright as the light in Heaven, but it was nice to see them lining the town. “Would you like to stop by the park?”

“Angel, it’s night. I’m not sure what you’re going to be able to see.”

“I know, but I’m leaving again in the morning. I won’t have time to go by. We won’t stay long, I promise.”

“We can stay as long as you like,” Crowley replied. They walked in silence until they reached the park entrance. It was dark past the gate, but they still entered. Crowley blinked in an attempt to see more clearly. Even with his sunshades, he could see better than the angel.

“Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. I can’t see a thing,” Aziraphale said, sadness showing in his voice. Crowley couldn’t have that. He snapped his fingers, and a small ball of light appeared before them. It bounced up and down, casting a gentle glow.

“Where would you like to go?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale looked between Crowley and the light.

“I’d like to go by the water,” he answered. The light began to bounce down the path. They followed at a leisurely stroll as it guided them. “Thank you, Crowley.”

“No problem, angel.” They stopped when they reached the water’s edge. The little orb did not do much to light up the water. “Watch this,” Crowley said, snapping again. The orb bounced onto the surface of the water before sinking under. Several tiny orbs came back up and spread out.

“That’s beautiful,” Aziraphale commented. It reminded him of Crowley creating the stars. Crowley smiled, content with his work.

“Glad you like it,” Crowley responded, feeling Aziraphale shift closer to him. His hand slid up Crowley’s arm before holding his bicep. His free hand took the demon’s again as his head tilted to rest against his shoulder.

“I do,” Aziraphale said softly. Crowley smiled before turning his head to press a kiss into his soft curls. The angel responded with a content hum. This was wonderful. They stayed there for a while, just taking the moment in. It wasn’t until they could see the sky getting lighter that they decided to head back to the bookshop.

“Are you sure you have to go back just yet?” Crowley questioned as he opened the door for the angel. Aziraphale nodded. They went inside to find Muriel still standing at the counter. They smiled and waved at Aziraphale and Crowley, who were exchanging glances. “Have you been there since we left?”

“I have,” Muriel answered. “I’ve also been reading a book.”

“You know you can take a break when the shop is closed?” Aziraphale asked and saw a nervous look take over their face.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You can take a nap or just sit down.”

“Nap?” Muriel asked, and Crowley grimaced.

“Yes. You know what sleeping is, right?” Aziraphale asked, feeling like this was a losing battle. He was almost sure that he knew what the next words would be out of their mouth.

“Oh, I’ve never slept. It seems so human. That and eating… and drinking,” they said. It was almost hurtful to hear that Muriel had never done any of those things. Aziraphale looked to Crowley.

“Will you make sure that they get some rest?” He questioned.

“I’ll take care of it, angel,” Crowley answered.

“Thank you. Now, I should get going. I’m sure they’re itching to get a meeting started.” Aziraphale wanted to stay here and enjoy a bit more time with Crowley, but they knew he couldn’t. He ran a hand up the demon’s chest before hooking a finger into his collar.

“I’ll be here when you come back,” Crowley said before feeling himself being tugged closer. He obliged Aziraphale and followed the pull. Aziraphale led Crowley down to where he could press his lips against his cheek briefly before moving to his lips. Crowley hummed as he leaned into the contact. The angel moved his mouth against Crowley’s, taking in the feeling. Crowley’s lips were soft and warm. He pulled back after a short moment. There was a look in both of their eyes that said they wanted more, but that was all they would do for now.

“I guess I’m off,” Aziraphale said, looking towards the door but still holding his hand against Crowley’s chest. Crowley reached up and squeezed the hand. It felt like they should have another parting kiss, but they would wait until the next time. Crowley let his fingers slip away as Aziraphale walked away. “Bye, dear.”

“Bye, angel,” Crowley said softly as he watched him exit. His head buzzed with his happiness. Then, he turned and saw the look he was getting from Muriel. They looked bewildered. “What?”

“…Is that part of human friendship?” They asked. Crowley was unsure of how to handle this one.

“Not exactly… Let’s talk about this later, huh?” Crowley asked, receiving a nod. “Right now, I need to teach you how sleep works. Follow me.” Muriel furrowed their brow before following closely behind. They had no idea what Crowley had in mind, but they had started to trust the demon. Crowley took them to Aziraphale’s bedroom and opened the door. He gestured inside.

“I want you to go lay down on the bed and try to sleep. I know it’s very human, but trust me. It’s one of the best things you’ll ever do,” Crowley stated. Muriel gave him a concerned look.

“What if I don’t know how to wake up?” they asked.

“Don’t worry. I’ll wake you up later. It’s not as hard as you think,” he explained. They still seemed concerned but went inside the bedroom. Once they had laid down, Crowley closed the door with a sigh. He was going to lock the front door and relax on the sofa. He wanted to think about his day with Aziraphale with no interruptions.

[hebuiltfive]

::boils the kettle::

by your side: [character] is sick and wants company. Penny

This one was actually quite fun to write! I could have kept going but these are only supposed to be drabbles and it's already way too long. Hope you enjoy it @janetm74! 😊

By Your Side (feat. Lady Penelope)

She had always seen her ability to be as courteous and as generous as she was as a great, defining trait. Perhaps to some people, they’d might have seen it as more of a downfall. For once in her life, Penny was starting to think that maybe they were right.

Parker had only been gone ten hours when Penelope finally realised her mistake. When he’d first mentioned his idea of a trip to Scarborough for a long weekend, Penny had practically cheered him on. Even during the previous night, when her symptoms had begun to worsen, she happily waved him off as the taxi took him down the drive. No part of her had thought of asking Parker to cancel his trip because they didn’t seem fair. He worked so hard for her, the man was owed far more than a little trip to the Yorkshire coast, so she let him go without so much as mentioning her illness. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. 

Except now, Penny had wished she had been a little selfish, just this once. 

She had awoken from a very restless sleep at six, feeling far worse than she had done the previous evening, and had only made it two hours before she found herself calling John. 

He answered almost immediately, which came as no surprise to Penelope. John was always on the ball.

The smile he had upon answering her call, however, fell the moment he took in her image. “Lady Penelope, are you alright? You look—”

“Is Gordon busy?” She asked straight away. In her mind there was no point in beating around the bush. 

“Gordon?” John seemed confused, clearly still a little thrown by her appearance.

In only extreme cases, such as this, did Penelope not make an effort to look somewhat presentable. She could only guess what was running through John’s mind. With her hair still plastered to her forehead, with sweat still clinging to some of her clothing even though she’d already changed into fresher items twice this morning, Penelope knew she wasn’t looking too great. Her lips were dry and chapped, her voice weak and slightly croaky. She hadn’t yet had her morning tea, but finding the effort to actually go and brew one seemed like far too much for her. No, she’d much rather stay put on the couch.

“I wanted to ask you if he was busy. I don’t trust he’d be truthful with me.” Especially given the way she was currently presenting. Penelope had no doubt in her mind that Gordon would have raced over to her in an instant, regardless of whatever he was busy with.

“He’s.. uh, he’s not busy, no. Do you want me to patch him through?”

Penelope paused before shaking her head. She was never one to directly ask for something, especially if it was help. Having grown up in her world of high society and constant gossip, Penny found it difficult admitting when she was out of her depth. In the past, many men and women had used any kind of openness as an opportunity to take a strike, making her see her honesty as a weakness for others to exploit. That paranoia was still deeply rooted.

John understood exactly what the shaking of her head meant. Not only was he apt at being able to read people — given that was his job, it was no surprise he was good at it — but he was also one of Penelope’s closest friends. Words weren’t needed often to express what the other was feeling. Some days, when one wanted to hide a certain feeling, it might have been seen as a curse. Today, it was a blessing.

“I’ll ask him to come over as soon as he can.” John clarified. “Get well soon.” He then signed off the call.

Penelope sighed, thankful that the worst part was over for now, and allowed herself a moment to rest her eyes. She didn’t fall asleep, she only dozed, but the doorbell ringing after what felt like only a few seconds, had her jumping awake. She peeled herself off the couch, silently cursing the way her head span with dizziness as she stood. It took a moment or two to leave the drawing room and make her way to the front door. The bolts were unlocked, the security system deactivated and Penelope opened the door to the face of a very concerned Gordon.

“John said you were sick. I got Scott to drop me off.” Gordon began rambling, pushing himself past Penelope to enter the manor. 

If she wasn’t so sick, she’d have playfully reprimanded him for his lack of manners, but her head was pounding far too violently to even consider any words beside, “You’re here.”

Gordon wheeled in a suitcase that he’d brought with him, sliding it along the marbled-floor entryway and parking it up to the side. “Of course I’m here. Did you think I wouldn’t answer the call?”

The heavy oak doors were shut. The sound of the wood coming to rest against the frame of the entryway echoed dully throughout the otherwise silent manor. Penelope swayed a little on her feet as she turned. Gordon caught her elbow, his eyes searching her face for answers.

“Jesus, Pen. John wasn’t kidding. You need to go and sit down.” He began to guide her back to the drawing room, his hand still gently gripping her elbow for support. “Where’s Parker?” He continued, as they entered the ornate space.

Penelope practically collapsed back down into the plush cushions, her fingers massaging both her temples at once. “He had holiday planned and left last night. I thought I’d be fine until this morning came.”

“I’ll go and get you some medicine.”

“No.” Penny reached out to catch his arm before he could leave. “Stay?”

“Have you even eaten anything this morning?” Gordon asked, though he didn’t move an inch.

She shook her head. Perhaps she would have felt guilty had her stomach not churned at the thought of food. “I couldn’t keep anything down last night and this morning… Well, this morning has flown by, I haven’t had the time to try and get anything.” Her free hand tapped the space beside her on the couch. “Sit. Please?”

There was a debate raging within Gordon, Penny could tell from the apprehension in his eyes. Part of him probably wanted to go and fetch her some breakfast, maybe a drink or some medicine, but part of him probably couldn’t bare denying her the simple request she asked of him.

In the end, he gave in and took the spot beside her. “Only for a minute.”

She could live with that. Her arm looped around his as he sat, hands joining and fingers intertwining. She lowered her head to rest on his shoulder.

“You’re burning up, Pen.”

“ ‘M fine. ’S just… ‘M fine.” She tried to convince him, but words were hard to form when she was so tired and his shoulder made the perfect pillow.

“Are you sure? I brought a med-scanner with me, I can—”

Penelope held him firmly in place and Gordon found himself unable to move without disturbing her. He ceased trying to reach his bags. “No. Just… stay.”

From his sigh, she could tell he was reluctant to give in once again, but he did. He unhooked their arms and looped his over her shoulders, pulling her in for a tighter embrace. “Okay.” Gordon softly spoke as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

“I feel awful, Gordon.”

“I know. I know. It’ll pass, Pen.”

“Thank you for coming. I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Gordon gently hushed her. “You’re never a burden, Penny. Now, try and get some rest.”

[soft--dragon]

Bomb Disarming

I adore Wrecker and Omega's dynamic so I had to write something for them!! :D Hope you enjoy! <3

THIS IS ALL PLATONIC, GET AWAY YA NASTY SHIPPERS

Word Count: 2,388

Warnings: None

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

Travelling to new planet systems always seemed to take longer than wanted, and this one was especially bad. It was going to take so long in fact, that Tech had ended up switching the ship to autopilot and left the cockpit to tinker with a new project. Hunter and Echo were somewhere in the Havoc Marauder, either discussing new jobs from Cid or talking plans about ration stockage and fuel supplies.

Those types of serious conversations were something Wrecker would rather leave to the two leaders of the team, it was way too boring to force himself to be interested in those topics. Though, he was almost considering going to see what they were talking about just to save himself from going stir crazy. He was in the cockpit with Omega, sat back in the comfy chairs and desperately wishing something interesting would just happen already. He’d even take being knocked out of hyperspace by a Purrgil or something.  

Another minute passed before Wrecker decided it was official; he was going to die of boredom. Bam. Straight on the floor, flatlined with a sheet thrown over his corpse. Murdered by boredom instead of on the battlefield, what a sad way to go. 

By the looks of things, Omega wasn’t far off either. The kid was turning aimlessly in her chair, trying to twirl one of Tech’s tools between her fingers like Hunter did with his knives. She was getting pretty accurate with the timing of the spins, but they weren’t very smooth, the pattern of switching the tool to each finger was stilted. Though she didn’t seem to care about the tacky display, instead staring at the streaks of blue and white outside the glass of the ship with a glazed look in her brown eyes.

Two death counts from boredom in one day. Truly a pity. 

Wrecker groaned, sitting up and rolling his shoulders back, causing them to click loudly. Omega didn’t even spare him a glance at the movements, her focus still the shifting blue hues outside. Damn, she was zoned out. 

The larger clone hummed deeply, foot tapping the floor in thought as he tried to come up with a way to entertain the pair of them. They still had over an hour of travel left and Wrecker wanted to bash a few more heads in before he took his trip to the afterlife, thank you very much, so the boredom would have to go. His gaze flicked to the tool Omega was still spinning slowly, it was a smaller set of clipping shears Tech used on finicky wires in the more delicate parts of his projects, and quite similar to what they used to cut wires of bombs.

Wrecker’s eyebrows shot up as an idea hit him faster than a bullet train.

“Hey kid!” He exclaimed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to be at Omega’s height level.

Omega gave a start at the sudden burst of noise which caused the tool in her hand to clatter to the floor. She ripped her gaze from the window and stared up at her brother in alarm. “What? What is it?” She asked, her accented voice filled with concern.

Wrecker grinned at her, scooping the discarded clipping shears on the ground and holding them up clearly. “Why don’t we go through bomb disarming again? We haven’t done it in a bit!”

Omega blinked owlishly, eyes flicking between the tool and his face in bewilderment. “On the ship?” Her question was a mix of slight levity and confusion. “I don’t think Hunter would like that very much.”

Wrecker’s excitement deflated slightly. She did have a pretty valid point. They were running low on smoke bombs as is, and the idea of the ship filling with the thick fog with no way to filter it out probably wasn’t a smart idea. 

“Ah,” he grunted, lowering the shears slightly. “I guess that’s true.”

Omega nodded quietly and went to look back out the window, her knees drawing to her chest and arms wrapping around them. She looked smaller than usual in that position, and her childish features just looked so sad. Wrecker frowned. He didn’t like Omega being sad. 

“We don’t have to use an actual bomb,” he said slowly, his brain trying to come up with an alternative quickly.

“Mm?” Hummed Omega to show she was listening, half lidded eyes drifting over the hyperspace streaks.

“...We could use my hand instead?”

Omega lifted her head, eyebrows furrowing as she stared straight forwards. She then turned to look at him slowly, one eyebrow quirked in puzzlement. “...You want me to use those shears on your fingers?” 

