#i will not lie though: might still be a while. this fic has at least two maybe three more chapters

[fruitybashir]

I just wanted to say I am so here for that lesbian bokris idea you have omg

ahahahaha and it seems like youre not the only one!! 😌😌

im very excited to write it as well 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[benedictscanvas]

hey love! im sorry your request box hasnt been what you were looking for but maybe this will work! can i request a ball with benedict bridgerton where feelings are only realized when one of them dances with someone else? i dont really mind if its reader or benedict but i just think it would be cute!! hope you’re doing well <3 <3

hello my lovely. you're the sweetest, thank you so much for such a gorgeous request. I've got a pretty similar fic where Benedict realises his feelings, so I was super excited to do the other way around, I hope you enjoy <3 <3 | 1.5k words, fem!reader

There is a woman in Benedict’s arms and it isn’t you and you think you might throw your lemonade at her. Accidentally, of course.

You don’t know her, and if the reasonable side of your brain was in charge, you’d probably think she looks quite lovely. Her hair is adorned in elaborate braids and her smile is demure but still a little goofy - she isn’t shrouded in the fake humility that she finds so many ladies of the ton carry around with them. 

But still you find yourself fantasising about a large lemonade stain painting the front of her dress, the poor girl hurrying away in her shock and distress.

Away from Benedict. Who’s now laughing. At something the girl has said, no less. Why, you’d never seen him laugh at any lady of the ton who wasn’t either his sister or, once, Lady Danbury.

And yourself, of course, but you didn’t count.

At least, you didn’t think you counted. You didn’t think you wanted to count, content to while away the balls and the promenades by Benedict’s side, sometimes Eloise’s, whispering about so-and-so’s hat or whats-his-name’s hair. He’d never asked you to dance, although you’d never wanted him to before. Now that he was dancing with someone for the first time you could recall, however, you could feel that changing very swiftly.

”You know, looking vexed in the corner isn’t likely to win you many adoring suitors, Miss Y/L/N.”

Eloise always knows just when to get on your nerves and she’s grinning at you slyly when you turn to face her, finally breaking the spell that Benedict and his new dance partner had placed on you.

”Since when have you believed that was my endeavour, dear Eloise?”

”Since you’ve spent the entire night glaring at pretty young Miss Pennyforth. It’s making you look rather jealous, to the untrained eye.”

You turn away from her, fixing your eyes on her brother yet again. They’re not talking anymore, just staring at each other as he twirls her again and again. Maybe it was better when they spoke after all, because now your stomach is twisting into something that does indeed feel a lot like jealousy.

”Yes, well, you know better than to think I’m jealous. Though I do seem to be in a foul mood.”

Eloise nods exaggeratedly, a pretend-sympathetic pout on her lips.

”Yes, you poor thing. And it obviously has nothing to do with the brother of mine that you can’t take your eyes off.”

You pointedly look at her again but she just dissolves into giggles at the look on your face.

”If you have a point, Eloise, I suggest you make it.”

”Oh, no point at all. Only that the one ball where Benedict decides not to stand with you and ruin his prospects all night, you seem to be very dour indeed. With no correlation, of course.”

You glower at her as best you can. You have the irritable feeling crawling out of your stomach through your throat that you might be about to cry, and you refuse to do so here, or to allow Eloise to think it’s her fault if you do.

”You run along and find Penelope or I shall tell your mother there’s a gentleman asking after you.”

She gaped at you, quite genuinely.

”You wouldn’t,” she murmured, but then promptly hurried away when you fixed her with a look that told her you most certainly would. It was a lie, because you could never bring yourself to do that to your friend, but it was a ruse that allowed to slip away from the ballroom.

You cast one last glance over your shoulder at Benedict to see him kissing the back of Miss Penny-something’s hand and your eyes began to sting.

- - -

There was a little bench hidden away to the left of the grand entrance, just dark enough to not be spotted by those near the carriages. You managed to shed a few tears in private, silent silly things, and you wiped them away angrily.

It was only Benedict. Quiet, mischievous, generous Benedict. He was creative and caring and could come up with the most brilliant insults you’d ever heard. Obviously, he also had a beautiful face, but you’d never given it much thought. All the Bridgertons were beautiful, it felt like a requirement.

”Did Lord Tennesby try to talk to you again?”

You sighed deeply, closing your eyes with your head bowed. Of course he’d find you. If anyone was likely to be looking for a quiet spot for a moment’s reprieve, it was him.

You wiped at your face in vain before looking up at him with what you hoped was a convincing smile. 

“I’d be halfway back home if that was the case. What are you doing out here?”

Why aren’t you with Pennyfuzzy? was the unspoken second question that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to ask, knowing how spiteful it would come out. You wished you had realised you might want more from Benedict in the comfort of your own home, where you could take a week to process those feelings and prepare for how to deal with them.

Instead, you’d just have to see what happened in this conversation and go from there. Sounded promising.

”I was going to ask you the same thing. Have you…been crying?”

”I think it’s the flowers,” you point over at the hyacinths in the nearby flowerbed, “They often get the best of me this time of year.”

”Daphne’s ball last year was filled with hyacinths and you didn’t so much as sniffle.”

You frowned at him.

“I probably sniffled.”

“You didn’t. I would have noticed. I would have offered you a handkerchief like the dashing young gentleman I am.”

It was enough to pull up your frown at the corners, which in turn propelled him to take a seat beside you on the bench. You busied yourself with a crease in your dress when you talked to him.

“Maybe you’re not as dashing as you think.”

“I’m incredibly dashing,” he argued, pointing his chin upwards in that silly, mighty way you always giggled at, “I swept Miss Pennyforth off her feet just moments ago.”

Like an ice cold bucket of water poured right over you. You almost shivered.

“Ah, Miss Pennyforth. Has someone finally captured your wayward attention, Mister Bridgerton?”

You looked up at him and tried not to sniffle or snuffle or anything else that might give you away. He was just looking puzzled.

“What? No, I meant I quite literally swept her off her feet. I got the steps wrong, according to Eloise, who helped me up once she had a hold of her laughter.”

You blinked at him.

“You fell?”

“Into quite the heap. Miss Pennyforth was a good sport about it all but she did end up with a rather unfortunate lemonade stain all down the front of her dress. I think she was a little embarrassed.”

He had the decency to look a little embarrassed himself. There you had been, ready to hurl the contents of your cup at the girl and Benedict had solved your predicament for you. A twinge of guilt tugged at you.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” you said honestly, face overtaken by a wry smirk since Benedict had not sat down singing her praises. Still you had to be sure, “She was looking a very good dancer before I left, I was afraid she might steal away my conversation partner.”

It ended up sounding far more transparent in your intentions than you’d hoped. But you held his eye contact defiantly when he grinned.

“I knew you missed me,” he said, smug, “I took one look at your face and I could see it plain as day. Really, you should have hidden it better.”

“I don’t enjoy these events and you know it, Benedict.”

Back to his first name and by the light in his eyes, he’d noticed the switch. He stood up and held out his arm for you.

“I know. I’m very grateful for it. Now come along, I’ve done my duty to my mother dancing with that girl and now I would like to do my duty to myself.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, not moving a muscle.

“I would like to make fun of the Featheringtons with my most cherished friend. Would you do me the honour?”

Something skipped inside your chest. Light and airy again, no longer weighed down and chained to something churning your stomach. His most cherished friend. Despite the evening’s revelations, that sounded heavenly.

“Is Eloise inside waiting for you then?” you can’t help but tease and he promptly puts his arm back by his side with a huff.

“You are intolerable. I’m going without you.”

“No - wait!” you laughed, following after him gleefully as he turned away from you and started walking. You managed to catch him on the stairs, threading your hand into the crook of his elbow with ease as you did.

The smile he sent you would take at least the next week to contemplate but you had time. You could be a very brilliant 'most cherished friend' for now.

(and you were far more cherished than you knew, of course, but he wasn't quite ready to tell you yet)

---

if you'd like to request something of your own, please see this post for characters I write for and two super brief guidelines. thank you for reading, sunflower <3

[vrisrezis]

Atsv characters taking care of s/o in pain

Fun fact I deal with physical pain a lot bcuz my health is shit. I have been in so much pain I couldn’t even sleep for the last 2 days. Was especially bad today so here’s smth kinda self indulgent.

(Hc portion)

Gwen is insistent on having miguel or jessica check you out to see if they could possibly ease your pain. Miguel is from the future technically, there has to be something. She hates the idea of you being in so much pain you can’t even lie down comfortably, you can’t sit still, you can’t sleep, or even worse if you start crying? She feels awful. She has heating packs to help you ease your pain if it helps, and she keeps you on a strict schedule with taking medication so that your pain is as limited as possible. She does everything she can for you, especially given the lack of knowledge she has on this typa thing.

(Small fic portion)

“I hate seeing you like this” she sighs, kissing you on the forehead, pressing the big heating pack to your stomach. There is instant relief, even if that relief is short lived and your once again reminded of your pain, she still feels you relax. Even if only slightly. “I’m sorry I can’t do more for you.” she frowns, feeling guilt.

“Nonsense” you say, giving her a weak smile, putting a hand on her cheek. She puts her hand on yours, holding it in place on her cheek. “You being here is enough for me. You did everything you could. This is just… how it is, yknow?”

She sighs, taking your hand off her cheek so she can kiss your knuckles. “But it shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. I wish I could just take this pain away from you.” she presses her forehead against yours, and for a moment, even if it was brief, you feel peace.

(Hc portion)

Miles is so unsure how he can help you but damn if he isn’t determined as fuck to help ease your pain even if only slightly. He is extremely sympathetic towards you. He genuinely cannot imagine how it must be to constantly go through pain to the point you can’t even get proper rest. He will try to get you to relax your muscles, which can be difficult granted the pain you’re in, but he knows if he’s able to succeed with that you can at least get some sleep. Back massages or even massaging the places that hurt, he’s all on it. Always has medicine with him, might even ask his mom to watch over you for him while he’s gone doing Spiderman stuff, even if just to check on you.

(Short fic portion)

“You didn’t have to do this miles,” you say, chugging down your third dose of ibuprofen today. “Thank you though.” you say, before lying back down.

“Of course I had to do this for you babe!” he says with a roll of his eyes, annoyed you’d even suggest he didn’t have to help you out. “If I can’t be here for you in your time of need, what’s the point in being your boyfriend, your best friend for that matter.” he continues to speak as he lies down next to you. “Roll over.” he commands, which you aren’t quite used to him doing. He’s been acting rather motherly towards you lately, but you can’t exactly blame him with the state you’ve been in.

You follow his orders and do so, and he begins to message your back, and you audibly sigh without meaning to. He laughs as a result, making you laugh too. “Shut up.” you roll your eyes, and he can’t help but laugh even more. “Hey I’m glad you’re just finally relaxing.” he says before kissing the back of your neck.

Somehow you’re boyfriend always knows how to make your agonizing pain a bit more bearable.

(Hc portion)

My man hobie somehow manages to get his hands on morphine. You will not be dealing with this pain on his watch, he will find a way. High key hates the fact you’re going through this and does everything he can to ease it or prevent it. Might talk to you about random shit, about his day or about other people or crazy shit that happened, anything as a means to distract you. Though this can prove to be difficult, hobie has a relaxing voice and he’s able to soothe you no matter how bad your pain is. Might sing ya to sleep with his lovely voice.

(Small fic portion)

Your quiet as you listen to hobie hum. While his music tastes consisted of punk (obviously) he was a bit of a metal head as well, and it’s not that you didn’t like that genre of music but it was far from relaxing. So you had calmly asked hobie if he could please sing something that wasn’t so intense.

Soft shit was not his thing but if it eased your pain, who is he to complain?

He had his arms around you, your head on his chest and you felt it rumble as he quietly sang to you.

“Cariño, eres un amor”

“Something about you babe.”

“Something about you babe”

he finally finishes, and you smile for the first time today.

“Thank you, hobie.” you whisper, and he kisses the crown of your head. “Anytime hun”

(Hc portion)

Pavitr feels terrible omg bless this boy he does everything he can. Buys you a lot of fattening foods as tribute. He knows he shouldn’t make it a habit especially if you’re pain is like constant and happens a lot but he cannot help himself. His baby should not be in pain! Sometimes kisses the spots your in pain and likes to rub the spots in an attempt to soothe you and your pain. Buys a lot of medicine and pain relief creams. May try to distract you with watching movies and stuff, but also will straight up ask you if there’s any other way he can help you. Definitely makes you peppermint tea to help ease your pain.

(Small fic portion)

You drink the last of your tea, placing the empty cup on your end table and lay all the way back next to your boyfriend. He offers to put the cup in your sink and clean it, but you shake your head. “It’s fine I can do it tomorrow.” you say, before resting your cheek on his shoulder, “besides I want you here with me.” you admit, and he smiles at your little confession before wrapping is arms around you in an embrace. “Aww babe!” he says, before smooching you on the cheek with an annoyingly loud, “mwah!”

you laugh as he attempts to kiss you more all over your face, putting your hand on his face and pushing him in an attempt to get him to stop smothering you. “Baby cut it out!” you laugh, “why? I just wanna love youuuu!” he whines, and you giggle, “because I’m trying to watch the movie!”

Your boyfriend sighs before conceding. “Fine.” he says, and you finally turn back to watch the movie.

“Just kidding!” he says quickly, attacking your neck with little kisses this time, making you laugh even harder than before. “Oh babe Cmon!”

He’s just glad he succeeded in distracting you from your pain, for a little while.

[adascore]

Out Of The Blue | J. Fleming

pairings: jessie fleming x chelsea!reader

warnings: angst. swearing. crying. jessie’s transfer.

author’s note: inspired by @pixiesfz (fic: moving on) and @jflemings (fic: inevitable), I definitely recommend checking out their versions of the transfer!

masterlist

•••••••

January, 2024

''Yeah, that does sound great. I'll, uh, think about it and call you tomorrow… Okay, thanks… Bye bye.'' Jessie hung up the phone, her mind swirling with conflicting emotions. She sighed as she glanced back into the living room, her girlfriend sitting on their couch, blissfully unaware of anything.

Y/N wasn't entirely oblivious to Jessie's agent researching new clubs. It had been an ongoing discussion for a while now, fueled by Jessie's frustration with her dwindling game time at Chelsea.

Jessie quietly sat back down on the couch, not wanting to disturb her partner's tv-show.

''Everything okay?'' The Canadian turned her head, finding Y/N's eyes on her.

She nodded, biting her lips. ''Yeah, good… just my agent.'' She replied, trying to mask the turmoil in her voice.

''Any news?'' Y/N asked.

Bless her heart, Jessie thought. Despite not being the biggest fan of no longer getting to be teammates, Y/N had been very supportive of her girlfriend's search, believing her talent was indeed being wasted at Chelsea.

''Uh, nothing new,'' the midfielder lied, ''she's still in talks with a few clubs.''

''Oh, okay.'' The forward smiled, redirecting her focus back to the series she was watching.

Jessie didn't want to lie, she really didn't. However, telling the love of your life that you received a great offer from an American club and that you're really considering it, isn't an easy thing to do. The Canadian tried telling herself she should only tell Y/N when it's official, but Jessie knew from the moment her agent informed her of the option, that this was the right direction for her to go.

Her game time would improve compared to Chelsea's, and Janine and Christine would become her club teammates- she'd be stupid not to accept. But Portland was far from London, and Portland was far away from Y/N, her true home.

She promised herself she would tell her when the time was right, when the offer from the Thorns was official and her future was certain.

''I think she might stay until the end of the season, and then see what her options are.'' Y/N responded to Erin, after the Scot asked about Jessie's future.

Erin nodded. ''Nice, we can give her a proper sendoff then.''

''I'd say a party, but I don't think she would want to be the center of attention.'' Millie chimed in, thinking about how they could celebrate the younger woman's time at Chelsea.

''She'd look more like a tomato than she already does.'' Erin laughed, imagining her fellow midfielder's reaction.

''But it's good that we'll have at least this last season with her. The last match is gonna be emotional, Emma leaving, Jessie leaving…'' Millie said once the laughter had died down.

Y/N nodded her head. ''Yeah, but I just want to see her happy, you know? She loves the team, but, you know, with the game time and everything.''

Both women nodded, understanding Jessie's reasons for wanting to play somewhere else.

''Do you know where she's maybe going?'' Millie asked, curiously.

The younger woman shrugged her shoulders. ''She has plenty of options,'' Y/N grinned proudly, ''I think she's staying in Europe, though- Champions League and all.''

''She's gonna become a rival.'' Erin teased, rubbing her hands together in feigned mischief.

Y/N couldn't help but smile at the thought, but the underlying sadness of Jessie's departure lingered in the back of her mind.

''I also see her staying close by, at least near you.'' Millie lightly nudged her teammate's shoulder, sending a wink.

Y/N grinned back, but there was a hint of dejection in her eyes as she glanced at her friends "She's gotta do what's best for her," she said softly, her gaze drifting to the floor, "that's the most important thing.” She murmured.

As Y/N's thoughts lingered on Jessie's impending departure, she was abruptly pulled back to the present by the sound of someone's voice.

''Hey, you're ready to go?'' Jessie asked, her arrival at their table breaking the somber silence that had settled over them.

Amazing timing, Fleming, Y/N thought as her girlfriend approached their table.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the sight of Jessie, her dejected mood momentarily forgotten as she met her girlfriend's gaze. "Yeah." She replied, her eyes lighting up and a smile gracing her lips.

Her friends exchanged knowing glances, their amusement evident as they observed the subtle shift in Y/N's demeanor in the presence of her girlfriend.

Y/N got up from her chair. ''See you tomorrow, beautiful ladies.'' She bid her friends goodbye.

''Tomorrow, love birds.'' ''See ya!''

Jessie silently grabbed her partner's bag from the floor, and the pair walked together to the parking lot.

''They're so adorable it makes me sick.'' Erin muttered.

Millie laughed at her teammate. ''I think you might be allergic.''

As they drove out of the Chelsea training complex, a heavy silence enveloped the couple, weighing down the air in the car. Silences weren't necessarily unusual for them, but there was something about this one that had Y/N feeling confused and worried at the same time.

Glancing sideways at Jessie, Y/N noticed the furrow in her brow, the tension etched into the lines of her face. It was clear that something was bothering her, something she was struggling to articulate.

"Hey, Jess," the striker began hesitantly, breaking the uneasy silence that hung between them, "is everything okay?”

Jessie's grip tightened on the steering wheel, her gaze fixed on the road ahead as she wrestled with her thoughts. ''Yeah, just a bit tired.'' She responded, her voice strained.

Her answer did nothing to soothe her. There was a distance in the Canadian's eyes, a hesitancy in her voice that spoke volumes. "You can talk to me, you know." Y/N said, and she reached out to Jessie's hand.

For a moment, Jessie tensed up at the display of affection. Her breath was caught in her throat as she struggled with what to tell her partner. ''Can we talk about this when we're home? I don't want to have this conversation while I'm driving.'' She asked, momentarily making eye contact with her.

Y/N nodded, though the unease still gnawed at her. "Of course," she replied gently, withdrawing her hand but keeping her gaze fixed on Jessie, "we can talk about it when we get home."

The remainder of the drive passed in an uncomfortable conversation about their thoughts on the training that day.

As they finally pulled into their driveway, Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, the anticipation of the impending conversation sending a wave of anxiety crashing over her. She followed Jessie inside, the heavy silence hanging between them like a dense fog.

Once inside, Y/N took a seat on the couch. Her eyes fixed on the midfielder like a hawk as Jessie paced through the room.

Taking a a few deep breaths to ease herself, Jessie finally broke the silence that had enveloped them. "I... I received an offer." She confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N perked up at the revelation. ''An offer?'' She repeated. ''That's great, no?'' Her voice tinged with uncertainty.

But as she watched her girlfriend unconsciously shake her head, she knew there was more to the story than Jessie was letting on.

The Canadian hesitated, her gaze shifting to the floor as she struggled to find the right words. "From the Portland Thorns," she finally admitted, her voice barely audible, "they want me to play for them.”

Y/N's heart sank at the news, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. ''Portland?'' She muttered. ''In the U.S.?''

Jessie silently nodded. ''Yeah, the NWSL.'' She confirmed.

Her heart sank even further at the confirmation, the reality of the situation settling in like a heavy weight on her chest. ''Wow… that's, uh, that's amazing- with Janine and Christine, that's really nice, babe.'' She tried to muster a smile, but it felt hollow on her lips.

Despite her attempt to be supportive, the weight of Jessie's decision bore down on Y/N like a heavy burden. The thought of being separated by thousands of miles was something out of a nightmare.

But as she looked at Jessie, her heart ached at the thought of holding her back from pursuing her dreams. She knew that she had to be strong, to support her partner no matter what path she chose.

''Thank you.'' Jessie was unsure of how to proceed, it was clear that her girlfriend wasn't expecting a transfer to the other side of the world. "I... I know this isn't easy," she continued, her voice wavering slightly. "But I have to do what's best for my career.”

Y/N reached out, gently squeezing Jessie's hand. "I know," she replied softly, ''and this is gonna be really good for you.''

''So… you're not upset?''

She shook her head, a forced smile tugging at the corners of her lips. ''Of course not. I know you're going to do amazing there, and I'm happy that they are seeing your talent. It's a great club, Jess. And if it means you'll be happier... then I'm all for it.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Jessie's eyes as she pulled Y/N into a tight embrace. "I love you." She whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

"I love you too," Y/N replied, returning the embrace, ''I think you forgot for a moment that I'm, like, your biggest fan.'' She chuckled, tears forming in her own eyes.

Jessie laughed now as well. "How could I forget?" She echoed, her eyes sparkling with affection as she looked at Y/N. "You're the best.”

As the evening wore on, the weight of Jessie's decision lingered in the air, casting a somber mood over the apartment. Despite the reassurances they had exchanged, the reality of the situation still hung heavy on their hearts.

A few days later, the time came for Jessie to face her teammates and share the news of her new club. The staff had gathered the team into the meeting room with the excuse they needed to go over some past matches.

''Before we get into some of the matches, there is someone here who has some news for us,'' Emma began, ''Jessie?'' The coach signaled for the Canadian to take her spot at the front of the room.

The midfielder quietly walked towards Emma. ''Hey, everyone,” she awkwardly greeted the room, "I, uh... I have something I need to tell you.” A hush fell over the room as all eyes turned to Jessie.

Y/N's eyes became fixed on the floor, not feeling ready to hear this for a second time.

''I've received an offer from the Portland Thorns,” she said, still a bit on edge, ''and… I've decided to accept it. So this is actually my, uh, last day as a Blue.''

"I... I know this might come as a surprise," Jessie continued, her voice faltering. "you guys are an amazing group, and I'm so lucky to have shared the pitch with such incredible players. All of you will always have a special place in my heart, and, yeah, just thank you for everything.'' She finished her small speech, becoming emotional.

She received applause from the squad and staff in the room. Emma was the first to give her a hug. A flicker of irritation flashed through Y/N at the thought of their coach's role in Jessie's decision to leave, but she pushed it aside, knowing that now was not the time.

All the players got up from their seats to say their own ‘thank you's' or give their own hugs to Jessie. However, the young striker remained seated, finding herself unable to follow her teammates.

With a heavy heart, Y/N quietly rose from her seat, her footsteps barely audible as she made her way towards the door.

She felt a hand on her shoulder as she almost went for the door handle. ''You okay?''

Y/N was met with Sam as she turned around, the Australian's face expressing concern over her teammate's exit without having said anything to her girlfriend.

''Yeah, just need the bathroom.'' She replied, quickly.

Sam nodded and let her go, but she was not convinced. The No. 20 shared a look with her captain who had also watched the young woman's escape.

Millie swiftly ruffled the Canadian's hair, before walking over to Sam. ''What was that?''

''I don't know, said she needed the bathroom, but she went before the meeting.'' The experienced striker explained, a furrow in her eyebrows.

''I'll talk to her.'' Turning back to Sam, she offered a reassuring smile before making her way towards the door.

She caught up with Y/N in the hallway, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her to startle slightly. "Hey," the Brit said delicately, her voice filled with warmth and understanding. "Mind if we chat for a moment?”

Y/N hesitated, her gaze fixed on the floor as she struggled to meet her older teammate's eyes. "Sure." she replied quietly.

She led the younger one to a more secluded area, not wanting anyone to eavesdrop on their more personal moment. Millie's face was full of concern as she turned to her. ''Are you okay? What happened there? Didn't Jessie tell you already?''

''She did, she did… a few days ago.'' She answered, her voice still quiet and full of emotion.

''Then, what's wrong? Why'd you leave?''

Y/N pulled her attention from the ground to Millie's eyes. ''It's just… that, like, it seemed to have only hit me now that she's actually going, you know? She's gonna go to Portland, while I'm staying here in fucking London.''

Millie's expression softened with understanding as she listened to Y/N's words, her heart aching for her younger teammate. ''I get it,'' she put her arm around her, ''it's tough knowing that she'll be so far away, especially when you're used to having her here with you every day.''

The striker nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek as she struggled to contain her emotions. "Yeah," she murmured, ''I'm…'' she trailed off.

''You're what, sweetheart?''

''I'm scared.'' Her voice was small, if her teammate wasn't standing so close to her, she probably would have missed it.

''Of what?'' The captain frowned.

''The distance, I don't think I can handle it, Millie.''

Millie's heart ached at the vulnerability in Y/N's voice, her own eyes brimming with tears as she wrapped her younger friend in a warm embrace. "I understand," she murmured, offering her a comforting squeeze, "it's okay to be scared. It's a big change. For the both of you.''

Y/N nodded, her tears flowing freely now as she struggled to articulate the depth of her fears. "I... I'm scared of losing her," she admitted softly, ''that she'll forget me while she's there.''

"You won't lose her," she reassured her, her voice filled with sincerity. "Jessie loves you, Y/N. And distance won't change that.”

Y/N sniffled, a small hiccup escaping her as she leaned into Millie's embrace, finding solace in her comforting words. "But what if... what if she meets someone else?" She whispered, her voice tinged with fear.

Millie's grip tightened, her heart breaking at the thought of her friend's pain. "Jessie loves you," she repeated firmly. "And nothing, and I really mean that, nothing will bloody change that.''

''Thanks, Mills.'' Y/N said, her head resting on her shoulder.

''You're welcome, darling. I'm always here for you. And Erin, and Sam, and Guro, Niamh, Z, all of us.'' She reassured her, wanting her to know that they'll stand by her while she goes through this difficult time.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over her at Millie's words. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude. "I... I really needed to hear that.”

''Anytime, bubs,'' the defender pecked the top of her head, ''I do think you need to tell Jessie this. It's important for her to know how you feel about all this.''

The younger one nodded, taking a moment to compose herself before pulling away from Millie. "You're right," she agreed, her voice a bit steadier now, ''I'll talk to her about it.''

Millie gave her a reassuring smile, her eyes filled with encouragement. ''Great, she'll understand. It's Jessie, remember?'' She chuckled, trying to get a grin out of her friend.

She was successful as Y/N managed to crack a smile. ''Yeah, it's Jessie,'' she straightened her posture as if ready for battle, ''thanks again, Mills. I really appreciate it.''

The defender nodded, the smile on her own face widening. ''You're very welcome, sweetheart.'' She gave Y/N a small pat on the back.

The next evening, they sat together in their dimly lit living room, trying to watch a movie. Y/N glanced over at Jessie, whose eyes were focused on the television.

"Jessie," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, ''can I, uh, talk to you about something?''

The Canadian's brows furrowed in concern as she turned towards her partner. ''Of course.''

Y/N took a deep breath. ''First, I am so happy for you that you're going somewhere where they are appreciating your talent, and that you'll be closer to your family and your siblings...'' she began, her words slow and measured. She paused, struggling to meet Jessie's gaze. ''I just don't think that I, uh, am gonna be able to handle the distance.''

Jessie's stomach twisted with unease as she absorbed her words. In the days since it had become official that she would be moving to Portland, they hadn't really discussed how their relationship would proceed. Each of them had spoken about it with their friends, but they both seemed hesitant to broach the topic with each other, perhaps afraid of the uncertainty it might bring.

''I want to, Jessie, I really want to try- I just want you to know how I feel, it's been bothering me.''

The midfielder found it hard to respond as she observed her girlfriend who looked like she was about to burst out in tears. Tears welled up in Jessie's eyes as she reached out to gently cup Y/N's face in her hands, forcing her to meet her gaze. "I understand," she whispered, her voice strained, "and I appreciate you being honest with me.”

Y/N's own eyes started to water. She leaned into Jessie's touch, her heart breaking at the thought of losing her. ''I love you, J Flem.''

''I love you.'' Jessie reciprocated as she took her partner into her arms, wanting her as close as possible.

''I don't know if I can handle being so far apart, not seeing you or speaking to you every day. International break is already a killer for me, and it's difficult to just go back-and-forth between Portland and London.'' The striker whispered into Jessie's neck, not able to say it any louder.

The Canadian nodded, completely understanding her perspective. ''I know,'' she whispered back, 'I never wanted to put you in this position."

For a moment, they simply held each other in silence, the weight of their unspoken fears hanging heavy in the air. But as the minutes ticked by, the reality of their situation became increasingly clear.

''I don't want to hold you back.'' Y/N said, her voice muffled against the fabric of Jessie's shirt.

''You're not holding me back at all.'' Jessie immediately retorted, ruffling her hair.

Y/N weakly chuckled. ''It feels like I am.''

''Please don't think that, babe.''

They were both aware of what was coming, they were simply wasting time as if that would somehow work and they wouldn't have to leave each other.

''I remember when I first joined Chelsea, and I was watching some of you guys' matches, and thinking you were so intimidating,'' Jessie broke the silence.

''but then you were actually one of the first people to say hi to me, and you just looked so different than on the pitch. You were smiling, and trying your best to make me feel welcome.'' She laughed, an affectionate smile playing on her lips.

Y/N grinned as well, while wiping some loose tears away. ''I just remember thinking you looking super awkward.'' She dryly responded.

Jessie gave her a light push. ''Hey!''

''I also thought you were very cute… with your flushed cheeks.'' She quickly added.

The midfielder ironically blushed at the admission.

It became quiet between the two of them again, reminiscing their early days as teammates at Chelsea.

''We'll find our way back to one another, I'm sure of it.'' Jessie nodded.

Y/n felt a lump in her throat at Jessie's words. ''We're still so young, you never know what can happen.''

''And I know what's going to happen. You and I, together- whenever, wherever that may be.'' She reassured her, her voice filled with sincerity.

Y/N nodded, her chest tightening with the weight of their impending separation. "I love you, Jessie." She told her, the pair locking eyes.

"I love you too," Jessie replied, her voice catching in her throat, "more than anything."

jessie fleming requests are always welcome!

[fandomwritingbit]

The scarf fic was amazing! Short but gold. I absolutly loved it and I think it has huge potential for a series or a longer fic. Pervy william is what I *need* rn, seriously requesting a continuation;-;

Thanks for this request, it was much too nice to revisit prevy Will. Here's a little continuation, I might get around to some corruption smut in the future ;)

Lost Property - pt. 1 here

William Afton x fem reader

“Bugger.” You say to yourself as you lift up the few garments on the coat hook in search of your scarf. How can you have lost it already? “Bleeding ridiculous…” You mutter: it’s not there. Some fucker has probably swiped it, though to be fair you should know better than to leave anything unattended here, people’s belongings have a nasty habit of just ‘going walkies’ when not under lock and key. 

You’re feeling pretty defeated until the thought strikes you that maybe somebody handed it in to the office. It’s at least worth a check. And so, not before putting your stuff in a locker, you take a breath and knock on your boss’s office door. 

There’s a pause before his gruff and impatient voice lets you know that someone is in. “Yeah. Come in.” And you do.

“Hey Mr Afton…” You smile at him as you usually would. Not the kind of faux-bright grin you give customers but a more special self-deprecating one, reserved purely for colleagues. He actually smiles back, though it’s slow to spread across his face.

You are just a pleasure to see, especially wearing the same skirt as last time, the one that’s a couple of inches too short and delightfully skin-tight. The skirt that he thought about when he made the rota, always putting you on the shifts that he was supervising just so he can see how good you look in it.   

“You alright, y/n?” He grins, eyes eventually finding their way to your face, the cool gaze making your face hot. 

“Uh not too bad- I just wanted to ask if any scarves have been handed in? I left one here the other day and it’s not on the hook.” 

…

Oh dear. He might have known this would happen. Your scarf certainly wasn’t handed in, in fact he knows precisely where it is and you definitely aren’t getting it back any time soon. Hell, no one’s having it, lest they pry it out of his cold, dead, horny, hands. 

He sniggers briefly and you feel left out of some joke. “No, there’s nothing in here.” He prides himself on how naturally that leaves his tongue, because it’s not technically a lie. Then the most devilish idea appears in his mind. “... But I’m not sure about lost property, you could look there.” 

And where is that, Mr Afton? 

“Right. I haven’t looked in there before, where is it?” 

The grin on your boss’s face becomes particularly wolfish and you swear his eyes sparkle. “Here, love. I’ll show you.”  

~

After a short walk, spent behind your boss trying not to be put off by the way he towers over you, he shows you into a small room, little more than a cupboard. There’s shelves up the wall with boxes and baskets and shit, and on the floor a large clear bin full of clothes. He holds the door for you and stands aside to let you in. You throw him a polite smile over your shoulder, expecting him to leave you to it. But when you turn your back and crouch down to open the bin, you don’t hear any footsteps behind you. And turning around only confirms his lean frame still in the doorway.

You brush it off as maybe he just wants to be out of the office for a bit, and start rifling through the fabrics, looking for the distinctive light blue silky texture of your scarf. But with the amount of stuff in here it’s going to take a while. 