Wrecker barked a laugh, shaking his head and tossing the shears to the side which caused them to clatter noisily on the dashboard. “No no, the idea was that you’ll use your fingers like shears to ‘cut’ my fingers which will be the wires. The palm of my hand will be the actual bomb, and your goal is to cut the right wires to stop it from detonating. Make sense?”

Omega’s gaze dropped to his hand that was being held up to be a demonstration alongside Wrecker’s explanation. Slowly, her legs unfurled from her chest and she sat forward on her chair. 

“...Okay, that sounds like it could be good practice.”

“Atta girl,” Wrecker praised, ruffling her curls and smiling when she leant up into his large palm. “Do you need reminding of which wires are which?”

“I think I remember… provided you’ve got them in the same order as a smoke bomb and you’re not gonna pull anything?”

“Course not, kid. Now, you’ve got a time limit of ten seconds before it explodes, ya ready?”

Omega leant forward more, using her index and middle fingers to make a pair of scissors on her right hand and studying Wrecker’s ‘bomb’. “Ready.”

Wrecker had spread his fingers with his palm facing upwards, trying to make it easy for Omega to remember the correct method. “Alright. Beep!” 

With Wrecker’s noise indicating the ‘bomb’s’ activation, Omega quickly set to work, half listening to his countdown. “The conductor feeds the coil expander… this connects to the transmitter… the detonator links to…” 

As she mumbled, she used her finger shears to cut at Wrecker’s fingers, the older clone folding the digits inwards to show the break. She’d ‘cut’ three of Wrecker’s fingers, and was now stalling between his middle and ring fingers, face pinching as she tried to recall the last step. 

“I- I don’t know which one to do-”

“Better hurry, kid! Five… four…”

Omega bit her lip anxiously, then on impulse, pinched Wrecker’s ring finger between her shears. 

“BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.”

Kriff. Wrong one. 

“KABOOM!” Wrecker yelled, sweeping Omega off her chair into his arms, wiggling his fingers into her sides quickly. 

Omega squealed loudly, kicking out on instinct and breaking into fits of laughter. “AHA! W-Wrehehecker!” 

“You failed to disarm the worst kind of bomb there is, Omega, now you’re suffering the consequences!”

Still giggling, Omega pressed out, “Smoke bohombs arehen’t the wohorst!”

“Oh no, this was very different from a regular ol smoke bomb, kiddo,” Wrecker chuckled, “it was a tickle bomb!” 

He blew a raspberry into Omega’s cheek, fingers worming against her stomach to produce high pitched, childish laughter. 

“YOHOU LIHIAR!” Omega gasped, squirming in Wrecker’s unrelenting hold. “Yohou shahid ihit wahas aha smohoke bohomb!” 

Far too smug about his ploy, Wrecker chuckled evilly. “Oh I didn’t lie, I said the wires were in the same order as a smoke bomb, I never said it was one.” He lay Omega over his lap and raised his hands above her, wiggling his fingers tauntingly. The effect was immediate. 

Omega tried to curl up in the limited space, giggling more at the ‘threat’ before her. “W-Wrehehecker!” she squeaked.

“Yeah? That’s my name, Omega.” He held them for a moment longer to build suspense, then suddenly dropped them to just ghost over Omega’s torso, delighting in the squeal that burst from the blonde clone. Her eyes had clamped shut in preparation for the onslaught, only for Wrecker to raise his hands in the air again, still wiggling.

Cracking an eye open, Omega whined at falling for the fake-out. “Wrehehehecker!”

“Still my name. You sure we shouldn’t call you Echo, now?”

Once more, Wrecker’s hands plunged down towards Omega, another shriek bursting from the kid that was followed by bright giggles. The sensations of wiggling fingers never touched down, and Omega didn’t even need to open her eyes this time to know she’d been tricked again.

“Nohot fahair!”

“Not fair? Oh, I’ll show you ‘not fair’, kid.”

Wrecker snaked an arm under her back to tickle her right side and used the other to poke along her left ribs quickly, leaving her no escape route from the gentle attack. Omega squealed and shrieked, her hands smacking at Wrecker’s to try and deter him, but the bigger clone was secure in his path.

These tactics were ones he often used on his brothers’, and he was pleased to see it was just as effective on his sister too. Omega was a bundle of bright giggles and a smile close to literal sunshine, the child was just as ticklish as the rest it would seem.

“Wrecker, I hope you don’t plan on killing Omega, do you?”

The slightly nasally voice made Wrecker look at the doorway where Tech was standing, discreetly putting away a holo-pad that no doubt was filled to the storage limit with photos now. 

“Nah, she disarmed a bomb incorrectly and it exploded,” he explained, grinning up at his younger brother. “She’s facing the aftermath.”

“Ah, I see.” Tech’s lips twitched subtly and he cleared his throat. “I’m looking for my clipping shears, have you seen them?” 

“Dashboard.”

“Thank you.”

“T-Tehehech hehehelp!” Omega squeaked, reaching out for the bespeckled clone, only to shriek and throw her head back in new bouts of laughter as Wrecker had quickly swept his fingers into the new weak spots. She clamped her arms down to try and stop the wiggling digits, but it only served to trap them in the sensitive hollows, leaving her spluttering and giggling hysterically. 

“I’m afraid I cannot help you, Omega,” Tech answered, amusement evident in his voice as he shifted towards the dashboard to retrieve his tool, pocketing it for the time being. “I am not one to stand in the way of a lesson, especially one as important as bomb disarmament.” 

“Trahahitor!” 

“Now now, there’s no need for insults. You’ll get the right wires next time, I’m sure.” Tech ruffled Omega’s hair in passing, a smile on his face that was a mix of fond and mischievous. He then glanced at the bigger clone with an equally fond smile. “Though Wrecker, remember that her stamina is not the same as ours, you may want to ease up soon.”

Wrecker sent a grin towards his brother. “Yeh, that’s a good point,” he agreed and slid his hands out from underneath Omega’s tightly pressed arms. A giggly squeal slipped from the girl and melted both of the hearts of the male clones instantly. 

She brought her arms down to protect her torso, grinning up at Wrecker with mirthful anticipation, giggles still tumbling from her mouth. Wrecker chuckled at her flighty behaviour, raising his hands in what would be a peaceful action though it only caused Omega to giggle harder and curl in on herself. 

“N-Nohoho nohot thahat agahain!” she whined, eyeing Wrecker’s fingers through squinted eyes. 

“Used the ‘hang and drop’ tactic on her too, I see?” Tech observed, his smile softer than Wrecker had ever seen it. “You really wanted to make her learn the importance of bomb disarming.”

“Of course, we don’t want a lack of bomb knowledge to cause her to be partially blind in one eye, right? That position is already filled.”  

Tech flicked his gaze from Omega to Wrecker, eyes trailing over the scarring running over the left side of Wrecker’s face. He softened a bit more, reaching over to gently rest a hand on his shoulder. “You’re being a good teacher,” he said quietly. “She’ll be a natural in no time.” 

Wrecker smiled up at him warmly, giving a one shouldered shrug to lean up into the palm. “Thanks Tech.”

“Of course.” Tech removed his hand, making for the door only to pause in front of it. “Omega, I expect you to drink some water after your lesson, you’ll be dehydrated from all your laughing.”

Omega grinned and gave a small salute from where she was still lying on her back on Wrecker’s legs. “Sir, yes, sir,” she chirped, the lingering titters fading out.

Tech gave a nod, giving a smile in return and then stepped from the room, the doors sliding closed behind him. The silence hung in the air for a moment, interrupted occasionally by Omega’s small giggles that crept back into her chest. It was only when she had calmed down fully that Wrecker leant over to the storage cabinet by the piloting chair to pluck out a bottle of water. He handed it to Omega who sat up in his lap to take a swig, humming appreciatively of the cooling effect. 

Wrecker let her rest for another minute or two before gently nudging his chin against her hair. “You up to trying again?” He asked.

Omega blinked up at him in surprise, cocking her head slightly. “Oh, I can do the  disarmament again?” 

“Of course, the only way to get it right is practice.” Carefully, Wrecker picked her up again and set Omega back on her chair. He cracked his knuckles then held a hand upright, fingers splayed. “You got your clipping shears ready?”

Omega sat forward and propped her hand up to have her index and middle fingers positioned again. “Yup,” she said, then suspiciously leant back. “...If I get this wrong again…”

“You already know what’ll happen,” Wrecker chuckled. “Gotta have some consequence right? Otherwise it’ll be pretty ineffective to help you learn.”

Omega rolled her eyes, smiling up at her brother. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It…it is kinda fun.”

Wrecker visibly brightened at her words. “Good! Cause we still have forty minutes to kill, kid.”

Cracking her knuckles, Omega grinned, a flame of determination flaring up inside her. “Bring it.”

[kindheart525]

Go take that cutie mark and do something useful with it.

These words still stung Mountain Peak even days after he heard them, especially from the mouth of his own mother. Even as his aunties showered him with love and celebrated his new cutie mark—like he wanted—he couldn’t shake the feeling. 

It was all he wanted to do since as long as he could remember: make himself useful.

“Now what can I do for y’all down here?”

He offered eagerly just about as soon as he entered his Auntie Pinkie’s party cave, even before Aunties Marble and Maud had a chance to land on their hooves. 

Pinkie knew practically everypony down to their birthday wishes and favorite foods so it was easy for her to see how desperate her nephew was to help. Something was definitely going on.

“Oh Mounty, you don’t have to do anything for us! This day’s all for you!”

She denied him gently, feeling a little guilty for him.

“Maybe he’d like a tour.” 

Maud suggested, then turned to her nephew.

“I know you’ve always enjoyed learning how things work. There’s a lot that goes into your Auntie’s parties that I think you’d be interested in.” 

“Well butter mah biscuits, I sure would!”

Mounty perked up quite a bit at this offer.

“Ooh! Yes!”

Pinkie practically exploded with joy.

“Marble, you’re near the right filing cabinet! Can you toss me the folder that says ‘Twilight Sparkle’?”

“Mmhm!”

Mounty’s more quiet aunt obliged, shuffling through the files until she came to the right one. Then Pinkie took it from her for her demonstration.

“Thank you!”

The cheerful mare then stretched her arm out comically far, pulling him in so she could explain it to him.

“I keep records on all of my friends so I can throw them the best parties ever! Like this one—‘Twilight Sparkle likes vanilla ice cream, red balloons, dancing...But she's afraid of quesadillas and ladybugs too!’ And there’s a whole lot more!”

She started flipping through more of the papers. 

“Her favorite music to dance to, her favorite books, you name it! I used to just have files for everypony in Ponyville but now I have friends all over, there’s one for King Rutherford somewhere!”

“Golly…”

Mounty was absolutely in awe, he knew his auntie was super attentive but he didn’t know just how much work she put into all her parties.

“An’ all this is for throwing them perfect parties? Gee, there’s so much in here, you really do have somethin’ for everyone!”

“Yep!”

Pinkie beamed.

“And anytime you want in on the fun just give Auntie Pinkie a call and we can make plans together! The fun part is getting creative with it, no two parties for even one creature are the same!”

Mounty suddenly felt a pang of disappointment as he remembered his mother’s attitude, so different from his Auntie Pinkie’s exuberance.

“Gosh, I wish I could get creative up at the rock farm. Mom won’t even let me take any shortcuts, it all has ta be exact with her. Her way or tha highway.”

Pinkie and Maud both shared a knowing glance; they knew this was bound to come up sooner or later. But their normally more soft-spoken sister was the first to speak up.

“Well…that’s how Limestone is most of the time. She cares a lot about the farm, she’s just running it the way she knows how. It’s not anything personal.”

“Well maybe, but…ever since Grandpa passed away—“

He looked around at his aunts to make sure he wasn’t bringing up a touchy subject.

“She’s been goin’ on about how this is what he would want. How she’s followin’ his traditions, how he wouldn’t want us to change things up.”

It was starting to become a sensitive subject to him too, just thinking about the way his mom berated him. He frowned deeply.

“She’s just been meaner than a rooster guardin’ his coop lately! Grandpa wasn’t like that, wasn’t he? He…he couldn’t a’ been! He wasn’t when I knew him!”

“No. He wasn’t.”

Maud stated, matter-of-factly but with a gentle wisdom. Then Pinkie joined in.

“We always had LOADS of fun with Dad! When I threw my first party and got my cutie mark, he was dancing so much his horseshoes came off!”

“That…might be an exaggeration…”

Marble uttered, but Pinkie paid no mind, even if she was right.

“He was also the one who taught us to make our famous rock candy! Hold on, I have some somewhere—“

She dove into a corner and came up with a box of sparkly, sugary crystals.

“Now I make necklaces all the time for all my friends! And so does Maud, using his recipe from Granny Pie!”

Pinkie slipped a few necklaces over her head and started crunching on one of them, and the other ponies in the room couldn’t help but chuckle or crack a smile at her antics.

“Ooh! Ooh! Also! Dad helped Limey and me fix up our mine carts so they’d go faster! We raced them all the time! And sometimes he had time off from farming to watch us, and he always cheered us on!”

“Really?”

Mounty was surprised to hear all of this after what he’d been told about life on the rock farm by his Mom.

“Grandpa did that? And Mom!? She’d never do that now, I can’t even take a darn five minute break nowadays.”

“Mmm…but things are different now.”

Marble once again offered her opposing perspective, trying to defend her eldest sister like she’d always defended her.

“Limestone says there’s more demand now. And she’s also helping out on the apple farm now, isn’t she? There’s less time and fewer ponies doing more work, you can’t blame her for being stressed. And Pa was a hard worker, he taught us all to be.“

“But he was also devoted to his family.”

Maud countered her sister, but she was looking at her nephew as this was mostly for him.

“He never allowed us to work to the point of hurting ourselves. He hardly raised his voice at us, except to warn us of danger.”

“Mmm, true. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him angry at us.”

Marble conceded, which in Mounty’s eyes confirmed what he always knew about his grandpa.

“When we were young, he let us take turns reading the Lunisolar Scrolls.”

Maud continued.

“Always the passages on family and service—and moderation, even in work.”

“And he did all the voices!”

Pinkie chimed in.

“Somewhat, yes. He might not have shown it like…most ponies, but our father—your Grandpa—deeply cared for us. You had to know him really well to see it, but there was always a certain twinkle in his eye.”

The mare cracked a small smile, with a hint of sentimental longing. All of them did, both the mares he raised and the colt who was trying to understand his legacy.

“Our home was always filled with so much love and warmth.”

Marble reminisced.

“It’s…it’s not like that now, is it?”

“No.”

Mounty answered, but this time he felt slightly less terrible knowing he had all this support from his aunts, and knowing that he wasn’t confused about the pony his Grandpa had been.

“But…at least I know it was that way once, an’ it can be that way again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Previous: Labradorite Next: Cement Horseshoes

Background by BonesWolbach

[nervousladytraveler]

Okay, it's not Wednesday anymore. But @veryflowerobservation asked for this on a Wednesday so that's close enough. From an as yet undisclosed WIP.

-------

Demelza opened her eyes and saw the familiar ceiling beams running east to west overhead.  Then she turned her head slightly and saw the less familiar striped sheets. She started to sit up but had to dig her way out of a pile of duvets and other blankets.

“Hey, you’re awake.” Ross leaned against the doorjamb, his strong arms folded across his chest. His voice was soft and his eyes had that attentive and shining look they sometimes took on. Usually when he was feeling deeply--regardless of the feeling.

“Ross!” She hadn’t realised how much she wanted to see him--needed it really. She wished he was closer. “I don’t remember coming to bed at all,” she said.

“You fell asleep by the fire last night. Barely finished your supper in fact.”

“You should have woken me,” she said.

“It didn’t seem right. You clearly were exhausted.”

“Tell me you didn't have to carry me.“ She attempted a smile, as she tried to piece together a memory of the previous night.

“Not quite.” He shook his head and laughed ever so gently. “But I did take the liberty to help you undress before I tucked you in.”

She felt the soft long sleeved t-shirt she was wearing and knew from its size and its smell that it belonged to him.

“I didn’t displace you, did I?” She gasped at the thought. 

“No, I slept beside you. I assumed you wouldn’t mind.”

She turned her head to the indentation still visible on his pillow.

“Of course not,” she whispered but only managed to choke out the words. She suddenly felt overwrought, as though she might cry. 

It was so much--too much. Ross’s gentle attentiveness, his dark eyes, his low voice, the smell he left on the bedclothes, the warmth that surged through her entire body. So familiar and also so new.  

“I was going to make you some breakfast but wasn’t sure what you’d want. I’ve made some coffee but I can make you some tea. Anything you want. I’m just really happy to see you this morning--that you’re still here,” he added.

“Oh Ross…” She could control it no more--the tears came and wouldn’t stop. “Could you...will you not hold me?”

He made it across the room in two long strides. He was beside her and his arms wrapped around her tightly and then he laughed as he kissed her temple gently. 

“You’re still knackered, aren’t you? You can stay in bed all day if you’d like,” he said. “Unless…you have other plans?”

“No, no, I don’t have to work again until Tuesday,” she said but then wondered if that’s what he meant. Was he poking around to see if she had other dates lined up? She thought she should tell him she had no intention of seeing others. But now didn't seem like the right time to talk about fidelity. That was a bigger discussion, years overdue. “I’m so sorry I ruined our Christmas Eve together,” she added.

“You ruined nothing. You came, when you had a hundred reasons not to, you took a chance--and for that I am forever grateful.”

“I had a hundred reasons to come as well,"she said and took his hand in hers. "Ross, I did sleep very well. Thank you.”

“Maybe you slept so well because...you knew you were somewhere safe and familiar.” 

They both caught that he’d stopped himself short of saying home.

“I think you’re right,” she said and rested her head against his chest. “Ross? It seems so warm in here,” she said suddenly.

“Is it too warm?”

“No, I mean. It just seems warmer...than the last time I was here.”

“I had the furnace replaced a few years ago. The new one is far more efficient and actually heats the house instead of just consuming fuel,” he laughed. “I guess that means you don't want me to build a fire?”

“Maybe not now. But later for sure. Livin’ in town, I miss the smell of wood smoke.” She inhaled deeply then sighed contently.

“Demelza, you never told me what you want,” he said.

She looked shocked, her mouth gaped open in that silly but charming way it did when she was younger. She narrowed her eyes, then swallowed.

“What I want?” she stammered. “Can’t I just say for now that I don’t know, but that I am sure I want you?” Her shoulders hunched, her eyes were soft and wet--whether that was the remains of tears or sleepy residue wasn’t apparent to either of them.

For the second time that morning he matched her emotional fragility with laughter. Now he gave a deep chuckle that was so friendly and warm there was no way it could be mistaken for mockery. At the sound of his familiar and powerful laugh, her eyes grew wide to match her incredulous smile. Again he wrapped his arms around her and crushed her tightly to him.

“Oh, Demelza,” he laughed into her hair. “Oh, my love, I want you too.” He squeezed her again then let his lips graze her temple, his most intimate of gestures. “But what I meant was…” He looked into her eyes and smiled. “Do you want coffee or tea?”

Now she laughed too. 

“Coffee please. But let me help you…”

“Uh uh uh, you stay right there. A little milk, right?”

“Yes, And Ross...thank you. For everythin’.”

[celestialholz]

Oooo TM098 with either pair, but I’m leaning towards Vanillacupcakes—

... Oh jesus fucking christ lmao THANKS LITTLE BRO T_T You know, honestly... why not both? Cross-posted to AO3 here as chapter two, this is the madness that is:

TM98: Skill Swap

"... Sir?"

His own baffled student faced him on the Artazon court, brilliant grin liquid sunshine upon her.

"Ah, hello Miss Daisy!"

This was quite mad. He could see his own house from here.

The teenager wore an expression of utter horror.

"Sir, aren't you in the Elite Four?"

"Why yes, every other day, but, well..."

Geeta's latest 'innovation' flashed behind his eyes, a sermon on 'walking a mile in another's shoes' giving them greater perspective for battle - the League conference had collectively rolled their eyes and paired up, largely without any argument that wasn't harsh mutterings. It was only for the day, and disagreeing with the immovable force that was La Primera was never worthwhile. She had quite the streak of ruthlessness to her if questioned too much.

His own pairing was deeply obvious - he and his husband had reflexively grabbed one another's hands nevertheless, just on the remote chance that someone had tried to split them.

"... It wasn't our idea, my dear."

"I've got one gym badge!"

“Oh, you’ll be fine, I’m absolutely sure! Are you ready, Miss Daisy?”

“No! Hell no!”

“Language, dear girl,” he chastised, smiling as he released Noivern. The bat dragon glanced around at her whereabouts, took in the challenger, and glanced back at her father.

“Mm, yes,” Hassel told her, “your darling Papa and I have swapped roles my friend, just for today. Now, I’m going to need you to go nice and easy on our young companion here…”

“… Vern.” The dragon turned to her opponent with a steely gaze, and the teenager swallowed glass, mouth agape, hand quivering on her own Poke Ball.

“… Arceus,” she whispered. “I am so screwed.”

*-*-*-*-*-*

“Now, who can tell me about Kalosian movements in postmodern sculpture?”

Eighteen blank faces stared back at Brassius, who rose a brow as he glanced between them all.

“… No? Galarian art nouveau, perhaps?”

The youths exchanged glances.

“… Cubism?” Brassius asked in disbelief, before theatrically sighing at their continued confusion. “Good heavens, what does my husband teach you…”

“Mostly about creative freedom, Sir,” piped up an older boy at the back, who the sculptor automatically snapped to. “Professor Hassel says it’s important to create authentic work, even if it’s not the most skilled.”

“Yeah, he says you can get more skilled later!” Said another child.

“And one day, we can be as ‘aventguard’ as you!”

“Professor Hassel says you’re the best artist in the world, Sir!”

Soft, shocked silence reigned for a moment.

“… Yes, well – if I am, it’s because of him,” Brassius murmured tearfully, sunshine brushing against his heart, facing the class with a warm smile. “We shall forego the theory, therefore – everyone find some paper, I wish to see your best Sunfloras.”

There were grins, and a flurry of activity as art supplies were grabbed from numerous parts of the room.

Brassius glanced fondly around the classroom; he’d been expecting a call for the Elite Test by now, but this… he could deal with this, if this was as far as his day went.

“Mister Brassius Sir, can I draw a Sunflora in purple?”

“Oh yes,” he told the questioning girl, grinning. “I encourage it, in fact.”

*-*-*-*-*-*

Unbeknown to the artist just down the way, there was a very good reason indeed why he hadn’t yet been summoned to the League.

The reason was known as ‘Katy’, and she was having the time of her life.

“Heracross, Close Combat, there’s a dear!”

“Ursaring, Play Rough that dragon, won’t you?”

“Stone Edge, Forretress! Burning things is for Soapberry!”

She’d seen off three challengers solo, commanding excitedly and with utter precision as she did, all of whom had stared at her with open mouths.

“But, but you were easy before –”

“Yes well, child, we learn from our mistakes!” She trilled happily at her third victim, a cocky teenager whose ace had just been smashed to unconsciousness by shattering boulders. “Especially when our mistakes are not being allowed to cut loose…”

“Uncle Grushie,” Poppy murmured, tugging at his scarf, “is Aunt Katy okay?”

Grusha, who had swapped today with Rika, was looking at his fellow gym leader as though she’d grown an extra head.

“I, er… think so, kid? I mean, she can borrow my therapist, if she really needs to –”

“Oh Grusha dear, this is the therapy,” Katy answered, beaming a mile wide, peering towards the door. “Do we have anyone else lined up? Do I have to give my husband his job back? This is amazing!”

Safely ensconced in her office, the usually unshakeable La Primera, watching via CCTV, winced.

… Perhaps this hadn’t been her finest idea.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“Larry,” asked his wife’s sous chef, halting in her pastry-making mid-fold as she cast him an amused glance, “did you just pop salt in that?”

He cast a bland gaze between his cake mix, shifting his eyes slowly to the bag of salt he’d just poured from.

“… Fuck.”

She laughed aloud. “Did you want to go and help serve, maybe…?”

“Who, me and my face for radio?”

“Hey, stop it,” she scolded lightly. “You’re lovely.”

He offered her a vague smile, standing in the doorway to the kitchen for a moment. He noted the busyness of the bakery, the squealing infants, the harried parents, how much the staff could do with a hand, and tracked a path around the space, as though building the perfect spreadsheet.

“Sally,” he said with determination, setting a route in his analytical mind, “pass me an apron.”

The sous chef grinned. “Yes sir…”

He would succeed at something today, even if it was only for Katy’s sake.

*-*-*-*-*-*

“How was it, dear?”

“… Curious. Lovely class you have, but no Elite Four matches, querido.”

“… Oh, truly? I know we had some scheduled for today, too…”

“Ah, well. How was the gym?”

“Everyone found me very intimidating, even though I told the darlings to go easy on the students.”

“… Mmm, imagine that. I’m sorry, dearest.”

“Oh, it’s no bother. It was nice to be involved in their journeys earlier! I… apologise in advance for the amount of challengers you’ll likely be receiving tomorrow…”

*-*-*-*-*-*

“Did you enjoy the Elite –”

“Yes. Darling, may I have your job?”

“Dear, I love you with all my heart, but absolutely not.”

“… Damn. Still, very entertaining day! I hope the bakery wasn’t too challenging…”

“I added salt to cake batter.”

“… Oh. Do you need a massage?”

“… That would be wonderful, thank you…”

Got a request for The Technical Festival, which celebrates Ephemeralart and Vanillacupcakes through the medium of TMs? Take a look here; my askbox is open!

[velvetfoxgames]

hi hi! for the fantasy au could we get some bodyguard rory with royalty mc? maybe a little hurt comfort hehe thank you !! 💛

I decided to go a non-action route, hope that's okay!

CW: Minor injury, mention of blood, it got a little angsty.

***

You took the hand that was offered to you and looked up to meet the face of a handsome man. Dark hair, pale blue eyes, strong chin. This was the Prince from the country southeast of your father’s reign. You had met him once before, and any bit of interesting conversation you offered forth, he immediately turned around to talk about himself. Arrogant.

“An honor to be your first dance,” the man said, doing a slight bow.

You politely nodded, having no need to respond. He looped an arm around your waist and set off in lead to dizzying orchestral music. He grinned a wide, open-mouthed grin, thrilled to be the first one to accost you. You were, after all, the heir to the most powerful kingdom.

Rather than stare at the man’s wolfish teeth while you danced, you searched the ballroom, skimming over glinting chandeliers, attendees wrapped in fashionable and expensive fabrics, and tables filled with swathes of finger food. The room brimmed with shiny opulence, and yet, every time you were spun around, your eyes caught on a particular corner of the room. There was a man standing there, arms crossed, dressed in dark clothing. He was meant to be in the background, but his red hair always made him easy to spot, even in a dimly lit corner.

Rory, as you tended to call him by his first name, had been appointed your royal guard months ago. Thinking about it now, you were initially offput by his rough demeanor. The first time he spoke out of turn and called you a rather unsavory word, you almost had him banished on the spot. But, he had been hired as your guard for a reason. He was even better at his job than the highly ranked ex-military official he had replaced. Over time, you grew accustomed to his short temper and snide remarks and had taken to intentionally provoking him. It was refreshing to have someone speak to you uninhibited. You had also found out that despite the choice words he held for you, he could be quite gentle with you, even when you tried to mask certain emotions.

From here, you couldn’t see what expression Rory had. For the past week, he had been unusually quiet and moody.

The music came to an end. The man you were dancing with let go of your waist and bowed deeply. Before he had a chance to utter a single word, another man appeared beside him. “May I have the next dance?” And thus began the carousel of suitors, one after the other, face after face. As you were swept closer to the other end of the ballroom, Rory’s features became clearer, but you still couldn’t tell where he was looking.

Was he looking at you? Of course he was. He was always watching. And now he’d watch you be courted by an entire room. The current suitor’s hand pressed into your back, much too firm to be comfortable, and he held you far too close. The one previous to him had arms like wet noodles, flimsy and careless. They all made you feel like a doll being passed around.

The thought crept in. What would it be like if Rory was in front of you? Did he know how to dance? He would surely say no if you asked, even if you were the only two people in the room. But imagining your hand in his…his other hand on the small of your back…face close to yours…

You were reminded of moments when he held you close because he knew you were scared, or squeezed your shoulder when you were unsure. Small gestures that showed you he cared, or so you thought.

You shook your head. Rory had been the main feature of your thoughts lately. Thoughts you tried not to entertain. The current song ended and you said a quick “Pardon me,” to the looming faces wishing to dance with you next. You ignored them all as you made your way to the banquet area, glancing over to your elderly father in deep conversation with other kings and diplomats. Later, he would discuss who would be best to rule alongside you, who should carry your family’s lineage. It would be a strategic decision.