William leans against the frame, taking in your perfect form, sitting there on your feet. That skirt stretched thin around all the best parts of you. This is the best idea he’s had in a while and he isn’t going to let it go to waste. So he pulls his phone out from the front pocket of his trousers, careful to keep flicking his gaze on you, and opens his camera to start taking a few photos of you down on your knees.  Knowing how grateful he’ll be to himself later, when he has the opportunity to act on the stiffening of his cock just from the sight of you. It’s hard for him not to touch himself right now, but he’s not that careless, a sweet thing like you would need breaking in.

“I don’t think it’s here… fuck’s sake.” You mutter the last part, though when you turn and see your boss with an amused expression, you apologise automatically. 

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He chuckles, watching you stand to your feet. He pauses as he considers whether to say the next part. “It’s a shame about your scarf though, it looked lovely on you.”

You smile, a little dazed by that comment. It was unexpected to say the least, especially from such a handsome and scary man as Mr Afton, and especially when he said it like that. You’re suddenly very aware of how you were just on your knees in front of him and it makes blood rush to your face. Then it occurs to you that you’ve been quiet for a fair while, so you rush a response, “Uh thanks- my friend is gonna kill me, she only gave me it two weeks ago.” Embarrassment doubles after you’ve finished babbling, god you need to get out of this small room. 

He just laughs, finally moving out the way enough to let you out, revelling in how such a little complement made you so flustered. “I’ll keep an eye out for you, but if it’s been nicked there’s not a lot we can do.” 

“Yeah, it’s fine honestly. I just wanted to have a look.” Right now you just feel silly, like you’ve wasted his time. You just want to get out on the floor and start your shift away from the eyes of this attractive man. And mercifully he lets you go, not without walking you back down the corridors with a large and intimidating hand on your lower back, the gesture now making your hands sweaty.    

It’s only when you’re gone and he’s back in his office that he adjusts himself in his trousers, not a stitch of guilt at the fact that just having you alone made him hard. And the knowledge of those photos made him throb. 

You poor, cute little thing, he’s going to ruin you. 

[fleurywiththesave]

@whatsaboomlakalaka sent me this and then things just kind of spiraled. i have no idea when this fic is supposed to take place, so it's whatever your little heart desires.

Leon knows while the wall is rushing up at him that it’s going to be bad, and there’s nothing he can do about it. At least it’s not my head, he thinks when his knee makes contact, but it’s cold comfort. There’s no way he’s going to be able to skate off the ice. He lets himself lie there in a ball and debate how difficult it would really be to just stay put forever. Davo would bring him food, probably. They could make a movie with Tom Hanks, maybe put up a little plaque. Here lies Leon Draisaitl. He’s not dead, we just can’t get him to leave.

“Can you hear me, Drai?” one of the linesmen asks. He nods. “Okay, how about we get you to the bench?”

“Can’t,” Leon tells him.

“What did you hit?”

“My knee.” The linesman hisses in sympathy.

“I’ll help you.”

“Nope,” Leon says. “No way for me to stand up without making it way worse. I live here now.” The linesman sighs and Leon hears him skate away. Probably to get reinforcements, but maybe to bring him a blanket and some hot chocolate. That would be nice.

At Worlds, of all places? It might, might, be worth it for the Cup. But Worlds? That’s like setting your kitchen on fire for a frozen pizza instead of Baked Alaska. Leon needs to write someone a strongly worded letter.

“All right, let’s try this again.” He did not bring a blanket and hot chocolate. Rude.

“Still no way for me to stand up,” Leon says.

“I can help you there.” Leon looks up at that. Matthew is kneeling on the ice next to him, smiling. His real smile, not his media smile. “Come on, Leo.”

“I really don’t think I can get up,” Leon repeats.

“You don’t need to.” Matthew and the linesman each wrap an arm around his back and get him vertical, then Matthew tucks his other arm under Leon’s legs and lifts him up, like it’s nothing.

“Jesus,” Leon manages, clinging to Matthew’s shoulders. He knew Matthew was strong, obviously – he’s personally experienced it before – but not like this. He’s skating. He can hold Leon and skate at the same time.

“Nah, just me.” There’s a lot of cheering coming from the audience, but Leon has a feeling there are also a lot of confused looks coming from their teammates. He doesn’t look around to see.

“I don’t think we’re going to be a secret anymore,” he murmurs in Matthew’s ear.

“Good, I was getting pretty bad at hiding it. Besides, Taryn is always saying I should do something really dramatic about it. I don’t think this is quite what she had in mind, but it does the trick.” And they’re at the tunnel, medics waiting to take Leon back. “I’ve gotta get back out there, but I’ll be in as soon as the game is over, okay?”

It feels like a very long wait, even though it’s probably only about an hour. Leon is lying on a bed with his knee wrapped and elevated, feeling extremely sorry for himself, when the door opens.

It’s not Matthew. It’s Connor. Who does not look pleased.

“What are you doing here?” Leon asks. “You don’t play until tomorrow.”

“Well, when I got messages from roughly fifty different people asking why Matthew Tkachuk was carrying you off the ice, it seemed like I should probably come investigate.”

Leon winces. He’s really not in the mood for a lecture about mixing business with pleasure or distractions from the game or whatever disapproval Connor is about to hand down.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

Well. He can’t say he had that one on his bingo card.

“We didn’t tell anyone,” Leon says. “Except our siblings, and that was mostly just because Brady walked in on us once.” Connor shudders. Leon throws a ball of paper at him.

“You still should’ve told me. What, did you think I’d be mad?” Leon raises his eyebrows and Connor rolls his eyes. “Come on, Drai. Anyone with eyes knows you’ve been stupid gone on him for years. It would’ve been nice to know that I didn’t have to worry about you pining for the rest of your life.”

“I’m deeply touched,” Leon says, but he actually kind of is. He would have felt really bad about it if Connor were genuinely angry or hurt, but now he mostly just looks satisfied to have been right. Plus, if he can handle it, then most other people probably can too.

“Hey, sorry I—oh.” Matthew looks a little flustered. He’s still in his gear and his hair is wild from his helmet.

“I guess congratulations are in order,” Connor says.

“Thanks,” Matthew says cautiously.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to bite your head off. I’ve been wondering for years if Leon was ever going to get his shit together about you.”

Matthew may have been talking a big game on the ice, but he’s clearly relieved by Connor’s reaction. “He took his sweet time, but we got there in the end.”

“Then I’ll let you take care of him,” Connor says. He pauses on his way out of the room and adds, “By the way, that was pretty impressive.”

“Stop ogling my boyfriend,” Leon snaps. Connor just laughs at him while he leaves.

“What’s the verdict?” Matthew asks.

“They want to take me to the hospital for x-rays,” Leon says glumly.

“Fuck.”

“Yup.” Matthew takes his hand and runs his thumb comfortingly along the back. “Can you talk about something else to distract me?”

“Whatever you want,” Matthew says agreeably. Leon grins.

“So once my knee is better, what else do you think we can do if you pick me up?”

[madlittlecriminal]

Fixing Mistakes ☾ Steven Grant × Female!Reader

Request: no, but they're open for everyone i write for :)

Warnings: donna being donna, marc pops up at the end

note: this has been done a few times before, so im sorry. i just like the idea

credits to @missdictatorme since her fic titled The Shades of the Moon is about steven getting the job as a tour guide. it is smut, so don't read it unless you're 18+

He was nervous to say the least. Donna said the new owner of the museum was making an appearance since she wanted to help them with their employees. He asked Donna about it, and she shrugged. "Might lose your job, Stevie."

So here he was, a nervous wreck while cashing out a customer. Yeah, he wasn't going to lie, as much as he didn't like working in the giftshop, he did like working at the museum. Sadly, he knew that if what Donna said was true, it was because of the number of times he was late. Then it hit him.

Wasn't the owner a man?

He shook his head and began organizing the small figures of the Egyptian Gods and Goddesses when the sound of heels made him confused as he knew one of them were Donna's, but the other was different. "Stevie! This is (Y/N). Her grandfather left her the museum after he passed away." You held your hand out while glancing at his nametag and smiled. "Nice to meet you, Steven." He took your hand and shook it, feeling his heart race at the sight of you.

Hathor blessed you with beauty, there was no denying that.

You broke the handshake and scan the giftshop. When your eyes fell on the stuffed Taweret, you made a mental note to buy it before leaving. She was honestly too adorable, and you didn't care that they were meant for children. "So, I read through your file and saw that Donna here wrote a little note saying that you wanted to be a tour guide?" He gulped before nodding his head. "Yes, I still do actually." You nodded. "Donna, can you give us a minute alone? Meet me in your office." She left and you look over at Steven. While he did sport dark circles under his eyes and baggy clothing, you thought he was handsome.

"So, it's no secret that you're late. A lot. Can you explain that to me?" You grab one of the plushies and bite your lip to hide your smile. "I-I have a sleeping disorder," Steven let his eyes wander a bit, checking you out before snapping out of it quickly. You hummed at his response before looking back at him, your eyes meeting his dark brown ones. "I trust there's a reason you want to be a tour guide and I know Donna doesn't want you to have it because you hardly come on time, but can I ask why you want to be a tour guide?"

He went ahead and ranted about Egypt, telling you everything that fascinated him which left you speechless. "It's just amazing!" You smiled at him. "I love that you know so much about it, Steven, I do. I can't give you the position though because of your tardiness, you know that right?" The smile on his face faded. "Y-yeah, I know."

"However, can you tell me why Donna calls you Stevie? You two don't seem close for her to give you a nickname, right?" He snorted. "She isn't great with names." You tilt your head to the side. "Steven, J.B calls you Scotty. I would get him not being good with names because he was playing a game on his phone when I walked in. Gave him a warning and told Donna she had to be on top of him for that. You work at the giftshop, and she makes you do inventory with her. How does she not know your name? Haven't you corrected her?" He nodded.

"She's just ignorant then?" He looked down and you sighed. "You know I can't have someone like that working here. I know she wants me to fire you, but honestly, I think you can try being on time more than she could be less ignorant." He chuckled at your words and nodded. "I need you to do something for me though before I tell Donna the news of her termination." HIs eyes widened at your words as you placed the plushie on the counter. "Can you ring me out and maybe try to be on time for, let's say...a week? If so, I'll think about that promotion for you." You sent him a wink, causing him to gasp and nod frantically. "I would love that! Thank you, (Y/N)!" You grin as he handed you the plush along with the receipt after cashing you out.

"No problem, but please don't make me regret this, okay?" He ran out from behind the counter and hugged you. You were surprised, but ultimately decided to hug him back...oh man, these baggy clothes did absolutely nothing but hide the fact that he had muscles. "Thank you thank you thank you." You chuckle before pulling back from the hug with Steven and hugging Taweret. "Just please promise me you'll make the effort to come on time. You'd be a perfect addition to the tour guides." With that, you left the giftshop, making Steven fist pump the air. "Honestly, she's 1,000 times better than Donna. I'll try to make sure you get up on time for now on, okay buddy?" Steven looked at the glass counter and raised a brow at his reflection. "I think we both know she's gorgeous, mate. Do you think she'd be interested?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, buddy. I like your suggestion, but patience is a virtue."

[robinette-green]

Robin's Inside the Pizza Plex DCA Romance Fics

These are fics I've started that take place inside Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizza Plex. The call is coming from inside the plex!

A Door You're Unable to Close:

(tag)

My best friend talked me into coming with her as moral support to her little brother's birthday party. I hadn't wanted to go to that stupid birthday party to begin with and now I'm trapped in a video game, a horror video game that might kill me. I thought at the time that it was ironic that a kid named Greg had gone missing in a Chuck-e-Cheese of all places but this is taking things much too far.

Invisible:

There's nothing like working for a corporation in a capitalist society to remind you that you are nothing but furniture and need not be perceived unless needed. Even the animatronics in this place are treated more human than I am. At least I'm on the same level as the staff bots… that's a plus? Though usually, people prefer to speak with a staff bot over me, so I suppose 'even' is the lie I tell myself. I've worked for Fazbear Entertainment at their pizza plex for about a year. I do a little bit of everything. Cleaning, repair, sales… even security sometimes. Most of the human workers have been replaced with robots to cut down on employee costs. Sometimes I think I'm the last human working here, but then I remember Vanessa still works here too. Sometimes I wonder if they just forgot to fire me or tell me I was fired, but I'm still getting paychecks, so… yeah. The time clock beeped an acknowledgment as I punched in my employee number. "Attention! Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex is closed! Have a pleasant evening!" Sighing, I adjusted my bag on my shoulder and took a long swig of my coffee.

The Star Dome (LateNight DayDreams):

An OC named Fey is a new animatronic that has been added to the plex.

Another Daycare Story:

This is another of your reader x Sun/ Moon Pizza Plex daycare stories. We start with a 20-something individual getting a job in the daycare and having to overcome a fear of animatronics. There will be some angst with Moon. Then the romance will begin. Eventually, we'll hit the events of the game and go through all that fun, but until then, this will be mostly random fluff and angst shenanigans in the loose shape of a story as our main characters fall in love.

Little Assistant:

MC is the assistant to the CEO of Fazbear Entertainment. As Vanessa kidnaps and kills children while attempting to bring Springtrap back to life, MC is forced to clean up the mess and cover up the disappearances. MC is also tasked with keeping an eye on the Daycare attendants, keeping them in line as they are forced to help kidnapping children. “Did you do it? How do we know if it worked?” “We’ll have to test out some command code on him. Everything uploaded without issue, but they do have minds of their own. He may put up a fight.” I wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, wanting as little to do with this as I could get away with. They had already forced me to help with so much, cleaning up all that mess, all that red, covering up the disappearance. Shuddering, I looked through the glass into the daycare beyond. Deep in the dark, I could see two red eyes glaring out at us, furious. I couldn’t blame him. The virus they had activated in the night mode daycare attendant was going to be used for something horrific.

Lost Time:

The reader, already in an established relationship with Sun and Moon, dies and wakes 5 years later in the body of an animatronic. The pizza plex was rebuilt after the collapse and fire. Due to some miracle, all of the animatronics had survived the disaster and were now back to work, entertaining the general public as though nothing had happened. After everything fell apart, children stopped disappearing, but the missing children were never found. Business was booming, and everything seemed to be better than ever. With the massive influx of money, Fazbear Entertainment decided to invest in a new animatronic, a drummer for the band, to add to the rock and roll feel of the Glam Rocks. But in the way of all things with Fazbear Entertainment, the acquisition of this animatronic was very confidential. Several none disclosure agreements were signed, and the whole thing was very shady. None of this mattered to me, of course. I was more worried about my new role in life. Well, it was life in a sense. I had finally woken up after 5 years to find myself strapped to a chair in parts and services, having been turned into an animatronic.

Lost in the Dark:

Working third shift for security wasn’t so bad. I spent the first few hours patrolling the halls of the upper floors, that being what I had been assigned. Then I would spend the rest of the night at the security desk in the daycare, cameras pulled up on the computer screens and keeping an eye on the ‘crazy’ animatronics that inhabited that colourful playground. 6 months of working night shift in the daycare, and I am unfortunate enough to have developed feelings for two clueless robots.

Bad Day:

I stopped with my hand on the door. I had come all this way on my day off and now I wasn't brave enough to push the doors open. Today had been a hard one. A nightmare the night before and some rough conversations had made my insides feel all squishy and tender. All I really wanted to do was lay on the floor and cry but something had brought me here, to the daycare.

Taking Time:

They needed a robotics expert and I needed a job. I had been between jobs. I had actually just been let go from my last job and was frantically looking for a new one when I had received an email from Faz Bear entertainment. They were looking for a robotics expert to run their parts and services lab. The pay was phenomenal but I would be the only one working in the lab and would be expected to keep the staff bots, animatronics, arcade games and all the automated systems in working order. I didn’t even hesitate a moment before I sent them a reply and agreed to an interview for the following day. Great pay and an entire lab to myself? Yes please.

Why is it Spicy?:

okay so... this is an AU of my Unpleasant Nightmare fic. I started this as a joke for myself but now we're here. The general idea is the same. Stuck in Security Breach and need to find a way out but Sun and Moon are extra flirty and handsy.

Out of Place:

Fosters and Green is an up and coming robotics company and is the talk of every news station in the world. They haven’t even released their first line of robots yet but people are already clambering to get their hands on a robot made from Foster and Green. They plan on releasing a few household bots that will work as cleaning staff or secretaries but they also plan on releasing a line of child care bots. Why hire a nanny when you can have a live-in one you don’t need to pay. My designated number is D-375, I have been dubbed Kate by the technicians who ran all of my quality assurance checks. My dreams of working with a family of my own were quickly dashed. Foster and Green decided that they wanted to place a bot somewhere in the public eye where people could watch it at work and so had partnered with another company who also made robots, though they specialized more in animatronics that were designed for entertainment. The two companies decided to put one Foster and Green’s N-90 models in the daycare center of Fazbear Entertainment’s PizzaPlex to work alongside the child care units that Fazbear Entertainment had created.

Taking Over:

They needed a robotics expert and I needed a job. I had been between jobs. I had actually just been let go from my last job and was frantically looking for a new one when I had received an email from Faz Bear entertainment. They were looking for a robotics expert to run their parts and services lab. The pay was phenomenal but I would be the only one working in the lab and would be expected to keep the staff bots, animatronics, arcade games and all the automated systems in working order. I didn’t even hesitate a moment before I sent them a reply and agreed to an interview for the following day. Great pay and an entire lab to myself? Yes please. I was hired on the spot. This wasn't surprising seeing as I had worked in robotics for most of my life and had some hands-on experience with these kinds of animatronics. The AI units that Faz Bear uses would be new to me but I was sure I could figure out the new tech quickly enough.

Unpleasant Nightmare:

My best friend talked me into coming with her as moral support to her little brother's birthday party. I hadn't wanted to go to that stupid birthday party to begin with and now I'm trapped in a computer game, a horror computer game that might kill me. I thought at the time that it was ironic that a kid named Greg had gone missing in a Chuck-e-Cheese of all places but this is taking things much too far.

Some of these won't be finished and some are OLD writing of mine. you have been warned. Please don't let that stop you from reading these and enjoying them <3

[aurumacadicus]

Pride Pockets 17--I Need A Dog's Life

Kink belongs at Pride. I will not be arguing a fact.

Anyway don't think about the fact that Tony can and has played as a pup alone because it will make you sad. As always I choose to cause psychic damage to Bucky whenever possible. No actual sex but lemon just to be safe. You can also find this fic on ao3 (here.) Look out for under the cut!

--

Bucky turned the mask he’d found over in his hands slowly, taking in the details with a sharp, careful eye. It felt rubbery in his hands, but the inside was buttery soft. Seemed breathable, too, as he ran his thumbs under the eye holes. It was shaped like a dog’s head, with a muzzle and ears. There was a black rubber nose and a tongue hanging out of its open mouth. He turned it over in his hands again. The ears attached to it were longer than he expected, ending in scalloped edges, and covered with curly white fur from the scalloped edge up to the top of what he now recognized as a hood.

The hood’s base under the fur was pink. Somehow, while Tony had been explaining everything, he had never mentioned that when he pretended to be a dog, he liked to pretend he was a little pink poodle. He bit back the urge to smile fondly. Tony might run the tapes back later and think he was laughing at him, and it would break the tentative trust between them. He didn’t want to chance Tony even maybe thinking that, especially when it had obviously taken a lot of courage to tell him about it to begin with.

He set the hood on his lap and turned to aim his attention toward the unobtrusive trunk Tony had left out for him to look through, reaching in with careful fingers. There was a bolt of furry fabric, he thought, but then he held it up and realized it was a vest with white faux fur on the outside, curly like a poodle’s hair, just like the ears on the hood. His fingers lingered on it as he shifted where he sat, considering the texture of it, but finally, he picked it up and moved it aside. There was a set of… mitts? Boxing gloves? Bucky reached out for one to look it over. From what he could see, it looked like Tony would put his hands in the mitts and cinch them closed so he could have paws. That was… neat.

Before he could explore further, Bucky sensed eyes on him. He took a moment to wonder if he should pretend that he hadn’t noticed and keep exploring the trunk, but then he decided it was more important for Tony to feel heard, that he would know that Bucky would check in just to make sure everything was still alright. He laid his arm on the trunk and turned to look back toward the closet door, heart breaking a little when he saw Tony peeking in at him, looking bored, even though Bucky knew in his gut that he was terrified.

“So,” Tony said, casually crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. He cleared his throat, eyes landing on the trunk instead of meeting Bucky’s gaze. “Anything looking like a deal breaker yet?”

Bucky took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, trying to center himself. “Honey, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you pretending that you’re a dog is one of the least weird things about you. You once ate an entire sushi boat by yourself and then looked at me and said, and I quote, ‘I think I hate sushi.’”

“Anyone would say that after eating fifty pieces of sushi,” Tony barked defensively. “And you could have helped me, coward.”

“And you think this cute mask is going to make me leave you compared to what you just said?” Bucky scoffed, looking down at the mask again. His finger trailed over the hood’s nose. “This is adorable. I bet you’re a cute dog.”

Tony said nothing for a moment, staring at him, as if he was looking for even a hint of a lie in his face. Bucky didn’t let any hesitation or confusion show in response. He’d had a lot of practice early in their relationship, when Tony had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. This was too important for any misunderstandings. Yeah, it was technically pretty weird, but not in a way that put Bucky off—just in a way that made him want to understand more.

“…I’m always cute,” Tony finally said, and Bucky would allow himself a relieved fist pump later. He shifted on his feet, then finally took a step closer, bending at the waist to peer into the trunk. “Anything in there that you don’t understand?”

“Everything’s pretty straightforward, I think,” Bucky said, leaning over to look in as well. “It’s really only the mechanics I think I have questions about, but, you know, I’m a quick study.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, finally dropping to his knees beside the trunk so he could paw inside, examining the contents as if he hadn’t been the one who put them there. “Worst case scenario, I just play by myself. I’ve done it before, so it’s no big deal.”

Bucky didn’t do him the disservice of insisting he could play with him despite his reservations. Tony had only explained the barest bones of what he liked to do, and that was just… dress up like a dog. Which, he decided, staring at the furry vest and the paw mitts, was probably a healthier outlet for him than overworking or drinking, things he’d used to do in his youth. “Why is your mask pink?” he asked as Tony finally pulled out a harness with a tail on it.

Tony lifted his head to blink up at him placidly. “Oh. Because I like being a bitch in heat sometimes, and it helps remind handlers to call me a good girl,” he answered, and Bucky choked on a gasp and started coughing. Luckily, he saw fit to ignore Bucky’s surprise to continue, “It’s been a while since I’ve done that, though. It’s no fun pretending to be in heat if there isn’t a stud around to do something about it—”

“I can be a stud,” Bucky croaked. He wasn’t quite sure what that might entail, but if his minor understanding of dog breeding was accurate, he could extrapolate.

Tony lifted his head to give him a slow, disbelieving blink, hands still buried in the trunk. “…Are you just offering that because you like having sex with me? Or are you trying to do something for me?”

Bucky instinctively balked at the question, but then he took a moment to regroup, before he said something that might hurt both of them. He considered the question instead of jumping to defend himself. Was he only asking because he liked having sex with Tony? He was offering up something a lot more intimate than he had before. Sex was good, but this was a kink Tony had, and it had taken him quite a lot of courage to admit it. He didn’t want Tony to think he wasn’t taking him seriously.

He tried to imagine Tony in the hood he was still holding, the vest with its immaculate curls and the mitts with pink paw prints on the underside. Tony barking and crawling around on all fours like a dog. He tried to imagine himself doing the same thing. He pushed past the instinctive ‘that’s weird’ and ‘I could never,’ because he never would have expected Tony to be able to do it either, and he apparently enjoyed it enough that he was willing to do it by himself, even if his partner couldn’t see the appeal.

It might be nice, to be able to clear his head and just… be someone else. Something else. Not Bucky Barnes, recovering assassin and prisoner-of-war. Sometimes he still felt the need to run away, or got stuck in his head. The idea that he could escape all that, if only for a moment, to be someone who just focused on the next bowl of food or next belly rub… Something that got to pad around the house, and make noise, and sleep whenever he wanted, to take up space and…know he was taken care of. It didn’t sound terrible. At all.

Bucky cleared his throat, then haltingly answered, “I like having sex with you. But. I think. I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to try. I don’t… need all the fancy stuff. Just the hood and the. Tail probably.” He looked back down at the hood in his hands, thumbs stroking over its cheeks. “I want to make you happy. And. Sex is… normal. Not normal—comforting? Something I know how to do. I could probably figure it out as a… a dog. I mean, it’ll probably actually be easier that way, won’t it? Pure, uh, animalistic need.” He sucked in a deep breath carefully, then looked back up at Tony. “So I guess. I’m asking you for both reasons.”

Tony stared at him for a long time, eyes lingering on the hood Bucky was still gently stroking his thumbs over before drawing them back up to meet Bucky’s. “I don’t think you’d make a particularly convincing poodle. Poodles are smart.”

Bucky blinked, mouth dropping open in shock. When it registered that Tony had dropped a joke on him, he couldn’t help a bark of laughter. “Hey!” Tony offered a shy smile, and Bucky took that as a sign that the eggshells he’d been carefully stepping over had been swept away. “I can be a different dog. Crossbreeds are popular these days, aren’t they?”

Tony hummed thoughtfully, leaning back on his hands. “Hm. I’ve won awards. My owner would probably only want to breed more poodles than waste a pregnancy on mutts.”

Bucky felt his face twist into a filthy leer, but he couldn’t stop it if his life depended on it. He leaned in toward him, licking his lips as Tony slanted him a coy look from under his lashes. “Tony. Are you by chance referencing my fantasy where this ol’ Brooklyn boy seduces and ruins a Manhattan socialite?” Tony tipped his head, not answering, but his eyes glanced back at the hood in Bucky’s lap. It clicked for him then exactly what Tony was trying to do—to make it something he could get off on doing, too. He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen this movie. Natasha bullied me into watching it with her as part of my ‘reintroduction.’ I’m not sure how I feel about making a Lady and the Tramp sequel.”

“They already made one, and I’m still mad you guys covered the fifties and sixties while I was out of town,” Tony retorted, scowling. “I wanted to watch The Sword in the Stone with you guys. I had a lot of opinions!”

“You own several versions of Arthurian legend. I gleaned your opinions,” Bucky said, but Tony was already extolling the virtues of each iteration of the Arthurian legend, up to and including children’s books, and he knew the puppy play thing was going to be tabled for a while.

.-.

To Bucky’s mortification, as he was mulling everything over later, the idea of entwining his fantasy into something with dogs… didn’t necessarily seem weird, or even particularly difficult. Tony had indulged him in his fantasy several times, and tweaking it here and there so he was a dog horny jerk sullying Tony’s reputation was… doing something for him. Mounting Tony with the looming threat of an angry owner sent a thrill through him, especially as he compared it to his fantasies where he was snatching a sought-after beau out from the claws of other wealthy socialites who his parents had actually wanted to match him with.

He found himself checking out websites for different styles of hoods. Something… tougher. As tough as a mask could be, anyway. He couldn’t help but wonder what Tony would like. He wanted it to be good for him. It had taken a lot for him to admit that he partook in puppy play, and Bucky had noticed that Tony had held himself tight, as if he was getting ready to run, or… preparing for a blow. He tried not to think about Tony’s issues too much, but it was fucking hard sometimes. It made him work harder to make him happy. But every surprised smile that Tony gave him was worth it.

Bucky finally decided on a brown hood with pointed ears. It was less cutesy than Tony’s poodle one, and it appeared to have a wider mouth, which he wanted so that he was less likely to be triggered by the memory of the muzzle he’d had to wear under Hydra. He sent the link over to Tony with a simple question mark. He didn’t really know what else to say, after all. He wasn’t as invested in this as much as Tony was, so he’d go with his preferences.

Have you ever considered wearing a knotted sheath on your dick? was the only response he got back, and Bucky sat back in his seat to stare at the wall and wonder if he would ever know everything about this time—or, barring that, everything about Tony.

.-.

Luckily, Tony was okay with him foregoing the sheath thing. “It was a bit much to expect when you’ve never played before, anyway,” Tony had said, packing it away, but luckily, he hadn’t looked mad or even upset about it.

Bucky looked at himself in the mirror and sighed. The hood was a little claustrophobic, but the discomfort was negligible. He’d also decided on a black tank-top to cover his torso, because he’d been feeling the fur on Tony’s vest, and it felt kind of itchy after prolonged experience with it. Tony had offered to buy a different vest, but Bucky saw no point when a fix as simple as a shirt was on the table. Maybe, if they decided they wanted to continue with this, he could; until then, there was no point shelling out for something only to use it once when Tony already liked what he had.

Bucky had put on his leather riding gloves instead of committing to a full paw, and he flexed a hand carefully just to check and see if Tony liked it as much as he usually did. To his gratification, Tony’s eyes slanted over from where he was fixing his vest. He flexed his hand again, until the leather creaked under the strain, and Tony began leaning toward him.

Then he blinked, as if stunned, and reached out to smack the back of his hand into Bucky’s shoulder. “Cut that out.”

“Fine,” Bucky huffed, amused, and lifted both his hands to catch the mitt Tony threw at him in response, apparently unimpressed by how sorry he wasn’t. He loosened the laces so that Tony could easily shove his hand in. “You’re sure you’re okay with me just wearing the hood and tail?”

“Every new pup’s gotta start somewhere,” Tony answered reasonably, twisting his hand back and forth. “I like the laces tied in a bow.”

Bucky shook his head a little, smiling. “Of course.”

Tony waited until Bucky gave his ‘paw’ a little pat, then shoved the other mitt at him. “I didn’t see any knee pads when I was looking through your stuff, so I bought you some.”

“Thanks,” Bucky answered, focusing on tightening the laces on his other mitt. Then what Tony said registered, and he blinked once, twice, before finally looking up at Tony’s face. “Huh?”

“…I only have a couple rugs in the penthouse?” Tony explained slowly, raising an eyebrow at him. “Bucky, I know you heal quickly, but even your knees will be fucking killing you after an hour on my wood floors.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m only gonna mount you for an hour,” Bucky retorted immediately. Then he actually thought about how it would feel for his knees to be on Tony’s wood floors for an hour and winced.

“You’re such a fucking dumb ass,” Tony sighed, but he looked endlessly fond instead of annoyed. He shook his head with a slight roll of his eyes, then nodded down his body.

Bucky obediently looked down, eyes skipping over the furry vest. They lingered on his dick for a moment, but then got distracted by the leather straps of the harness holding Tony’s tail up. Tony looked good in leather. He should bring that up later. Get him some other harnesses, maybe.

“Further down, Casanova,” Tony ordered, but he couldn’t quite keep the amusement out of his voice.

Bucky blinked, trying to remember he was looking for a reason beyond ‘yes, Tony is attractive, and I get to look.’ He dropped his eyes further, trying to see what Tony wanted him to. And there, wrapped around Tony’s knees, were a pair of lightly scuffed, white knee pads. “Oh.” He looked up at Tony with a huff of affront. “Those weren’t in the trunk.”

“They need to be cleaned more often, so I just do them all at once,” Tony answered with a shrug. “You know I have like. Three pairs in the workshop, too. So doing them all together is just easier.”

Bucky blinked again. “I did not know you had three pairs of knee pads in the workshop.”

Tony stared at him for a moment, mouth dropping open. Nothing came out for several seconds, though, and that was all the warning Bucky got before Tony turned and grabbed up a spare shirt between his gloves. Then he started thwapping him with it with more force than he would have thought possible with his hands stuck in his paw mitts. “Of course I have knee pads for the workshop, you idiot! You’re lucky my knees even fucking work after I crawl out from under a car! My knees have been in use longer than you’ve been fucking awake!”

“Okay,” Bucky answered, hands flying up to block the fabric’s dull ‘thwap’s. “Okay! I get it.”

Tony smacked him one last time, just for good measure, scowling. “I should take back the pair I bought for you.”

“You should,” Bucky agreed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry that I forget your joints are old. Is that what you want to hear?”

“…You could grovel a bit,” Tony decided, allowing Bucky to take the shirt from between his mitts.

Bucky hooked his hand behind Tony’s neck and dragged him in, pressing his lips into his throat through the hood’s mouth so he could feel his pulse kick up rabbit-fast against them. “What if I rub your feet when we’re done instead? I don’t really want to grovel in a dog get-up.”

Tony hummed, reluctantly pulling himself away so he could give Bucky a long once-over. “It would be weird,” he agreed petulantly. “Even for me. But! I want a half an hour on each foot.”

“Sure,” Bucky replied, amused. He took a moment to stretch his shoulders, first one side and then the other, just to watch the way Tony’s eyes lingered on them, before he reached out to grab the knee pads that Tony had kindly purchased for him. “Well. I suppose I’ll meet you out in the living room.”

Tony gave him a long, slow blink, then nodded in agreement, turning to leave the closet so he could go… prepare? Bucky still wasn’t really sure he understood what Tony meant about getting into ‘the right head space.’ “Don’t forget to test the knee pads out to make sure they’re on right,” he added over his shoulder. “It sucks when you’re halfway through a fuck and you realize your knee pad’s coming off and your knee is starting to hurt.”

“Huh!?” Bucky barked after him, because it sounded like Tony was speaking from experience and as it turned out, he really wanted to know what that experience was, but Tony swanned out without another word before he could corner him about it.

[leupagus]

Please note that this fic is going to take the better part of 2024 and probably 2025

(and given my track record might never be done):

Sansa

"Do you like the taste?" asked Littlefinger, watching her closely as she tried the wine. He always watched her closely.

They had stopped at the Inn at the Crossroads; she hadn't wanted to, but she would have had to explain to Littlefinger why. So she had choked down a meal and refused to think about the last time she had come through this way, where the first member of her family had been murdered in the stable while Joffrey had sniveled and lied and shown her, for the first time, who he really was.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," she answered. "Why do men love it so much?"

Littlefinger shrugged. "It gives some men courage."