You sat down at an empty table set with dishware and glass goblets already prepared with water for when dinner began. You took a sip and held the cup in your hand, thumb rubbing against the rim. The thought repeatedly raced through your mind – that everyone in this room viewed you as something to be achieved. Any vague notions of romance or courtly love you had ever indulged yourself to dream of firmly vanished. You thought you had accepted this as fact. But now, any semblance of your future appeared to be bleak and lonely. There was a popping sound and a sharp pain in your thumb. You looked down to find you had pressed too hard on the cup, and a piece had broken off, the sharp edge injuring your finger. A small stream of red dripped onto the table. It was a minor cut, but it still hurt. A perfect way to sum up the evening.

You heard footsteps behind you and had half a mind to whip around and shove your bloody thumb in the face of whoever was coming to ask you to dance. But someone grabbed your wrist, and suddenly, Rory’s face was only inches from your own, inspecting your hand.

“Why’re you smashing cups?” he said, annoyed.

“I…it’s not smashed.”

He sighed. “At least the cut isn’t bad.” Rory dragged your chair out and pulled you up. His hand met the small of your back, just like you’d imagined, to guide you through the outer edge of the room. He kept you to his left, as if to shield you from the crowd on his right and brought you to an empty sitting room, where he lowered you into a chair.

“Wait here.” Rory left the room without even looking at you. The music from the ballroom lulled through the wall. Being alone with him right now was only going to make it worse.

When he returned holding a small pouch, he knelt down before you. “Hand,” he said.

You offered it forth and he went to work cleaning the wound with supplies from the pouch. His fingers worked nimbly, his touch soothing to you.

“It’s just a minor cut,” you said. “It’ll stop bleeding on its own.”

“It could still get infected. What were you trying to do in the first place?”

“I was just…thinking.” You didn’t exactly want to tell him what you were thinking about.

“Thinking? Must’ve been some thoughts to put your thumb through a glass.”

You didn’t respond, and he didn’t ask any further questions. With his focus on your hand, your eyes freely searched his face – the rosy complexion to his skin, green eyes reflecting low light, lightly freckled nose. The more subdued expression he wore now was difficult to read. Besides the obvious emotions he usually displayed, there were times like this where you could barely tell what was going on his mind.

“…Staring at me?” he mumbled.

You quickly adjusted your gaze to the fireplace beyond, but soon your eyes roamed back to him, this time to his hair. Tousled and soft looking. It wasn’t the first time you had wanted to know what it felt like. How would he react if you ran your fingers through it? Would he say you were acting stupid or recoil from your touch? Would the only person in the entire palace you wanted…want you back? You had never touched a man like that before. This might be your last chance to with someone your heart chose, and not one of the men you’d be forced with. And you not only wanted to know what he would do – you needed to know.

Your stomach flurried as you raised the hand not being tended to and slowly threaded it through his hair. It was soft, light. Rory stopped wrapping a small bandage around your thumb and tensed. You wondered if he could hear your heart beating. His eyes drifted up to meet yours.

“What are you doing?”

His tone wasn’t particularly happy. Your hand fell, the illusion shattered. This wasn’t the reaction you had hoped for. He didn’t want you, and there was really no explaining what you just did, besides telling him you had a moment of weakness and suddenly wanted to longingly stroke his hair.

He waited for your answer. Your throat tightened. All that came now were tears. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to see his face. Truly, what were you thinking? You knew what your destiny was to be long before this night. And now, you’d completely embarrassed yourself.

Your name was spoken in a soft whisper, followed by the feeling of a warm hand on your cheek. “Tell me what’s wrong. Why are you crying? Did one of them do something to you? Say something?” Your eyelashes fluttered open to meet his intense gaze as he wiped away your tears with his thumb.

“No.”

“What happened?”

“Does it bother you to see them with me?” you said quietly, unable to stop the words. “Do you wish it was you?”

He stared at you for a moment as you anticipated his response, then he looked away as his hand dropped from your cheek. “…I can’t answer that.”

Your tears freely spilled. “Rory…” There had to be something there. He avoided your gaze, and you still couldn’t read his face. “Please.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Then why did you bring me to this room over a small injury? Why not treat me in the ballroom?”

He was quiet for a while. The silence grew the tension, cut only by your sniffles.

“It bothers me,” he said finally, his words barely audible.

“What does?”

“You…dancing with them.”

So it did.

“Why?”

Rory turned away from you, but not enough to hide his dark expression. “Why do you think?”

A bittersweet feeling churned in your heart. You hadn’t imagined it. Everything melted away, and the only thing you could see now in the room was him, like a dream.

“Then let it be you.”

He looked at you, processing what you were saying. Your words hung in the air. It was up to him, now.

“Is that what you want?” he said.

“It’s what I’ve been wanting.” Your pulse beat even quicker.

Rory took a deep breath. You could tell he was battling himself over what he should do. Or was he nervous?

“It’s what I want, Rory. I want you.” You had to tell him before it was too late.

He rose from his kneeled position and lightly pushed your shoulder to the back of the chair so he was hovering above you. Rory’s cheeks were tinged with red as his fingers graced your jaw and lifted your chin. His lips met yours. He kissed you deeply and lingered there, turning seconds into what felt like minutes.

He pulled away, and you immediately missed him. His flushed face matched the heat on your own as his eyes pierced yours.

“Again,” you said breathlessly.

Rory acquiesced.

No matter what happened after tonight, in this moment, you were his, and he was yours.

[ellegreenwxy]

memories

a super short little thing i wrote inspired by @fujiihime 's post x

(this is a little precursor to the drabble but also isn't necessary to read before!)

I wanna put you in the past 'cause I'm traumatized

She cut him out completely after that morning.

It took months for her to bandage herself up well enough that she could start to move on past the betrayal. The betrayal of not just being cheated on, but the betrayal of losing her best friend in the process. Years of friendship had flooded down the drain with that single text message, the very text message that had quite literally tilted her entire world on its axis. She had other friends, of course. Cassie wasn’t the only person in her life but she’d been there perhaps the longest. 

Maybe that was why it hurt so badly, that their years-long friendship had disintegrated over the course of a single evening because Cassie cared more about having something she couldn’t than she did her own best friend. The entire incident had hurt her pride so deeply she hadn’t imagined it was even possible. Something about knowing you weren’t good enough for the person you loved, that they could never be satisfied with just having you, that they needed your best friend, too. It stung like a thousand papercuts and it was going to take a hell of a lot of bandages to make it better.

But it did get better.

Slowly, but surely, it got better. She found herself thinking about him less and less. And when she did think about him, it hurt but it wasn’t debilitating. Not the way it had been in the beginning. 

In the beginning, it had been almost impossible to just exist. 

She didn’t date. There were plenty of nice guys her friends tried to introduce her to, plenty of men she met on set at work, but she couldn’t find it in her to pursue anything with them. Even though she’d mostly banadaged herself up, there were times when those old cuts would start to sting. Reminders of her ruined pride. Reminders that she wasn’t good enough. Reminders, reminders, reminders.

Nearly a year had passed since that morning when she got that call from one of the producers of Love Island. It felt a little absurd, this idea of going onto a reality television show where the sole purpose is to date a bunch of people when she’d spent a year avoiding dating at all costs. But maybe she needed this? No one said she had to fall in love. Maybe she just went in and had a laugh.

So, she applied. She got on. She packed her bags and made her way to the Spanish countryside. And standing in front of the Villa, the sun on her face, she thought that maybe, just maybe, all of her cuts had finally healed.

But you show up today, just to ruin things

And then she saw him and it was like someone had ripped all of her bandages off of her skin, baring her wounds for the world to see. Baring more skin for him to cut into again. It felt like a cruel joke from the universe, that after a year of cleaning up the mess he’d made, she was back to feeling as broken as she had that morning when she stood in his living room and told him they were over. 

So, she did what she did best.

She pretended.

She pretended as if being there in the room with him didn’t shake her to her very core. As if knowing that he’d applied for a dating show didn’t make her want to die. As if everything was fine even though it was far from it. As if she didn’t care that he was standing there, telling her he was there for her and her only which she knew was a load of bullshit because he wouldn’t need to be there for her if he hadn’t fucking cheated.

I wish that you would stay in my memories

[fangirlandtheories]

oo! sent in an ask earlier but had another idea🤣

Steve still healing from his wounds/events of fighting vecna has been putting off taking care of himself (eating, sleeping, pushing himself too hard) and Eddie decides enough is enough and takes Stevie out somewhere private so he can 1. Keep close eye on him, 2. Just recover in peace

Hello my love!!! Thanks so much for your request, sincerest apologies that it took so long to get here 😂 I hope you enjoy! Story linked and below the cut!

Max had a hard life. It wasn’t an opinion, but a fact. She knew, even without the piteous glances in her direction, that people worried about her. Ms. Kelly told her it was because they cared. She wasn’t wrong, Max supposed as she caught Dustin’s eyes on her for the fourth time that day. 

She was far too poor and proud to go to therapy, so the guidance counselor was the closest she would get, and even that felt like a bit much. It wasn’t that she didn’t want help, moreover, she didn’t really feel like she needed it. She survived, like she always did, why should she act like a part of her died in the mall when everyone else seemed to be fine. She hadn’t been the one to lose her powers, like El, or be tortured like Steve and Robin, or die like- She breathed deeply, catching herself in a loop of negative thoughts. That was another thing she learned from Ms. Kelly: How to recognize a spiral and how to correct it. It was actually quite useful, not that she’d admit it. 

“Should is a very damaging word, Max, if you are thinking that you ‘should have done something different’ or ‘should feel a certain way’ it’s time to reevaluate your thoughts. Try things like ‘I will…’ or ‘I wish..’ or ‘I can..’ instead.”  She remembered rolling her eyes at the soft spoken woman and thinking “Fine, I wish I died instead.” Not that she’d ever reveal something so personal to anyone. Now, she was regretting the eyeroll, finding the advice actually helpful now that she had lived through Vecna’s attack. It wasn’t a miracle cure, but it helped.

The chaos threw her out of her thoughts, as cries for ‘proper music’ from Robin infiltrated her brain, instead. She peered through the gate in the ceiling, seeing the white in Nancy’s eyes, and she felt the panic that she could see in Steve. He looked up at her with pleading eyes, but said nothing. As she went to pull off her headphones, ready to toss the walkman into the portal, Steve gave her a harsh shake of the head. He looked rough, she noticed.

“Max, put those on, I can’t worry about both of you right now.” He yelled, arms still surrounding Nancy, giving her gentle shakes. She would’ve fought him during any other circumstance, but the wild look in his eyes was a shock to her system. She’d known Steve for years, at this point, and through all the shit they’d been through, he’d never let it show when something was wrong, but now, in that moment, the fear was evident and enough to make Max feel equally afraid. So, she did what she was told and slipped the headphones over her ears, allowing the voice of Kate Bush to calm her.

 Around her, she could see the bustling of Dustin and Lucas, searching through Eddie’s albums, she smiled at the irritation on Eddie’s face as he held a cassette in front of Robin, shouting something that Max couldn’t hear over the music. She knew smiling during a crisis like this wasn’t appropriate, but it was just so like them, this weird little family, to be on the brink of collapse because of something as minute as having the wrong music playing. It took her back to the backseat of Steve’s car, the arguments over which station to listen to being the biggest concern. Everything always went in a big circle.

***

Shockingly, everything hadn’t gone to shit. Not yet, at least.

Something Max might not have known, was that Eddie had also spoken to Ms. Kelly many times. He had been harshly bullied from the moment he showed interest in nerd culture, but it got a lot worse when he showed interest in men. So yeah, he’d found himself in those chairs, you know, the ones made to be comfortable enough to make you feel like spilling all your vulnerable little secrets to an adult who pretended to care about you until the bell rang at the end of the day. Ms. Kelly was one of the better ones, he’d admit begrudgingly, never having looked at him with judgment in those carefully crafted gazes. Between her help and the support of his Uncle Wayne, Eddie had actually learned how to detect the signs of someone in need of help, just like him. In fact, it was something he prided himself on, his ability to find the lost sheep and add them to his herd. That being said, it took him far too long to notice that Steve was slipping.

Steve had let them crash at his house, citing that the rest of the world still saw him as King Steve, even though they all knew he was a loser like them, and that no one would suspect them to be there. He’d corralled them all into the foyer, the hardwood floors quickly coated in a sheen of dust, with a sigh. It was clear that he didn’t love having them in his secret lair, but he didn’t have any other choice. Eddie looked around, and it struck him how little he actually knew about Steve.

Not one photo. There wasn’t a single photo of Steve, at any age, on the wall. To be fair, there was only one of his parents, the famous Harringtons, and it was from their wedding day. It was small and it sat, perfectly angled, on a shelf collecting dust. The entire home had a very… metallic… feeling to it. Normally when he described things as metal, it was the best compliment he could give, but now, as he looked at the gray walls and white furniture, the cold breeze that came with the home no matter how high the heat was set, he couldn’t think of any other adjectives. 

Was this the cost of money? To have a huge home filled with the very best, which for Eddie included Steve, but to have no life. He had grown up in a trailer, he ate canned food from the 15 cent store regularly, the small tv a huge luxury for he and his uncle, and yet… it felt like a home, and not just because it was a home to him, but because you could see signs of life. The collection of mismatching mugs from the different states his uncle had traveled to, back when he was truck driver, overflowing ashtrays, hell, even the box of condoms on Eddie’s bedside table. Steve’s home was a morgue, and Steve was the body, left alone to rot.

“Hey nosy,” Eddie jumped at the annoyed, yet playful tone. “Wanna help me?” Steve was looking at him, hands ever present on his hips, with a smirk on his lips. He was still in the vest, Eddie hated admitting it but it looked way better on the broad shoulders of an athlete, with Nancy’s makeshift bandage around his midsection. Odd. He should have changed by now, especially with it being his house, Eddie couldn’t help thinking.

“Uh yeah,” He looked into Steve’s golden brown eyes. “I mean I’m not well trained in the art, but I could probably figure it out.” He reached out a hand to Steve’s bandage, but it was swatted away quickly.

“Wha- no…” Steve’s eyes squinted in confusion. “I need help getting my parent’s mattress down here… for the girls… you know, to sleep on…” He was staring at Eddie’s bewildered expression before he sighed. “Did you hit your head or something on the fall, because I can just ask Lucas…”

“No!” Eddie almost shouted. “No, I just thought…” He trailed off before gesturing to the steps. “It doesn’t matter, lead me to bed. To your parents' bed! For carrying not like-”

“Hey, Eddie.” Steve shushed him as he began walking up the stairs. “I know what you meant. Relax.”

“Sorry, I, much like Robin, ramble when I’m nervous.” Eddie followed, hot on Steve’s trail, before almost colliding with his back as the man stopped suddenly.

“Why are you nervous?” 