"Does it give you courage?"

He smiled, the way he did when she had stung him. He would take his revenge on her somehow, she knew. He was nothing like Joffrey, but there was a smallness to him that reminded her of the king.

The dead king, now.

A flash of armor to her right made her look up; a familiar woman, tall and broad of shoulder in a suit of armor, had approached their table. "Lord Baelish. Lady Sansa. My name is Brienne of Tarth."

Sansa opened her mouth to reply, to tell her she knew who she was, of course she knew. Tyrion had mentioned her often, usually after rebuffing yet another request by the lady of Tarth for an audience with Sansa. I hope you don't mind, and Jaime vouches for her, but Cersei has made it clear she's to go nowhere near you and frankly this giantess makes me a bit nervy. He'd been glad to recount the tale of Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime, traipsing through the Riverlands on their way to King's Landing.

Before Sansa could speak a word, Littlefinger had made some cutting remark, the sort he was so good at. She'd yet to be on the receiving end of any of them but she flinched all the same, watching Brienne's face. Littlefinger was something like Joffrey — and something like herself, too, when she'd been young and pleased at her own wit. Looking back, she knew now that she had only ever been cruel.

Lady Brienne seemed not even to hear Littlefinger; as though he were no more than a gnat to be tolerated until such moment as he could be swatted. She knelt, awkward but not clumsy, and looked earnestly up at her. "Lady Sansa. Before your mother's death, I was her sworn sword. I gave my word I would find you and protect you. I will shield your back and keep your counsel, and give my life for you if needs be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Would she have given the answering vow? She would never know, because once again Littlefinger was talking, sliding his glance over to Sansa to see what remarks might prompt a reaction. Sansa stayed still and watched as Lady Brienne's attention was at least drawn away, glaring at Littlefinger.

"Strange," Littlefinger was saying. "I knew Cat since the time we were children. She never mentioned you."

"It was after Renly's murder," said Lady Brienne, direct and blunt. She and Sandor would get along well, Sansa thought suddenly. Pity they had never met.

"Ah, yes," said Littlefinger. "You were accused of killing him."

Lady Brienne blushed, a splotchy red spreading across her cheeks. Shame, Sansa thought, but not guilt. "I tried to save him," she spat out. She did not glance over, to see if Sansa would believe her.

"But you were accused."

"By men who did not see what happened."

"And what did happen?"

"He was murdered by a shadow. A shadow with the face of Stannis Baratheon."

"A shadow? With a face?" Littlefinger turned to Sansa, and that was when she knew whatever he was about to say was a lie. "This woman swore to protect Renly. She failed. She swore to protect your mother. She failed." He smirked up at Lady Brienne. "Why would I want somebody with your history of failure guarding Lady Sansa?"

Lady Brienne made a face. "Why would you have any say in her affairs?"

"Because I am her uncle. I married her Aunt Lysa shortly before my beloved's untimely death. We're family now. And you are an outsider. Forgive me, Lady Brienne. But experience has made me wary of outsiders."

She gaped at him, then looked back at Sansa. "Lady Sansa," she said, and paused, as though at a loss for how to convince her. "If we can have a word alone?"

"Yes." Sansa rose, knocking into the table. The goblet of wine spilled and ran down her dress, but she was on her feet at last. The sellswords Littlefinger had brought with him moved in, one of them putting a hand on Lady Brienne's shoulder. She tensed and in just a few seconds there would be bloodshed, there would be someone dead on the floor and it would be her fault.

"Uncle Petyr," she said loudly, her heart rabbiting out of her chest, "Thank you very much for understanding. I will speak with Lady Brienne as you suggest, and then we shall resume our journey."

The sounds of eating and talking died out as faces turned toward her. A round-faced boy came bustling up, a wide, customer-friendly smile pasted on his face. "Is there anything I can help with, milord?" he chirruped.

"A room for the ladies," said Littlefinger, still watching her. She nodded very slightly and his mouth twitched.

"Have you anything on the floor above?" she added, addressing the boy with a nervous glance toward Lady Brienne.

"Er," came the reply, "Yes? Right this way, milady. Miladies."

Sansa leaned toward Littlefinger. He smelled of wine and the oils he used on his hair. "Could some of the guards watch the door?" she whispered. "And some near the stairs. Just…in case."

"Of course," he said, though his eyes were on her mouth.

The way Littlefinger had spoken of her mother, there had been a great rivalry between himself and Ned Stark; and before that a rivalry between himself and her uncle Brandon, who'd been betrothed to Catelyn before his murder. Littlefinger had always sounded like the defeated lover, the man who had nearly won his beloved's hand.

Mother had never mentioned Littlefinger. Father had, once they were in King's Landing and he'd been forced to admit an acquaintance. He'd sounded irritated more than angry; her mother had never loved him, had hardly ever thought of him. Her parents had lived and loved each other and all the while Littlefinger had stewed in his own curdled affections, imagining a love story that had never existed.

She could never decide what had moved her to kiss him on the cheek. Perhaps it had been a clever ploy to distract him, or a way to tell him she would return. She would have liked to have been that clever. But in the moment she could remember only how sorry she felt for him. "I'll just be a few moments," she promised him, lying.

Minutes later she was in a small bedchamber, with two dirty windows on each outside wall and the ominous creak of leather and metal just outside the door, signaling that Littlefinger's sellswords had taken up position. Lady Brienne, for her part, looked as uncomfortable as she had downstairs. "Thank you for speaking with me, my lady," she said.

"Can you fight them all?" Sansa asked her, keeping her voice down. They would need to be overheard soon, but they had a few seconds. Enough time, perhaps enough time. "If there's four in the corridor, and four downstairs."

"What? Yes, of course," said Lady Brienne, expression torn between confusion and offense. She fought off a bear once, Tyrion had told her with glee. Even beat my dear brother in a sword fight. When he still had both hands.

Sansa went to the first window. A long drop onto hard ground, and it faced the road as well as the hitching posts. The second was more promising: hay bales stacked haphazardly next to the wall, and the wood only twenty hards away.

"Start talking," she hissed at Lady Brienne.

She frowned. "I'm sorry?"

Sansa mimed opening the window. "Start talking. About anything. Honor or duty or what my mother was like. Whatever you'd say if you were trying to convince me."

Lady Brienne's eyes widened in understanding. "I…am not much for speeches, my lady," she said slowly, then more loudly as Sansa pulled open the window slowly, mindful of any squeaking. "But I found your mother an honorable woman, and your brother too. I brought Ser Jaime Lannister back to King's Landing at her request, so that you might be returned to your mother in exchange."

It would never have worked; she'd known that even then. The Lannisters did not understand the notion of letting go of an advantage, once they'd sunk their teeth into one. Even Tyrion had never offered to take her to her family once they'd been married. He'd had his reasons, and they had been good ones, but she'd learned another lesson that day. "So you sacrificed your oath to protect my mother for an oath to protect me?" she asked, making sure her voice carried as she swung her legs over the sill. "How can I know you'll not abandon me, too?"

It was important not to think. If she thought about it, she wouldn't do it.

She held her breath, put her hands over her mouth, and fell.

[ticklystuff]

"Are you ticklish?"

a/n: ty kafka for the fic idea

characters: caelus, dan heng

wc: ~2.6k

summary: one truth, one lie~

"One round."

"No."

"Please?"

Dan Heng sighed to himself, ready to turn down Caelus' request once more, only to pause the second he looked up from his phone. Although the other was seated the same way as before, there was a slight pout to his lips that accompanied the plea in his eyes, his upper body just barely leaning over the other end of the mattress that was Dan Heng's bed. If this were March, the archivist would have no problem shooting her down, maybe even going as far to say he somewhat enjoyed it when he got the chance, but there was something different with Caelus, an unfamiliar feeling that Dan Heng found himself inept at putting into words. He found himself nearly caving to the request, but promptly shook his head. "No, no," he quickly turned the other down, unable to look him in the eyes while doing so. "No games."

Caelus huffed as folded his arms, the puppy-dog expression dissipating immediately at the sign of rejection. "But why not? You don't even know what the game is."

"Because I suspect it's a game you and March created to make a fool of me," he put it bluntly. "Am I right?"

"Wha- No!" Maybe Caelus was being honest with how vehemently he denied the claim. "March wasn't even involved.. this time. Someone else taught me, okay? March has nothing to do with this!"

Dan Heng stared at the other, flipping through the potential consequences of entertaining this "game" in his head, ultimately releasing a heavy sigh in the end. "At least tell me what the game is and I might consider playing."

One would think that Caelus had already won the actual game with the way he beamed in response. "Alright, so the game is called 'One Truth, One Lie.' It's simple; we ask each two questions per round and for one question, you have to answer with the truth. The other question, though, you have to give a lie. Easy, right?"

Dan Heng tapped an index finger to his leg as he gave thought to the rules presented to him. "How do I know when you're lying, though?"

"That's the point," Caelus said. "You don't."

"Huh, okay," he mumbled in thought, giving himself a moment to ponder. "Then what's stopping me from answering with two lies?" he threw his thoughts into the air, not necessarily directing his question at Caelus. "Or even two truths?"

"Ugh, don't be like that," Caelus shook his head at the notion. "It's no fun if you decide to cheat."

"I'm still not sure what's the end goal of this game, though."

"J-Just roll with it," Caelus stammered, huffing impatiently. "Please?"

Dan Heng tilted his head inquisitively, thinking of the many outcomes of the game. It seemed relatively benign and the overall nature was harmless, so maybe, just maybe, there was no ulterior motive? He gave Caelus one long final glance, receiving a big grin in response that only made Dan Heng sigh. "Fine, we'll go a round." He figured Caelus wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, regardless.

Caelus mouthed an inaudible 'yes' and Dan Heng couldn't help but chuckle at how very visibly excited he was. "Alright, alright," Caelus scooted closer, a little too close, "I'll go first."

Dan Heng watched as the other stared at the ceiling in thought, but as the seconds passed without a first question, he started to wonder whether this game was as simple as initially presented. "Err, you good?" Dan Heng blinked at Caelus, still awaiting a response. "Should I go-"

"Just shh," Caelus quickly waved his hand in the air and Dan Heng shut his mouth. "Okay," he breathed, a noticeable quiver to his voice. "W-What do you think about me?"

That was it? Nothing intrusive, or embarrassing even? Dan Heng couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, expecting a second question, but Caelus' held his wide eyes and what seemed to be bated breath for Dan Heng's response. "I-" he paused, pondering how he should go about his answer.

"You?" Caelus nudged him along. There was a glint of anticipation in his eyes that distracted Dan Heng for the briefest of moments, but he simply brushed it off.

"I like you," Dan Heng said with a simple nod, choosing to start off with the truth.

"You do?!"

"Uh, that's what I said, yes," he responded, taken back by the sudden eccentricity, blinking at the way Caelus seemed to visibly shake with excitement. "You're a dependable ally in combat and a great friend."

What he wasn't expecting was the complete one-eighty in expression, watching the ecstatic grin morph into a dejected frown and slouched shoulders. "Uhh, did I say something wrong?" There was genuine concern in his voice because what in Aeon's name did he say to hurt the poor thing?

"N-No, I just-"

"Should I have said that I hate you?"

"No!" Caelus nearly cried out, before sighing, balling up his fists as he recomposed himself. "I guess I just was ho- err, expecting something else? But y'know, you might be lying."

"I suppose?" Dan Heng wasn't sure what he was getting at. Why did it feel like he was playing the game wrong?

"Okay," Caelus inhaled with a nod, "your turn for a question."

"Mmmm," came an inward hum from Dan Heng's chest as he gave his first question some thought. He now realized why Caelus took so much time initially; an infinite amount of possibilities existed, so how could he just stick to one? As he took glances around the library he called his room, his eyes finally landed on Caelus' phone beside his leg and a suitable question finally sprung to mind. "How much money have you spent on your gambling games?"

"Uh, actually gachas aren't considered gambling because you still win a prize at the end, no matter the outcome," Caelus explained matter-of-factly.

"Okay, whatever helps you justify your gambling addiction."

"Well, I'm free to play, okay?" Caelus rolled his eyes at the sudden jab.

An amused chuckle slipped from Dan Heng's lips as he raised an eyebrow. "Really now?"

"Uh-huh."

"Yet you always bug me and March to pay for your lunch."

"Food always tastes better when it's free!"

Well, he couldn't argue with that. Still, he took one long final stare at Caelus, just to make sure, but found the other impossible to read, prompting a confident shrug that further threw Dan Heng off. Not that he believed Caelus at all, but his rather convincing mannerisms seemed to suggest otherwise. "Alright, your turn again," Dan Heng said once finished with his "investigation".

"Okay, I have the perfect question," Caelus said, leaning in with a smirk that Dan Heng already didn't like. "Dan Heng, are you.. ticklish?"

What a strange person this man was. Of all things he could ask, tickling was one of the things to settle on? Not about Dan Heng's past, or his most embarrassing moments, but tickling? Dan Heng blinked at the other, waiting to see if he'd take the chance to backtrack, but Caelus seemed content with his question, sitting there with a small smile as he waited. 

"I'm not," Dan Heng lied, folding his arms together. All the flashbacks of March, Himeko, even Welt on occasion, providing passing tickles seemed to rush to the forefront of his mind the instant he spoke, but he held a straight face for the sake of the game.

The smug smirk never left Caelus' face, even after Dan Heng presented his answer. "Really? You're not lying?"

"The rules of the game prevent me from revealing that," Dan Heng held firm.

"But do the rules of the game prevent me from revealing that?" Caelus asked the other. There was a brief glint in his eyes that Dan Heng failed to decipher as it disappeared, leaving him to sit there, perplexed by his actions.

What exactly was he getting at-

In hindsight, with a such a random question revolving around tickling, Dan Heng should've expected the unfolding turn of events, starting with Caelus pouncing on top of him, to the inevitability of Dan Heng being pinned to the floor, struggling under the weight of the other with futile protests. "Don't you dare!" came a hiss through clenched teeth, his hands desperately gripping Caelus' wrists, but Caelus' own hands were already positioned right where they needed to be, the space between Dan Heng's sides and Caelus' fingertips practically nonexistent.

"Oh, and what's the issue?" His tone was sweet, but Dan Heng's ears were not folly to the taste of mischief masked behind that saccharine grin. "I thought you said you weren't ticklish."

"The issue��is that you're clearly going against the rules of the game!" He gritted his teeth as Caelus's fingers shifted to just barely pressing a small indent into Dan Heng's skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, resisting the urge to jolt under Caelus' grip.

This did not go unnoticed by Caelus, however, as if he was absorbing every reaction to personally store away, clearly enjoying the situation with a gleam in his eyes. "There's no harm in checking, right?"

"Caelus, n-no!" He inwardly cursed himself for the stutter in his voice, undermining his own facade. It didn't help that Caelus had now added another finger to each side, pestering Dan Heng with sporadic pokes. Normally, the archivist would shrug something like this off, but his sense of pride refused to allow Caelus to break the rules of his own game so nonchalantly. Not to mention the potential repercussions if Caelus did actually find the answer to what he was looking for. Dan Heng would shudder at the thought if not already preoccupied with the incessant jabs to his sides.

"Dan Heng, yes!" The gutturalness to Caelus' voice really added to his already over-the-top impish nature and Dan Heng did not like it one bit. Where did he learn this behavior from?! As if to answer his own question, a brief image of March popped into his head, but his focus soon returned to the situation at hand, as Caelus ripped his hands out of Dan Heng's grip and lunged at the other, all in one swift maneuver.

"W-Wait! Caelus!" His voice nearly cracked in frenzy, legs instinctively curling into his chest to protect his ribs just within reach of Caelus' fingers. He leveraged one arm to push against Caelus' body, while the other arm desperately fought off Caelus' own. "Why are you doing this?!"

Ignoring the question altogether, Caelus quickly backed off, only to send Dan Heng back into a panic at the feeling of a hand closing around his ankle, followed by a swift swipe up the sole of his foot. Though short-lived, the brief sensations were just enough for Dan Heng to uncurl his legs in an attempt to kick at Caelus, only to realize the betrayal of his own reflexes once his upper body was exposed yet again, creating just the perfect opening for Caelus to pounce and claim his prize.

"Caelus!! N-NohohOHOHOhoho!"

Time seemingly slowed for Dan Heng as the archivist did his best to defend himself, but Caelus' actions moved in real time and it wasn't long till his fingers met Dan Heng's ribs, eliciting a screech that was new to the both of them. There was a moment of pause, as if Caelus was registering everything that had just happened, and Dan Heng could have very well taken advantage of the split second of respite, but he did not like the fool he was, practically surrendering himself when Caelus started up again. His legs instinctively curled inwards just like before, but this time, Caelus was there to block him, undisturbed as Caelus made his ribs the center of attention.

"Wait, wait! Caeluhuhuhus! Stop! StaHAHAhahap!"

"Mmmm, I think you were lying in your last answer, Dan Heng," Caelus spoke nonchalantly, as if Dan Heng's frantic laughter wasn't echoing throughout the archive room. "But maybe you can tell me the truth yourself?"