“Dude, I’m in the house of the ex best friend of the guy who used to pummel me for so much as breathing in his direction, having just discovered that monsters exist , watching a girl die in front of me, being accused of murder, going on the run to my dealers place, and fighting a bunch of demon bats, cut me a little slack here.” He gestured wildly, breathing heavily, as he barely missed the frown on Steve’s face. Barely. “No offense man, but your house is more of a crypt than mine, and someone literally died in mine.”

“Yeah…” Steve sighed, before trudging up the last few steps, footsteps closer to stomps. “Mine too.” He hissed. Well shit. 

“Steve-” Eddie genuinely felt bad. How was he supposed to know someone had died in the house?

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Just like…” He turned to face him. “I know I was friends with Tommy and that he was a real ass to you and I really didn’t do anything about it, for that I’m sorry, but I’m not that guy anymore. I know it’s unbelievable, given that I’m such a fucking dumbass, but I’m really trying to put the past behind me.”

Well that certainly silenced Eddie. He looked deeply at Steve’s face, looking for a sign of lies, something he could desperately hold onto so that at least something would be normal, but all he saw was the dirt covered, sweaty face of Steve Harrington.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie sighed. “I spent so long worrying about the cover of my own book, that I guess I forgot I wasn’t immune to judging the covers of other peoples. Truce?” He held out a hand to Steve. Steve rolled his eyes, with a smirk, and shook his hand, before leading them to a closed door.

“My parents room.” He explained, glancing behind him as he twisted the handle. It was almost like he expected someone to say something about going into the room, but, Eddie decided, that was something he would have to mull over later. “It’s a king, so it’ll be heavy, fair warning.” With a grunt, they lifted said mattress. It was heavy. Eddie couldn’t help but notice the pale sheen that Steve’s face had become.

“You good?” His expression was one of indifference, but his tone gave away his concern.

“I’m fine.” Steve’s voice was pinched with pain. “Just thinking about the fucking stairs.”

***

Eventually, through a lot of effort, they got the mattress down to the first floor of the Harrington home. Eddie and Steve stood panting at the top of the steps, peering down at the bed that sat at the bottom of the steps. 

“Well..” Eddie nodded to it. “At least it’s down there.”

“My parents are going to fucking murder me.” Steve shook his head. Maybe shoving the mattress down the stairs wasn’t the best decision, but his body was grateful for it. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, feeling the tangles from the sweat and dirt. He took a deep breath, side screaming in agony, and began the walk down the 13 steps. 

When they made it to the bottom they dragged the bed into the living room, where the couches were set up for Dustin and Lucas. Eddie would be crashing in the guest room, it was decided, as Nancy and Max were sharing the walkman, just in case and Lucas insisted on keeping an eye on both Max and his younger sister, despite both of their annoyed protests. Robin had already fallen asleep in the armchair, curled into the armrest, snoring gently with her hands gripping the blanket that Steve had tossed over her. So, yes, Eddie got the guest room.

“Damn.” Steve sighed, checking his watch. “Nobody delivers this late.” He stood, wavering slightly at the change in position. “Is everybody cool with grilled cheese?” Hearing no protests, which was a testament to how tired everyone was, he headed to the kitchen, Eddie following closely.

“Hey…” He called gently, as Steve leaned heavily on the fridge door, acting like he was looking for the cheese. “Someone should probably look at those.” He gestured to the bandage around Steve’s stomach. Fuck,he forgot to get changed while he was upstairs. Steve’s mind dizzily thought of the walk up the steps, exhaustion deep in his bones.

“I’ll do it later,” He grabbed the cheese, finding it behind a pack of soda. “I want to shower first anyways.” Eddie nodded, but he didn’t feel super satisfied with the answer. “Speaking of, there is a shower down the hall, if you feel like it.” God did he feel like it. 

“Are you sure?” He fiddled with the edge of his shirt. “I don’t mind helping you feed the crew first.”

“Dude, it’s grilled cheese.” Steve deadpanned. “I’ll manage.”

“Only if you’re sure.” He smiled, clapping Steve’s shoulder. He didn’t notice the wince. “What would your parents think if they knew you were harboring a wanted murderer?”

“They wouldn’t.” Steve rolled his eyes, turning the knob of the burner on his stove. “Think that is. They wouldn’t know, they’re never home.” He sighed. Why did he say that? That was a bit too close to home to be revealing so quickly, but something about Eddie was trustworthy.

“Shit…” He could tell from Eddie’s expression that he had no idea what to say. “That sucks man.” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“It’s fine. It’s better than having them here.” Steve gave a humorless smile, before gesturing to the hall. “Two doors down, there’s towels in the closet.” Then he went back to buttering slices of bread as if the conversation had never occured.

***

Showering was blissful, despite taking a few times to figure out the knobs. He wasn’t dirty by any means, but Eddie wasn’t one who reveled in personal hygiene. Now, he understood. He smelled like mango, the body wash a bright orange gel, and his hair felt silky. His usually frizzy waves were curling up in the dampness. Even the towel felt luxurious, soft against his pale, goosebumped skin. 

He found a stack of pajamas outside the door and, smiling to himself, he got changed. Steve had definitely picked out the tweety bird pajama pants on purpose, and the shirt! The shirt was dark blue, simple cotton, but it was huge on Eddie’s thin frame, hanging off of him. The look was completed with a pair of warm, gray and white striped socks. He was positively cozy. He padded out of the bathroom, and found a grilled cheese sandwich waiting for him on the counter. This was the life. He grabbed the plate, wandering into the living room, where he found Steve sitting on the floor, back against the couch, completely zoned out. Dustin and Lucas were watching some movie with drowsy, heavy eyes, and the girls had dozed off on the mattress.

“Hey…” He snapped his fingers close to Steve’s cheek, making him flinch. “You’re not getting hit by Vecna right?”

“No man, just thinking.” Steve blinked a few times, before fully taking in the sight of Eddie Munson in his pajamas. “I see you found the clothes.”

“You know,” Eddie smirked as he stood, posing. “It’s not my usual style, but I can make anything work. It’s all in the confidence, darling.” His faux british accent elicited a small laugh from Steve. “This sandwich is fucking orgasmic Harrington, what kind of rich people cheese is this? Wait no, don’t tell me… Is it gouda? No… havarti? This isn’t provolone is it?” He was staring down at the sandwich as he took big bites.

“It’s cheddar…” Steve reached beside him, picking up a plate holding a sandwich with 4 bites taken out of it. “I already had one, do you want the rest of this one? I know you’ve been living on expired spaghettios and cereal like you’re praying for botulism.”

“Hell yeah!” He snatched the plate from Steve, licking the grease from his fingers. Steve grimaced as he ran a hand through his hair. “Hey man, I can hold down the fort here if you wanna go shower and change.”

“Well-” Steve began to protest.

“Nope, get outta here.” He gently  pulled Steve into a standing position. “You stink dude, it’s definitely keeping the boys awake.” He made a face at Dustin and Lucas who laughed in response. Steve huffed, but agreed, finally allowing himself a reprieve from the day's events.

***

Steve could, thankfully, still recall all of his previous injuries, despite the head trauma. He had a mental ranking, Jonathan beating him up fairly low, Russian’s higher, and Billy at the top. Billy had rendered him unconscious, something no one else had done yet. The bats were somewhere between the Russians and Billy. Showering though, that was up there, hand in hand, with Billy.

He staggered into the bathroom, facade dropping in the solitude, and pulled off Eddie’s vest. He took a deep, shaky breath as he began to unpeel the ‘bandage’ wrapped around his stomach. It kept sticking to the dried blood, pulling at the wounds as he pulled at the fabric. The smell of iron filled the bathroom as the release of pressure allowed the wound to begin bleeding sluggishly. He gripped the edges of the porcelain sink, groaning in pain, as he looked at himself in the mirror.

Pull yourself together. There’s no time for this.

The voice in his head sounded suspiciously like a mix of his own and his father’s. His knees felt weak as he held himself up, but he had to toughen up. He had a house full of people that were counting on him. He pushed himself off the sink, ignoring the swimming in his head, and turned on his shower, waiting for it to get to temperature before climbing in.

The bliss of the water running through his hair almost outweighed the sheer agony of the water hitting his stomach. The water was a ruddy orange as it swirled down the drain, his feet making dirty, wet prints on the floor of the shower. He gasped, leaning heavily against the wall as the heat infiltrated his wounds, nearly biting his lip to keep from vocalizing his pain. He finished relatively quickly, not even using conditioner, before shutting off the water. As he went to climb out, he stumbled back, catching himself on the wall. The steam was making him woozy. His stomach rolled, and he knew he was going to throw up, so he raced to the toilet, as quickly as his body would allow him to. It was mainly dry heaving, a reminder of his lie to Eddie about the grilled cheese, but the force had tears flowing down his cheeks. Finally, when the retching and cramping stopped he stayed crouched, desperately trying to catch his breath, when he heard a soft knock.

“Hey, it’s Eddie.” The voice on the other side was muffled, but Steve could hear the exhaustion. “I’m going to knock off, the kids are all passed out and I made sure the doors were all locked, okay? Sleep well!” A small smile pasted itself to Steve’s face, happy to finally have another babysitter in the crew.

 He pulled on his pajamas, a simple black tee shirt and gray sweats, and made his way back downstairs, ignoring the way the steps swam in his vision. He grabbed a roll of bandages off the table and began wrapping it around his stomach tightly, hoping to staunch the blood flow. It wasn’t perfect, but it would hold up. Then he went into the foyer and grabbed his trusty bat from the closet and sat facing the door until time had no meaning.

***

Eddie believed in the gray area with many things, but sleep wasn’t one of them. He either slept like a rock or like a spoon, as his uncle would say, because he stirred easily. It seemed that today, it would be the latter. He sat up, stretching out his stiff muscles, the sky outside the window was in the inbetween of morning and night, slivers of orange peeking through the inky darkness. With a yawn, he trudged his way into the living room, smirking at the snores of one Robin Buckley, before hearing shuffling in the kitchen. Turning the corner, he found Steve leaning heavily into the countertop watching the coffee pot drip.

“Hey…” He whispered, making the other man jump. “God, coffee sounds incredible.” Steve stared at him blankly for a few minutes before nodding gently and grabbing another mug from the cabinet. Like the rest of the house, it was a simple white porcelain mug.

“Did you sleep okay?” Steve’s voice was gravely and weak, something Eddie would’ve normally found incredibly sexy, but something wasn’t right. Something about the way Steve carried himself was…off.

“Yeah, those sheets are fucking ridiculous.” Eddie laughed, stepping closer to take a better look at the man in front of him. He had deep circles under bloodshot eyes, so he could guess the answer to his own next question. “You?”

“As good as it gets.” Steve gave a weak smile before turning to the stove. “Is there something you want to eat for breakfast? I don’t really have much in the house, but I’m sure I can figure something out…”

“Actually, I’m known to make a mean omelet, if you have the eggs.” Eddie knew Steve would protest against him cooking, but the man did not look good and Eddie was eager to get him off his feet. “Before you argue, I kinda feel like I owe you guys for keeping me alive and out of sight, so the least I can do is handle breakfast.”

“Fine.” Steve sighed, trying not to look too relieved. His head was swimming and staying upright didn’t feel entirely possible at the moment, not that he’d admit it. He sat at the island barstool, letting out a deep sigh that was very nearly a hiss.

“Perfect.” Eddie flicked his hair with a smile. “You just sit there looking all pretty, and let me do all the work.” He thought back to his hanky, before shaking the thought from his head. Plus this was part one of his plan, and from Steve’s sputtering, it was working. “So big boy, let’s start with those bandages, hmm.” Steve’s arms clenched to his sides at the mention.

“No, they’re okay.” Steve’s face was pale. “I changed them a few hours ago.”

“Steve…” Eddie raised his brows, giving him a sharp look.

“Look, you can change them later, I just don’t want to waste the supplies.” Steve sighed. “Besides, they really don’t hurt.” Eddie’s face twitched.

“Was it bothering you before? I mean I know it’s not going to feel great, but was it really painful?” His eyes were soft, but full of concern, even as he grabbed the carton of eggs from the fridge.

“It-” Steve breathed, picking his words carefully. “It hurt more than I expected, but once I took care of them, it was fine.” Not exactly a lie because once he took care of them, the pressure from the bandages actually dulled and eventually numbed the pain.

“Well shit man…” Eddie turned to look at him as he cracked an egg into a bowl. “You played the pain off well.” Steve took it as a compliment, but Eddie didn’t mean it as one. Soon the smell of eggs filled the home, giving everyone something pleasant to wake up to.

***

Planning began at the breakfast table, and lasted long after the omelets had been eaten. Everyone had been tossing around ideas, most of which being answered with arguments and complaints. Steve’s head was pounding and he was feeling particularly lightheaded, but it could’ve been the lack of real food. He had picked at the omelet before throwing it away at the right moment that no one was watching. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to eat, but the smell was enough to make him want to gag. Everyone else seemed to give full compliments to the chef, so he had to trust that it wasn’t a side effect of Eddie’s cooking, but rather one from his throbbing abdomen, numbness ebbing towards the center.

“Steve, what do you think?” Nancy's eyes flicked to his as he shook himself out of his own brain.They had a system in place, a democracy of sorts, they each got a vote on whether a plan seemed feasible or safe enough and could veto until the majority eventually won, but in order for it to work everyone’s input was necessary. They’d been discussing for several hours at this point, but no solution had given them the confidence of success.

“U-um…” Steve glanced around with heavy lidded, bright eyes, as though he hadn’t been expecting to be spoken to. He’d caught Eddie’s gaze several times, each glance growing in concern as the paleness of his face increased, but he tried to ignore it. They had bigger fish to fry.

“Steve,” Nancy sighed. “This is why you were supposed to go to sleep last night instead of playing hero like you always do.”

“Wait, did you not sleep?” Eddie gasped, finally understanding the intense dark circles under Steve’s eyes. He had suspected that he’d had nightmares that plagued him, as all of them had, but avoiding sleep was a whole different ball game.

“Well-” Steve stuttered, the intensity of the stares facing him were stealing his voice.

“No, he didn’t. Don’t even think about lying.” Nancy continued her scolding with a glare. “He sat in the fucking foyer with his bat waiting for someone to knock the door down, like an idiot.”

“Yeah it’s really goddamn stupid how I’m on edge after 3 years of this, Nance.” Steve growled as he pushed himself away from the table. Eddie met Robin’s eyes, a silent agreement between them, and stood up, following Steve.

***

“Hey, Steve.” Eddie called after him as he stormed outside. “Steve!” He grabbed his arm, letting go in shock as he felt the heat rolling off of him. Steve’s eyes widened as he jumped back.

“Jesus Eddie, read the room. Fuck off for a bit.” He muttered, walking briskly, but unsteadily, towards his pool.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Eddie refused the bait. He had been dealing with emotionally stunted jocks his entire life and if there was something he knew for certain, it was that they lashed out if things got to be too revealing. “You’re not doing well, we can help.”

“I’m doing fine.” Steve insisted.

“Steve!” Eddie grabbed his shoulder firmly, turning him around and pushing him into one of the lounge chairs. “You have a fucking fever and you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. You’re far from fine. Why are you so insistent on doing this alone?”

“Because that’s what I do Eddie.” Steve didn’t have the strength to pull himself from Eddie’s grip, and it was clear the other man knew. “People rely on me, I can’t just be unavailable.”

“We all rely on each other.” Eddie sighed as he reached for Steve’s shirt. “Now take off your shirt, princess.” Reluctantly, Steve pulled up the edges of his black shirt, meeting some resistance as it stuck to the soaked through bandages that Steve could see now, were definitely way too tight. “Fucking hell!” Eddie launched himself backwards in disgust.

“I’ll take care of it.” Steve quickly pulled the shirt back down, trying to pull himself into a standing position, only to see spots in his vision. Eddie lowered him back onto the seat, noticing how his hands were shaking.

“Shit, I didn’t-'' Eddie's voice wavered. “I didn’t mean to sound like that, it’s just… they’re really bad. They look infected, which would explain the fever.” He made a pretty fair point, they didn’t look good. The bites had turned to a putrid black, dripping pus and blood from the deep gnash marks. Definitely infected. 

“Hey Steve!” A voice called from the doorway. “Can you-” Erica stepped closer, lips curling back in disgust as she took in the wounds. “Gross…”

“Erica, was there something you actually needed or…” Steve’s voice was thready, the pain from having the tight bandages removed. The blood began slowly dripping out of the bite marks upon the pressure being released. 

“Right!” She looked back at his eyes. “Can you drive Lucas and I home? Our mom is going to kill us for what we did to the police cruiser and I would like to minimize the damage as much as possible.”

“Uh-sure just give me a-” Steve winced as Eddie’s hands stilled.

“Okay, nerd boy.” Erica rolled her eyes. “Nancy needs you to take Dustin too. She’s going to try to get in contact with Jonathan to see if El’s having any issues, so hurry up.”

“Un fucking believeable.” Eddie’s tone was a rare angry one as he whipped a glare at the young girl. “Erica, go back in the house and talk to Nancy, she can drive your asses since Robin can’t and we’re a little fucking busy, if you’d care to notice.”

“But-”

“Go.” His voice sent shivers down Steve’s spine. Maybe that was the fever. It was all getting a little fuzzy around the edges, so it was hard to figure out. Erica scurried inside with an annoyed huff. “Alright Stevie, I kinda get it now.”

“Wha’?” When did his voice start slurring? Eddie winced, placing a hand on his forehead and frowning at the increased temperature.

“Shit man, you’re burning up, we need to get you cleaned up.” He pulled Steve up gently, supporting his weight. “How is it that they want you to take care of yourself when the minute you try to, they all interrupt?” He muttered angrily.

Steve’s head was spinning as Eddie helped him lean against a wall, opening the door for him. They both stared at the steps, not looking forward to figuring out the trip up. “Stay here Cinderella.” Eddie booped his nose, setting him on the bottom stair. Steve could feel his heartbeat roaring in his ears, as he looked up at the chandelier above him. He heard words being exchanged in the kitchen, but it all faded into a sort of muted swirl of warmth and light, the crystals hanging from the chandelier reflecting prisms on the wall, keeping his eyes distracted. He felt a gentle hand on his chin, tilting his head forward until he made eye contact with two sets of concerned brown eyes.

“Holy-” Robin gasped, grabbing Eddie’s arm. “Ok!” She breathed, assessing the situation. “He has a first aid kit in the bathroom upstairs, attached to his bedroom.”

Eddie nodded as he held Steve’s chin, watching the man’s unfocused eyes as they roamed the room. “Ok, upsy daisy Stevie.” Just as they pulled him into a vertical position, his knees gave out and he slumped forward, unconscious.

***

Steve came to with a shout and a swear as Eddie ran an alcohol soaked rag over his wounds. The pain was immeasurable, knocking Billy down a peg instantly. 

“Sorry sorry sorry.” Eddie winced, wiping quickly, relieved to see Steve’s eyes open again. “You, my friend, are not okay.” Steve gasped, trying to catch his breath.

“Do whatever you have to do.” The words sounded like they were ripped from his throat. It was silent for a moment, before Eddie’s slight giggle broke the silence.

“Fucking James Bond over here.” He smirked, soaking the rag again. He raised an eyebrow at Steve, “Do whatever you have to.” 

“Shut up man.” Steve smiled, blood on his teeth. “Come on, just get it over with.”

“You sure know how to charm a lady.” Eddie gave a wink before he dabbed at a deep bite, eliciting a pained whine from the injured man. “Shit, I know, I’m sorry.” He rubbed Steve’s sweaty back, hoping to bring some comfort through the haze of pain. He frowned as the towel soaked through with blood. “Alright, I really hate to say this but-”

“Stitches.” Steve’s finished breathlessly, white spots invading his vision, threatening to take him under again. 

“Yeah…” Eddie scowled, looking through the med kit. He really wished he hadn’t sent Robin and Nancy home, because now he couldn’t run from the problem. If he ran, Steve would just get worse. His only thought was home economics.

***

Stitching someone’s body was nothing like stitching a patch onto a jacket. Steve was an excellent patient, much to Eddie’s delight and dismay, sitting stiffly and silently. He did notice the sharp, but quiet gasp he let out as Eddie stuck him with the needle.

“It’s okay if it hurts, y’know.” Eddie didn’t move his eyes off the bite he was working on. “I’m not going to run around saying ‘Steve was acting like a little bitch, couldn’t handle the pain’ because I know I’d be bawling right now, and I am many things, but I’m not a hypocrite.” When Steve didn’t respond, he spared a glance at the way the man had his eyes squeezed shut tightly. “Come on, you’re making me more nervous. Talk to me buddy.”

“Is that a needle in your hand or are you just happy to see me?” Steve hissed through clenched teeth, earning him a hearty laugh from Eddie.

“And what if it’s both?” Eddie smiled, feeling more relaxed.

“I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.”

“Shit Harrington,” Eddie smiled, pulling the thread tightly. “Let’s play a game.” Steve rolled his head on his shoulder, looking at him with fever bright eyes. “2 truths and a lie?”

“Okay, you go first. I can’t really think right now.” Steve winced.

“Fair enough.” Eddie nodded. “Okay, ummm… I had a shaved head because I got shipped off to military school before I moved in with Wayne, I secretly love Wham, and I’m strictly into women.” He held his breath, giving himself an out.

“Okay well, I actually did know about your stint in military school…” Steve’s eyes met his. “And I found the Wham cassette in your trailer earlier.” He let the silence linger, noticing how Eddie wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Eddie…”

“What Steve?” He paused his stitching. “Are you going to freak out? Because I warn you: I’m holding a needle.”

“I’m not going to freak out, man.” Steve nudged him gently. “It’s cool as long as you’re happy.”

“This is such a bizarro universe.” Eddie smirked, beginning the process again on a new bite. “Your turn bud.”

“I sleep with the light on, I haven’t seen my parents in a month, and I like men and women.” Steve watched as Eddie froze in place.

“That’s not cool, Steve.” Eddie continued stitching, a little less gently this time. “Robin said you’re a bit dense, but fucking mocking me af-”

“4 months.” Steve interrupted.

“What?”

“It’s been 4 months since the last time I saw them.” Eddie’s wide eyes met his quickly. “And you’re the second person I’ve ever told that to.” A tear slipped out of his right eye as his chuckled, Eddie wiping it away gently. “So now that that’s out there…”He trailed off looking at Eddie sheepishly.

“Wait,” Eddie smirked. “Is that how you’re going to ask me out? No wonder you keep striking out.” He laughed, before pulling Steve closer to him, noting the eyeroll. “I’m kidding. Of course I will, but let’s survive this first, okay?” He gestured to the sutures.

“Where did you learn how to do this, anyway?” Steve asked.

“Remember Home Ec, with that ancient witch…” He trailed off snapping the fingers on the hand not holding the needle.

“Mrs. Holden, ugh she was the worst.” Steve groaned. “I’m shocked you passed her class, she hated all the guys.” 

“Oh yeah…” Eddie smirked. “I uh, I actually didn’t…” He trailed off as Steve whipped his head up to him.

“Eddie!”

“Well it’s not bleeding!” He laughed, pulling Steve into a light embrace. “Don’t worry big boy, I’ll take care of you.”

[my-head-is-an-animal]

Problems With The Heart

Greg House x Dr Anna Harding (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 33 - More Important

House was getting back to the way things had been before with a few improvements. Anna got her new equipment and finally managed to release a little pressure on her staff. Wilson told him it was noticeable and that made him happy.

Chase and Taub were back and things were looking up, House was feeling more settled.

He was in the middle of a differential when Anna walked into his office. Everyone went quiet as she looked around the empty space.

‘Dr Harding.’ House nodded. ‘Can we help you this morning?’

‘Oh my God, you’re Dr Harding?’ Park turned to see her. ‘Pleased to meet you, I’m Dr Park, I’m a huge fan.’

Anna was polite, she gave a tight smile and shook Park’s hand.

‘Park.’ Chase hissed. ‘Sit down.’

House rolled his eyes, but watched as Park slowly sat down.

‘Where’s your stuff?’ Anna asked.

‘I’m getting new furniture.’ House said, hoping she would get to the point quickly.

‘Okay.’ Anna nodded. ‘I actually just needed a consult. Can we…?’ She gestured to the other office.

House nodded and followed her into his own office. ‘This isn’t a consult, is it?’ He said, trying to figure out what he could have done to upset her.

‘No, I… I want to know… what has Wilson told you? About what happened while you were away.’ Anna’s eyes were bloodshot.

‘If you’re losing sleep over this, you should have just asked, I’ll tell you anything you wanna know.’ House tried to make her see he was being genuine. ‘Wilson told me you had a tough time in Vegas, you came back, he helped you get clean, you’ve been having episodes again and…’ House decided against what he was going to say and opted for something safer. ‘Four months is good, you look healthy.’

‘That’s not what you were going to say.’ She knew him far too well.

House took a breath. ‘No, it wasn’t.’ He said, really not wanting to tell her what else Wilson said, luckily he didn’t have to.

‘I did miss you.’ She confessed, once again, making his heart stop. ‘But it wasn’t for the right reasons.’

House took a moment to feel his heart beating steadily again. He nodded, accepting everything that she was saying to him.

‘I got a motorcycle.’ She suddenly blurted out. ‘I know why, I pretend I don’t, but… I know why.’ Anna took a small breath, not quite giving him a second to process her words. ‘Also the nurses have a bet on how long it’ll take us to get back together. Obviously it’s not going to happen, but if you fancied screwing with Chase and making some cash, let me know. Might be fun and god knows I need a bit of that.’

House wasn’t exactly sure of what was happening, but he didn’t want to let her leave on bad terms.

‘Sure.’ He nodded. ‘I’m game.’

‘Great.’ She gave a half smile and went to leave.

House just watched her go and felt his world expand to include the doctors sitting in his other office, watching him. He went back through to continue the differential.

‘How long has she worked here?’ Park was still asking about Anna.

‘Long enough.’ House said, before Chase could get there first.

‘And you dated her, right?’ Everyone in the room felt the tension. ‘Sorry, it’s just I studied some of her techniques in med school, I wanted to ask her about them.’

House took a little pity on Park. ‘I’m sure if you catch her on a good day, she’ll be happy to show you whatever you want.’

‘Is today a good day?’

‘No.’ House let his gaze remain on Anna as she took the elevator back up to her own floor. ‘Today is not a good day at all.’

I called Wilson as soon as I was home. He was nice and calming and told me he’d come over if that’s what I needed, but I just needed a conversation.

‘Do you think you can still do your job with him there?’ He asked. I settled on my sofa while we spoke.

‘I think so.’ I sighed. ‘I just wish I didn’t feel the itch to do something I’ll regret.’

‘You feel like using again?’

‘Yeah.’

Wilson breathed deeply. ‘You know I can’t actually stop you from doing anything, but if you feel you might need someone to make sure, I can come over, it’s no problem at all.’

I thought about it. ‘No.’ I said. ‘I need to be able to do this on my own. I can’t just phone you and ask you to hold my hand every time I feel like getting high. I can do this.’

‘I know you can.’ I could hear his smile. ‘You’re better than House at resisting temptation, but there’s never any harm in asking for help. So, you do what you need to do, but know that I’m here if you need me.’

‘Thank you.’ I knew I could count on Wilson for anything.

‘Any time. Now, tell me, did you feel like punching him in the face?’

I chuckled, enjoying the fact that he was able to take my mind off of my anxiety for a while. ‘No, but his new fellow, Park, she reminded me a lot of Masters and I could’ve thrown up.’

‘She admires you, just be nice to her and try not to scare her.’

‘I’m not going to scare her.’

‘You can be pretty intimidating when you want to be.’

‘No, I can’t, what are you talking about?’

‘Come on, Anna, I’ve seen you talking to guys twice your size and they’ve backed down before you. You’re intimidating whether you like it or not.’

I half laughed, adjusting my position. ‘Well, whatever you say.’ I said. ‘I’d better go. I’m exhausted.’

‘Call in late if you can’t sleep, Foreman will understand if you feel you can’t make it in on time.’

‘I’ll be fine. Thanks Wilson.’

‘Of course.’

I hung up the phone and thought about how bad I felt. My whole body was on high alert and I was craving stability while I slept. I’d craved it ever since House left me. I knew what I was missing, but I couldn’t ask him to come back into my life like that. Not again.

House couldn’t have anticipated his patient throwing a stool at the glass and he definitely couldn’t have predicted that Anna would walk by at that exact moment. What he could have predicted, was what she about it, the patient was still upset and Anna, with glass in her face, neck and arms, leapt up to help calm him down before security took over.

The wife was apologetic, but Anna was more interested in making sure the patient was stable before Chase took her to the office to stitch her up. House was only told about it when he arrived in the office and he had to listen to Park ask questions about her heroics.

‘Okay, I think it’s time you all went and figured out why he threw a stool at Dr Harding.’ House said.

‘I’m not done yet.’ Chase said, having only just finished bandaging up her arm.

‘I’ll do it, just make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else.’ House sent his team away and Anna let out a relieved breath.

‘Park is a bit much.’ She said, making him smile a little.