At this point, the true answer to Caelus' query was quite evident, yet there was a sliver of him that went against the grain, willing him to hold onto denial. Maybe his pride took the best of him, or perhaps his own laughter ringing throughout the room had started to dishevel his line of logic; Dan Heng wasn't too sure himself, but those brief thoughts were soon usurped by the sensations at his ribs slowly making their way lateral of his midsection, heading straight for just what Dan Heng feared. 

"Wait! Waitwaitwait- wahahahahait!" Gentler touches were all that was needed, enough to send Dan Heng into panic with minimal effort, as he knew their intent full-well. His body arched forward and he flailed his limbs in an attempt to stop Caelus, yet it was like his arms turned to lead in the moment, heavy and powerless to stop the other as all he could really do was plead.

"I think we're about to really find out if Dan Heng is ticklish or not." The tone in his voice was mischievous, triumphant, almost ravenous; it was anything but innocent, which just went to show Dan Heng just how much Caelus was enjoying the moment. He didn't get too much time to ponder on this, however, as Caelus' fingers soon trailed up the side of his midsection, sending Dan Heng's eyes wide as he shook his head.

"GYAHAHA!" was what slipped past his lips at first contact, Caelus making his mark with two fingers digging into each underarm, as if each hand were needles to a balloon, pointed and precise, but their impact was very real, the overloading sensations engulfing Dan Heng in howling laughter as he was unable to deny the inevitable. "OKAY! OKAHAHAY! I-I'M TICKLIHIHIHISH!"

"Hmm? What was that? I can't understand what you're saying."

This bastard.

"YEHEHES! I'M TICKLISH! STAHAHAP!"

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Caelus brought the tickling to a slow, allowing a slow stream of giggles to flow, before removing his hands from Dan Heng's underarms altogether. "Aww, Dan Heng, you broke the rules of the game." Caelus' words barely registered in his brain and Dan Heng would've shot him a disgruntled frown were he not busy panting from the ordeal.

"Screw off," he hardly managed through heavy breaths, giving Caelus a weak shove so that he could finally sit up again. "Are we done here?"

"Uh, no," Caelus spoke pointedly, hands on his hips. "You still need to ask me one more question."

Dan Heng rolled his eyes, already through with Caelus at this point. Something simple would do, anything to end the game and get Caelus off his back, and just as he was about to speak, an idea popped into his head, prompting Dan Heng to cut himself off at the last moment. 

"What was that?" Caelus looked at him expectantly.

"Ah, I had just settled on a question," Dan Heng began, clearing his throat before speaking again, "but Caelus, are you ticklish?" He watched for Caelus' reaction, almost relishing in how his mouth flattened, with the instant shade of red spreading across his face. 

"Uh, well-"

"Oh, and remember, there are ways of checking if you're lying or not," Dan Heng flatly reminded him, taking in just how easily flustered Caelus had become, playing right into Dan Heng's hand.

Dan Heng observed as Caelus breathed a sigh, avoiding eye contact as he twiddled his thumbs in his lap. The corner of his mouth nearly twitched into a smile that Dan Heng took effort into stifling, but there was something so satisfying with how easily the tables turned.

With a deep breath, Caelus finally looked Dan Heng in the eyes, speaking in the softest of voices, a stark contrast from his earlier demeanor.

"Yes, I'm ticklish."

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, today we have the fourth part of our rec list of bottom Louis fics where Louis and Harry are friends who become lovers. If you'd like to check out the previous rec lists, you can find part one here, part two here, and part three here. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word.

Happy reading!

1) Truth Or Drink | Explicit | 5,548 words

Harry isn’t nervous. Of course he isn’t. He has done much more intimidating things than this. He has had sex with at least 100 men, and a few women along the way, while being filmed and watched by another 20 pairs of eyes. But for some reason the thought of doing this sounds a hundred times worse. He can feel his insides churning and sweat is starting to form on his palms. Sure, sex is Harry’s job and it has been for as long as he can remember. He doesn’t mind having a crowd of people watching him anymore, and everything is always quite professional. At the beginning things might have been a bit challenging but now it’s almost second nature. This, though, is more distressing than anything he has ever done before.

2) Incalescent | Explicit | 5,649 words

The onset of heat is something Louis still hasn’t learned to recognize.

3) You Step Where Words Are Written, Delicate Under Your Feet | Mature | 6,495 words

Prompt 513: A fic where Louis gives Harry a footjob over his pants while they're watching TV and Harry finds out he has a thing for Louis' feet.

4) Kiss It Better | Mature | 8,080 words

Harry shakes his head with a light laugh and leans down to kiss him again which Louis happily accepts even if he is a little confused by the reaction. "Baby, not a night has gone by that I haven't thought about you in my bed, naked, and begging for my cock." Blinking up at him with wide eyes, Louis opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. While they did flirt a lot over the last few weeks, Harry had never said anything like that. It shocks him as much as it turns him on. "News to me." "I won't lie and say I like random hookups or casual sex, but to me this isn't what that is." Louis swallows thickly, unsure of what to say to that but once again Harry gives him an out. "So, If you want we can stay up here and I can show you all the things I've thought about doing to you." Another kiss, quick and sweet. "Or, we can go back downstairs and we'll dance all night."

5) To Love Without Reason | Explicit | 8,854 words

“Come on in, soldier,” Louis pats Harry’s chest and walks away, leaving Harry to follow behind. Harry stands in the living room, looking around at Louis’ dwelling. Family pictures placed high on a shelf, certificates of Louis’ practice, and other trinkets that make Harry entirely too nostalgic. “I have to warn you,” Louis says as he puts the kettle on, the water droplets from his hair trickling down the golden skin of his back. “The door jams if you lock it so you'll have to leave it ajar.” Harry acknowledges with a soft hum, too entranced by Louis’ glistening skin to form a coherent reply.

6) I Would Wait Forever (And Ever) | Not Rated | 10,018 words

Louis is brave but has the worst timing in the world, Harry doesn't want to lose his best friend and they just don't communicate enough.

7) If I Saw You Every Day Forever | Mature | 10,685 words

There really should be a statute on the number of dates one can go to because how much longer does Louis have to suffer through this? A modern AU in which Louis might have accidentally signed up for something he probably shouldn't.

8) Wait Until You're Sure | Explicit | 13,042 words

Prompt 465: Louis and Harry are best friends who made a pact. If neither of them has found love by the time they’re 30, then they’ll get married. It was all laughter and fun until Harry realizes they’re celebrating his 30th birthday and in a few months, Louis is gonna be 30 too. So, he struggles to find someone for Louis to avoid being together, but Louis just keeps rejecting all men Harry introduces to him (because he has feeling for him, of course), which really upsets Harry. They argue about that and Louis says something like “wow, it’s that bad to be with me?,” accepting that Harry simply doesn’t feel the same. Louis moves for a couple of months with another friend and Harry has all this time to understand his feelings, realizing that he loves Louis too and wants to be with him. But when he goes to tell him, Louis is already seeing someone else. So what’s Harry gonna do to get Louis back?

9) Candle Wax & Polaroids On The Hardwood Floor | Explicit | 13,082 words

Prompt 463: Clumsy modern witch Louis AU where he accidentally gives his roommate Harry a love potion and he has a crisis because he thinks he will get in trouble with the law for technically poisoning someone and Harry’s heart eyes aren’t helping.

10) Blackberries And Cherries | Explicit | 13,894 words

Louis is a witch and Harry is his human friend. When Harry needs help focusing on his schoolwork, the obvious solution is to ask Louis for a potion. You could say things don’t go quite right.

11) Bend The Rules | Explicit | 16,823 words

Prompt 588: Lous hires a ‘ghost cooking’ service because his family is worried he’s not eating well and he wants to impress them by showing them what an amazing cook he’s become. The service includes sending a discreet cook to your house and have them get everything ready so that you only serve and take the credit. Problem is, his sisters (can be OCs if that’s more comfortable) get to his flat earlier than planned and the actual cook has to hide in the master bathroom for hours. Louis is mortified. The cook is amused and helps him to clean and well. Gives him a thorough service. Feel free to pick your fave as the cook.

12) Swap Me For Your Shadow | Explicit | 16,829 words

If Louis thought being in love with his best friend was a knife that continually twisted into his heart before, it was nothing compared to when Harry started to go around talking about having fallen for someone else. A 5+1 fic; 5 times Louis has to listen to Harry’s vague confessions of love for his ‘omega friend’ and the 1 time Louis snaps and confesses his love for Harry.

13) Sometimes A Fantasy | Explicit | 18,654 words

There’s nothing to complain about when Harry’s walking around their flat with his cock swinging about, nothing to complain about when Harry’s pressing himself up against Louis’ naked backside when he’s reaching for a mug in their cupboards, and nothing to complain about when Harry’s got his hand firm on Louis’ arse when they’re cuddling on the couch. So, in reality, it’s really fucking weird, and Louis knows that. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it.

14) Lonely Shadow Dancers | Explicit |20,838 words

“Mm,” Harry’s arms circle him, and their fumbling somehow turns into a cuddle session, “still can’t believe we’re here together.” Growing up with someone, one tends to become used to another. Used to the mannerisms and personality of them. Used to the changes and the things that stay the same. Harry hit puberty and sprung up into this cheeky curly flirt of an alpha and Louis still hasn’t found the time to get used to it. His stomach flutters and he bites back a stupid smile and wonders if he ever will.

15) The Mess We Created | Explicit | 21,099 words

An innocent one night stand changed into something more than that.

16) Not Safe For Work | Explicit | 23,295 words

I want to drown myself in Harry’s scent until I smell like him. “I think I'm open to trying that too. Sounds very good.” Louis shakes his head a little to get out of the Harry’s-scent-spiral. “Huh?” “The dish your finger's pointing at. I thought that might be what you’re choosing?” “Oh. Yeah.”

17) Sweet Like Honey | Explicit | 33,117 words

Weeks of flat shopping with their limited budget with Louis as a librarian aid and Harry as a barista and arguments about whether a balcony or extended bathroom suite were more important (Harry wanted to be able to feel the crisp night’s air and watch the sun set and Louis just wanted to take long bubble baths) led to them stumbling across the perfect fit. A small flat only ten minutes from campus with a cramped but lovely balcony and an included bath.  It’s affordable too… well, sort of. But they always manage. Louis picks up more shifts as an aid, adapting a habit of bringing his Psych textbooks and homework with him to finish in between duties, and later his script so he can quietly practice lines with little distraction. Harry also increases his number of shifts at the cafe and valiantly endures the nasty customers who for some reason flock to their establishment like moths to a flame.  For a while, it’s enough.

18) Once Burnt, Twice Shy | Explicit | 52,644 words

Louis and Harry are polar opposites in every way. Where Louis is a bestselling author from the city, Harry is a small-town firefighter who's never left his home. Where Louis is spontaneous and spirited, Harry is introverted and calm, never straying from routine. When an ill-fated accident and an exceptionally intelligent tabby bring them together, they are forced to confront their pasts and forge a better beginning for themselves. Will sparks fly, or will it all go up in flames?

19) Gallery Of Us | Explicit | 55,778 words

Harry knew what he was doing in life, everything laid out in black-and-white, each day pleasantly predictable. Cue lively art student, Louis, trying to find his place. An almost insufferably happy person who sometimes forgets to hide the way they feel meets the person who is diligent enough to notice and determined to make a difference.

20) If You’re Out There (I’ll Find You Somehow) | Explicit | 55,916 words

Harry looks so intensely into Louis’ eyes it’s as though he’s reaching in and touching his very soul. “I never thought… I never… I’ve been searching for so long, Louis, but I never gave up. I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop trying,” Harry says, bottom lip trembling as he strokes the backs of Louis’ knuckles. “I just knew that if you were out there, I’d find you somehow.”

21) It’s Golden, Like Daylight | Explicit | 61,496 words

"I actually think you might be onto something.” Harry’s eyes widened. “You mean…” Louis nodded. “As crazy and insane as this, this might just solve both of our problems.” “Are you saying you’re in?” Harry asked. “I’m in.”

22) Derail The Mind Of Me | Explicit | 77,323 words

Beside the photograph of a gaunt, pale face spattered with blood and lips torn into a Glasgow smile was a bloodied object, crumpled and stained almost to the point of unrecognition. Another photo showed the object shoved into the woman’s mouth. While Harry leaned forward to get a closer look, Louis scrunched up his nose and purposefully kept his gaze locked on his computer screen, refusing to so much as glance at the gruesome images the rest of the team examined. “What is that?” Zayn frowned. “Is that a tarot card?”

23) Ghost Note Symphony | Explicit | 96,426 words

Louis is on tour when he first hears about it. It’s all over the news – Harry Styles Attacked By Fan runs in headlines for days. It’s not even just the gossip rags, either. Actual journalists are covering the story. It would have been impossible to avoid hearing about it. Technically, Oli is the one who tells Louis about it, but it’s not exactly being covered up. Harry doesn’t answer Louis’ text asking if he’s alright, but that’s not really surprising. They haven’t spoken for months, and it’s been a lot longer than that since they’ve had a real conversation. The sting of the text going unanswered is still there, less painful than it might have been a few years ago. It’s not that it’s easy to forget about, exactly. Louis has a whole life outside of One Direction now, though. So Louis goes on with his life, figuring that if Harry was seriously hurt he would have heard about it by now. He might currently be in the same country as Harry, but being on opposite sides of it puts enough distance between them that putting it in the back of his mind is easy. There’s nothing Louis could do, even if he thought Harry might want him to. That’s why everything that happens next comes as a complete shock to him.

24) Our Endless Numbered Days | Explicit | 120,815 words

“Harry?” whispered Louis, his mouth dry, his nose pressing against the other’s warm skin. “Mh?” Harry’s humming was gentle, his fingers lightly caressing the younger boy’s arm, his chest steadily rising and falling beneath Louis’ cheek. A couple of seconds passed, and Louis looked up at him in the darkness of the cave, barely able to make out the expression on his face. When he tried to inhale deeply, his breath hitched. He struggled to find the words to tell Harry what he was thinking about. Another couple of seconds passed, and Louis listened to the reassuring beating of the prince’s heart beneath his cheek. He couldn’t. “Nothing,” he whispered, his voice weak. I think you’re half of my soul.

25) Love Will Tear Us Apart | Mature | 204,151 words

It was only meant to be a one night thing, but when the country goes into lockdown, Louis Tomlinson finds himself stuck in windsor castle, in company of his royal fucking highness, Harry, the prince of England.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

Not So Single Mom (Part 2)

Okay, so it's been a while, but as someone who likes to write fics on an actual keyboard, having a finger out of action has been a bit of a pain in the ass (as well as in the digit itself).

We're still not healed, but I can just about bend it and if I press the keys lightly not wince too much at how painful it is to type.

But anyway, pity party aside, I've missed writing and I wanted to get at least one of the fics that I have open on desktop a little nearer to completion so...we have a little part 2 of the pregnant reader (the idea for which comes courtesy of a comment from @avabartlett96).

Part 1 here

“You okay, hun?” asks Melissa, her hand finding your shoulder when she finds you still in your classroom come recess. 

You shift in your chair, trying and failing to get comfortable, shrugging off her hand as you do so.  “Just…aches and pains,” you say with a wince.  At least it’s only a half lie. 

“Anything I can do?” she asks, head tilted to the side as she takes you in.

You manage a lopsided smile as you look up at her.  “You do more than enough for me.”

She steps close, cupping your face in her hands.  “Nonsense.  You think of anything, you let me know?  ‘Kay?”

You close your eyes as she presses a kiss to your forehead, fists clenching briefly as you take a deep breath to calm yourself.

*

“Girl!”

You turn at Ava’s call.  It’s nonspecific, but with your head pressed against the cold, concrete wall as you take deep breaths, fanning yourself with the pile of photocopying you had just collected, you figure you look odd enough that she might just have noticed you. 

“You got one hot woman at your beck and call,” is what she follows up with as she approaches.  “Let her help relieve some of that tension!”

“AVA!” you hiss back, immediately straightening up.  “I’m fine!”

“I know you are,” she smirks.  “So go get some!”

“But I’m-“

“Girl, I know what horny looks like and you…”

You scowl up at her, wishing you could deny it. 

*

“Help her relieve any of that tension yet?” asks Ava as she reaches for the sugar.

Melissa frowns at the question, eyebrows furrowing as she looks at the other woman.  “What?”

“Y/N,” says the Principle.

“She said it was just pregnancy aches,” replies the red head, continuing to stir her coffee. 

Ava smirks.  “Oh, she achin’ for something alright.”

*

Melissa doesn’t often dwell on many of the things that Ava says, but she dwells on this.  Spends a lot of her afternoon thinking about it.  If she’s honest, it’s a subject she’s been thinking about for a long time, but you’re both taking things at your pace.  She understands that your body is going through a lot of changes, that your feelings are mercurial at best and though she’s often wondered what it might feel like to do more than kiss you, she doesn’t want to push.  She may not exactly be known for her patience, but when it comes to you, she can always find some.