House sat down opposite her and took over in cleaning the cuts on her neck. All the glass had been removed it was just a case of cleaning and bandaging.

‘You okay?’ He asked, unsure what to say.

‘Yeah, it’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll be alright.’ She half smiled. House tried hard not to get caught by her blue eyes.

‘So, how’s the motorcycle?’

Anna put her hand on his and he felt himself stop, memories of her touching him lightly came swimming back to him and made his heart hurt.

‘If you don’t want to do small talk, we don’t have to, but if there’s something else you want to say to me, I’m a big girl, I can handle it.’ Anna’s eyes were clear, she’d slept well the night before and possibly had a good week working.

‘When I was in jail, I thought about you more than anything.’ He admitted. ‘I was stupid to hurt you the way I did and I’m sorry I’ve put you through all this for nothing.’

Anna took a moment before nodding. They spent the next few minutes in silence. House felt a lot of guilt overwhelming him, but Anna seemed to be remarkably calm while he worked.

‘Is there something you’d like to say to me?’ He finally asked, applying a smaller bandage to her jaw. ‘You can yell at me if you want, tell me I’m an ass or trash my office if it’ll help-‘

‘I’m still in love with you.’ She blurted out, inhaling deeply. ‘But I don’t know if this is something I can get back into.’ Anna took another breath. ‘I didn’t want kids until I had those miscarriages, I don’t want kids now, but…’

‘But if you did get pregnant, it might not feel so bad.’ House finished off the sentence for her, nodding. ‘I felt that way too. I only felt that with you.’

‘I don’t know what that means.’

House didn’t quite know how to say it. ‘I’m an ass, I’m a jerk and all the other things people say about me, but I do care about you, you are and have always been more important to me than anyone else. That morning you woke up and there was blood everywhere, I was angry because I was in pain, but I was more angry because I didn’t know how to help you. When I went to rehab, you were the reason I started talking to Dr Nolan and actually tried to fix myself… when I was with Cuddy, I… a few times I was disappointed because I’d open my eyes and it wasn’t you.’ House tried not to provoke things, but Anna always had a way of weakening him. ‘Things were easy with you, they were complicated and frustrating at the best of times, but they were always easy. I always felt like I could do things when you were there.’

Anna just watched him, her eyes were watery and she looked like she was holding on tight to something. ‘Thing is, I think we both know that we’re not going to grow old together, we’re not going to be sitting in our back garden with pensions and a dog watching life go by while we reminisce about the good old days, but you’re right, things are easy with you.’

House nodded, at least she wasn’t yelling or angry.

‘So, what do we do?’ He asked.

Anna shrugged. ‘Whatever we feel like doing?’

He half laughed. ‘Okay.’ He nodded. ‘You wanna get dinner or something?’

‘Sure.’ She smiled and it lifted his heart a little to see her happier than before.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

[hummingbird-of-light]

Semper Meus

(Definitely rated M for adult content!)

Part 41

Khan

This was it. The final date he’d share with Leah McCoy. Now, of course he wouldn’t leave town tomorrow, but Leah had to believe it.

When she had revealed to him some dates ago that he looked very much like her brother-in-law’s ex, he had nearly lost his face. She hadn’t realized it though. A joke about it and the newspapers telling about Khan Singh’s death had fixed everything quite quickly. They hadn’t brought it up again.

So here they were in yet another restaurant. They chatted cheerfully while waiting on the drinks and when Leah brought up the nickname she used for her brother, he couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Well, well… Lenny Boy’s going to have the wedding he deserves.’

“So… when will you leave tomorrow?” Leah asked after taking a sip from her mint julep.

“The plane goes at 3pm,” he answered, then sighed, “even though I wish to stay longer.”

Khan reached over to adjust a strain of Leah’s hair which had fallen into her face. He could see her blush slightly. Oh, she was so ready for this last date.

“Yeah, I’d like that too. But… we have phones. We can always contact each other once we’re back home.”

He smiled. Oh, he seriously doubted that she would want that after what was to come. But he played along.

“Sure thing. And I’ll volunteer for every job in your state.”

Leah nodded.

“Oh, there’s our food coming,” she exclaimed happily. They took their time dining, reflecting on the last week they had shared. They laughed about stories, complimented each other, made jokes.

When they had finished, Leah leaned back in her chair.

“Man, I’m stuffed.”

Alright. That was his chance. Now or never.

“Really now? I for my part,” he reached for her hand and ran his fingers up her naked arm, “could use a dessert.”

Leah chuckled while she grabbed his hand.

“Well then.. I guess we should pay and… you show me what that minibar of your hotel has to offer.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He drove her rental car back to the hotel. It wasn’t too far away, merely ten minutes.

As soon as they got into his room, Leah couldn’t wait anymore. She grabbed him by his shirt and started to press kisses to his lips and neck.

‘Yes, that’s it Leah. Do what you want to do.’

He ran his fingers through her hair, pulling out the hairband while doing so.

Leah pushed him onto the bed before pulling off her dress and shoes. Khan barely had time to unbutton his own shirt before she was on top of him.

He had done everything right. His plan had worked out. And that was all the prove he needed. Leah McCoy had fallen for him.

And he couldn’t wait to tell that bastard of a doctor about the grand finale of this relationship.

Part 42

McCoy

McCoy entered the house through the garage. Scotty was coming from the bedroom as he sat his bag on his desk.

“Mo ghràdh,” Scotty greeted him.

McCoy said nothing but took a step to the engineer and kissed him deeply.

“Been waiting for that all day,” McCoy said as he pulled back.

He smiled at the color rising on Scotty’s cheeks.

“You didn’t start dinner did ya?” he asked.

“Nay,” said Scotty after a moment. “I was getting ready to.”

“Don’t,” McCoy said. “I was thinking since Leah’s out, maybe I’d take you out too darlin’. Maybe come back home for a little dessert after.” He raised an eyebrow at Scotty.

“That… that sounds good,” Scotty managed.

McCoy cupped a hand on his face. “Let me get changed and you decide where we should go.” He leaned in for another kiss.

“Do… do we have to wait for dessert?” he heard Scotty call behind him. McCoy chuckled loudly.

“I don’t suppose we have to,” he said sticking his head out the bedroom door. “Why don’t you get in here and help me outta these work clothes?”

“Yes doctor,” Scotty grinned and quickly made his way to the bedroom.

McCoy handed the keys to Scotty a while later.

“You want to?”

He had been making an effort to get Scotty back to driving, especially after they had returned from Scotland. Short trips to the store or around the neighborhood; Scotty had been making progress. And he loved McCoy’s car. He’d been peeking and poking under the hood for ages. Watching Scotty’s brilliant mechanical mind made McCoy smile.

“Sure love,” Scotty answered as he took the keys.

McCoy slid into the passenger seat and put an arm around Scotty to pull him over for another kiss before he started the car. Scotty chuckled as McCoy settled back in his own seat.

“What are you going to do with your week off?” McCoy asked after they were seated in their favorite Chinese restaurant. He reached across for Scotty’s hand.

“Help Leah with all the last things. Take Mum and Robbie around when they get here. There’s so much they’ll want to see. I…”

Scotty trailed off. McCoy squeezed his hand.

“What?” he asked softly.

“I thought maybe after your parents got here, we could have them all over, for a barbecue or something. Mum and Robbie and Chris; Leah and your parents.”

McCoy could feel the nervous twitch in Scotty’s fingers.

“That’s a great idea. I’m surprised Leah didn’t think of that.”

“Aye.”

“They’ll love you Scotty, don’t worry.” He knew his fiancé was anxious about meeting his parents in person. “Dad looks intimidating, I know, but trust me, he isn’t.”

Scotty nodded.

McCoy drove home. A delicious meal and a beautiful man who loved him across the table and he couldn’t possibly be happier.

“Leah say when she’s coming back?” he asked.

He saw Scotty grin from the corner of his eye.

“Uh yes. Tomorrow most likely.”

“Ugh” McCoy grimaced. “Don’t tell me that!”

Scotty chuckled. “Sorry, her words.”

McCoy shook his head. “Well at least we don’t have to worry about her hearing anything.” He smiled hungrily at Scotty before looking back at the road.

[spilledkauffie]

Newsflash

Pairing: Loki x FemaleTVAWorker!Reader Word Count: 1.5k T/W: just something cute A/N: finding Loki & helping him with the TVA transition

P.s. this is just for fun, I’m not trying to be technically accurate in how said abilities come about. This is just something I’m trying, we’ll see how it goes!

Ch.1 | Ch.2 | Ch.3 | Ch.4 | Ch.5

The TVA was abuzz with agents running hither, thither, and yon to try and find the most recent Variant they had brought in. You’d already heard who it was and that he was giving everyone quite a time with his cooperation, or lack thereof. Walking down the dimly bright hallway, you sidestepped to avoid a team of hunters on their way to a new location. You smiled recognizing a familiar face jogging up to you.

“Have you seen him?” Mobius asked, only mildly frustrated; he never raised his voice, especially at you.

You smirked and shrugged, keeping your hands in your pockets, “I haven’t, but newsflash, I could’ve told you this was going to happen.”

“Yeah, well,” he said through gritted teeth, “it happened,” he added, stepping around you to meet up with a squad. 

Despite being assigned as only an agent, you had a special gift of being able to sense what was going to happen. Of course, the TVA loved it when they felt they could use it, but they also hated it, especially when you suggested something dangerous or out of the question to the authorities, reminding you that: ‘you aren’t a Timekeeper and cannot actually see the future.’ Which was true, you had to admit it as far as you knew your predictions and information was all off feeling, but there was something to be said for your feelings never being never wrong.

Coming to the room the Variant was last seen in, you looked left and right, entering cautiously. Sure enough, you had found exactly what you expected to find, Loki, alone with the Tesseract. On the sound of you closing the door, he startled, looking up and immediately defensive. You stayed where you were, not wanting to give the impression that you were there to intimidate. Loki eyed you up and down, he had to admit you were the most beautiful being he’d seen in a long time. 

“Looks like you found what you were looking for,” you nodded towards the cube at his feet. 

“This- this useless,” he picked up the Tesseract and gestured it around, nonchalantly. 

“Well,” you shrugged, “that depends who you ask, why you want it, and where you are, Loki. Oh, and when you are.”

He shook his head, setting the cube down again, “but here- here infinity stones are used as paperweights,” he tilted his head at you, “honestly, who are you people?”

“We’re the TVA, we-” you began, but stopped when he scoffed and combed his hands through his hair looking away. You bit the inside of your lip, wishing you could tell all, but no doubt you’d be fired for that. Approaching him, he glared at you, he was on the defense and you couldn’t blame him after what Mobius and the TVA had done in such a short time from apprehending him. 

“Have you been to see a doctor?” You asked, observing some bruises and cuts across his face, not from the TVA of course, that was the Avengers’ doing, but it was worth asking.

“What? No, I am fine,” he rolled his eyes, “I don’t need one, if I could use my powers, I could fix it anyway.”

“Fix it? I thought you were fine?” you tilted your head, still standing in front of him. 

He sighed, clearly exhausted, putting his head in his hands. Fingers gripping his raven hair. Approaching calmly, you sat beside him, with the Tesseract situated between the two of you. You looked at its mesmerizing blue glow, it was beautiful as they all were. 

Suddenly Loki lifted his head, soft smile as he looked at you, “Madam,” he began, and you raised your eyebrows, “you seem an intellectual individual, far smarter than any of your coworkers, you are far more beautiful than any,” he took a pause, “I believe there’s been a mistake, and perhaps,” he moved closer to you, making you look down, before back up, well aware of what was happening, “perhaps you could help them to see their mistake.” 

Quirking your lips, unable to deny he was very charming, you tried not to smile. Instead you put on a wince, “I’m sorry, I thought they told you,” you said very gently, making him furrow his brows, you lifted your shoulders, whispering, “magic doesn’t work here.” 

“Oh for-” Loki said exasperated, “that wasn’t magic!”

“No,” you laughed, eyes crinkling with your accompanying smile, “but that was laying it on pretty thick.” 

He exhaled deeply, “it wasn’t all a lie,” he admitted, perking a brow, glancing at the floor.

You stared at his neck for a moment, not in any particular manner, but another smile pulled at the corner of your lips. 

“What?” Loki almost flinched as he asked upon noticing your gaze, still figuring out what the TVA’s intentions were for him kept him on edge. 

“I just noticed you got the collar off,” you looked up to his eyes, gesturing to your own neck with a finger, “most people don’t even try, but it's quite easy, as you’ve found out.”

Loki straightened up, dignity returning, “well… I’m not some animal, I’m a-“

“A god, right,” you nodded, finishing his sentence. Swiftly Loki turned his head to completely face you, confusion was stricken across his expression, but then you smiled again, this time at him, were you mocking him? No, you sounded like you believed him. Why were you smiling? Your presence wasn’t like the rest of the TVA—

You leaned in closer to him, telling him in a whisper, “I never liked the collar either.”

“You- wh-,” he stuttered as you kept eye contact, clearly stuttering was not in his nature, he didn’t like being confused and scared, he didn’t like not having the upper hand, “what you weren’t ‘born behind a desk,’ bred to loyally serve the Timekeepers?”

You quietly laughed at the seriousness in which he used air quotes, shaking your head, “goodness you sound like Miss Minutes.” You met his gaze, “no,” you left it there for a while, he relaxed, dropping his hands. He was actually relieved to hear that you weren’t, and he wanted to hear more. 

“Go on,” he said in almost a question, with ‘please’ attached. 

Sighing, you complied to explain, “once upon a time, I got a little too interested in a Time Stone we had come in.”

“But magic doesn’t work here-“

“No, it doesn’t,” you looked over, meeting his eyes again, you enjoyed looking at them, “I took it from the TVA after they brought me in, I thought it could be my way out, but it backfired,” you quirked your lips, looking down at the ground, “too much pressure on it and. . .it shattered,” you paused blinking, “I was exposed to an energy I can’t explain and it gave me something I can’t explain, but,” you sighed, straightening up, “the TVA found me, reset the timeline, and took me back in for examination.”

“And what- now they hired you?” Loki asked, his tone wasn’t exactly soft, more shocked at their recruiting choices. 

You returned to the present, coming out of your own flashback, “now,” you smiled widely, “I’m of more use to Mobius than he’ll ever admit.”

There was silence, and you let it remain, assuming Loki had a lot to process. 

“Why are you telling me this?” he squinted. 

“Because you have power and potential that could change history, if only you-” 

With a sudden motion the door flung open, and Mobius, wary at first, made his way in. Upon seeing you, he let down his defenses.

“You found him I see,” he put his hands on his hips, a stance that almost made you laugh, at least internally, “didn’t feel the need to tell me?”

“I knew you’d get there eventually,” you nodded. 

“Unbelievable, Newsflash, actually it is believable and that’s the problem-” Mobius muttered to himself as he left to inform others that Loki had been found and detained again. 

“Newsflash?” Loki questioned, looking over at you, you just shrugged, “you sound like quite the handful yourself,” Loki actually smiled at you; you returned the smile, nodding to yourself. 

“Look, Loki,” you started, pressing your palms together, “Mobius has a lot of faith in you, and I know you don’t believe in trust, but we’re about to trust you very much,” you saw he opened his mouth, you waited, eyebrows raised as if asking ‘yes?’ but he silently answered by shaking his head, allowing you to continue, “I know you’ve seen and been through a lot today, I won’t lie, I was confused when I came here too, but this really is bigger than anything you could imagine. We need you,” you furrowed your brows, speaking from your heart, “more than you know.”

“Well, it’s nice to be needed,” He bobbed his head with a smile spreading further on his lips. “I believe you,” he said, soft eyes suddenly looking at you, “I just can’t- believe all. . .this,” he lifted a finger and made a circle, looking around, ”not yet anyway.”

You smiled, throwing him a wink, “give it time.”

[saintshigaraki]

THESE ARE HARD TIMES FOR DREAMERS

title from bones by ms mr

pairing: yandere nanami kento x f!reader

word count: 2.6k

excerpt: You wish you’d studied the stars more, ingrained them so deeply into your psyche that you’d carry the night sky with you, always. 

You wish they’d never been stolen from you in the first place.

a/n: nanami if ur reading this i’m free thursday night. 

tags: yandere, angst, reader is once again full of rage, nanami love what have you done, overuse of the word hate

warnings: yandere tendencies, obsessive and possessive behavior, slight infantilization, noncon/dubcon, gaslighting (?), kidnapping, slight stockholm syndrome, mention of past suicide attempt 

MDNI!

You can’t exactly pinpoint where it all went south. There’s not a specific date that stands out to you when you actively noticed things taking a turn for the worst. It’s like that fable. About the frog slowly being boiled alive. Except, in this case, the frog is you and the boiling water is Nanami. And in this case, this is not some story your mom used to read to you about the dangers of gradual escalation, it’s your life. If you can even call this monotonous hell you’re living a life. 

You’ve got to hand it to him, you really didn’t see it coming. Nanami’s always been smart like that. Even now, after everything, or maybe even especially now, after everything, you can’t deny that. 

You don’t bother moving from where you lay, sprawled out on the floor, when you hear the first click of many locks signaling that your sweet and doting lover has returned. 

You used to try to rush him, or get the jump on him with the heaviest thing you could find. Once you started to get really desperate, you just screamed over his shoulder before he had time to clamp a large hand over your mouth. 

None of it ever worked, of course. 

It was months ago that you decided hopeless escape attempts simply weren’t worth Nanami’s wrath. He’s faster than you, stronger than you, and far bigger. And he always will be. 

When your relationship with Nanami was still somewhat normal (though looking back you can’t help but notice all the things that weren’t normal, you suppose hindsight really can be quite the bitch in that regard) you never really thought too hard about how much stronger he was compared to you. In some ways, it might’ve even been comforting, instead of just horribly depressing. No one could touch you when your hand was tucked in his. 

It hurts more than you’d like to admit that something you once found such solace in, is now what stands between you and any semblance of normalcy and shred of happiness. 

(And fresh air. God, you miss fresh air so much it hurts, a dull never-ceasing ache deep in your chest. You miss the stars too. Sometimes, when you’re laying on the floor like you are now or in the dead of night when it’s all you can do to swallow down your screams, you try to map out constellations on the ceiling. You’re not very good at it though, and the few constellations you actually remember are starting to slip from your memory like water through fingers, no matter how desperately you try to hold onto them.

You wish you’d studied the stars more, ingrained them so deeply into your psyche that you’d carry the night sky with you, always. 

You wish they’d never been stolen from you in the first place.)

It takes Nanami’s slightly disapproving hum to snap you out of your celestial spiraling. 

You tilt your head back, just enough to find he’s towering over you. His mouth set in a grim line. His glasses, jacket, and tie have already been discarded, his shirt rolled up to his forearms. The sight of him like this use to make your cheeks burn. Now, it’s hard to rein in the urge to spit at his feet and hiss out every seething thought you have about him burning below the surface. 

But the lecture you’d receive after a ‘tantrum’ like that wouldn’t be worth it. He always manages to twist your words, your own feelings, sometimes even your very sense of self, until you can hardly tell what’s up and what’s down. Until you can hardly distinguish your reality from his. Until all you can hear is Nanami’s voice in your ear, reminding you of everything you’ll never be. Of just how helpless you are. 

(It’s like his hands are around your throat, choking and choking and choking.)

And once you’re nothing but a sobbing heap on the floor, he’ll pull you into his lap, tuck your face against the curve of his shoulder, and rub soothing circles into your back while saying something along the lines of ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll always be here take care of you’ until your sobs have quieted to the occasional hiccup.

You hate it, how he manages to make you feel so dependent on him. He’s so, so good at knowing just what string to pull so that you’ll unravel completely, just so he can put you back together again with his painstakingly gentle hands. 

Nanami’s smart like that. 

So, you’ve learned to bite your tongue. 

“You’re insistence on laying on the dirty floor when we have a perfectly good couch and bed truly astounds me,” he says, monotone. 

You don’t justify his sarcasm with a response, partly to stall what inevitably will come after this and partly to annoy him. Nanami doesn’t like it when you ignore him. It’s one of the few things you have the power to do that manages to get under his skin. 

It’s these little rebellions, you’ve found, that make all the difference. 

You eye the couch warily, it’s plush and huge. The perfect place for an afternoon nap. Nanami had traded out the smaller one he’d had before, for this one, a few months after you’d started dating. He’d wanted one big enough that you two could comfortably lay together as you slept and he read. You spent countless hours there, tucked into his side, with the setting sun warming your skin. 

It’s also where you had told him that you wanted to end things. That he’d gotten too overbearing, too controlling. That you felt suffocated. That you still loved him dearly, but that you couldn’t do this anymore. It’s where you left him as you walked out with only a single bag in hand. 

That night you went to sleep in some shady motel room and woke up back in Nanami’s bed with a padded handcuff chaining you to the frame. 

These memories from before have a way of coming back to haunt you, they pass through the walls, whispering poison in your ears, caressing your skin one moment just to dig their claws in deep the next. 

They mock you as you sit and rot and dream of stars you’ll never see again. 

“You’re stalling.” He always manages to sound so distinctly unimpressed with you whenever you don’t follow one of his unwritten rules (and God even if you were actively trying to follow them, there are so many that keeping track of them is nothing short of an impossible feat).

You finally get to your feet, wringing your hands in a way that you know makes you look weak and pathetic. Just the way Nanami likes you so that he can swoop in and take such good care of his little darling love. 

“Kento, I-” 

“Save it,” he says, already walking towards the bedroom. 

You could put up a fight, but all that’d do is make him angry, and then you’d have to do what he wanted anyway and deal with being tethered back to the bed for a few days while Nanami fusses over you like some sort of deranged mother hen.

You make your way over to the bedroom, already starting to strip, ready to get this over with as soon as possible. 

You’re half-naked by the time you enter his room. 

Even after months and months of this, the humiliation of standing nearly naked in front of him while he stays fully dressed never dulls, it’s still just as sharp and awful as the first time he made you do it. 

(It’s like you’re peeling back your own skin, defenseless as he rubs salt in the wound.) 

You suppose you should feel lucky that he lets you keep on your bra and underwear. Not that the undergarments he bought you really cover all that much, but in these four walls, beggars can’t exactly be choosers. 

He takes off his watch, setting it carefully onto his dresser before walking over to you and starting his nightly inspection for any cuts or bruises you may have received (or given yourself) throughout the day while he was off at work. Off in the world you’ll never see again. Just the thought is enough to make you want to scream. 

You used to be able to wiggle your way out of this, before the incident, as Nanami has dubbed it, but now it’d be a cold day in hell before he doesn’t painstakingly go over (almost) every inch of your skin with a careful eye and calloused hands. 

His thumb always brushes terribly gently over the scar a few centimeters to the right of one of your jugular veins, where you had attempted to slit your throat after you realized that you would probably never escape this place. Never escape him. 

You’d never seen Nanami as scared as when he walked in on you holding a knife to your throat. And you’d never seen him as angry as after he’d wrenched it from your hand using a type of speed that shouldn’t even be humanly possible. 

He took a full month off work after that which coincidently also happened to be the worst fucking month of your life. 

He cups your face in his large hand and presses a kiss to your temple. A sign that he’s deemed you just as pristine as when he left you and that he’s very pleased by it. 

You want to bite his hand. You want to rip his flesh from the bone. You want to hold his heart in your hand and crush it. 

(You want to go home. You want to feel the earth beneath your bare feet. You want to sit on a roof in your childhood neighborhood and watch the sun dip below the horizon and drown the world in golden light. You want to step out on an autumn day with winter just around the corner and smell the crispness in the air, feel it claw its way into your lungs. 

You want to remember what it’s like to be human.)

Nanami’s lips are on yours before you can think, soft and enticing. You could push him away or just say no. He’d listen. Not even he can apparently justifying forcing you. 

(We all have our limits, don’t we?)

But you don’t. You haven’t in a long while. And you hate yourself for it more than you could ever hate him.

He loses his shirt rather quickly and you manage to discard your bra before he lifts you up and tosses you on the bed. You don’t get a second to breathe before he’s over you, monstrous and awful and so terribly beautiful. 

He takes a moment to caress your face, his knuckles brushing over your cheek so tenderly that it nearly makes you sick. You’re thankful when he finally says, “Open up.” 

You do as he says and in the next second two of his fingers are stuffed into your waiting mouth. 

“Suck.” 

And you do, without hesitation, because you know what’s coming next. You know that for the next hour or so, there’ll be no denying the fact that you’re alive, that you’re not some ghost haunting these halls. It’ll prove that it’s blood that flows through your veins instead of stone, that you have not yet started to rot in your own skin. 

He he pulls his fingers from your mouth without a word and leaves a trail of burning kisses down your sternum and stomach. He wastes no time pulling your underwear off and attaching his calloused thumb to your clit, rubbing tight little circles in a way that has you keening almost immediately. 

In an embarrassingly short amount of time you’re wet enough for him to comfortably slip a finger in. Just one of them reaches spots you never quite manage to hit on your own, and you hate how much you love it. It has you moaning, nearly loud enough to drown out the lewd squelching by the time he adds a second finger. 

“You’re so, so good for me,” he murmurs, voice rough. It sends a shiver down your spine.

You hate that the praise has you clenching his fingers in a near vice grip. You hate that he still affects you in any way after what he’s done to you. After what he’s reduced you to. 

You don’t have time to stew in your self-loathing before his fingers find that spongy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. 

(And this is the reason you don’t push him away. 

You’ll never step foot under the night sky again. But here, with his fingers hitting all the right spots in your cunt, you’ll make your own galaxy and pretend that it holds a candle to the real thing.)

With the pace he sets, his constant low grunts of just how lovely you are creaming around his fingers, and the way his thumb never lets up on your puffy clit, you’re coming within minutes, you spasm around his digits so hard that the stars you so love burst behind your tightly shut eyelids. 

He eases his fingers out of you and licks them clean, his dark eyes half-lidded and nearly glowing in the dimly lit bedroom, burning straight through you. 

You’re the one to look away first. You always are. Shame settling heavily in your gut. Shame that you enjoyed it, shame that you didn’t push him, shame that you’ll do this all over again tomorrow.  

When he finally sinks into you, he does it slowly. Sometimes you wish he wouldn’t, sometimes you wish he’d make it hurt. It’d be easier to hate him instead of yourself if he did. 

When Kento fucks you like this, chest to chest, there’s not a single part of you not swallowed whole by him. 

You hate it. 

You hate yourself more for moaning when he changes the angle and starts fucking you so hard and fast that your hands can’t help but scramble for anything to hang on to, they tear down his back, drawing blood which seems to only spur him on to go harder. 

“Kento I-- I’m-,” but you can’t finish the sentence, not when you can feel your orgasm teetering on the edge, so, so close that it’s painful, you just need- 

“You want to come?” He asks, his voice annoyingly steady.  

It’s unfair of him to expect you to be able to answer when he has you nearly folded in half. You can hardly even think. 

(But when has Kento ever really been fair?)

“Use your words, darling.” His lips are right against your ear, his tone unbearably condescending, and maybe a bit mocking. 

You hate him for asking you to beg. 

You hate yourself more for giving in. 

“Kento, please,” you whine. 

He laughs, low and mean, you feel it in your own chest and for a moment it really is as though you are nothing but an extension of him, a limb left useless without Nanami guiding you. You hate it. You hate it.

Eventually, he relents and brings his thumb back down to your clit, resuming those tight, firm circles, and that’s all you needed to finally push you over the edge.  

This time, when you come, there are no stars to comfort you. Just Kento’s eyes, bright and burning. 

Your cunt clamping down on his cock is all it takes for him to let out a low groan and still completely inside you, the warmth of his cum flooding your cunt is awful in it’s familiarity. 

His eyes finally close as he drops his forehead against yours, breathing your air and forcing you to breathe his. 

He closes the gap between your lips, gently, sweetly. You can almost pretend for a moment that this is the Kento you knew years ago. Who held you so sweetly and smiled when you smiled. 

You don’t realize you’re crying until he kisses your temple tenderly and wipes away your tears. He’s not worried, you cry more often than not after he fucks you. You don’t really want to think about why. 

You let your mind wander as he carries you bridal style to the bathroom, where in a minute he’ll run a warm bath for you two to share, then afterwards he’ll dry you off with the utmost tenderness, then dress you himself before carrying you to the kitchen where he’ll set you on the counter as he makes dinner (you won’t be allowed to help, of course) then he’ll force every last bite down your throat if you refuse to eat (he hasn’t had to do that in a long while though), then he’ll have you curl up on his lap, head tucked into his shoulder, as he reads. After about an hour he’ll bring you back to the bathroom where he’ll brush your teeth for you because you never do it right, and then he’ll drag you into bed no later than 10:30 PM so that you can do it all over again tomorrow. 

“Do you want the lavender or rose soap today?” Nanami asks you. 

You ignore him in favor of trying to remember the details of your galaxy, but it’s already faded away to nothing by the time you close your eyes. 

a/n pt 2: i feel like it was painfully obvious that this was my first attempt ever at smut. i’m so sorry yall. i really did try.