Walking to your classroom after the final bell, however, she finds Ava’s words still going round in her head.  “Hey,” she smiles from the doorway of your classroom, waiting for you to look up and return her smile before entering.  “You wanna come over tonight?” she asks.  You’d spent a few nights at home recently, and if she’s honest, she’s missed you.  “I could cook?  You could relax?”

She watches as you bite your lip, looking torn.

“Talk to me?” she asks, coming to perch on the edge of your desk. 

Your cheeks flush and you duck your head.

“Hormones?” asks Melissa, watching as you nod quickly.  “Ones that make you not want to cry?”

Again, you nod, your cheeks only becoming a deeper shade of red. 

“Ones that…”

“I’m horny all the damn time!” you hiss, missing the way Melissa’s eyes widen at your sudden admission.  “And it sucks because I don’t want the first time I have sex with you to be because I can’t control myself thanks to this little freeloader.”  Refusing to meet her eyes, you also finally admit what thus far you’ve been too scared to tell her, “And I also don’t want the first time I have sex with you to be when I’m like this…”  You gesture down at your ever-growing bump.

“By this, you mean beautiful?” offers the red head, her voice soft and warm.

You shake your head.  “I’m not beautiful.”

“You are beautiful,” repeats Melissa, shifting from her perch on your desk to squat down next to you, swivelling your chair so she can look up and meet your eyes.  She reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear.  “You are beautiful to me,” she tells you.  “Right now, as you are.”

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve pictured you between my legs, your eyes looking up at me?  I won’t even be able to see you face with this speedbump in the way.”  You watch as her eyes widen, and gasp.  “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” she nods, her voice suddenly a little shaky.  “And don’t you dare try to take it back.”  She rests her hands on your knees, using them to help her stand.  She leans back against your desk, wheeling you on your chair to sit between her legs, reaching out until she can rest her hands comfortably on your bump.  “First, this little Tesoro is very dear to me so let’s not be calling her names.  Second, I’ll wait until you’re ready, but hun, if you’re suffering, let me help.”

You whimper and she leans down to kiss you.  The contact is electric for you and without thinking, you fist your hand in her shirt.

She pulls back, surprised at the ferocity.  “You need it bad, don’t you?”

In answer, you just pull her in and kiss her again.

“Would you be happier at your place or mine?” she asks, the words whispered against your lips as you take moment to catch your breath.

“Yours is closer,” you breathe, blushing at her raised eyebrow.  “Fuck!  Sorry!  It’s not meant to sound like I’m desperate and anything will do.”  You drop your head, finding it easier to speak when you weren’t looking at her kiss bruised lips and flushed face.  The way her chest rises and falls rapidly as she catches her breath only serving to distract you further.  “I’ve been trying to…you know, take the edge off on my own.  It’s only when I think of you that I even get close.”

You feel strong, capable hands cup your cheeks, forcing you to look up and meet her brilliant green eyes.  “How about you let me show you what the real live version can do?”

[bloody-bee-tea]

As easy as this

Anyone who can name the song lyric I have in this fic gets a virtual cookie and at least three hearts from me

Hitoshi has a hard time concentrating this morning. He blames it on the lack of food— he knows from experience that he goes all spacey when he skips a meal but it’s not as if it’s in his own hands, these days.

His foster parents decide when he eats and they weren’t inclined to let him eat yesterday evening. Or this morning, for that matter.

Would have been kind of difficult anyway, seeing as he hadn’t been allowed inside of the house, he bitterly thinks and then tries to push that thought away.

Present Mic is already throwing him annoyed glances as it is, there’s no need to make him take special note of Hitoshi on top of everything else today so he needs to get a grip and make himself focus.

It’s just—it’s hard, is all. His stomach is long past grumbling and not even the approaching lunch can lift Hitoshi’s mood because he doesn’t have the money to buy himself something. He keeps a few essential things in a locker at the train station, but money is not one of them.

His foster parents don’t give him enough to squirrel anything away anyway and so instead of stressing over that Hitoshi is more concerned with keeping practical things in that locker. Mainly thick, warm clothes for the nights he has to spent outside and a first aid kit for when his foster parents go at it a little too hard.

Hitoshi jerks when the bell rings, signalling the end of the lesson for today and it takes him a second to get moving. None of his classmates stop to talk to him and while usually that only leaves a bitter feeling of tired acceptance in his chest today he’s thankful for it.

He’s not sure he is in any state to talk to them today. Some of his classmates don’t seem to care about his quirk but there are enough who are wary around him and they never let him forget it even when he’s talking to the ones who seemingly don’t care.

As if he could slip at any moment. As if he would control them over just for the fun of it.

Hitoshi learned to accept it a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean he’s okay with it. It’s just not something he can change and he knows better than to spend any energy on trying on that. He needs his energy for other things after all.

Mainly not failing classes, these days.

“You okay?” One of his braver classmates asks as he stops at Hitoshi’s desk and Hitoshi waves him off.

“I’m fine,” he gives back and he knows he doesn’t look like it—he never does, these days—but that answer is always enough.

No one cares to ask beyond this, and as long as no one really listens to him, it can’t be a lie either, which slightly makes Hitoshi feel better.

If he says it often enough maybe he’ll even feel it one day.

His classmate nods and leaves, just like Hitoshi knew he would and that leaves him alone in the empty classroom.

It’s just as well, because nights out mean little to no sleep since nowhere is really safe and Hitoshi doesn’t have enough money to eat anything anyway, so he might as well catch up on all that sleep he’s been missing.

~*~*~

Hitoshi compulsively raises his hand to touch his face. He spent the entire weekend muzzled—again—and he needs to reassure himself that the thing is not on right now, that he’s free and able to speak should he chose to do so.

He doesn’t have a lot to say these days—nor any people who would listen to him—but it’s the matter of his choice being taken away that always fucks him up.

That and the fact that the muzzle is slightly too small by now. It’s not yet bad enough to cut into his skin and Hitoshi doubts his foster parents are going to let it get that bad seeing as that would only raise questions, but it’s uncomfortable to wear at best and his face still feels slightly irritated.

Everyone is chalking the slight welts on his face up to hormones though and Hitoshi guesses that’s for the best. He wouldn’t know how to explain anyway.

“Is everything okay?” Midnight asks when he raises his hand again to trace over the bridge of his nose and Hitoshi drops his hand immediately.

“I’m fine,” he gets out, taking a moment to remind himself that he’s able to speak, that he wants to speak even if what comes out of his mouth is not entirely the truth.

It doesn’t matter; Midnight has already focused back on her lesson and as long as she doesn’t listen, it’s not a lie.

It cannot be.

Hitoshi doesn’t know what he’s going to do if it is.

~*~*~

Hitoshi can barely breathe. His entire chest is littered with bruises and he thinks his foster father might have done it and cracked a rib or two, but it’s not as if Hitoshi can go to a doctor and get checked out.

There’s no way he could explain the injuries—and all the old scars—on his body and so he’ll just have to breathe through the pain until everything heals up.

Usually Hitoshi’s foster father is more careful—at least since he started attending U.A.—but Hitoshi had done the stupidest thing imaginable and asked a question right where he could hear and then—well.

Hitoshi knows better than that, normally, but his foster father still wanted to make sure that the lesson stuck this time.

It’s definitely doing something, Hitoshi bitterly thinks as his vision briefly goes black when he takes a breath that’s just a little too deep and he just manages to bite back a wince.

“Are you okay?” Snipe asks him and Hitoshi forces himself to keep his breathing smooth and even.

It doesn’t matter that tears prick at his eyes. It doesn’t matter that he can barely move without pain twisting so sharply that it almost makes him sick. It doesn’t matter that his hands can’t stop shaking.

It’s fine.

He’s fine.

“I’m fine.”

Snipe’s attention slides away from him before he’s even done speaking and Hitoshi is glad for it.

It cannot be a lie if no one hears.

~_~_~

Hizashi feels restless and worried and he needs to find Shota this instant because he knows talking it over with him will settle his own mind. Shota is good like that.

Hizashi finds him in his preferred teacher’s lounge—preferred because it’s usually empty and has the most comfortable couch—just like he knew he would and it takes Shota all of one glance to close his laptop and fix his entire attention on Hizashi.

“What’s wrong?” he wants to know and Hizashi could kiss him just for that.

“Shinso Hitoshi,” Hizashi says, much to Shota’s apparent confusion. “I’m worried about him.”

“Is he in the support course?”

“Gen Ed,” Hizashi corrects him.

He sometimes forgets that Shota exclusively deals with Class 1-A unlike Hizashi himself who teaches English to all of the courses, so of course he wouldn’t know Shinso.

“What about him?” Shota asks and Hizashi wrings his hands in front of his chest.

“Something is wrong.”

It’s all he can say, because his thoughts are running a mile a minute and he can’t really pinpoint any obvious reason anyway. It’s all just a hunch. A feeling. Something nagging at the back of his head, telling him that the boy is not okay, that something is wrong, that he needs to do something.

“Okay,” Shota agrees calmly and this is exactly why Hizashi needed to talk to him so badly. Shota always keeps a level head, tries to be as rational as possible and it balances Hizashi’s own erratic, emotional thinking out quite nicely. “Talk me through it. What have you noticed?”

“He has eyebags worse than yours,” Hizashi starts with because it’s the most obvious one and Shota snorts out a quiet laugh.

“That could just be because he’s a teenage boy. What else?” he wants to know because clearly he trusts Hizashi to have more than just this one thing.

“He barely talks to his classmates, I have never seen him in the cafeteria, he doesn’t change with the others for the few training lessons they have, his hands shake more often than not, he doesn’t seem to have any personal belongings and he keeps touching his face as if he has to reassure himself of something.”

“Any obvious injuries?” Shota already has to know the answer, because if there were any obvious signs Hizashi wouldn’t feel the need to talk this over with him first but Hizashi answers anyway.

“No. Sometimes there are some rashes on his face but those could be from anything. Sometimes he holds himself as if he’s in pain, or as if he’s sore from something but other than that, no.”

“Mh,” Shota hums out and Hizashi wrings his hands in front of his chest again.

“Sho, I’m telling you, something is wrong.”

“And I believe you. You have an eye for that kind of thing,” Shota immediately reassures him and it settles something in Hizashi to know that his husband is not questioning his entire sanity. “What’s his quirk?”

“Brainwashing,” Hizashi mutters because he hates what that kid’s quirk has been named. Surely they could have phrased it in a way that didn’t make anyone who hears it flinch.

Shota clicks his tongue at that before he stills for a moment and just because of that Hizashi knows that he’s not going to like what Shota says next.

“Is it voice activated?” Shota carefully asks and just like that it all slides into place for Hizashi and for a moment it feels as if he can’t breathe.

He raises his hands to his own face, suddenly feeling the phantom imprint of a muzzle there and Shota is there a second later, tightly grasping his hand.

“Take a deep breath,” he instructs him and Hizashi follows his order without a second thought.

It becomes easier to breathe after a minute but he still stares wide-eyed and panicked at Shota.

“You think they are muzzling him?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Muzzling people with voice-based quirks has been outlawed years ago,” Hizashi weakly protests and Shota grimaces.

“You know it’s not always that easy,” he softly says and fuck, does Hizashi know, but to think that it’s happening to one of their students is unbearable.

“Has anyone else voiced their concerns?”

“No,” Hizashi gives back. “I talked to Snipe and Midnight and while they said that Shinso is not the most attentive student they don’t see any red flags.”

“Has anyone asked him directly?” Shota wants to know next and Hizashi shakes his head because he doesn’t think so.

Why would they if they all don’t see anything wrong with him?

“Okay, then we will,” Shota decides and squeezes Hizashi’s hand. “Do you know his living conditions? Family, siblings, that sort of stuff?”

“I don’t, but Nezu talks to all the parents, right? He would have noted it down if there were any kinds of flags.”

“Let’s check the records then.” Shota pulls him over to the touch, opening his laptop back up and logging in to the U.A. system.

It’s a matter of seconds to pull up Shinso’s file but to Hizashi it feels as if years pass and he can’t help but to impatiently bounce his leg. He knows they have to read this first, so they know what they walk into, what               questions to ask Shinso but Hizashi would really rather just go and speak to the kid directly.

Hizashi only turns his attention back to Shota when he feels him freeze next to him.

“What?” he demands to know, dread already curling in his gut and Shota lets out a harsh breath.

“He’s in foster care. His foster parents weren’t available for the talk with Nezu or any of the follow up appointments. He marked it as suspicious.”

“Fuck. Sho, fuck,” Hizashi reiterates again and Shota nods in agreement.

“Is your emergency foster license still up to date?”

“You know it is,” Hizashi huffs out because the school requires them to keep them updated at all times, precisely for cases like this. “But I can’t be the one to do it,” he tacks on, because he knows the system.

There’s no way in hell he’s going to get custody of Shinso, not even temporarily.

“What? Why not?”

“My quirk is voice based, too. They won’t allow this. You know how it is.” It pains Hizashi to say it but quirk discrimination is high these days and heteromorphs and people with voice-based quirks are bearing the brunt of it lately. Adding the fact that Shinso’s brainwashing will be seen as a villainous quirk by most people only makes it more unlikely to garner any sympathy and the fear that installs in people will only needlessly complicate things.

If Shinso is unsafe with his foster parents then his social worker is most likely aware and allows this, which means that if Hizashi petitions for emergency foster care of Shinso they will accuse him of collaborating with Shinso, wishing to train his quirk up.

Which would be true, but would put a serious hurdle right in front of them and they can’t afford that. And that’s only the best case scenario. Worst case, they’ll accuse Shinso of brainwashing him into wanting this and Hizashi can’t have that.

If their hunch is right and Shinso is being muzzled at home they have to get him out as quickly as possible.

“You have to do it,” Hizashi says and Shota seems about as unhappy as Hizashi feels but he nods reluctantly.

His quirk alone would be a point in their favour, in the eyes of any social worker who is as biased as Shinso’s has to be and he seems to realise that, too.

“Fine. It’s just a formality anyway,” Shota shrugs because in the end it is.

They are married. No matter who gets custody of Shinso, he’s going to stay with them both anyway.

“I’m guessing we’re doing this today?” Shota asks but it’s more of a rhetoric question, because of course they are doing this today.

There is no way Hizashi will let Shinso go home if his foster parents really are abusing him.

“He should be in Midnight’s class right now,” Hizashi says after a look at the clock and Shota nods.

“Alright. You go get him; he doesn’t know me and he’s bound to panic if I show up out of the blue. We’ll talk to him in one of the conference rooms, away from prying eyes.”

“Sounds good.”

It sounds absolutely horrible because Hizashi never wanted to have such a conversation with one of his students but it has to be done and at least like that they’ll have the privacy they need for such a talk.

It’s the least they can do with what they are about to ask Shinso.

~*~*~

Hitoshi feels sluggish with how cold he is. The night had been freezing and even the emergency clothes he keeps in the locker weren’t enough to keep him even moderately warm throughout the night.

He still can’t feel his fingers, though they are no longer a suspicious blue, and he’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

What he does know is that Present Mic calling out for him as soon as he steps outside the classroom is a very bad thing.

“Shinso, hey. Do you have a moment? I’d like to talk to you about something,” Present Mic tells him and he is clearly expecting Hitoshi to answer, no matter that there’s no way he can refuse one of his teachers.

Hitoshi is kind of glad that he’s already cold all over because the dread running through him would have leeched away all his body heat anyway.

“Sure,” he mutters, desperately clutching the strap of his bag and he follows Present Mic without another word.

He did not expect to be lead to one of the conference rooms, the ones that are sound-proof and can only be accessed by the teachers.

Fuck, this is worse than he thought, isn’t it?

Present Mic holds the door open for him and Hitoshi steps past him but he freezes when he sees Eraserhead already in the room.

Fuck, he’s going to throw up any second now, he desperately thinks because if two teachers want to speak to him—with one not even teaching him—then he really fucked up badly.

Hitoshi distantly knows that he should probably try to keep up appearances as best as he can, but he’s so busy not throwing up right then and there that it’s kind of inevitable that his hands shake.

They are going to call his foster parents because of whatever he did and that will be the end of Hitoshi. His foster parents made that more than clear.

“Shinso, hey, you need to breathe, kiddo,” Present Mic gently tells him as he steers him towards the unoccupied couch. “You’re not in trouble, I promise you that.”

It’s an empty promise; Hitoshi has enough experience with teachers saying that to him and then calling his foster parents once his back is turned so Present Mic’s words do exactly nothing to calm him down.

“What did I do?” he forces himself to ask once everyone is seated because if he gets this out of the way fast then he can do damage control. But he needs to know what he did wrong first.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Eraserhead tells him, and even though his voice is serious, it’s just as gentle as Present Mic’s was.

“Shinso, are you okay?” Present Mic asks him, fiddling with his fingers and this is easy.

This, Hitoshi knows how to do.

“I’m fine,” he says, and looks out for the way interest slides out of their eyes, waits for them to turn their gaze away from him.

It takes a second and then five and then ten and Hitoshi squirms, uneasy, because both teachers keep looking at him.

“I’m going out on a whim here, but I would guess that’s not true,” Eraserhead finally says and Hitoshi feels as if he can’t breathe.

If they are listening then it’s a lie, it’s all a lie what he’s saying and Hitoshi doesn’t know how to deal with that.

No one ever listens.

“Shinso, you can tell us the truth. You’re safe here and we won’t let any more harm come to you,” Present Mic tells him and it’s so ridiculous, so outlandish, so far from how any of this normally goes that Hitoshi doesn’t know what to do.

He focuses on breathing for now because that seems moderately important.

“If you are not okay, if you are being hurt, at home or here at school, you can tell us,” Eraserhead says and shares a glance with Present Mic. “We’ll make sure to protect you.”

It’s something Hitoshi should probably respond to, tell them that he’s fine, that there is nothing to worry about, that there’s no need for them to concern themselves with him and he’s just about to do that but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a sob.

It’s as if a dam has been broken because after that first one follows a second and a third and Hitoshi can’t stop, he absolutely cannot get a grip on himself and soon enough he’s hyperventilating into his hands.

He doesn’t know for how long it goes on, can’t concentrate on anything but the tight feeling in his chest, the way he absolutely cannot breathe, can’t hear anything but an insistent ringing in his ears but eventually he becomes aware of someone talking to him, though he can’t make out the words.

Hitoshi tries to focus on the voice until he can hear actual words and he’s mortified to realise that it’s Present Mic, telling him when to breathe in and out and it almost sends him spiralling again but the firm grip he has on Hitoshi’s hands keeps him from losing it completely.

“I’m good, I’m fine,” he gasps out eventually and he thinks he hears Eraserhead snort out an unamused laugh.

“No offense kid, but you’ve been panicking for close to fifteen minutes now. I’d say you’re anything but okay.”

“How are you feeling? Right now? Nauseous? Faint? You’re pretty cold, are you about to drop on us?”

“I have been cold since this evening,” Hitoshi mutters, glad that his voice doesn’t crack on top of everything else and he doesn’t need to look up to know that Eraserhead and Present Mic are sharing a glance.

“Couldn’t you warm up at home?” Present Mic asks and Hitoshi instinctively curls in on himself.

The house isn’t his home and his foster parents never let him forget that.

“I don’t have a home,” he whispers, tugging his hands out of Present Mic’s and hiding them out of sight, as if that could hide the way he’s shaking. “There’s a house I’m sometimes allowed to sleep in and yesterday wasn’t one of those days,” he tacks on and distantly wonders where he finds the courage to say any of that out loud.

He has never talked about this with anyone.

But then again, no one has ever asked with the intention to listen, either.

Present Mic lets out a long breath and Eraserhead leans forward, his elbows on his knees, to give Hitoshi a serious look.

“Thank you for telling us,” he says and it feels almost stupid because no one should thank Hitoshi for dumping any of that on them.

“Before we talk about anything else I want you to know that both Shota and I have emergency foster licenses and that we’re not going to let you go back,” Present Mic tells him and Hitoshi guesses that ‘Shota’ must be Eraserhead.

“I—don’t understand,” Hitoshi admits after a long moment and almost feels bad about it when Present Mic wilts at his side.

“Shinso, I don’t know if you know this but not allowing a kid to come home is illegal,” Present Mic tells him. “That’s endangerment of a minor at best.”

“And this is just a hunch, but there’s a muzzle involved in the house as well, right?” Eraserhead carefully asks and Hitoshi can’t hide the way he flinches. Eraserhead only nods. “That’s illegal as well.”

“I know all of that,” Hitoshi gets out past the new wave of panic at having these two know what’s going on at the house.

“Then what don’t you understand?” Present Mic sounds honestly confused as he shares another look with Eraserhead.

“I just—I know it’s illegal and wrong but—no one ever cared about that before,” he blurts out and does not enjoy the way both their faces fall.

“Oh, Shinso,” Present Mic whispers out and his hands twitch as if he wants to pull Hitoshi into a hug.

Hitoshi almost wants him to do it.

“We care,” Eraserhead simply says as if it could be that easy and it only serves to make Hitoshi’s eyes water again.

“No one ever cares,” he says again because he doesn’t understand why these two would, what changed all of a sudden and this time Present Mic doesn’t hold back.

He leans right in for a hug and Hitoshi doesn’t have it in him to pull away and instead almost burrows into the warmth of the embrace.

“We care, kiddo, we do. And now that we know you’re not safe with your current foster family, we’ll put our emergency foster licenses to good use. Shota will get temporary custody of you on account of abuse and you’ll come home with us before we figure out the rest. How does that sound?”

“Confusing,” Hitoshi admits after a moment and pulls away. “What do you mean ‘home with us’? He’s the one I’ll have to stay with, right?”

“Oh, yeah, but we’re married, so you’ll come home with both of us.”

Married, Hitoshi whispers to himself and he must make quite the face because Present Mic huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, no one ever sees it, yada, yada, yada,” he waves off and Eraserhead rolls his eyes at him.

“Very mature,” he teases Present Mic and Hitoshi thinks he can see it, maybe. A bit.

But that really is not the pressing matter.

The most pressing matter is that this is all too good to be true and that thought scares Hitoshi. What if they change their minds? They must know what his quirk is, it’s all in his file, so he doesn’t understand how they don’t mind.

“Still doesn’t explain why you care,” he blurts out, rather rudely, and he freezes instantly when both men look at him.

“Shinso, you’re just a kid. A kid who deserves to have a stable, safe environment at the very least. You clearly don’t, and we care about that. About you. We want to give you that.”

“How did you even notice? No one ever notices,” Hitoshi finds himself saying even though a part of himself is urging him to stop questioning this. He should just take what he could get here, and every further question only raises the danger of it all slipping through his fingers again.

“Hizashi is good like that,” Eraserhead says with a small smile and Present Mic shrugs bashfully.

“But my quirk—”

“Should really not factor into any of this. I know that it most likely has, and I am sorry you have been treated so badly because of it, but it really doesn’t matter to us.”

“It’s a villain’s quirk,” Hitoshi mutters because it’s what he’s been told all his life.

“Strange,” Present Mic says and waits for Hitoshi to meet his gaze before he goes on. “I remember this being a hero school. And since you’re here that would make it a hero’s quirk.”

It’s said so easily, as if it’s nothing but a fact when all his life people have been laughing at him when he says he wants to be a hero and Hitoshi finds himself crying again.

“It’s alright, kiddo, we’ve got you. We’ll make sure you’re safe,” Present Mic promises him. “Shota is going to make that call now so you can come with us and we’ll go find Lunch Rush to get you a soup to warm up while he deals with all the boring bureaucracy, how does that sound?”

“Too good to be true,” Hitoshi admits because it does, before the rest of Present Mic’s words register. “I don’t have money,” he quietly says. “I can’t pay for the soup.”

“Good thing that you won’t have to, then,” Present Mic gives back before he briefly falls quiet. “Is that why you never eat in the cafeteria?” he then wants to know and Hitoshi didn’t know that someone had noticed and it’s not as if he can find his voice anyway so he simply nods.

He can hear Present Mic make an angry sound and he instinctively curls his shoulders in when Eraserhead speaks up.

“Hizashi, not now,” he warningly says and Present Mic falls silent again, taking a deep breath.

“You’re right, you’re absolutely right. Boring phone call for you, soup for us,” he then cheerfully says and shoos Eraserhead off, who rolls his eyes at Present Mic but does leave the room.

An almost awkward silence falls over the room and Hitoshi finds himself fiddling with his fingers.

“You don’t have to do this,” he feels the need to say and it’s almost comical how affronted Present Mic seems at that.

“Kiddo, you’re safe now. We’ve got you now, for as long as you want or need.”

“But—”

“Shinso, we want to. It wasn’t even a question for us. We want to help you.”

Present Mic seems entirely sincere as he says it and Hitoshi doesn’t have another choice but to believe him.

“Okay then.”

He knows that it probably won’t be as easy as this, because nothing in his life ever is, but maybe for today it can be.

And then maybe for tomorrow it can be again and that alone would be better than a lot of the past days in Hitoshi’s life. And if he really gets lucky for once in his life, maybe every day after that can be a good day, too.

He thinks that would be nice and when he gives a shaky smile to Present Mic who immediately smiles back with nothing but warmth on his face, it doesn’t seem so unattainable anymore.

[winterdadandspiderson]

WINTERDAD AU #1

(part one because this got way too long. this is essentially the plot of an old fic i started back in 2020 and what would've happened of i'd continued it. i might try and write it again one day, perhaps, if i don't give up after 2 chapters. anyway here we go)

- mary parker was a shield agent when she met the winter soldier, both were on a mission. they fought, but never got as far as mortally wounding each other. mary would always slip away. it was like a game. bucky had been kept out the ice for a few weeks at that point, running a long job. but the longer he's out, the more he starts to remember little pieces, who he used to be.

- mary feels pity for him, seeing through the stone cold image hydra forged for him, to the person within. they fight. but then they also talk. they keep seeing each other while bucky scouts. eventually one thing leads to another and they develop a relationship of sorts. 

- mary later discovers she's pregnant but bucky never finds out. he's taken back, wiped and put under the ice once more. mary quits her job at shield so she can provide for her kid and keep them safe. knowing full well if anyone in shield or hydra caught wind that she was carrying the winter soldiers child, they'd never be safe.

- she's sad that bucky disappeared again, she knows hydra likely had him wiped and iced again. but she moves on, meeting richard soon after who she tells she's expecting a son, that the father disappeared without a word (technically not a lie) he tells her he'll love him like he's his regardless.

- when her son is born she names him peter james parker (during the few weeks they met, the last time they talked, bucky ended up remembering his first name, mary wanted peter to have at least a piece of him)

- peter ends up looking a LOT like bucky. he has the same shade of dark brown hair, facial structure which shows as he grows. but he has mary's eyes)

- the plane crash was really just an unfortunate incident. peter still goes to live with aunt may and uncle ben when he's seven. and then things go as they usually do in canon. the avengers form, yada yada all that stuff, you know the drill.

- when he's 14 peter is bitten by the radioactive spider. BUT. an important detail here is that due to the expiermentation bucky was subjected to by hydra and the enhancements which altered his genes, some of that, though remaining dormant, passed onto peter. but it didn't really do anything, it was just there. but it did keep him alive after the spider bite. without those enhancements in his blood peter would've died. instead, he gained his powers.

- uncle ben still gets shot, which as usual influences peter to become spider-man. and months after tony still comes along and recruits him to fight in germany. peter does.

- when he briefly faces bucky ("you have a metal arm? that is AWESOME, dude!") neither know so that also goes as normal. bucky is bewhildered by the kid who managed to block a hit with so much force behind it, while also shocked to know that he was just that, a kid.

- now one vastly different thing here is that while the avengers do split for a good year, steve and tony eventually talk and make amends. the avengers reassemble, deciding that they need to put the world before their feud. they're not on super good terms, but they tolerate each other. tony still refuses to forgive bucky.

- homecoming happens during the time where things are still rocky between the avengers so peter still deals with vulture alone. but he does see tony more often, stopping by for lab days to work on his suit among other things, to keep up the "internship" charade. tony grows fond of him, though he doesn't admit it.

its post homecoming where things start to go wrong.

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

More in the AU where Elrond and Elros are 16 years old rather than 6 when Sirion is sacked. Tag is "older kidnap fam fic" for previous installments

Elrond wakes up draped over the rump of a horse.

Not, to be clear, his own warhorse. His faithful stallion is being ridden by one of the few remaining warriors of the Gap, the great cavalry of the Noldor, who will be able to keep her seat regardless of what the horse tries.

Elrond isn't initially sure who is riding the horse that he's been set over like a sack of baggage. His arms are stretched out past his head, tied wrists dangling toward the ground, and his ankles are tied as well, tighter than the hobble that he had while walking. He can't see anything but horse flank.

Elrond wriggles around to try and get a better view, and someone notices.

"Lord Maedhros, it seems your guest is awake."

Maedhros pushes down the middle of Elrond's lower back to pin him more surely to the horse. "Lie still. If you fall off while riding in formation you're liable to get stepped on by the next horse, even if the rider wished to avoid you."

"I know how to ride properly."

"Yes, I saw that you were quite skilled when you killed my soldiers, which is why you're staying right there."

"Could I at least sit upright, even if I have to ride behind someone else like an infant?"

"Maybe tomorrow, if you give your word not to escape."

"I'm not stupid enough to try and bargain with you again, after you broke your word about setting us free from the cellar."

"I never said I'd set you free, I said I'd leave the city and wouldn't kill you. Sirion crumbled in the first assault, but I did no more damage after taking you and your brother into custody. If they're smart enough to repair the castle first, everyone should be able to keep warm this winter."

"And if they focus instead on burying their dead, or rebuilding their houses, or rescuing their kidnapped princes?"

"Who knows? But I'm not king of even the Noldor anymore, and the people of Sirion are not my responsibility."

"You would just let them die?" Elrond wanted to glare at the Feanorian, and nearly slipped backwards off the horse as he tried to sit up.

Maedhros caught Elrond deftly by the bound wrists and pulled him back into place. "Next time you do that, I'll let you fall"

"So you don't actually intend to even spare my life."

"I agreed to spare you, not to save you . None here will harm you, but I won't rescue you from consequences of childish stupidity, no more than I will rescue Sirion from winter. If you would rather bash your head open rather than remain my captive, I am not so cruel as to deny you that escape."

Elrond had nothing to say to that topic, as his first retort about more palatable escapes seemed likely just to enrage his captor, as did any question about cutting off hands. "Where's Elros? Was he at least left back in Sirion?" Elrond wanted his brother to be safe, and his people to have a leader with his mother drowned. But he, selfishly, also did to want to be alone with the kinslayers.

"He's here as well, don't worry. Nornmalo has him, and I trust him not to torture a prisoner, despite what it may sound like."

"The moans of pain might be a headache, he drank rather a lot of beer while we were trapped."

Maedhros laughed. "Well, a hungover child soldier. He will at least bother Nornmalo less with questions."

"Could I give him something to soothe the headache? I know a bit of healing."

"No. A headache won't kill him, and he'll get water when we stop same as you."

They stopped only once that day, to water the horses at a stream. Elros was pulled down from the saddle - feet first, luckily, though he still landed in a heap - and his hands untied. Maedhros tossed him a canteen, and said "if you need to piss, now's the best time. You won't get piss all over the horse or your clothes, and we're downstream of the rest of the company."

"My legs are still tied."

"The ropes low enough you should be able to unfasten your belt."

"Are you going to watch me the whole time?"

"Until I find another guard, yes."

Elrond drinks little enough water to avoid the issue, for the moment.

When it's time to ride again, Elrond puts up a fight about having his arms tied again. That just gets Maedhros pinning his face in the dirt while a soldier ties the rope.

Elrond is slung back on the horse like a parcel.

They stop again just before sunset to make camp.

Elrond's hands are untied again for dinner.

The food is simple, waybread and water, and Elrond wonders if he should mention that Men need to eat more than once a day.

Far more exciting than the food though is the figure dropped on the grass next to him, clutching his own canteen and waybread.

"Elros!"

"Elrond! By Ulmo, you're alright!"

"I am, just a bit bruised from the horse. You?"

"Here's something for your healer's notes: do not put people with hangovers upside down for hours. I must have thrown up a dozen times."

"That's terrible! Maybe we can ask-"

At that point the guard tells them to hurry up, they'll be taken to where they're sleeping in ten minutes regardless of how much dinner they've had. Elrond and Elros focus on eating.

They are not, apparently, going to be sleeping near each other. "Too much chance to plot."

The Feanorian soldiers have tents. Some of them share, some of them have their own. A few soldiers have tents obviously designed for two or three that they go into alone.

The horses stolen from Sirion are tied to a picket line. It's loped through the reins, but one person untying the end would let all the horses scatter.

The horses the Feanorians rode into town on are not tied at all. They are loyal old warhorses, and will not flee from orcs in the distance. If wolves do sneak past the guards into the camp, better for the horses to run, and come back at their masters' call when the danger is passed.

Elrond, by contrast, is tied to a tree trunk. His hands are tied in front of him rather than behind, and his legs are unbound. Maedhros's brother - and Elrond learned from a careless remark that their is only the one left - even tossed a blanket over Elrond's legs, to guard against the chill of the night air.

It is the most freedom of movement Elrond has had all day, but that's saying little.

He is stuck sitting up, feeling every root and rock underneath him, unable to reach his hands back to where the rope is tied behind the tree.

Elrond sleeps poorly, stirring at every noise, whether it's a guard on their rounds or an owl hooting its warning.

In the morning, Elrond is given a breakfast of water and waybread again.

Maedhros says "You know it would be suicidal to flee, alone in the wilderness, yes?" and lets Elrond ride behind him sitting up.

Elrond's hands are still bound, and a rope leads passed Maedhros to the saddle horn. If he fell off, he better hope he can keep pace with a cantering horse, or else be dragged on the ground.

Elrond stays on the horse. He figures out his balance well enough to turn, and sees Elros riding similarly.

Thing continue like this for over a week, until they reach Amon Ereb.